I was rather surprised when Maran stepped forward and struck his head off.

But then, she always did have a soft heart.

I collected the head and put it on the body, where the flames burned most fiercely. No sense taking chances.

Free! We are free from the bindings put upon us, free to loose the legions of Hell on that cursed silver dragon that has so diminished us. I-Demonlord feel my old powers return with a shock, and we know that Berys is no more. I scream the words into the air, I sing them, I take joy in the chaos that will rule when all the Kantri are gone down into death and demons rule the world.

I-Marik reel. I did not agree to this. Kill the girl, kill the dragons, yes, but not demons to rule the world. Where would be the gain for me? I fight for control.

I-Demonlord effortlessly thrust that mind away and take the body for myself. At last, I can do that which I have longed to do, all down the centuries of darkness. Berys had summoned many of the Rakshasa. Time to bring in the rest.

"Let the gates of all the Hells be flung open! Come ye great Lords of Hell, come great and small, Raksha and Rikti, come feast on your life-enemies—behold, I, the Demonlord, summon you all here to me!"

There was a soundless clap. The air shook, for all I know the ground shook, and all in a moment the sky, the ground, the very waters of the lake, were full of the screaming hordes of all the Seven Hells. The noise was immense, the numbers uncountable. I laughed with delight.

The Kantri fight, desperately, outnumbered a hundred to one. And there upon that little hill hard by, about to die among a cluster of her companions, stands the one creature I need most desperately to kill.

I start to fly towards her—she is so close!—when that huge silver beast rises before me. It tries to scorch me, fool, but it has no flame. Just then a great gust of wind throws me nearly on my back in midair. I have to fall away and glide for a moment before I recover. The silver one follows me, choking out its hatred from a dry belly, spitting nothing at me—and before I can make any headway towards the girl the wind turns against me again, blowing a gale from my left forward quarter. I yell my frustration, flying as hard as I can against the wind. I am battered by gusts from all sides, forcing me ever down. I cannot react quickly enough to recover, I happen to look up—

—and see the silver dragon circling above me, its mouth wide, spitting nothing at me but hot air. Air, winds, air, the damn thing is controlling the winds with its breath!

"That one!" I cry to the nearest demons. "Kill me that silver one!"

Nothing happens. The Rakshasa do not move. I look around— none of them are moving. Damnation!

I ignore all else, I must reach that hill. The silver dragon flies better than I do, it gets ahead of me, the wind slams me back and down, again and again. I am moving forward, but so slowly, so horribly slowly. I roar my frustration. It is exhausting, and several times I nearly fall out of the sky—but she was not that far away to begin with.

I am near enough to the hill.

I draw in a deep breath, ready to pour the molten stone in my gullet over the bowed and bloodied girl, for her death is my freedom forever.

Wait—no—NO!

The sky turned black. For an instant I thought a sudden storm was come up out of nowhere, but then it began to spread out. The Kantri were going frantic, fighting—oh, dear Lady.

For all that I had been through up until that moment, I give you my word, I was never so certain that I was going to die as at that moment. The Rakshasa filled the air like a plague of insects, biting and clawing the Kantri and the Dhrenagan, who fought back with vast courage in the face of impossible odds.

It seemed to be raining blood.

And there was a large contingent of Rakshasa coming our way. I drew my dagger lightly over my arm one last time, committed my soul to the Lady, and waited for death to claim me. I had cut myself so often there was blood all over my hands, but I swear I didn't feel it.

They never reached us.

It was Vilkas, of course. I had watched in amazement as he brushed off a legion of Rikti, a dozen of the Rakshasa—but when Jamie had stepped forward and killed Berys, Vilkas seemed to go into a kind of shock. Aral tried to help him, but then the Demon-lord unleashed the Hells and he snapped back into focus, after a fashion. He put up a barrier between us and the demons just before they reached us.

And he did nothing more.

Outside the barrier, the Kantri began to fall from the sky, bloodied, dying, mobbed by demons.

I did not know which would break first, my heart or my mind. "Vilkas, do something!" I shouted. "You cannot leave the Kantri to die like that!" Every muscle in my body was tense as a bowstring. "Goddess, you're the only one who can help them!"

"You don't understand, if I start—" he began.

"They will all die!" I screamed, my heart in my throat. "In the name of the Lady, stop them!"

He raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Very well," he said. He raised his arms above his head and made a gesture as of throwing something away—

And every demon stopped moving, apart from the Demonlord. It was madly fighting Akor to reach us, that was clear enough.

But why?

"What do you think that damn thing wants?" asked Rella. Her voice was ragged with weariness, and when I glanced at her I realised that her voice was likely the strongest thing about her.

Maran was—eh?

Maran had put down her sword and taken off her pack, and now she was drawing out the Farseer. Her movements were careful but swift. I think we all knew there was not much time.

What in the world does she want that thing for now? I wondered.

She knelt, the globe before her on the ground, and said clearly, "Show me what the Demonlord fears."

Damn my mother was a bright woman.

She looked up at me. "Everyone, here, come look," she snapped. We all hurried over.

There in the murky globe was a picture of me holding something in my hand. But what the Hells—

"Ah," said Vilkas. He was trembling as he reached into his scrip and drew forth a shiny black stone. "You'll be wanting this, then."

"What in all the Hells?" I wondered aloud. "It looks like ..."

"It is the Demonlords heart," said Vilkas. "The Distant Heart. The reason he didn't die all those centuries ago when the dragons burned him to a cinder."

There was a roar from the skies. I looked up. The Black

Dragon, for all that Akor was throwing it about the skies, was nearly upon us.

I took the Distant Heart from Vilkas. The blood on my hands, from all the shallow cuts on my arms, began to smoke when I touched the thing, a great cloud of acrid smoke that I batted away with my free hand. There was something happening—

I swore loudly and profanely and nearly dropped the thing.

It was beating.

No longer stone, no longer dead now but flesh and blood, it beat steadily in my palm, almost like a bird fluttering.

The Black Dragon, near enough now that I could see its blazing sulphur-yellow eyes, cried out, a great NO! that rang in the mountains.

I raised my hand, that it might see better.

"Die, you bastard," I snarled, and crushed the heart to a pulp.

The Black Dragon fell from the sky and landed in a heap. True, a moment later it was aloft again—but this time it was flying away.

I spoke to all the demons at once. 'The creature that called you here is gone," I cried. "Return to that place granted you by the Powers and I will allow you to go in peace."

I was trembling harder now. Every part of me, heart, body, and soul, longed to destroy them all. I held myself back with a terrible effort. Aral, Aral, you cannot know, I have let loose the fire and it threatens to burn the world.. .