I shuddered. "Kedra, I—I am so sorry..."

"Do not fear to speak of Shikrar," said Kedra kindly. He gazed at me. "He took me aside the night before the battle, Lanen. He told me of his Weh dreams, and that he believed that his time was come to sleep upon the Winds."

"Oh, Kedra!" I said softly. "I am so sorry that your dear father was taken from us. I knew him so very short a time, but he was always just and always kind to me, and I will miss him."

"It is considered a great gift among us, Lanen Kaelar, to know when your life is about to end," said Kedra, and his voice and his heart were calm, if sad. "My father lived a long and worthy life. His use-name was Hadreshikrar, Teacher-Shikrar, for he taught nearly every one of the Kantri now alive how to fly." Kedra paused a moment, and stood in what I eventually learned was the Attitude of Recollection. "I am told that he was a wild spirit in his younger days, always in the air, trying new and different ways to fly, to manoeuvre, to test his own skills in flight, and to try them against those of his companions who dared try to match him." His Attitude shifted a little, to include elements of Pride. "None ever did, not after bis second kell. He served as Eldest of the Kantri-shakrim for nearly three kells, as Keeper of Souls for seven, and in his last days he led us in our great return, flying home across the Great Sea to Kolmar." Kedra's voice quavered a little, then. "He was ridiculously proud of me, you know. I found it embarrassing, but that is who he was. And he was set fair to be even worse about his grandson."

Kedra looked into my eyes then. "I know not what happens to the Gedri soul after death, but we believe that the departing spirit is met by those who have died before, to welcome the traveller home. My father Shikrar"—he had to clear his throat, and I felt my own tighten in response—"my father Shikrar loved my mother Yrais with a love exceeding deep. She was taken from him so early. I barely remember her, only as a soft loving voice and a dear presence." He bowed his head for a moment, and when he looked up there was a peace in his eyes that I envied. "I mourn him, Lanen. I loved him dearly and I will miss him as long as I breathe, but I know in my deepest heart, as surely as I know that the sun will rise on the morrow, that he and my mother are together again in joy, where no pain or sorrow can touch them. It is well, Lanen Kaelar."

"It is well, Kedra," I responded. My heart could rest now, though I too would miss Shikrar's great soul.

I bade K6dra good night and returned to my chambers, with but a single thought before me that followed me into sleep.

Akor, Akor, my dearling. We have survived the most dreadful test of our marriage, short of death—but now that the light of day shines upon our lives, now that the dread of battle and its aftermath are over—what is to become of us, my husband? Whatever in all the world is to become of us?

There was much to be done and decided before we all left Castle Gundar.

The matter of my patrimony was eventually established on a more solid foundation. Mistress Kiri, who had known my father since he was a child, began by being terrified of the dragons and deeply suspicious of me and my claim. After she spent half a day closeted with Maran, discussing Goddess only knows what, she was forced to admit that I was indeed the only known child of Marik of Gundar. It seemed that he had told her once, in his cups, that he had a daughter, but she had never managed to learn any further details. Maran, seemingly, supplied sufficient details of her own to content Mistress Kiri, who then became my staunch ally and introduced me to the entire household as the right and legal heir.

It was very peculiar indeed to realise that these people, some of whom had been kind and considerate even when they believed our company to be complete strangers, had known of my existence for several years, while I had lived in complete ignorance of theirs.

Mistress Kiri, to my astonishment, even went so far as to convince the steward to give me access to Marik's fortune. I tried to object. Mistress Kiri, looking at me rather more shrewdly than I would have expected, said, "Did your father, in his entire life, ever give you one single thing?"

"No," I replied simply, realising that she might not want to hear the true answer, which would be Well, he gave me to a demon, or tried to. Does that count?

"Then he can make up for quite a long stretch of neglect," she declared, handing me the key to Marik's treasure room.

I had a long talk with the steward, Kesh, who was harmless enough if you didn't expect much in the way of generosity. Marik had hired him for his grasping nature. I made him swear on his soul and in front of quite a few witnesses, including Mistress Kiri, to pay everyone in the place a better wage, thanked him for looking after the lands so well, told him to get in more cattle as we might expect any number of winged visitors in the near future, and left him to it.

I suppose I could have tried to live there, but it never even occurred to me. Spending more time than absolutely necessary in a place where Marik was honoured? No. I would presume far enough to provide myself and my friends with food and shelter for a week, and the staff with a decent living from my father's ill-got gains, but more than that I could not do. I did leave the staff with the impression that I might return at any time. Just for morale.

I saw but little of Akor in that time. He spent his days among the three Houses of the Kantri, teaching, learning, listening, and avoiding me as surely as I was avoiding him. We were coming to terms with our new life, but it was hard, Goddess it was hard, and there was so much else to do. We found a compromise, finally. Akor had taken to lighting a fire on Shikrar's hill in the evenings, and I joined him there, to talk a little, to consider what had happened to us both, to speak a little of our future, but for the most part simply to be in each other's company. It grew easier, over even those few nights. He could still make me laugh.

A full seven days after the battle, when even Vilkas and Aral had recovered much of their strength, we held a last council in the Great Hall at noon. Its generous windows were flung open, and the light and air that flowed into the room were extraordinary. Spring came late to the mountains, but it seemed to be trying to make up for lost time. The orchards were heavy with delicate apple blossom, and there was some plant that grows in those hills that had the most wonderful scent I have ever known. If the High Fields of the Lady are worth achieving, they must smell like that.

We were graced with Salera's presence as well, thanks in large part to those windows. Akor, too, could come near enough to see and hear. We had put it off for a time, while wounds were healed and tales told all round, but we all knew that the time had come to go our own ways.

Jamie and Rella announced that they were leaving on the morrow. "Where are you going?" I asked. This last week had been a blessing, having the pleasure of their company without a single deadly threat in sight. I knew fine that Jamie would not stay in the House of Gundar even if I did.

"Somewhere warm and green and quiet," said Rella. "Where they have real beds with feather pillows. You have spoiled me, girl," she said, grinning at me. "This week of living at ease has got into my bones. I could bear to live like this."

"We're going back to Hadronsstead first though, Lanen," said Jamie, smiling. "I shudder to think what that idiot Walther may have been doing to the farm. He's a born horse-breeder, but I wouldn't let him within smelling distance of the Great Fair at II-lara." He put his arm around Rella. "Ilsa is green and quiet, and I daresay we will manage to make enough warmth between us to be getting on with."