1 had to turn away from Vilkas, for he was become the sun and I risked being blinded.

Just as well, for I saw Varien swinging his sword at—

"Berys!" I cried. He stood beside me and reached out to grab my arm. I aimed a kick at him but I was beaten to it by Jamie, who knocked me out of the way. He didn't even stop to consider, he just stepped in, whirled, and slashed at Berys.

Berys raised a hand. Jamie's sword bounced off the shield of Berys's power and Jamie howled with frustration.

Varien, who had missed his first stroke, strode up to Berys shouting, "He's mine!" Jamie cleared off and Varien swung back his sword and struck a horizontal blow with all his strength. Berys didn't even try to get out of the way.

I nearly fainted. I saw that huge heavy sword, driven by Varien's terrifying strength, go through the barrier as the demon prince had gone through Vilkas's. Without slowing in the slightest, Varien's sword swept right through Berys's body like a bread knife through a loaf. My husband cut Berys in half. He should have bled like a butchered cow and landed in two pieces.

Berys's eyes flew wide with shock, just for an instant, but even as I watched the wound was gone. The only trace of it was a thin line of blood along the line of the cut, all around his torso.

"Have you forgotten that I'm the best Healer in all the world?" he asked cheerfully. "You really are stupid. You can't touch me, any of you. You might as well give me the girl. She's not much to look at, it's true, but I can make use of her." He looked directly at me, so deep in his own madness that he looked absolutely normal. "You don't even know what you can do, you poor fool."

For all that the demon and the Black Dragon had frightened me, this mad immortality shook me to my bones. Staggering back from the thing that had once been Berys, I called in shaky true-speech, "Shikrar, Idai, we need your help! Can the battle spare you?"

"I come, Lanen," said Shikrar instantly.

Despite Berys's protection, he didn't seem inclined to throw himself on the collective swords of Jamie, Rella, Maran, and Varien to get past them to me. He frowned slightly at me. "You're going to call for help any moment now, aren't you?" he said, annoyed. Then a slow grin spread across his face and I swear his eyes twinkled.

'Tell you what. I'll go first, shall I?"

He raised his arms and cried out in a terrible voice, "Come unto me, ye legions of darkness! Come, I command thee! By my power, by my name, I, Malior, Master of the Sixth Circle, do summon to my service all ye of the deep Hells to my aid. Come swiftly!"

On the instant, the air was black with legions of the Rakshasa. I could barely see the Kantri for all the demons. There must have been twenty to every one of the Kantrishakrim.

These were not the Rikti, who could be dispelled by the touch of the Kantri's breath of Fire: these were the Rakshasa, the mirror image of the Kantri in creation, shaped roughly like winged Gedri and only slightly larger than humans. Although Kantri fire can wound them, they are much harder to kill, and although they are much smaller and do not fly as swiftly as the Kantri, they are more manoeuvrable. The Rakshasa breathe balefire as well, the only fire aside from molten stone that can wound the Kantri.

There were so many of them, and the Kantri so few.

For all that they were beset on every side, however, a good quarter of the Kantrishakrim would not leave off harrying the Demonlord. They flamed and fought the Rakshasa even as they pursued or enticed the Black Dragon, flying like mad things to avoid its deadly fire, those who still had them throwing those great stones at it whenever they could to try to force it to ground, or better yet to douse it once more in the deep waters of the lake.

I saw in that brief time more carnage than I could bear. The Kantri, those wise, ancient creatures, attacked from all directions by evil incarnate, fighting back with tooth and claw and the Fire that is sacred to them. So many wounded, so much of blood and agony on both sides. I have never heard that the Rakshasa ever wanted, truly, to take over the world, except in old legends. I think they were forced to it by Berys. If that was the case, every drop of blood, Rakshi and Kantri, was on his soul.

And suddenly there was a great shout and a second deep splash and boom, a second great cloud of steam. The Restored, ted by Naikenna, had managed even in the midst of battle so to harry and anger the Demonlord that it had flown out over the lake once more. I saw in the instant I turned to look that some five or six of the Kantri had thrown themselves on the thing and forced it down. I could hear their agony, but there was triumph there also, and a fleeting sense of peace when they chose the Swift Death once the beast was under the surface of the lake.

Berys called out something in a sibilant speech, and a group of the Raksha came for me.

"Shikrar, swiftly!" I cried, in truespeech—and aloud. Would to heaven I had held my tongue. Would to heaven my tongue had withered in my mouth ere I had spoken.

Shikrar arrived, covered in wounds, and with fang and talon he bit and crashed the Rakshasa who threatened us, ignoring the fresh cuts they inflicted on him. He spat, when he was done, and turning to Varien said, "It tastes worse even than you remember." Varien grinned up at him.

Then to my astonishment, Berys spoke. He had been watching the battle with delight, distracted perhaps, or perhaps simply keeping out of the way of Varien, Jamie, and Rella. That kind of healing must wear him out eventually, and they all three would cheerfully kill him again and again until it worked.

"You are Shikrar?" he said, looking desperately pleased with himself.

"I am, Rakshadakh," growled Shikrar, drawing back his head to strike.

"No," said Berys smugly. 'The true name is binding, knowing the true name is power over the named, truth in essence holds the soul and thus I bind you to my will. You are Hadretikantishikrar, and you will be still!" Berys cried.

Shikrar froze. He was screaming in truespeech, he was fighting with his entire being, but for once in his life Berys spoke truth. The true name is the essence of the soul. He who knows the true name has a terrible power over the named. True names are kept secret, told only to a soulfriend or a loved one.

Marik had overheard Shikrar's true name when Varien bespoke Shikrar in the Language of Truth. If Shikrar and Akor had not forced open Marik's mind out on the Dragon Isle, Marik would not have been able to hear their truespeech to report to Berys. If Marik had not been trying to kill them both, they would never have done such a thing. If, if, if...

Berys grinned. "How delightful," he said, seeing his foe immobile. With a casual gesture, he called a hundred of his demons down to him and threw them at Shikrar.

Varien screamed, "NO!" and ran towards Berys, but there were too many demons in the way. Varien, my beloved, fought like a madman, but he made little headway. Too many demons. Not enough time.

"IDAI! KEDRA! SHIKRAR NEEDS YOU NOW!" I screamed in truespeech, kicking myself that I had not called before, putting all my horror into my mind's voice, and even I could hear the un-derthought that ran through my call. "Help help help he's held by his true name Berys has him quickly quickly they'll kill him help help help!"

They flew, desperate, fury and terror driving every stroke of their wings. Time seemed to slow as I watched them approaching from two different directions. Too far away. Too slow.

Too late.

My breath stopped as I looked upon Shikrar held helpless. No, it can't be—Goddess, help us—O ye Winds, blow that word back into Berys's mouth and let him choke on it, let it not have been spoken, oh no,oh no...