The old man made a few more passes with the drum, making certain that all of the fragments had become vapor, but no darkness was left, no visible remains of the demon; even the smoke was gone now. Then he bowed to the mare and knelt by the wounded wolf-spirit. He drew the creature to him, and in a gentle shudder they became one again. When he came back to his feet, there was a new shuffle and limp in his gait, pain etched plainly on his brow. He approached Hezhi and gently took her hand. It seemed as if her fingers were farther away than Nhol, not part of herself at all, but when he took them, the sound of drumming ceased, and she realized that she had never stopped tapping her instrument. The Horse whickered, pranced widder-shins around them both, and then leapt back into her; Hezhi felt only a vague shock, smelled horse hair and sweat.

Fear smote her. The world beyond the drum was stark and, in its way, simple, and Human emotions were dim things there. But now, afterward, the reaction set in as wonder realized that it should have been terror. And Perkar had been killed, not saved. His head had burst apart, destroyed by her own hand—or by the hoof of her spirit helper.

She blinked. Perkar lay on the cave floor, as he had before. His head was whole, and as Brother Horse and Ngangata bent over him, he moaned once.

“What happened?” Tsem demanded. “Why are you shaking?”

Hezhi looked up into the Giant's puzzled face.

“The fight? Didn't you see?”

“See? I saw you and the old man tapping your drums and singing nonsense. Heen there started howling and growling, and then Brother Horse stood up and waved his drum around. There was some smoke or something; that's all I saw.”

“Truly?”

“Princess, that's all that happened.”

Frowning, Hezhi turned back to Perkar and the two men with him.

“Well? Is he better?”

Brother Horse shook his head solemnly. “He is still ill. It will take time for Harka to heal him entirely. But the Breath Feasting is gone.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Thank the Horse Goddess, or yourself.”

“You slew it.”

Brother Horse spread his hands. “It is not really slain, but it will be many years before its substance knits back together.”

“You drew it through the drum.”

“Yes. It is a dweller in the lake. Cast out of its waters, without flesh about it, it suffocates, in a sense. It comes unbound.”

“Are all gods thus?”

“No. The Breath Feasting is delicate, in some ways. But any passage through the drum—from one side of the 'lake' to the other—must be prepared for, by spirit, god, or Human. The transition is always dangerous.”

“What are you talking about? What lake?” Tsem asked.

“I'll explain later,” Hezhi said, patting his arm. “I promise I'll explain later.”

“Good. Because right now, the two of you sound quite mad.”

Brother Horse did not grin, but his old humor seemed to flicker in his eyes as he shook his head and said, “Indeed. Madness is a prerequisite for becoming a gaan.” He reached down and gave his dog a scratch between the ears.

Tsem rolled his eyes. “Then everyone out here but me must be one.”

Yuu'han chose that moment to interrupt.

“Out on the plain,” he said. “Look.”

Hezhi followed the pointing finger, but all she saw was moonlight and clouds. Ngangata and Brother Horse, however, had a different reaction.

“I thought they would hold them longer,” the old man remarked.

“Perhaps it is someone else.”

“Perhaps.”

“What? What is it?” Hezhi asked.

“See there?” Ngangata pointed.

Hezhi followed the imaginary line described by his finger, but still she saw nothing. “No.”

“It's a campfire. Someone following us, between a day and half a day behind.”

Brother Horse groaned. “I had hoped to rest before sunup.”

“We can rest in the saddle,” Ngangata answered. “At least our tracks will be covered.”

“What do you mean?” Hezhi asked. But then she understood, as the first patter of rain came from outside. A distant thunder tremored, and a line of blue fire walked around the far horizon.

“I told you it would rain,” Ngangata said. But he was looking at Perkar, who moaned once more, and Hezhi thought she caught the hint of a smile on his wide, strange lips, a whisper of thanks from his halfling eyes.

XX Dragons

GHAN paused at the threshold of the library and turned back, scrutinizing each block of visible shelving as the soldiers with him coughed impatiently.

“Wait,” Ghan grumbled. He could see a volume, lying on a table, out of place. He moved stiffly across the room to retrieve it.

“Now, where do you go?” he asked rhetorically, checking the notation on the book, which told him exactly that. It belonged in the labyrinthine rear stacks—the ones Hezhi had named “the Tangle.” He motioned to the soldiers to indicate he would return shortly and took the book to its shelf. Alone, he rested his head against leather-bound spines.

“I've spent my whole life among you,” he muttered to the books. “What will you do without me?”

The tomes did not answer him, of course, but as he walked heavily back to the waiting guards, to his surprise, he answered himself. He rested his fingers on Grimoire Tertiary, the last in the row before he again crossed the reading area.

“Good-bye,” he whispered. “Someone will always come who cares for you. Someone.”

And then he left, not looking back again, turning his mind stubbornly outward to what must be.

I have seen dragons, he wrote a bit later as, ignoring everyone else on the barge, he spread his things in his quarters and began to write. They were, in their way, magnificent. Bone Eel called them with his blood, though I would have believed it too deficient to summon even a worm. But it was enough; they turned and writhed in the water like living waves, scintillating with the hues of a green rainbow. Quite beautiful. When they slid into their moorings, down beneath the barge, the first tug showed their power, for in one moment we were still and in the next the boat was in motion. Soon we will not give them a second thought, but they must work tirelessly, pulling us up the River that gives them life.

He set the pen aside then, folded down onto his bed, and closed his eyes. The day had been long and wrought much upon him, and even writing gave him little solace.

GHE emerged into the light before dawn, and Nhol was gone. Even with his enhanced vision, the River was almost all that he could see; on the nearest side he could make out the artificial horizon of the levee, willow, cottonwood, and bamboo rambling at its base. The other bank was so distant that it showed only as a thin green line. He took in a breath and thought it clean, new. They were in motion! The expedition—his expedition—had begun. And they would find her, he was sure of that. It was a vast certainty, inhuman in scope, but it still gave him joy.

Footsteps approached; the ghost of the blind boy identified them instantly, knew the cadence of walking like a name from first introduction, and so Ghe did not turn but called out, instead, a soft greeting, enjoying the sigh of air across the moving barge. “Lady Qwen Shen,” he remarked. “You stir at an odd hour.”

“As do you, Lord Yen.”

He half turned his face toward her so that she could discern his sardonic grin. “No lord I, Lady.”

“Is that so? I wonder, then, why the emperor gave this expedition into your hands.”

“Your husband is the captain, madam.”

“Oh, yes.” She sighed. “My husband. Perhaps we should speak of him.”

“Speak, Lady?”

The corners of her mouth turned up, and he noticed, once again, her great beauty, the slightly … exotic air about her.

“The emperor told you that he would furnish you with a barge to pursue your quest—and the trappings to go with the barge. A crew, a captain. My husband, Bone Eel, is just such a trapping.”