The man in Sha-Kaan's mouth didn't even cry out before his body was torn in two and spat from the huge maw, scattering blood and flesh. The Great Kaan barked his fury into the night, the sound rumbling away like distant thunder. Nos-Kaan soared high, then dived groundwards, the men below his gaping mouth screaming as he fell towards them. With a single beat of his wings, he stalled his speed, the down-draught sending the hunters rolling in the dust, their cries lost in the wind. He looked and struck as Sha had done, his victim crushed in an instant and dropped in front of his comrades.

And finally Hyn-Kaan. The Great Kaan's bark brought him low across the ground, a great dark shape in the starlight, his body scant feet from the rock, his head moving down very slightly to scoop his target into his mouth. He flicked his wings and speared into the heavens, a human wail filtering down, cut off, and followed by the sound of a body hitting rock.

Hirad licked suddenly dry lips. They had said they wanted revenge. And they had said they wanted men to know their power. Yet the elf at his feet was still unconscious and had seen nothing. Lucky for him. Hirad loved the Kaan and theirs was a bond that would not be broken by such violent death. Yet once again, he was reminded of the unbridgeable gulf between man and dragon. They were majesty, men their slaves if they so chose.

Hirad brought his attention back to the lone engineer, alive still and surrounded by the torn carcasses of his friends. He had soiled his breeches, liquid puddling around his boots where he crouched in abject terror of the three dragons circling above him. Sha-Kaan landed and grabbed him in one foreclaw, bringing him close to his jaws. The man wailed and gibbered.

Hirad turned to the mage, uncorked his waterskin and dumped its contents over the elven head. He gasped and choked, groaning his

pain. Hirad grabbed his collar and hauled him upright, a dagger at his throat.

'Even think of casting and you'll die. You aren't quick enough to beat me, understand?' The mage nodded. 'Good. Now watch and learn.'

Sha-Kaan drew the hapless engineer even closer. 'Why do you hunt us?' he asked, his breath billowing the man's hair. He tried to reply but no words came, only a choked moan. 'Answer me, human.' The engineer paddled his legs helplessly in the air, his hands pressing reflexively against the claws he could never hope to shift.

'The chance to live comfortably forever,' he managed. T didn't realise. I meant you no harm. I thought…'

Sha-Kaan snorted. 'No harm. You thought us mindless reptiles. And to kill me or one of my Brood was, what does Hirad call it? Yes, "sport". Different now, is it? Now you know us able to think?'

The engineer nodded before stammering. 'I'll n-never d-do it again. I swear.'

'No indeed you will not,' said Sha-Kaan. 'And I do hope your fortunate companion pays careful attention.'

'My fortun-?' The engineer never got to finish his question. Sha-Kaan gripped the top of his skull with a broad foreclaw and crushed it like ripe fruit, the wet crack echoing from the rock surrounding them.

Hirad felt the mage judder and heard him gasp. His legs weakened but the barbarian kept him upright. Sha-Kaan dropped the twitching corpse and turned his eyes their way, the piercing blue shining cold in the darkness.

'Hirad Coldheart, I leave you to complete the message.' The Great Kaan took flight and led his Brood out to the hunt.

Hirad stood holding the mage, letting the terrified elf take in the slaughter around him. He could feel the man quivering. The smell of urine entered his nostrils and Hirad pushed him away.

'You're living because I chose you to live,' he said, staring into the elf s sheet-white face. 'And you know the word you are to put around. No one who comes here after the Kaan will succeed in anything but their own quick death. Dragons are not sport and they

are more powerful than you can possibly imagine. You understand that, don't you?'

The mage nodded. 'Why me?'

'What's your name?' demanded Hirad.

'Y-Yeren,' he stammered.

'Julatsan aren't you?'

Another nod.

'That's why you. Ilkar is short of mages. You're going to the College and you'll put out the word from there. Then you'll stay there and help him in any way he sees fit. If I hear that you have not, nowhere will be safe for you. Not the pits of hell, not the void. Nowhere. I will find you and I'll be bringing friends.' Hirad jerked a thumb up into the mountains.

'Now get out of my sight. And don't stop running until Ilkar says you can. Got it?'

A third nod. Hirad turned and strode away, the sound of running feet bringing a grim smile to his lips.

' The last few days had been the most tranquil and relaxing period of Krienne's remarkable life. They had been the days aboard ship when she knew that she had escaped the fetters of the Colleges at long last. Not just Dordover, all of them. And in the calm, late summer waters of the Southern Ocean, with the temperature rising to a beautiful dry warmth, she and Lyanna had finally been able to rest and let go the cares of what had gone by and think on what was to come.

Looking back, the voices in her head had become so regular they had seemed a part of her. Urging her to leave and be with them. She recalled the night her decision had been made. Another night in Dordover, another nightmare for Lyanna. One too many as it t urned out.

Dordover. Where the Elder Council of the College of Magic had taken her in after she had left Xetesk. Where they had treated her with a mixture of awe and disdain over her chequered recent past. And where her daughter's extraordinary gifts had been nurtured and researched by mages whose nervousness outweighed their excitement.

In the year the Dordovans had tried to help, they had produced nothing Erienne had not already known or that she and Denser hadn't guessed. The fact was that Lyanna was beyond their introverted comprehension. They could no more develop her talents safely than they could teach a rat to fly.

One magic, one mage.

The Dordovan elders hated that mantra and hated the fact that Erienne believed in it so fervently. It went against the core beliefs that drove Dordovan independence. And yet, at first, they had taken on Lyanna's training with great dedication. Maybe now they were

aware of the scope of her abilities, it was affecting their desire or, more likely, they felt threatened by it.

But the whole time someone had understood. Someone powerful. And their voices had spoken in her head and, she knew it, in Lyanna's. Supporting her, feeding her belief, keeping her sane and calming her temper. Urging her to accept what they offered – the knowledge and power to help.

And then had come that particular night. She had realised then that, not only could the Dordovans no longer help Lyanna, their fumbling attempts were putting her at risk. They couldn't free her from the nightmares and she was no longer being allowed the space to develop; her frustration at being kept back would inevitably lead to disaster. She was so young, she wouldn't understand what she was unleashing. Even now her temper wasn't long in the fraying; and in that she was very much her mother's daughter. So far, she hadn't channelled her anger into magic but that time would come unless she learned the boundaries of what she possessed.

The nightmare had set Lyanna screaming, her shrill cries scaring Erienne more than ever before. She had cradled the trembling, sweat-soaked child while she calmed, and knew things had to change. She remembered their conversation as if it had just occurred.

'It's all right. Mummy's here. Nothing can harm you.' Erienne had wiped Lyanna's face with the kerchief from her sleeve, fighting to calm her thrashing heart.