"Out of my way, fool!" came Miss Mariss's voice across the great hall, cutting through the rising din.

Chase turned to see her marching directly toward him. He sighed.

"This whelp is trying to tell me that I can't take the grain and salt I'll need to feed all these people. It's going to take a mountain of food and an army in the kitchens to keep up with so many. The Herald was right all along, may her name be blessed! Now you listen to me-"

Chase raised a hand to stave off the rest of the tongue-lashing. "I hear you, Miss Mariss. I do. My men have standing orders, and you're going to have to work with them on this. I haven't yet had the chance to brief everyone on these new circumstances, and they are just trying to do their jobs."

"Do I look like I would steal all of our grain?"

"I know, I know." He turned to a soldier standing off to his right. "Jerrick, please allow Miss Mariss access to any supplies she needs. Get me an inventory of all our stores, and start working on a rationing plan that will stretch what we have for at least a year."

The young man looked up with fear and anxiety in his eyes.

"It's just a precaution. Don't panic and don't get everyone else any more wound up than they already are. Everything is going to be fine."

As if to disprove his words, shouts and screams rose outside, and Chase turned in time to see a huge black shape blot out the entranceway. The guards' battle cry filled the air, followed by cries of pure anguish.

"Go!" Chase said as the entering mass of refugees surged ahead, driven by fear. It was everything Chase's men could do to keep anyone from being trampled. Miss Mariss and Jerrick retreated, now fully aware that their squabble was the least of Chase's concerns. It was impossible for him to cut through the throng, and all he could do was listen to the cries of men and dragon.

"They got one!" a woman shouted as she entered. "The guards stuck one of them demons, and they brought it down, they did!"

"How many are there?" someone asked.

"Too many," the woman said. "Too boilin' many."

Chase gathered all the guards nearby and sent runners to get more. The men donned leather armor and readied every spear and pole in the hold. Most dipped the tips of their weapons in pitch and lit them from nearby fire pots.

"To one side!" Chase barked as he led his men out onto the wooden bridge and stairs, which swayed under the weight, the damage from the first attack still nowhere near fixed. The makeshift repairs that still held were strained, and it seemed that the entire staircase could collapse at any moment. Below, dozens of people still climbed, desperately trying to reach the safety of stone. Only two guards could be seen, and those were unable to prevent the dragons from plucking people from the stairs before turning on a wingtip and soaring away. The cries of the dying now echoed through the valley.

Abandoning caution, Chase charged down the stairs and was almost immediately engaged by a swooping dragon. Claws extended, it dived in close, reaching for a young man who was helping an old woman climb. Chase nearly went over the railing as he lashed out with his spear, which now seemed far too heavy and short. Still, the dragon shied away from the flames and turned his attention to Chase. When it struck, Chase was ready and jabbed the point of his spear at the beast's eye. Though he didn't manage to blind it, he did smear pitch around the dragon's eye, and it screamed as it flew back toward the coast.

Two more dragons were wounded, and too many people were lost before darkness obscured the battlefield. With the setting of the sun, the dragons retreated, and Chase watched them go, trying to figure out where they were going, but the beasts scattered, melting into the darkening skies. He and his men retreated, helping the wounded and the elderly finish the climb.

When everyone was finally inside, Chase ordered the shattered fortifications rebuilt. "Don't bother trying to repair the gates. Just fill that hole as best you can. For now, we just need to keep everything out."

Exhausted, Chase dropped to the floor. His arms ached from hours of overextended spear thrusts, and his stomach muscles felt as if they were all torn. Even breathing had become difficult, and he allowed himself to rest. Where were Catrin and Prios when he needed them most? he asked himself. Many of those Chase turned to for advice were gone. Benjin and Fasha had sailed with his father and uncle some six years back, their only guide a madman's map, and no one knew when or if they would return.

Just as the largest timbers were being rolled into place, there came shouts from outside. Chase turned to look as Mirta charged forward. A man in bloodied desert garb stumbled into the great hall, in his arms, Kendra. Men stepped forward to aid him, but he shouldered away their efforts. Mirta spoke to him in soothing tones, and when he reached a place where some blankets had been stacked, he laid her down.

"Help her," he said, his accent thick.

Mirta looked Kendra over, and her apprentice Loriana approached the Arghast, a damp cloth in her hand. He stepped back at first, but Loriana grabbed him by the arm and looked him in the eye. She guided him to the floor and tended his wounds. Slowly he relaxed.

"Catrin," he said with fervor.

"First we must get your wounds clean," Loriana said in a calm and even tone.

"Need Catrin," he urged, but as Loriana tended his wounds, he slowly eased back and fell to sleep. Loriana tensed when she heard him mutter in his sleep, "She will teach us to fly."

Sinjin had never realized that light could hurt so badly; it felt as if it were trying to burrow its way into his brain. His vision swam until he took a deep breath, then he slowly began to see. His ears, however, worked just fine.

"You tell me this instant what happened to you!"

Millie's voice cut into Sinjin's consciousness like an axe, and it took him a moment before he could respond. "I don't know. I don't remember."

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked, no less intent on getting an answer.

"Um. . I. . uh. ." Sinjin stammered, ashamed that the last thing he remembered was hiding in an alcove and eavesdropping. "I don't know."

"How can you not know?" Millie asked, her glare suspicious. "What's your name?"

"Sinjin Volker," he responded, and he heard someone snort in derision.

"And what's my name, then?"

"Why, you're Millicent, former maid to the Lady Mangst and current keeper of the aforementioned Sinjin Volker."

"Your memory and attitude appear whole. If only you could tell me what you were doing when you sustained this injury!" Not waiting to see if he would say any more, Millie walked away, seemingly having trouble keeping from throttling Sinjin.

"This is all your fault," he heard Kendra say, and he almost had the sense to duck before her fist landed on his cheekbone.

"Kendra! Never hit anyone in the infirmary! How could you?" Khenna said, her mouth agape.

"It's all his fault."

"Are you all right, Sinjin?" Khenna asked.

Sinjin just moaned and levered himself out of the cot.

"Look at that eye!" came another familiar voice, and Sinjin's heart felt a bit lighter as he turned to see Durin grinning back at him.