"Vilkas, we made a mistake," I said, putting my free hand on the boy's shoulder. "The one we trusted allowed us a freedom he never should have allowed. We made a mistake and we have been devastated for ten years and more because of it—but, Vil, it is done. She is dead. We cannot bring her back, no matter how sorry we are for causing her death. But we can honour her by putting that wild power to its proper use. I am older—we are older now. I understand control, I have worked hard to learn it ever since that day. And now we need the wildfire within us." I showed young Vilkas the great legions of demons harrying the Kantri; I showed him the Demonlord; and lastly, I pointed to Berys in the realm of the spirit, a demon struggling out of a net and beginning to break free.

"I know him, he tried to kill us he killed so many of our friends Magistra Erthik he is bad!" my younger self cried.

"Yes, Vil," I said quietly. "And we are fighting him now. This is our chance to right the balance, to honour the woman we killed. Let us release that power to its proper use."

"I'm scared I'm scared we can't make it do what we want..."

I was profoundly moved by the lad's fear. "It's alright, Vilkas," I said, and putting my long arms around his skinny body, I held him close. The first instant it was like hugging a plank of wood, but after that first shock the lad relented and clung to me. "I can control it. Truly."

He drew back, staring frightened into my eyes. "But what if we kill someone else?" he whispered.

"I promise I will not ever use our power to kill anything except demons," I swore to him. "Ever."

I felt his gaze sear along my mind, down into my deepest heart, as he searched out the truth of what I said. It was there. Something began to dawn in his eyes, so brilliant blue, so large in that young face. He reached out, and tentatively he put his light little arms around my neck. "You promise?" he whispered.

"I promise," I whispered back.

"Then what are you waiting for?" he demanded, shoving me away with vigour. "Look, he's getting loose!"

I stood and grinned down at my young soul. "Shall we stop him, Vil?'

The lad grew to meet my height, changing swiftly into the self I knew from the mirror. His identical grin began to meld with mine.

"Oh, yes," he said, his voice no longer its boyish treble but my own.

And we were one.

A sharp pain ripped me back to the real world. Berys was free, shooting black power like swords into me as fast as he could. His eyes were bloodshot with fury but he was laughing.

"Poor little lad, killed someone did he? And you impotent because of it ever since. How wonderful!"

I felt young Vilkas grow to fill my skin, and the cage around the core of my true power grew thinner, thinner, like reeds, like gossamer—gone.

I averted Berys's attack with a contemptuous flicker of thought.

He drew back his hand and started to chant something hideous, his face a mirror for the words.

"Oh, do shut up," I said, suddenly tired of the sound of his voice. I sent silence around him, as he had kept Lanen silent. He struggled to get away. I found it surprisingly easy to hold him still.

I gazed into his soul with my Healers sight. It was revolting. In among the swirls of bloodred and poisonous bile green and pus yellow there was a centre of solid black—no, a silvery black—oh! That wasn't him, it was something he carried. I ignored it and forced myself to look deeper. There! There were the shields, like overlapping armour wrapped around him. Like the layers of an onion gone soft and stinking.

I began to remove them. I worked slowly and carefully, for I did not know how closely these touched him and I was determined not to harm him with my power.

I had promised.

Sacred Fire rose within me as I flew from the Black Dragon, drawing it after me. I went to breathe my Fire onto the Winds, that this act might be consecrated—but when I opened my mouth no flame came forth. I felt the air currents change, a sudden headwind—no, my head was forced back. I tried turning my head to the left and breathed flame—a sudden gust forced me to the right.

My thoughts reeled. I lived in a body that could not be. Shikrar, turned to Akhor all in a moment—no flame, though I am a creature of fire, but the power of the Winds at my command.

I never wanted this.

There again, I didn't recall anyone asking what I wanted. The Wind of the Unknown blows hardest of all, it is said.

I turned to face the thing behind me, breathed the Winds at it, and flew faster. I felt its contempt, heard its unnatural laughter as it pursued me in my terrified attempt to escape. I heard it start to roar and swerved left. The edge of its solid flame caught my tail-tip and I screamed in agony.

Well, perhaps it didn't hurt quite that much, but it pleased the Black Dragon and stopped it thinking.

I veered right, it followed me close. It was flying much better than before, but it was still clumsy in the air, and so huge. So huge, so intimidating, so very... heavy.

Shikrar—oh, my soulfriend Shikrar—had made us all learn to fly carrying weights when we were young, that we might come to understand the changes that we would need to deal with as we grew older. We learned swiftly that with greater weight, we could achieve far greater speed; indeed, that was the first half of his lesson.

The second half is that with all that momentum it is very, very difficult to manoeuvre, and even harder to stop.

I put on a burst of speed, rejoicing in the midst of my fury at the feel of the Winds bearing me up, at the strength in these great wings, speeding me onward towards that great cloud of smoke. Some careless flame must have set fire to those trees. Oh dear, oh dear.

I concentrated, focussed my voice, and sent a sudden loud note to ring in that spot in my faceplate where it would resonate just... so... there.

The echo told me I was upon it. Heart racing, I flew into the cloud and instantly folded the greater part of my wings in close and, using just the tips, pulled up at the sharpest angle my body would bear, praying to the Winds that my speed and the updraft would allow me to change direction. I scraped the cliff with my belly and legs, and bashed my poor tail, but I did it. Flying straight up for a brief moment, then flipping over and rolling away left—I was right way up and heading back the way I had come when I heard the Black Dragon fly into the cliff at speed. It barely had time to scream before there was a terrible thump and a hiss, and black smoke made a thicker screen than the white.

I rode the updraft, spiralling into clear air. Always gain height, the advantage is always in height—I could hear Shikrar's voice in my head even after all these years. I was oddly untroubled by Rakshasa as I rode the winds, trying to see through the billowing smoke and learn what damage Idai and I had wrought.

A smaller thump, the sound of one taking to the skies—and the Black Dragon emerged.

It was half the size it had been. No, less—it had lost much of itself in its two dunkings, and only half of what was left now flew.

Straight towards Lanen.

We fought on, Maran and Rella, Lanen and I, beating away at the demons that beset us, aD the while watching Vilkas out of the corners of our eyes. Aral protected us as she could against the demons. At least she slowed them down to manageable numbers. We fought with all our strength, all of us, and the dragons did what they could, but there were just too many. Maran fought like a madwoman, her sword flashing in the sun, the graven runes upon it at least as deadly to the Raksha as the blade. Lanen kept cutting her arm and blooding her dagger—Goddess only knows what that was about, but it seemed to work. It was Rella and I who fared worst, for all our skills. Raksha are hard to kill.