THE LONGEST NIGHT

Kast waited for Sy-wen to be dragged up from her cell below. From the deck of the Dragonsheart, he watched the gray hint of dawn glow to the east. Here in this strange sea of ice and fire, mists hung over the waters, while the sky remained a slate of dark clouds, a roil of smoke and storm. It was near impossible to tell night from day.

But despite the darkness, day was upon them.

Horns sounded in the distance, a call to arms. Sails snapped overhead. The gathered fleets were under way, headed toward Blackhall: the elv'in in the air, the Dre'rendi atop the sea, and the mer'ai below. The last great war was about to begin.

A scuffle sounded behind him. A hatch battered open. He turned to see Sy-wen carried between two Bloodriders, bound wrist and ankle. She kicked and spat and spouted curses. A crazed thing, she was dragged before him. While the larger war loomed, he faced his own first battle.

We'll eat your hearts! she screamed at the guards. But when her eyes met his, she went quiet. A slow smile formed on her lips, cold and foul.

Sy-wen, he said, ignoring the evil before him. It is time to wake Ragnar'k.

She stared at him with eyes ablaze in madness. Since nearing the shadow of Blackhall, her ravings had worsened. She had scratched gouges in her own face, now scabbed and raw. Her lips were chewed bloody.

Sy-wen' His heart ached to see her hurt. He nodded to the men.

They unbound her wrists, and one of the guards forced her hand to Kast's cheek. Her fingers were cold on his dragon tattoo, and nails dug at his skin. She is lost! A wail rose in her throat. She is mine!

Wit ch star

Kast ignored the lie. He would know if Sy-wen was truly gone. Two hearts beat in his chest: dragon and man, both bound to the mer'ai woman. He stared into the mad-bright eyes. Sy-wen, come to me.

Laughter pealed across the deck.

Come to me' one more time.

With the proximity to Blackhall, the tentacled simaltra had rooted deeper into her skull, but Kast needed Sy-wen to break free for only a moment. She had but to take control for a heartbeat and desire the transformation.

He closed his eyes and brought his hand up. He pushed aside the guard's fingers, replacing the man's hand with his own. He leaned his cheek against her palm, fingers lacing with hers. Sy-wen, my love, my heart' He was not ashamed to display such affection in front of the guards. He was beyond feigning the usual Dre'rendi stoicism. One last time'

Crawling fingers suddenly relaxed into his own. He felt a gentle warmth infuse the palm. Stand back, he warned the guards.

Suddenly released, Sy-wen fell into his arms. Her voice was a kitten newly born, a feeble mewl. Kast'

He opened his eyes and saw the woman he loved. He leaned to kiss her, but the magick ignited between them, driving them apart as a larger heart overtook his and swallowed him away. He tumbled into darkness, where his sensations blurred with those of the dragon.

But he kept a secret in his heart, the words spoken to him by Sheeshon. The dragon must die. That was his burden alone. He knew this was truly Sy-wen's last flight. Once she returned to the Dragonsheart and released Kast from the dragon, he knew what he had to do. There was no way he could kill Ragnar'k or rather, only one way.

In the coming siege upon the southern piers of the island, he would make sure his spilled blood did the most good. He would use his body and life to forge a path to the volcanic lair of the Dark Lord. Only by dying nobly in battle could he justify slaying Ragnar'k. As he died, so would the dragon inside.

His only regret was that he would be taking the one magick that freed Sy-wen from her dark prison. But in his heart, he knew she was near to being lost already; the monster in her skull swelled inexorably stronger. As he could not escape the fate of Ragnar'k, neither could she escape her own skull.

He sank into the darkness that was the dragon, resolute in his decision. This day I die.

Sy-wen leaned atop her dragon. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Free, her heart sang but deeper inside, she despaired for Kast. For a glimmering moment she had touched him, felt his cheek on her palm, seen him leaning to kiss her then in a whirlwind of scale and wing, he was gone, stolen away by an ancient spell. She could not balance the despair of his loss with the joy of her release. Her heart was a storm, her body convulsing with sobs.

Bonded, Ragnar'k sent gently to her, he is not lost to you. He is here with us.

Sy-wen patted her giant. They shared sensations, but the dragon could not reach the depths of her heart, nor understand the simple need of a woman for the touch of her lover. A caress could mean more than a thousand words, and a kiss was a chorus without end.

But all this was denied her. The pain was almost worse than the prison of her skull.

She lifted her face to the dark morning. Mists clung to the seas, masking all but the closest ships. Horns sounded over the waters. She took a deep breath. She knew her duty this day: to fly to the foul sandy shores of Blackhall and scout the defenses there. She would do her duty, then return to her prison, waiting to be summoned again if needed.

A voice called to her. She turned to find Master Edyll moving briskly toward her despite his cane. A pair of children trailed behind him: Sheeshon and Rodricko. Sy-wen! Master Edyll huffed in the icy morning. A request!

She smiled at the elder, both mentor and grandfather to her.

As he drew near, his brows knit together. Child, are you all right?

She wiped away the last of her tears. You should be down below. We head into black seas.

He frowned. No place is safe this dread day. And I have a request while you're out with the dragon. Sheeshon came around his right side, the smaller Rodricko on his left. He patted Sheeshon on the head. The children have heard of your flight and begged or rather nagged with some urgency that I take them to you.

Sy-wen lifted an eyebrow. What do they want?

Mayhaps they should tell you themselves. Master Edyll guided Sheeshon ahead and rested his hands on her small shoulders. Go on. Tell her.

WIT C H 3 T A R

Sheeshon's eyes were as wide as saucers as the dragon swung its head around to stare at the trio.

This child rode with us before, Ragnar'k sent to her. He sniffed noisily, which earned a squeak from Sheeshon. Rodricko backed farther into Master Edyll's cloak.

Fear not, little one, Sy-wen said. He won't hurt you. What did you want to tell me?

Sheeshon's eyes never left the giant black dragon's. I' we' Roddie and I' we want you to take something to that volcano place.

She frowned. I'm not sure I can do that.

Master Edyll interrupted. Listen to the child first, he urged her. He plucked Rodricko from the folds of his cloak and pushed the lad forward. Rodricko clutched a tiny sprig with a single flower in his small fingers. Sy-wen had heard the tale of the boy, how this thin stalk was his link to his tree back at the island. It was all that sustained him away from his bonded sapling.

As Rodricko joined her, Sheeshon straightened, clearly biting back her own fear in front of the boy. We want you to take Roddie's flower to the volcano.

Rodricko did not seem so keen on this plan. He clutched the twig tight to his chest.

Sy-wen narrowed her eyes and glanced over the children to Master Edyll. But Rodricko needs the flower's magick. It keeps him alive.

The answer came not from the elder, but from Sheeshon. Roddie doesn't need the flower now! she said, waving her hands in childish frustration. He bloodied his finger already. He won't get sick until later.

Calm yourself, Master Edyll warned the girl.

Sheeshon took a long breath, then let out a sigh. The flower's got to be put in the smoke. Papa says so.

I don't want to give her my flower, Rodricko mumbled.

Sheeshon swung on the boy. You have to. We have to help Hunt.

Rodricko scowled, but his lower lip trembled, near tears. I still don't want to give her my flower. It's mine, not yours or hers. It's mine only.

Sy-wen stared over the bickering children. Master Edyll, I really must be going.

He nodded, pulling the squabbling children apart. I know. But I think we should heed the girl. Sheeshon is rich in sea magicks, able to see what's to come. Her dreams told her to bring Rodricko here, that somehow it will help Hunt.

I don't see how'

I don't either. But the child is bonded to the high keel's son. Her abilities could be attuned to his fate. And since you're heading to the island anyway He shrugged. The risk is slight.

Despite her doubts, Sy-wen allowed a glimmer of hope to root in her own heart. If there was a way to help Hunt, could it help her, too? She nodded slowly. What am I supposed to do with the flower?

Sheeshon set her lips in a serious line. You have to wave the flower in the stinky smoke coming out of the ground. Like this! She flapped an arm in the air.

Sy-wen glanced northward toward where a dull glow marked the volcanic peak. Is that all?

That's what my papa told me.

Sy-wen turned back with a frown. Your papa?

Master Edyll dismissed her question with a shake of his head. Her dreams. He knelt beside Rodricko and spoke to the boy. Will you let Sy-wen take your flower to the island?

Rodricko shoved his lip out in a pout. It's my flower'

He patted the boy's cheek. Of course. She'll bring it back very soon. I promise.

Sheeshon punched the boy in the arm. Give it up, Roddie. Quit being such a baby!

He riled up. I'm not a baby! He shoved the twig at the mer'ai elder. Master Edyll took it from his trembling fingers. See! Rodricko shouted back at Sheeshon. I'm no baby! The two glared at each other.

Master Edyll stepped carefully around the edge of the dragon's folded wing to reach Sy-wen. He held out the small flowered stem. Be careful. As Ragnar'k watched, she took the broken branch, examining its heavy flower. The purple petals were folded over a fiery heart. She sensed no magick from it. Her eyes met Master Edyll's. He must have read the doubt there.

He shrugged. I know. It seems foolish. They're just children. It could simply be some fantasy of Sheeshon's. But still' He glanced back to the two children.

What?

Master Edyll turned back to her. Sheeshon knew you were going to the island this morning. How many know of this mission of yours?

Maybe she overheard someone speaking out of turn.

Master Edyll cocked one eyebrow. On a Bloodrider ship? He sighed. I don't know. Perhaps you're right. But it seems worth the risk.

She nodded. It is. She tucked the woody stem into the waist of her trousers. If there is any chance of helping Hunt And herself, she added silently. then it's worth attempting. Master Edyll backed away. Be careful.

Sy-wen took a deep breath. I will. She patted her dragon's neck. And I don't go alone.

The elder gathered the children and herded them back out of the way. Can we go? Ragnar'k asked irritably, snuffing at the gusty winds. She read the longing in his heart to fly free after being trapped inside Kast for so long.

Fly, my heart, fly.

The dragon's joy sang through her as his legs sprang upward, driving them over the ship's rail. Once clear, wings snapped wide and caught the morning winds.

Ragnar'k sailed skyward. Below, the sea was a mix of roiling steam and ice floes surrounded by cold fogs. Ragnar'k circled one of the boiling pools, taking advantage of the rising warm air. The pair swept up in a tight spiral.

From her vantage, Sy-wen spied upon the hundreds of sails flowing northward, gliding through the morning mists like the fins of pale sharks. Overhead, the glowing keels of the elv'in fleet shone around her, small suns in the fog. The captain of the nearest ship spotted them and waved.

She acknowledged him with a salute of her own. Then they were banking away, heading northward themselves. Ragnar'k climbed above the roll of fog. The gray morning turned a shade brighter, but the slate of clouds still dampened the sun to a meager glow. Bad mountain, Ragnar'k sent in a rumble.

Sy-wen stared ahead. Above the fog bank, the vistas stretched wide in all directions but to the north, the world ended at a monstrous peak of black rock. It rose out of the mists, stretching toward the cloud banks, belching smoke from its central cone in a roiling column. Vents in its side also spewed black smoke, smaller snakes hissing at the fringes. Red fires blazed across the black cliffs and slopes. Some were from natural fissures and lava tubes exposing the molten heart of the foul mountain. Others glowed from the torchlight within tunneled openings: windows, balconies, and sentry posts. It was said that the chambers within the hollowed-out mountain numbered in the thousands.

Yet despite its menace and horrible history, there was an undeniable majesty to the peak, with its smoke-shrouded cliffs. Even the edges of the

cone were broken into towers and crenellated battlements. From the fractured shapes, it was difficult to judge what was created naturally and what was carved by dark magick and monstrous claws.

Sy-wen glided northward, heralded by drums and horn, into the heat that shimmered off the peak. It was not the clean heat of the Archipelago's sun, but the sick swelter of a fever. Even the air reeked not just of brimstone, but of something more foul, meat left to rot. Her stomach lurched. Below, the blanket of mists and ice fog began to break apart. The seas below appeared again: dark waters, flat and still. As she flew, she soon distanced herself from the last of the ships, leaving the fleet behind her.

Keep high, she warned her mount, now that they ventured alone into the heart of the enemy's territory. Ragnar'k swept up the steamy air, gliding, barely shifting his wings, keeping his movements to a minimum to draw less attention. But the seas below remained empty, not a single ship in sight.

Where were the Dark Lord's forces?

The pair swept onward, crossing the ring of shoals that encircled the island. The tall jagged ridge of reefs was named the Crown of Blackhall. The reef surrounded the peak, a full league from its black sand shores, an impenetrable sea wall as high as the castle walls of A'loa Glen. The jagged ramparts were only open through one narrow break in the rocky shoals. Beyond the ridge, a giant lagoon surrounded the island.

There was only one way to spy what lay within and that was the reason for this mission. The elv'in ships were too slow to risk such close surveillance. It was up to her and Ragnar'k to scout it out.

The pair swept over the Crown and peered down into the lagoon. Sy-wen frowned. It lay as empty as the seas beyond. An elaborate set of docks jutted into the lagoon from the southern slopes, with a hundred piers and jetties; it took a constant run of ships and supplies to feed and outfit a city of this size. But the dockworks lay abandoned. Not a single ship, not even a skiff, was tied to the piers. Not a soul moved.

Despite the heat from the peak, a chill shivered over Sy-wen's skin.

Beyond the docks, a small township skirted the peak's slope, servicing the deckhands and sailors of the supply ships. Though many found it profitable to do business here, a great number feared to set foot within Blackhall proper. So inns, brothels, trading shops, and other enterprises sprouted like barnacles along the rocky shore between the docks and the Southern Gate. But even here the tangle of streets and alleyways was deserted.

Where was everyone?

Since the allies had cut supply lines to the island as soon as they entered these waters, many ships should have been trapped here. The township should have been full of people.

Beyond the crude town, the Southern Gate yawned above the dock-works: a fissure that went a quarter of the way up the mountainside. It was dark. No glow from the vents, lava tubes, or windows broke the gloom under the gate. No bars or obstructions closed off the passage into the heart of Blackhall. It was open, waiting for them. Can you get closer? she urged the dragon. Bonded, I would be away from here.

As would I, my giant. But we must discover a hint of what ambush awaits the fleet. And Sy-wen had no doubt that a trap was set here. Blackhall was a woman lying with her legs spread wide. But what disease was she carrying? Where was the hidden dagger?

/ will try to fly closer, Ragnar'k said, his usual bravado gone. His tension flowed into her.

The dragon tilted on a wingtip and dropped in a plummeting dive toward the dockworks and the open gate beyond. He did not slow as the winds howled past Sy-wen's ears. Ragnar'k clearly wanted to make a fast pass, nothing more. He also maintained the momentum of his fall, ready to use its power to speed a quick escape if necessary.

They skimmed over the scrabble of portside buildings and swept toward the Southern Gate. The fissure into the heart of Blackhall lay dark, towering over them. It had to be a quarter league wide at its base, scaling four times that in height.

As they swept toward the opening, a low droning reached through the wind's howl, drumming deep into her chest. It came from beyond the arched threshold, flowing forth in shivering waves. Ragnar'k began to bank away, buffeted by the sound. No, she sent him. A little closer.

He obeyed, and they flew into the teeth of the droning. It battered at them like a physical wind. Sy-wen's head soon ached from the sound, and other sounds grew muffled.

But deeper inside her skull, something stirred. Strange sensations bloomed. For a fleeting moment, she smelled kelpweed flowers; then flashes of color swam across her vision; then she heard singing, an old lullaby from her mother, even as she felt a familiar stroke across her breast, Kast's touch.

She gasped as the panoply of sensations rode through her. She knew the source of her inner storm it came from the lurker in her skull, writhing with the droning from without.

My bonded' ? The dragon's flight faltered.

Steady, she sent her mount. She would not let the simaltra distract her from her goal. She strained to see what lay beyond the gloom of the gate, but the darkness was complete. She knew that she dared go no closer. But as she began to order Ragnar'k away, that darkness rippled. At first she thought it a trick of her eyes, but she was not sure. She concentrated, trying to pierce the shroud. If she could only see beyond'

Bonded! Beware! The dragon's vision swept over her own, sharpening and crystallizing her eyesight.

Then she saw it, too, and terror clutched her heart. Away! she screamed to her mount.

The dragon needed no further prodding. Ragnar'k swept upward in a tight spiral. As he spun toward the distant heights, the pressure fell from her shoulders. Sy-wen glanced back toward the opening, staring with her newly opened eyes. The lurker did not hide within the darkness under the gate it was the darkness. She watched the blackness ripple again. It was smooth-skinned, filling the monstrous gate from base to pinnacle, a slick of oil poured into the hole, jamming it tight.

As they fled, she sensed the creature staring back at her, ancient and malignant and aware.

Hurry, she gasped into the wind.

Then they were past the fissure and flying over volcanic black stone. Sy-wen clutched her dragon. She appreciated her mount's solidness after seeing what filled the gate below. The fleet had to be warned.

Bac't to the ship!

Ragnar'k banked on a wingtip and swept down the southeastern slopes of the peak, keeping away from the southern port and the sentinel looming over it. Sy-wen found she could breathe again. She hugged tight to her dragon as he glided past smoking cracks and glowing fissures.

Only then did she remember her other duty. She straightened and slipped Rodricko's flowered twig from her waistband. She had promised to wave it within the smoke coming off the peak. Sy-wen considered abandoning this goal, but she spotted a tumble of boulders near the base of the slope, where smoke plumed up in a spiraling font. It was in their direct path.

Ragnar'k,, aim for the smoke ahead. She sent her desire to him.

Wi't ch Star

He grumbled his assent, following her silent directions. His neck flaps tightened to her ankles as he flipped sideways. He glided at an angle, intending to brush near the dark column. Sy-wen stretched her arm as far as it would reach they dared not enter the sick smoke itself. Not only might it scorch with flaming ash, but there was no telling what dread magicks rode that dark current.

Sy-wen thrust the twig near the spouting smoke. Wind whipped her hair. She felt the heat given off by the dark gases, but she kept her arm out. Only a glancing brush, she promised herself; then they'd be away.

Her private thought was acknowledged by the dragon. With infinite skill, Ragnar'k brought them near the smoke close enough for her to reach with her fingers, but out of the column itself.

She held the flower as they banked past the plume. Her hand disappeared into the smoke. The heat struck her immediately as if she had shoved her fist into a roaring hearth. But worst of all, the burn raged up her arm and exploded inside her head, taking her sight with it.

Blind now, she felt the dragon lurch beneath her. They tumbled through the air. Gasping, she curled over her wounded hand.

Then they struck the ground hard.

Jarred by the impact, Sy-wen flew through the air until her shoulder struck something coarse yet yielding. She tumbled to a skidding stop. Her sight slowly returned to her. She pushed to her knees. Sand' blacky sand'

She lifted her head, but nausea swept through her. She lurched forward as her stomach clenched violently. Bile splattered from her mouth and nose. She stayed hunched for an impossibly long time as her entire body became a tightened fist. The flow of gore streamed out of her. She tasted blood on the back of her tongue, but still her body remained clamped. She teetered above a pit of blackness.

Then at last she was released. Like a bowstring pulled too far and snapped, she fell, gasping and choking, to the sand. It took her several breaths to get her vision back. First, it was like staring through the single lens of a spyglass. The world had shrunk to a narrow tunnel. All she saw was a dark strand of sand, the lap of water, scuttling crabs. Dragging up to an elbow, she blinked, and slowly the view widened.

She spotted Ragnar'k a short way down the beach, sprawled half in the shallows of the lagoon. Ragnar'k! she called in a hoarse wheeze.

He lay limp in the green waters, not moving, not breathing.

Dead, her heart rang out. She felt it in her gut and knew it to be true As if sensing her grief, the ground shook under her feet, an ominous rumble.

She forced herself to her knees. Ragnar'k! Her cry echoed over the empty stretch of beach and up the unforgiving slopes of Blackhall. She was alone.

As THE SUN'S FIRST GLOW BRIGHTENED THE MORNING, TVrTJS STOOD WITH HIS

men and the d'warf general atop a granite cliff head. Below them, the Stone Forest tumbled down to the sea as if seeking to drown itself in the gray-green waters. But stretching out from this coast in a single arched span was a volcanic causeway that connected island to forest. It was their goal, a road straight to the Northern Gate.

Through a spyglass, Tyrus searched the volcanic peak. It had been the silent giant in their midst since they entered the Stone Forest, glowing through the night with balefire and spouts of molten rock. Now they faced the jaws of the giant, open and waiting for them.

The Northern Gate was a monstrous cavern opening, a pocked wound in the side of the mountain, darker than the black stone that framed it. The arch of stone the Black Road, as it was named leaned out toward them like a foul tongue.

He lowered his spyglass, his brows pinched. Why were the road and gate unguarded? What trap awaited them?

Tyrus glanced back to the d'warf army, three thousand strong. Covered in ash from head to toe, the columns and lines of d'warves still appeared to be stone. But small movements belied this rocky appearance: the shift of a shield, fingers curling on a sword hilt, the glint of narrowed eyes.

A voice drew his attention forward. There is no way to assault Black-hall by surprise, Wennar said. If they don't know we're here already, they will as soon as we hit the Black Road.

Blyth ran a hand over his bald pate. We'll be exposed on that long road all the way to the island.

We have no choice, Tyrus mumbled. Xin has sent word the fleet moves even now toward the southern piers. We must divide Blackhall's attention. It is our only hope.

Wennar grunted his agreement.

Ready your forces, Tyrus commanded. We'll do as we practiced.

Wennar nodded, but Tyrus read the fear in his eyes. I pray the gift you were granted will be enough, the d'warf said.

It'll have to be, Tyrus thought to himself. He studied the spread of d'warf soldiers. All knew their duties, knew the death they faced, knew that their lives would soon be in his hands. He stared down at his gloved fingers. He prayed they were strong enough to hold so much. How much simpler to be a pirate, where your men knew they'd die bloody and soon. Today so many lives, the lives of good men with families and futures, depended on him. Could he be the prince they needed?

Wennar sounded his horn, and the march began. Ash choked up from the shuffle of a thousand boots. The d'warf army split around the cliff head, like a river around a boulder, and descended the slopes toward the Black Road. With a wave, Wennar descended into the flow, joining his lieutenants, calling out last orders.

Hurl stepped to Tyrus' side, staring out at the stream of armored d'warves. The Magus would have been proud, the Northerner mumbled. Just pray that granite is strong enough to resist what will be thrown at us this day. Tyrus turned to the others. Fletch was already mounted on his small horse, a brown mare to match his bronzed skin. Two quivers of arrows were crossed on his back.

Blyth brought up two more horses. They were all mares, stocky but small. Hill horses, Hurl had named them, buying them from a wary-eyed farmer before entering the Stone Forest.

Tyrus climbed into his saddle, as did Blyth and Hurl. Only Sticks remained on his feet. The hill horses, though stocky, were too small to bear the giant's form if he sat astride them, his feet would drag the ground. Instead, he would keep up as best he could on foot.

Tyrus studied his fellow pirates atop the cliff. He weighed them with his eyes. They remained steady, survivors of many sea battles. Into the teeth of darkness we now go, he said to them stiffly. I would think no one a coward to turn back now.

They stared back at him. Finally, Blyth laughed. Hurl rolled his eyes and slapped Fletch's knee. Fletch flashed a rare grin. Together they turned their horses toward Blackhall. Sticks followed after them.

Blyth walked his horse beside Tyrus. Captain, we're pirates. We've walked the dark path since we were suckling babes. He waved toward Blackhall. We wouldn't miss the chance to join this fight for all the gold in Port Rawl.

Tyrus found a grim smile rise to his own face. Perhaps he had been wrong earlier. Maybe this was a day for pirates, not princes.

And that was fine by him.

Together, the five of them trundled down the hill in the middle of the d'warf brigade. Already the forefront of the d'warf army had reached the edge of the Black Road. They stopped, awaiting the final command. The other d'warves closed ranks behind them.

Wennar appeared out of the throng. At your word, Lord Tyrus.

Standing in his stirrups, Tyrus stared down the length of the black span to the peak beyond. This close, it seemed the world itself ended at that wall of volcanic stone. Spouts of smoke snaked up from cracks and fissures, joining the monstrous plume from the cone, blackening the sky.

Tyrus took a steadying breath. Let it begin.

At his side, Wennar lifted a horn and sounded a sharp note.

With scarcely a pause, the d'warf army mounted the road. The archway was barely wide enough for more than two wagons to pass. Below, the waters were jagged with spears of rock and broken shoals. Death awaited a misstep along the thin span.

In rows of four, the d'warves marched forward, moving swiftly. Column after column followed. Off to the sides, a cadre of other d'warves, armed with spyglasses, watched the waters, the skies, and the peak beyond for any response to their approach. They held horns that curled to their armored shoulders, ready to sound the alarm.

Wennar stood at the edge of the road, nodding to his fellow soldiers, calling out good-natured gibes, patting an occasional d'warf on the shoulder. And still the columns flowed down from the Stone Forest. Not a single soldier broke the steady tread. Slaves for centuries, they were determined at long last to bring their pain and suffering to the door of their former master.

On they marched, four abreast, a flow of armor.

Tyrus shifted in his saddle, the hairs on his neck prickling. Time stretched as the sun, cloaked in slate-gray clouds, climbed the sky. Soldier after soldier streamed past, unwavering. The front of the army was near to halfway across the arch when a sharp, brittle note shattered the tread of the army.

A horn' then another horn' and another.

Tyrus swung around, sighing out the breath he had been holding all morning. From the peak, a pale mist rose from a thousand cubbies and windows and holes. He yanked out his spyglass and quickly focused on the threat.

Through the glass, he watched the rise of pale shapes, winged aloft. They were easy to pick out against the black stone: bony wings and clawed appendages. Even from this distance, their forms promised venom and death.

Tyrus lowered his glass and counted the pale army banking down to defend the Black Road: hundreds, if not thousands.

Skal'tum, Wennar said.

Tyrus knew that with the sun covered by heavy clouds, the creatures would be protected by their dark magicks, impervious to normal weapons. Still, he had anticipated such a scenario. The d'warf weapons had been tainted with skal'tum blood, collected after the War of the Isles. Such treatment would allow their blades to pierce the beasts' dark protections.

One thing was not known, nor tested fully.

He glanced to the men around him. He got the nods he wanted.

Tyrus kicked forward, breaking into the column of d'warves. The army had frozen at the sound of the first horn. Across the volcanic span, the d'warves on the road had taken up their assigned positions.

Of the four in each row, the outer pair of d'warves faced the empty air, each shoulder to shoulder with his neighbor, spears thrust up and out, shields raised overhead and back, touching the raised shield of his partner on the far side. Under this archway of raised shields, the inner pairs of d'warves crouched, ready to act.

Tyrus slid off his horse, peeling back his gloves with his teeth. He spat them on the ground, then crossed to the nearest d'warf, who headed the column of shield men on the road's right side. He saw the fear in the d'warf soldier, a young fellow, new to his armor.

Without flinching, Tyrus met his eyes, trying to instill faith, though the youngster trembled a notch, his raised spear jittering.

Tyrus lifted his right hand and brought it to the d'warf's exposed wrist. From their past trials, skin-to-skin contact worked best, though it wasn't necessary.

Wennar spoke at his shoulder. The skal'tum come!

Tyrus glanced skyward as the flock dove toward the Black Road and the waiting army. Shrieking cries echoed off the water, singing the promise of a bloody death.

With a steadying sigh, Tyrus gripped the young d'warf's wrist. He closed his eyes and touched the granite inside him, unfettering the magick granted to him by the Magus. It was easy to cast, harder to keep in check, and almost impossible to call back.

Now he let it go.

The petrifying magick welled out and into the d'warf in his grip. He watched the man's wrist go to dark granite, then rush over the rest of his body, turning flesh, armor, and weapons into stone. The magick did not stop there, but spread to his neighbor, who stood shoulder to shoulder, and continued down the line of d'warves, one after the other, turning the entire line to stone a solid wall of granite. He fed more and more of his magick into the line, swelling it with petrifying energy.

With nowhere else to go, the magick leaped across the raised shields to flow down the other side, petrifying the column of d'warves posted on the left side, too.

Hurry! Wennar warned.

Tyrus fed a last bolt of energy, prayed it was enough, and broke contact. He fell back gasping, weak in the knees. Before him lay a long tunnel of granite, a passage composed of living statues. Within the tunnel, the remaining d'warves huddled.

Here they come! Wennar shouted.

Stumbling back, Tyrus watched as the skal'tum struck the road, screaming a dreadful cry. But they struck only stone. Many impaled themselves on the festoon of granite spears, crying out and writhing in agony. The more cautious were still blocked by the packed stone soldiers, unable to reach those shielded inside the passage. Claws raked and screams echoed, but the tunnel held.

From within, the huddled d'warves leaped up and jabbed spears at the skal'tum, poking between their stone brothers. Shrieks of blood lust turned to cries of surprise and pain. With careful aim, others shot arrows between the cracks in the shields, striking with cold efficiency, plucking skal'tum from the skies like a rabble of crows.

Sticks appeared with Tyrus' horse. We should hurry; the trick will not last long! The giant offered a hand to Tyrus.

He almost reached to take his friend's hand, then saw the black tint to his own fingers. No! he said hoarsely he dared not be touched yet. The petrifying magick was still ripe in him. Clenching his lips, he concentrated and choked back the magick. Stone slowly too slowly turned to flesh. It took all his will and constant vigilance to keep the magick in check; it was as much a curse as a boon.

With the magick secured for the moment, he mounted.

Wennar lifted a horn, and a piercing blast burst through the morning, sounding the next stage of the assault. He glanced up to Tyrus and his men. May the Mother protect you!

And you and yours, Tyrus replied ritually.

With the alarm raised, the d'warves inside the passage abandoned their attacks on the skal'tum and raced forward toward Blackhall, running under the shields of their brothers. They moved with surprising speed.

Tyrus kicked his horse after them, leading his men down the living

Wi i'ch Star tunnel. Keep your heads down and your arms close to you! he commanded as they entered the stone passage. I'll be sending more petrifying magick into the tunnel, and you won't know when, so don't let your mares brush the shield wall.

And risk being a statue again? Blyth said. Not likely. There's only one part of my body I want turned to hard stone, and that's only when I'm back in one of Port Rawl's brothels.

The quip earned a guffaw from Sticks, who kept pace behind the horses, his head ducked from the arch of raised shields. Wennar led the remaining d'warf army into the passage after them.

Another horn sounded from far ahead. Tyrus sighed with relief. It was the signal he had been waiting for.

He reached a hand out and touched the wall on the right, casting a fresh jolt of energy into the granite. His senses raced with his magick down the line to the end of the tunnel. There, as the horn blast indicated, new guards had joined their brothers, taking up their posts, shoulder to shoulder. The new magick swept over them and petrified the newcomers, extending the reach of the tunnel a few spans closer to the dread mountain.

Tyrus also felt the sick touch of the unfortunate skal'tum who happened to be perched or touching the magick-wrought passage. They, too, were petrified into granite, caught in the spell. A few became a part of the tunnel, grotesque statuary. Others, wings now stone, fell to shatter on the rocky shoals below.

Tyrus broke contact, a tight smile on his lips. Time shrank to a shining moment of the present as he raced on, careful to keep his hands clear of his mount.

Cries reached him both beast and d'warf. Claws scrabbled at him from cracks in the tunnel. But he pulled his sword and hacked at any that drew too near. His steel blade went to stone at some point, but he could not say when. Poisoned blood, green and noxious, steamed along its length.

And still they raced down the tunnel, chased by screams. His horse sweated under him, whinnying with fear. It sidestepped bodies, soldiers poisoned black by the venomous claws of monsters, and fled onward. There was no retreat.

Then distantly another horn sounded, and Tyrus reached out again with his magick. Black fingers brushed stone. Petrifying energy lanced out. Bit by bit, the living tunnel snaked down the Black Road's span, its creep relentless.

Still, Tyrus was not so fooled by their success as to be emboldened. They fled straight toward the looming mountain of dread evils: Blackhall.

A part of him knew they faced their own doom, but he could not help smiling, showing his teeth. He was a pirate after all.

Sy-wen stumbled across the sandy beach toward the prone form of her dragon. Tears flowed. Ragnar'k! she called futilely, knowing the dragon was gone and with him, the man she loved. Her bare feet were cut by the glass-sharp rocks. She ignored the pain, barely felt the burn of salt in the wounds as she splashed through the shallows.

Ragnar'k! she cried again, her heart bursting.

Then a miracle a single claw responded. Then his head lolled in the shallows as he tried to shift'

Her heart surged. Still alive!

Sy-wen stumbled to him, splashing into the deeper waters. The cold of the sea snapped her somewhat back to herself. She stopped with an arm raised toward the dragon as a horrible understanding dawned. She was not touching him' yet he remained a dragon!

She fought against a rising panic. Then she remembered when a similar strange circumstance had occurred before. Shortly before the War of the Isles, Ragnar'k had been struck by lightning in a fierce storm and horribly wounded. Until cured, he had remained in dragon form, even when she wasn't touching him.

Surely the same was happening now.

Ragnar'k lifted his head, wobbly on its long neck. Dark eyes stared down at her.

Sy-wen' ?

The name filled her head, a familiar touch, but it was not Ragnar'k. Kast! She rushed to the dragon's side. What happened?

As her palm touched the heated scales, the world blew out in a whirl of wing and smoke. In a matter of heartbeats, Kast stood before her in the shallows, her palm on his tattoo.

He stood naked, looking down on her, his face wide with surprise. Sy-wen, what ?

Startled, she pulled her hand down. As her fingers left his skin, the magick flared again. She fell into the waters, buffeted back by magick as the dragon reappeared, crouched before her, chest heaving, wings wide in shock.

Sy-wen's brow bunched. What was happening?

The dragon's head swung toward her. Kast? she asked tentatively. Yes, it's me, the answer came to her.

She reached toward the steaming snout. Where's Ragnar'k? Was he injured by the fall from the sky?

The dragon shook his head in a very human way. No. I don't sense him

within me at all.

Are you sure? Maybe he was knocked out.

Sy-wen. The voice was Kast's usual stern firmness. I've lived with the dragon inside me for over two winters. He is not here. He is gone. Sy-wen covered her mouth. How? Touch me, he commanded, extending his neck.

She swallowed back her panic and reached her hand again to the opalescent black scales. She closed her eyes, but still she felt the rush of magick, a flushing from crown to toe. by-wen r

She opened her eyes. Kast stood before her again, her palm on his cheek. He grabbed her hand before she could take it away. Hold tight, he warned. I think the mer'ai spell has somehow reversed itself. Now your touch calls me out of the dragon rather than sending me in it. Don't let go.

She moved to lean against him. She had no problem with this last command. She never wanted to let him go.

What happened? he asked.

In his arms, she told the story of their flight, the empty dockworks, and the lurker in the gate. We were on our way back to the ship.

Is that all?

Sy-wen shook her head. No. Sheeshon's flower' She glanced to the beach. In the black sand, the purple-and-crimson blossom lay in the sand where she had fallen. Rodricko's flower. Sheeshon had a dream that it had to be bathed in the smoke off the mountain.

Why? Kast frowned.

I don't know something to do with helping Hunt. Master Edyll believed it important, maybe prophecy. And since we were headed here anyway' She covered her face with a hand. We shouldn't have attempted it. She explained about the dragon's last flight, the burn of the smoke, the tumble from the sky.

Kast walked with her out of the shallows, hand in hand like any two lovers strolling a beach. He plucked the flower from the black sand.

Sy-wen expected to find the flower a singed ruin, but the purple petals