The news from all quarters was good. Kedra, away in the SuJkith Hills with his dear Mirazhe and Sherok and that contingent of the Kantri that chose to remain with them, bespoke us one day with the news that Kretissh and Nikis had arrived. We laughed heartily, though I felt sorry for poor Nikis. It was not her fault that she had been caught in the Weh sleep when the rest of the Kantri had flown the Great Sea! Still, Nikis the Weary she was and remains. The others have found chambers near the sea, and have tended the lansip trees on behalf of our whole people. Farmer Timeth takes lansip leaves for his rent, plays with Sherok, and bids fair to become quite disgustingly wealthy in a few years, when the trees have grown a little more.

Idai left Beskin soon after the twins arrived. She and a contingent of the Aialakantri have been working almost constantly since the day of Shikrar's death, seeking out the soulgems of those who died in and around Lake Gand. It took them three years, but they eventually found every last one. The first, of course, was Shikrar's, lifted from the midst of Berys's cold ashes and cleansed with dragon fire. It gleams now a brilliant, untroubled red. His soul rests upon the Winds, and hardly a day passes even now that Varien and I do not miss him.

Varien has been much involved with the resettlement of the Kantri throughout Kolmar. Idai consults him regularly, and from time to time she comes to visit. When she arrived with Will and Aral and stayed until the babes had been born, she of course wished us joy of our younglings, and told us some of the best news yet. A number of the Kantri and the Dhrenagan had taken mates in the last few months, and there were already several younglings on the way. "We have even found a hot spring in the mountains above Castle Gundar," she said happily, "and are digging out a birthing pool. The high mountains are riddled with caves perfect for Weh chambers for those who require them, and there are many who do. All is well. Oh, Akhor, all is well at last!"

"It is indeed," he had said, smiling up at her. I remember that daft grin of his. He had barery looked away from the twins since their birth, I practically had to tear them from his arms to let them sleep in those first weeks. I recall being heartily grateful to Idai, who at least forced his eyes to focus on something more distant.

Before she left, though, she reminded him that no matter what his shape, he was still their King. "Do not think that you are released from your service just because the Winds have given you this astounding gift," she said, pretending to a severity she did not feel in the least. "You are still our Lord and King, by acclamation, and you will not slip out of your duties so easily."

"You are Eldest, Idai," he said. "This is foolish. Let you call a full Council of our people and choose a new leader from among you." He grinned up at her. "Perhaps it is time that we had Queen Idai to turn to, rather than King Akhor."

She hissed. "Very well, Lord, if you so command. A full Council must be attended by two-thirds of the Kantri then on live. I suspect that enough will have wakened from their Weh sleep in, oh, perhaps twenty or thirty winters. I will do my best to remember your wishes at that time."

Things had changed by then, of course—but that is another story. Ever since the Kantri came to Kolmar they have insisted on calling Varien their King. When the bards came to hear the tale of the wild adventures of that time, they soon heard that part of the story, and the idiots assumed that that must mean that I should be Queen Lanen. Ha! Never trust the bards, for they will always change the truth to make a good tale.

One other thing did take me by surprise. When the twins were a few years old, Varien spoke long with one of the bards and bought the man's second-best harp from him. In the years between, he has worked hard to learn the old tales and has created any number of new ones. My Varien is well on his way to becoming an extraordinary bard, but then he has an unfair advantage to begin with. After all, the Kantri are the best singers in the world.

Trezhan and Irian ta-Varien grew and flourished as children will, though of course they were the most glorious children who have ever lived. Varien says that Shikrar always said that about Kedra, from the moment of his birth.

I think I understand Shikrar a little better now.

This is the true tale of the Redeeming of the Lost and the Second

Death of the Demonlord.

There is more to tell, but then there always is.

True stories never really end.

First and foremost, I must acknowledge the usual huge debt of gratitude to my wondrous editor, Claire Eddy of Tor Books. She has put up with writing delays due to my iffy health, and my getting slighdy married, with a kind understanding that I probably don't deserve, and her sharp insight has, as ever, improved this book vastly.

My sincere thanks again to Deborah Turner Harris, dear as a sister, whose clearheaded advice and experience have gotten me out of any number of writing dilemmas—without your help, kiddo, this book would have been a darn sight more boring, and you may not realise it but your support and friendship have kept me going when I was ready to throw either the computer or myself out the window. You'll never know how much you've helped, Debby. Bless you.

Margaret Lynn Harshbarger for plotting sessions above and beyond the call of duty, for kicking me when I needed it, for hauling me back into the path of myth when I was getting lost in mechanics, and for her eye-opening insights into—well, too much to mention here. Much of life, actuairy.

Sandy Fleming, friend of many years' standing, for chatting to me when I just had to talk to someone, for reading a few snippets in the interests of a reality check, and for being my Webmaster out of the kindness of his heart.

Dr. Frank Prior, for stopping me from killing off the Kantri through ignorance, and for generally keeping me straight on matters of basic physiology—although to protect his professional reputation he has refused to let me quote specifics about which I have consulted him. Understandably. However, any medical idiocies perpetrated herein are my own doing, and have occurred despite Franks kind assistance rather than because of it.

Catherine and John Mac-Donald, for their generous willingness to be interrupted and keep me right on matters of midwifery and pregnancy, and to Kirsty Nicol, dear friend, for information about being on the sharp end, as it were, of pregnancy. Again, any missteps are my own entirely.

Christopher, as ever, for putting up with frantic calls at all hours, for staunch friendship, for his delight in the language, and for being the voice of reason for me when I couldn't think in a straight line.

And finally, ever and always, my deepest thanks go to my best-beloved, Steven Beard, dear friend for many years and now my treasured husband, who has carried an infinite number of cups of tea up the stairs over the last three years and never once threw one over me, richly though I may have deserved it. The man brings me toasted apple and cinnamon bread to keep me going, for goodness' sake. What more could a girl want?

I couldn't have done it without you, my dears. I hereby owe you a beer. Each.

—Elizabeth