Steel Dragon

Part Nine

"Act of War"

-Two broken Tigers on fire in the night
-Flicker their souls to the wind
-We wait in the lines for the final assault to begin
-It's been almost four years that I've carried a gun
-At home, it will almost be Spring
-The flames of the Tigers are lighting the road to Berlin. . . .

The rain was turning colder.

I watched it spatter against the glass, noted the small grains of ice scattered here and there within the droplets as they ran down the glass. The rain would become mixed with snow soon, then just snow. I gazed at the little crystals as they reluctantly melted against the warmer body of the car as it rolled through the sere countryside, my thoughts as bleak as the murky gray sky that roiled above us.

The flight had been a grueling one. I spent its entire duration tightly gripping the armrests of my seat, my mood becoming increasingly grim as my mind endlessly inventoried all the weapon systems that could easily vaporize both the little private jet and its contents at any moment. But Dithra had insisted on traveling that way, saying we needed to keep up appearances and other such political insanities. After a small eternity, and more than a little astonishment on my part, we touched-down at a little municipal airport in the American southeast, the airstrip deserted save for the massive black Mercedes and its driver silently awaiting us in the rain.

At the thought, my eyes left their contemplation of the weather to study the back of the driver's neck. Human? Or a young dragon much like Stefan, acting as an agent for his elders? Unknown, and unimportant. The driver hunched his shoulders slightly, as if he could feel my cold regard, and I felt the corner of my mouth twitch upward for a moment. I then looked to my left, at the one who shared the back seat with me. Dithra was gazing out the window on her side, her face pensive, and I took the moment to study her profile and perhaps wonder what she had been like in younger years. Finally she sensed my gaze, turned, and gave me a warm smile of reassurance.

I did not know this place, the one we were approaching along this wet, winding road. All I knew and cared about was that this, at long last, was the day that we would settle this idiotic business once and for all.

One way, or another.

Eventually we turned off onto a private drive. The ribbon of black asphalt curved its way through a winter-naked forest, the trees' black branches dripping in the chill winter rain that still spattered against the car's windows. Silently I scanned the places between the dark boles, searching for movement, perhaps the deadly snout of some weapon, but to my further surprise found nothing. Eventually the trees came to an end, stopping abruptly at the edge of a large, grassy field. In the middle of that field there squatted a huge, boxlike structure that must have been at least two hundred meters on a side and maybe twenty meters to the flat roof. Factory or warehouse, the slab-sided building had a large, weed-infested parking lot flanking it, next to a business sign whose center panel had long-since surrendered to the elements, leaving an anonymous frame to quietly rust in the rain.

There were more than a few cars already sitting in the lot; dark, massive, expensive machines, each with its own driver either sitting at the wheel or standing next to their vehicle. I felt those drivers' eyes upon us as our own transportation rolled to a stop before the building's entrance and our driver got out to open Dithra's door for her. While he was busy with that I opened my own and stepped out into the rain, pausing to scan the faces of those silent chauffeurs. A few would meet my eyes; many dropped their gaze uncomfortably to the pavement at their feet. The remainder stared coldly past me, as if I didn't exist. I chuckled humorlessly at a private, equally humorless thought from my human side, then turned to offer my arm to Dithra as we prepared to make our way up the broad concrete steps.

The little blue awning that began at the top of the steps had seen better days, but at least it held off the rain. The entrance itself consisted of a pair of glass office doors, flanked by a pair of large, conservatively-clad, somber-looking gentlemen with eyes as cold as the weather. Dithra's chin lifted slightly as she met their gaze with one equally as chill, one eyebrow arching upward in silent inquiry. A moment passed, then both guardians' gazes dropped, and thick hands reached over to pull the doors open for us.

What lay just inside the doors looked to be the gutted remains of a corporate lobby; dirt and various bits of anonymous trash littered the expensive marble-tiled floor, and lighter-shaded patches on the stained walls marked where pictures had once hung. Neither Dithra nor I paused to admire the decor, however, passing quickly through and down a short hallway to pause at a large door at the far end. The Eldest looked at me, a slight smile hovering about her lips. I smiled back, then gestured respectfully. After you. She nodded her head in acknowledgement, went through the door. I paused for the count of ten for Dithra to get herself situated, then walked through myself.

The doorway led out onto a vast factory floor, brightly lit by overhead mercury arcs, and vacant save for the occasional scarring of the concrete floor where heavy machinery once stood. To my immediate right I felt an enormous presence, but rather than risk another humiliating freeze I did not look in that direction. Instead, I closed my eyes and concentrated, and soon the nauseating, welcome pain of bones bending into different shapes swept over me. Sounds and smells grew richer and more intense, then my forelegs hit the floor with their usual thump. Another handful of seconds as I felt myself expand to my normal size, then I opened golden eyes to finally look upon Lady Dithra in her natural form, my long neck bending in another gesture of respect. "My Lady?" I said at last.

Dithra's massive head dipped in reply, her eyes of gold-flecked emerald warm as they gazed at me. Then she paused, and something tickled at the back of my thoughts. <. . . . ?>

I blinked, my mane jangling quietly as I gave my head a small shake. Then I realized what had just happened. "I'm sorry, my Lady," I responded "but I'm not very good at that. I have found that I'm very nearly 'deaf' to it, and the only way I've found to 'speak' in that manner is with the help of . . ." I glanced around ". . . a certain item."

Dithra rumbled regretfully, then paused to activate her torque. "Forgive me, young Hasai; I had hoped--" she trailed off, looking at me thoughtfully. "Well, you are indeed still quite young. Perhaps the gift of silent speaking will come to you more fully as you mature. I must admit it would have been quite useful, today," the huge dragoness finished wryly. She made a small gesture with an armored forepaw. "For now, however, both our allies and our adversaries await. Shall we?" I turned and followed Dithra as she padded her way toward the other side of the factory floor, where several groups of dragons stood watching us in the distance.

The building's main floor was so broad, it actually took a bit of time to make our way across it. I used that time to study the crowd. And crowd it was; I never thought I'd see so many dragons in one spot, all of them at least approaching Elder stature, if not well into it, the fading rumble of their conversations a vibration beneath my feet. The largest of the three groups consisted of the clans that had decided to side with us. I recognized several of the dragons in this bunch, with some small surprise spotting Tin'na'tak standing toward the rear. I caught his eye as we approached and nodded my respects, which he seemed a little startled to be on the receiving end of. Soberly, he nodded back.

The next group over were the smallest of the three. From the way they carefully stood apart from the other two, I suspected they were the last of the fence-sitters, or "the undecided," as Lady Dithra more diplomatically put it. I gave them a careful once-over, then ignored them, my attention drawn to the last group.

Ahnkar. It had been a while since I last saw the big, brown and green-banded dragon, not that I'd ever forget him. He was turned away from me at the moment, evidently trying to quell a squabble among some of the dragons ranked behind him. Several seconds later he turned back, and our gazes met with an almost physical impact. His eyes widened, muscles tensing in alarm. I couldn't help it; immediately my lips began to pull back into a carnivore's deadly grin. Eyes locked on my prey's, I felt my body begin to gather itself--

"Hasai! Not here! Not now!" Dithra hissed.

I blinked, finally noticed the hulking shapes that had begun shifting to the fore of Ahnkar's camp, eyes studying me intently. I sensed the trap, realized how close I was to destroying all of Dithra's careful work. Slowly I relaxed my posture, gave the apprehensive Eldest of the Council a small, ironic gesture of respect, then deliberately turned my back on him.

Dithra was studying me as well; I dipped my head slightly in apology. She hesitated for a moment more, then finally turned to greet the huge gray dragoness who stood at the fore of our clique. The elder dragoness, politely ignoring our momentary exchange, gestured a respectful welcome then began saying something in the growl-purr-hiss-click language of the dragons. She paused, however, when Dithra made a small gesture and looked to me. "Dear one, should I request--?"

I gave her a slight smile, nodded my thanks. "That won't be necessary, my Lady." I reached up with a single talon and tapped a certain, much-modified pattern laboriously etched into one of my scales. The pattern began to glow with a blue-black light, and after a moment I continued, this time using speech that fit my fanged jaws much more comfortably. "With the help of the one known as Stefan, I have not spent these past days unprofitably." I turned, gave the gray dragoness a small bow. "Your pardon, my Lady, if my words are less than perfect. I have found little chance as of yet to master our people's manner of speaking, and so I must resort to hasty artifice."

The Elder studied the softly glowing pattern for a moment, her eyes glinting with sharp interest. "Impressive, young one; quite impressive." Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and her gaze, if not particularly warm, also wasn't as cool as it was earlier. "That you would go to such effort says much about you, all of it good. Young Hasai, you may call me Sakiss. I am privileged to be considered Eldest of the Naatahn clan. You doubtlessly know us as the clan that guards the southern edge of Lady Dithra's territory." She paused minutely, then continued. "If I may be so bold as to inquire, I understand you and yours had a brief encounter with those who protect the Lady's eastern approaches, the people of the Sstahn clan, recently."

I gestured in the affirmative, thinking fast. "A chance encounter, yes, my Lady. The situation was concluded honorably and without incident, thanks to the one known as Tin'na'tak."

"Ah," replied Sakiss, her eyes growing thoughtful "then I shall convey your thanks, as well as that of clan Naatahn to the Eldest of the Sstahn, young Hasai. Tin'na'tak bore a great burden of honor in this instance, and evidently bore it well." The elder gave me a bow and gesture, both acknowledgement and dismissal, then turned to speak further with Dithra. "All is in readiness, my Lady," Sakiss murmured respectfully. "The Council is gathered by the request of the greater of strengths of the clans, and will hear your voice." She paused, then continued "We have also taken steps, in the event certain members of the Council decide upon something . . . rash."

Dithra glanced at me; I suppressed a knowing smirk. "I thank you, Lady Sakiss," Dithra replied. "We should not delay then. If you would honor us by beginning the audience?"

Sakiss dipped her head in acknowledgement, then turned and began to head for where the group representing Ahnkar's Council stood. Dithra and I trailed along behind her at a discreet distance, and she used the opportunity to quietly speak with me. "That was well done, young one; now Sakiss will wonder if we have a special understanding with the Sstahn, and will strive to put her people before them in our favor. Very well done. Now, however, it is my turn to speak, and mine alone. Ahnkar and others of the Council will try to provoke you, to have you give them an excuse to deal with you directly. You must not allow it. If you give them that excuse, or if you accept the onus of First Strike, we will have lost everything."

I nodded; it was the third time Dithra had warned me about this, though I diplomatically omitted pointing it out. For some reason, it felt good to know that even Lady Dithra could be a little nervous. . . .

"A voice wishes to be heard."

At Lady Sakiss' thunderous announcement, what little conversation that hadn't already faded away as she approached the Council now abruptly cut off. In the midst of the other Council members Ahnkar sat at ease, his eyes glittering coldly as he looked at the clan Eldest. "And to whom does this voice belong?" he asked.

"The voice is that of the Lady Dithra, former Eldest of the Council."

There was a murmur at the mentioning of Dithra's previous status, and Ahnkar's gaze grew even colder. Evidently the goading could go both ways-- "We will hear her speak," he intoned, and all eyes swung to us.

Dithra quietly took a deep breath and stepped forward. Sakiss bowed to her, deeply, then moved aside so Dithra could take her place. The gray-green dragoness settled herself while I took position to her left-rear, then she paused to scan the ranks of the Council. Her gaze finally settled on a spot roughly two meters above Ahnkar's head, as if the one who was supposed to be sitting in Ahnkar's place were somewhat . . . larger. "I wish to regain the position of Eldest upon the Council," she stated without preamble.

A sigh rippled through those assembled. Ahnkar simply stared stonily at Dithra until it faded. "And what is the strength behind this?" he asked, still following tradition's script.

Too easy, the wraith seething at the bottom of my soul whispered. He's up to something. I began scanning the crowd, searching for the assault that was sure to come as Dithra replied. "The greater of strengths within the clans, and within the Council."

"No! I will not permit this! This is an abomination!" Everyone blinked at the sudden outburst, turned to see Ksstha shouldering his way forward until he stood in front of the other Council members. A battle-scarred forepaw lifted to stab accusingly at Lady Dithra. "Reject her! Reject this . . . traitor!"

The epithet brought shocked hisses, and I tensed, readying myself for Ahnkar's gambit. But the banded dragon glared at Ksstha and made an abrupt slicing motion, dismay and irritation rippling across his form. "Lord Ksstha, this is not your time to speak. You will--"

"She consorts with humans!" snarled the ancient warrior "She gives them our secrets!" then the forepaw swung to point to me. "She has even brought one with her into our midst! Reject her! Destroy these ones who would doom us all!"

"You will be silent, or you will withdraw, Ksstha." Ahnkar thundered at his ally, his reaction leaving me totally at sea. Why? Why was Ahnkar trying to stifle Ksstha? If Ksstha successfully slandered me, then Dithra's power base would be seriously damaged. Ahnkar's actions made no sense--

"I have brought a human, Lord Ksstha?" Dithra smoothly interrupted, making a show of turning and examining my form closely. "Strange; Hasai certainly looks like a dragon," she murmured, drawing a ripple of amusement from our audience. "Are you a dragon, Hasai?"

Playing along, I bent my long neck around and gave myself a careful once-over. "It would seem so, Lady Dithra," I replied mildly, creating more amusement.

"No! It's form is dragon, but it's spirit is not! It's spirit is human! It is an abomination that must be destroyed!"

Now, that was a pretty steep insult, and in front of the most unimpeachable group of witnesses anyone could ever hope for. I now had perfect grounds for calling Ksstha out, right then and there, but as Dithra had asked, I remained silent.

"Hasai's spirit is not dragon?" purred Dithra, "And just how would you know anything about the state of Hasai's spirit, Lord Ksstha?"

That brought him up short. Huge reptilian eyes of every color imaginable glittered as they focused upon Ksstha, watched intently as he opened his jaws, glanced about himself, then closed them again. He was dangerously close to the edge. Rumors had circulated among the dragons regarding the encounter between Ksstha and myself in the jungles of Panama; Dithra had made sure of that. But without witnesses, against an elder dragon, that's all they would ever be. Rumors. Unless, however, he said just one more word, admitting his deeds not only before the Council but before the assembled elders of the clans. If he stated just how he knew, confessed to the use of a soul snare in an attempt to enslave another dragon, the only way Ksstha would leave this place would be in very small pieces.

Ksstha may indeed have sought death, but he would not throw his life away for nothing. In the end, his head drooped, his form sagging in defeat. "I will withdraw," he grated, each word sounding like it had to be dragged bodily from his jaws. "I . . . apologize . . . for my lack of manners." Without another word he turned and slowly limped from the room, his burning eyes fixed upon the concrete beneath his feet.

Ahnkar watched him leave, then the banded dragon's eyes turned to meet mine, a question in their depths. I met that gaze, my expression grimly neutral, letting him come to his own conclusions as to the truth to the rumors. He winced visibly, his eyes dropping.

Swell allies you have there, Ahnkar. Been feeling like you need to take a bath, lately?

It took several moments for the current Council Eldest to get his thoughts back in order, but eventually he did, his gaze returning to Lady Dithra. "And what is the complaint against the one currently holding the position you desire?"

Damn it, he's still going by the rules! What the hell does he have? my human side raged. Only half-listening to the debate, my eyes studied draconic faces, postures, the area immediately surrounding Ahnkar. It has to be here somewhere, close at hand. . . .

"Our complaint against you, Ahnkar, is in your handling of the problem of the humans," replied Dithra, finally abandoning that third-person nonsense. "You would, in your own words, have us launch ourselves at them blindly, to hopelessly die with our fangs locked in their throat. The major strength in both the Council and in the clans find this to be a pointless gesture of revenge, and seek another way. My alternative, though many may choke on it, at least offers some scrap of the hope that your way does not. This is our complaint."

There! Between Ahnkar's forelegs! See that ripple? It's that damned illusion of empty air again! Shit! What could Ahnkar be hiding there, some sort of weapon? No; dragons don't use . . . what the hell is it? I jerked my eyes to Dithra, started to open my jaws to shout a warning, then yanked them shut again when a full dozen of the dragons surrounding Ahnkar tensed, their eyes staring at me expectantly. Damn it, I couldn't stop this, not without giving Ahnkar the excuse he so desperately needed. Gnashing my teeth, I kept silent as I watched that small ripple in the air between Ahnkar's forelegs, every muscle quivering as I waited for the explosion.

Ahnkar had seen my agitation and had paused for a moment, waiting to see if I would commit myself. When I didn't he continued, a faint mocking tone creeping into his voice. "If I may respectfully differ with you, Lady Dithra, I believe that it is not that I intend to make war upon the humans that troubles many, but rather whether we possess the means to succeed in such a war. If we did not possess those means, then any war I would think to launch could quite possibly be hopeless, as you have charged. However . . ." The banded dragon lifted a forepaw, made a small gesture, and the small, rippling distortion in the air between his forelegs fell apart, revealing what lay hidden within. ". . . those means are available to us."

The floor beneath my feet made a scrunch sound, chips of broken concrete sent flying as my talons dug in. I stared in horror at the human toddler, wearing a little plaid dress that had seen far better days, sitting in front of Ahnkar and looking for all the world like a mouse between the forepaws of a lion.

ANNA!

Again Ahnkar paused, his eyes glinting expectantly at me as he waited for me to break protocol and give him his victory. Trembling like a horse in a thunderstorm, I forced myself to subside. The Council Eldest gave me a disappointed look, then continued. "There have been many setbacks; this I freely admit. At times we were tempted to despair, to believe that the Ancestors themselves had turned against us. Then we find her." He looked down at Anna, his gaze almost loving. The little girl didn't react, but continued to look straight ahead, her eyes half-closed and her expression faintly puzzled.

Suddenly finding herself in unknown skies, Dithra had given me a startled, questioning look when I'd reacted to Anna. Now she turned back to the banded dragon. "We fail to see precisely how a small human child scarcely past her first Spring supports your cause, Lord Ahnkar," she temporized, struggling to understand the situation.

"No?" Ahnkar queried, his mocking tone growing stronger. He lifted a forepaw and studied it as one of his claws glowed, then flared brightly with a fierce nimbus of red-orange Power. Without a word, he then swung that deadly claw downward, directly at Anna's somnolent form before I could react.

There was a brilliant flash and an earsplitting crack, then Ahnkar was yanking his forepaw away, quietly hissing in pain. There was a stunned moment of silence, then an amazed murmur started around us as everyone stared at the eye-searingly bright skein of blue-black Power that wrapped protectively about the tiny child for a few seconds more before fading back into invisibility. "Then perhaps we should ask the one known as Hasai why he went to such great lengths to conceal and protect this child," he thundered.

Dithra stared at Anna, then turned to look at me, her eyes filled with consternation. That murmur about us increased in volume, and I could almost feel the power blocs in the room beginning to shift and realign, like sand sifting beneath my feet as Ahnkar continued. "This little one is indeed small, but she most certainly possesses the blood of the Lung; possibly even more strongly than Hasai himself does." His eyes lifted, slowly scanned the room. "We have indeed had setbacks, but we still move forward. It will take longer than we hoped just a short time ago, but in the end we will have the children that we need, to both replenish our race and to act as our fangs and claws when we wrest our homelands back from the accursed humans!"

Cannon fodder. Forever cannon fodder, whispered the dark wraith, its words sad instead of sarcastic for once as the mutterings around us grew steadily louder. I shook my head; the motion caught Ahnkar's eye, and the Council Eldest's head swung to me, his eyes studying me for a long moment before he spoke. "Unless she decides to press her case, we will allow the Lady Dithra to withdraw." He glanced dismissively at the silently seething Dithra, then once again back to me, his gaze growing intent. "The way will be difficult, and much grief will be ours before we taste victory," the banded dragon said in a quieter voice. He glanced down at the toddler he surrounded so protectively with his forelegs. "In the end, we will comprehend and overcome her defenses, young Hasai, and then she will learn much that no child should have to know, of war, of pain, of loss." He paused, then signaled regret, his eyes never leaving mine. "Her ordeal would be greatly reduced, however, if there were others of her blood with her, to support her, and perhaps shield her altogether from what must come. What say you, young Hasai? Will she fly alone, or will you be there with her?"

Damn him, was he actually trying to get me to switch sides this late in the game? At least I now knew why the Council had never attempted the last-ditch assault I was so sure they would launch; they were far too busy back-tracing through my family tree. I stared at Ahnkar, and for long seconds all I could think of was how bitterly I regretted not killing him when I had the chance. At last given permission to speak, I opened my jaws. "Children. Why is it always the children with you, Lord Ahnkar?"

The banded dragon flinched at that, and several of his faction hissed angrily. A slight motion from him and they subsided. He gave me a steady look, then lifted his head higher, exposing his throat and the scars marking it. "Remember this, young Hasai? You had a chance at it once, and you will have a chance at it again, someday, when I can afford to answer for the pain I have caused." Ahnkar lowered his head, his eyes boring into mine. "In the meantime, we have asked you a question. We await your answer."

I stared at him, my mind ice, my heart ice, my very spirit ice. Ahnkar. To me, his very name brought images of a shattered egg, dismembered infants, and of a Quetzalcoatl with feathers of opalescent green and eyes of gold lying limply in the mud with her throat torn out. Children whom I hadn't seen leave their shells and greet the sun, and a daughter whom I would never see at all. A soldier with haunted eyes, who rarely smiled and spoke more rarely still. All these I laid at his feet. Stealing away my niece to use as a pawn in the pursuit of his twisted dream was the last straw, the final act of war. Yes; I indeed had an answer for the banded dragon.

From out of the past, echoing like a voice in a fevered dream, Dithra's words came back to me from a conversation we had not all-that long ago. If you wish to declare Blood Feud . . . know that I will place both myself and all of my resources at your disposal. . . .

Blood Feud. A war between bloodlines, to the death. Dithra had fought to prevent this from the day I first mentioned the term to her, and had failed. Here, now, alone against Ahnkar and all his kin and allies, I knew I hadn't a prayer. But still, as I looked into his eyes, I also knew that I could at least take him with me. Let Justice be done, even if the heavens fall. . . .

"Do not, young one," murmured Ahnkar in a strangely sympathetic voice, seemingly reading my thoughts. "My death is sure, that I will admit. But you will most assuredly fall as well, and all that must be will still occur, only without you there to protect those whom you cherish. I beseech you, young Hasai; do not."

I stared at him, then my eyes dropped to gaze blindly at the scarred concrete between my feet. The vast room had quieted to the point of almost total silence, save for the occasional movements of large, armored bodies as they awaited my answer. Beside me I could feel Dithra's anguished presence, but for all the help she could offer me now, she might as well have been on the far side of the moon. I felt despair eating at my heart.

I was alone. Again.

. . . . If you wish to declare Blood Feud . . . .

I thought of Ashadh, Dahiric, of the humans whom I'd known and cared for, and, finally, of Pasqual. I said goodbye to them all. Then I lifted my head, stared bleakly into Ahnkar's waiting face, that old, dark, nihilistic joy flooding into me, my fangs baring themselves in a carnivore's grin as I prepared to give him my answer; one that would rock the world and everything living upon it.

-And I wonder when I'll be home again
-And the morning answers "never"
-And the evening sighs and the steely Russian skies
-Go on. . . .
-. . . .Forever. . . .

There is another way.

I blinked, closed my jaws on the words I had been so very close to speaking as the dark wraith that was my human half began throwing information at me, knowledge gleaned from a dozen conversations with Stefan, and in particular one long evening as I lay deathly ill in Dithra's abode. Slowly I rose to my feet, my posture shifting to a far more formal, far older one, one designed to send just one message. Challenge.

"Whose head is held highest here?"

Dead silence, then a long sibilance as dozens of draconic throats drew a sudden breath at the sound of those ancient words. Ahnkar sat immobile, his form still as stone, his eyes pools of disbelief. Dithra stared at me in utter astonishment. A savage grin fought to stretch the corners of my hard mouth as that black joy soared within me. I said it again.

"Whose head is held highest here?"

The Second Call. Part of three, in a ritual older than the Council, older than the war, very nearly as old as the Blood Feud. It was a ritual from a time when Reason did not reign among the dragons, but instead raw force held sway. Purest power.

"Whose head--"

"Mine is the head that is held highest here," Ahnkar thundered, at the last possible moment before he lost all by default, the words dragged out of him as his eyes filled with dread.

"Then I Challenge thee," I intoned. "I Challenge thee for thy power, I Challenge thee for thy position, I Challenge thee for thy clan."

"I accept thy Challenge," the banded dragon rumbled, as if he had a choice, the dread in his eyes rapidly being replaced with anger. "Name the place and time of thy doom."

I paused for a tiny moment, thoughts racing, then answered. "The place will be where the one known as Tin'na'tak preserved his clan's honor, the time is when the moon is once again dark. There and then is where I shall take all from thee."

"So be it," snarled Dithra's usurper. "I look forward to thine ending."

"Of that, I have little doubt," I murmured sardonically. And now," I straightened from that so-very formal posture, turned my back on Ahnkar and faced Dithra "I believe we shall take our leave."

"Hasai!" Dithra hissed, her eyes darting about. "Have you any idea what you have done?"

"Taken the velvet glove off the steel fist, my Lady," I replied, then chuckled darkly at her expression of confusion, my eyes also tracking the muscle that was fanning out from around Ahnkar's seething form, moving to surround us. Similar movements began among the clans. "And, since the gloves are indeed off, I do think we should get the hell out of here."

With that, I summoned the sphere of the Lung. It materialized before me with its usual snap, along with more than a few astonished hisses from our audience. I secured a good grip on Dithra while I reached for the sphere--

--Only to get a face-full of flame from one of Ahnkar's charging goons. I jerked my head back, blinking frantically, getting my sight back just in time to see one of our attackers right on top of us, the hulking brown and black dragon lifting a paw to swat the sphere out of her way--

The instant the dragon's paw came into contact with the sphere, Time seemed to slam to a halt for her. For the rest of us, the air itself turned gelatinous as a shock wave visibly rippled outward from the point of contact, rocking us with its force. From the sphere a low keening whine began, rising in both pitch and amplitude, sounding to my ears very much like a military jet engine spooling up. The sphere's light grew brighter, the glow spreading to engulf its helplessly frozen victim. Soon both were shining like miniature suns, too bright to look upon, the keening sound so intense that many dragons were flinching back in pain--

Then, just as abruptly as it began, it ended. The sound cut off, the light winked out. We blinked the dazzle out of our eyes, looked back to see the sphere returned to its usual softly glowing self, floating serenely in mid-air as if nothing had ever happened. Ahnkar's agent, however, had vanished without a trace.

For several long seconds all of us stared at the spot where she had once stood, then I cleared my throat. "Well," I rumbled, "so much for that one." I lifted my head, gave the surrounding dragons a feral grin. "Does anyone else here wish to get in our way? . . . . No? I didn't think so." I gave a deeply shaken Ahnkar his own dose of that grin, then once again turned to Dithra. "And now, my Lady, we shall take our leave." With no further ado, I grabbed the sphere and popped it into my mouth, that feeling of connection coming over to me as I reached out to touch the Eldest and thought of a little municipal airport.

Snap.

It was fortunate that nobody at the airstrip was around to see a pair of dragons suddenly pop into existence between two hangars, nor witness them quickly shift into human guise. Dithra glanced about us, then rounded on me with a look that could have slagged chromium steel at fifty meters.

"Um, I'll go look for our crew--"

"You will not," the Eldest snapped. She stared at me, oblivious to the rain, emerald eyes simmering, her head shaking slightly as if she refused to believe what she saw. "You really have no idea what you have just done, do you, young one?"

I caught Dithra's deliberate emphasis on the word young, which isn't exactly complementary among dragons. I returned her gaze with one of my own. "Ahnkar has my niece, Dithra. I could not stand there and do nothing."

"Your niece," Dithra repeated, then paused, her eyes never leaving mine. "Is she one of us?"

I thought for a moment, remembering the glow of Power I had seen within the child on that dark night in Georgia. "I believe so."

"Then why--" Dithra cut off, held herself silent until she regained control. "Why did you not tell me?" she finally asked through clenched teeth.

I looked at the seething elder dragon for several long seconds. Because it was none of your damned business, I was tempted to answer. Instead, "Dithra, you had just been deposed, and we were on the run when I discovered her. I did not want to drag her into our mess, especially when it looked as if we would not win," I replied at last.

"And since?" Dithra shot back.

"The subject never had a chance to surface," I replied evenly, "and we have not yet won this battle."

"Battle. Yes, it will indeed be a battle, young one; one that will be remembered for as long as dragons live," growled the Eldest, switching back to the original topic. "Why did you issue Challenge?"

"We were going to lose, Dithra; we both know that. Issuing a Challenge to Ahnkar was the only thing I could think of to do, short of declaring Blood Feud."

The ancient dragon stared at me. Then, finally, a hand lifted to rub wearily at her eyes, a grim chuckle forcing its way from within her. "Oh, Hasai. Young, young Hasai. Do you truly think that Ahnkar was the only one that you Challenged?"

I blinked at her, and suddenly the Eldest was right in my face. "The Challenge applies to all who hear it, you fool!" she raged. "Both the Council and all the clans were gathered at that place! You have Challenged not only the Council Eldest, but also every member of the Council and the Eldest of every single one of the clans!"

I stared at her, a small, sick feeling starting in the pit of my stomach. "Then, on the next dark of the moon. . . ."

"You fight them all!"

I opened my mouth, closed it again, then licked my lips. Finally, I said the only thing that I could think of for something like this.

"Oops."

Dithra looked at me for several moments more, then her gaze dropped and she turned away. "Hasai, please find our pilot," she asked, her voice weary beyond measure "We need to be away from this place, and I need . . . . And I very much need to not look upon you for some small while."

It didn't take me long to find our crew. That was perhaps a lucky thing, for even as we taxied onto the runway I spotted several cars pulling up at the edge of the ramp. Coincidence, or pursuit? Healthy paranoia dictated that I assume the latter. It was too late for it to matter, however, as our plane was already hurling itself down the strip and into the lowering skies.

After several tries at bringing Dithra out of her black funk failed, I gave up and allowed the remainder of the trip to pass in a deadly silence. Finally I shook myself out of my own fugue, forced myself to stop wondering how it had all spun out of control so quickly and start thinking of a way out of this mess. A little rummaging about the cabin produced an old steno pad that had seen better days, and with both that and a pen I mooched from the pilot I used the quiet time to begin doodling some thoughts on the subject.

The plane touched-down at last. As we began the slow taxi back to the terminal I closed the steno pad and carefully scanned the ramp, searching for trouble but finding only Stefan and Luce standing at the terminal fence, waiting for us. I breathed a small sigh of relief, then turned to Dithra. "My Lady, enough of this. I need more information. Is the ranch threatened?"

Dithra remained silent for a few moments more, then finally spoke, her eyes studying her folded hands. "No. The clans' agreements are with me, not you. Were it otherwise, everything there would already be lost."

"So it's still safe for me there?" I pressed.

Dithra's eyes rose to meet mine, but her gaze was cold, cold. "Until the dark of the moon. After that, should you lose your Challenge, or fail to appear, there is no place in all the world where you will be able to find sanctuary."

As certain of her words sunk in, I felt my own gaze grow chill. "I have been called many things in my life, my Lady, many of them accurate," I rumbled. "But no one has ever made the mistake of calling me a coward."

Dithra continued to meet my eyes for several long moments, but finally her gaze dropped. "You are correct," she sighed at last "that was uncalled for." The Eldest lifted a hand, used it to cradle her forehead, and for the very first time since the night I first met her, Dithra looked old. "Hasai, what are we going to do? You cannot possibly--"

"My Lady, please refresh my memory," I interrupted before Dithra could relapse into her funk. "What are the rules of the Challenge?"

"Rules?" There was a pause, then something that sounded almost like a strangled chuckle. "There is only one rule, dear one. The victor takes all. Even life, if he so desires. The vanquished either yields or dies, and quite possibly dies anyway."

I nodded, my sight drifting past Dithra's face to rest on the richly upholstered cabin wall, thinking. Finally I smiled, and from the feel of it, the smile was not a pleasant one. "My kind of rules," I purred.

Dithra paused, then looked up at me with the sort of look one usually reserves for the mentally unbalanced. "Dear one, what are you--"

"Going to do?" I finished for her, that smile still in place. "I'm going to do what any good soldier does, my Lady. I'm going to stack the deck."

-Face up, or you can only back down
-Hit the target, or you better hit the ground
-Still time to turn this game around
-Turn it up, or turn that wild card down
-TURN IT UP!!!

It took all of about two seconds for Luce and Stefan to read our expressions when the little jet's door popped open and we stepped out at last; read our expressions, and immediately go to DEFCON-1. Without a word, both immediately scanned our surroundings, then quickly began hustling us toward our waiting car.

"No, can't go that way." Both warriors paused, looked at me as I shook my head. "It's open-season on my ass, and we'll probably get jumped on the way through the clan areas."

"My Lord?" began Stefan, "Should we then take--"

"No, we're still going to the ranch; it itself is still safe. But we're going there the quick way." I looked about us, ignoring the uneasy glance Stefan shared with Luce. "First we need some privacy. . . . There." I pointed to a nearby hangar, began to quickly walk toward it. The others quickly caught up, Stefan silently taking point.

As luck would have it, there was someone in the hangar. An elderly aircraft mechanic paused in his work on the right nacelle of a twin-engine Beech to give us a puzzled look as we strode past, but said nothing at first as Stefan quickly located an office door at the rear of the hangar and headed for it. There was a slight pause at the door, then Stefan's shoulders hunched slightly and I heard the sound of tearing metal as the door's lock failed.

"Hey! You can't go in there!" I looked back to see the mechanic stepping around the nacelle and walking toward us, an alarmed expression on his weathered face. Quickly we stepped into the thankfully deserted office and shoved the damaged door shut behind us, and I immediately closed my eyes and reached for my true form. A long moment's worth of pain, and then my forelegs hit the floor with their usual thump. Seconds later the sphere of the Lung snapped into existence before me, and I seized it in my jaws while the others got a good grip on my armored form. Then there was a rattle from the door, and even as I thought of a distant ranch house lost in the mountains, I saw the door's knob turn, the door begin to open. . . .

Snap.

All three of my passengers staggered, Stefan once again going down to one knee when we popped back into existence in front of our battered little cabin. I didn't have time to wait for them to recover, however, as I quickly scanned the tree lines, then the cabin for trouble. Seeing none, I quickly headed for the cabin, my paws kicking up little white clouds from the dry, powdery snow as I hurried.

I barged through the door so abruptly that Pasqual instantly bounced to her feet from her usual spot in front of our children's nest, her muscles bunched and her wings half-unfurled as she braced for an attack. She blinked when she saw it was me, relaxing slightly. "My Lord? Is there something wrong?"

I gave my head a shake, then replaced it with the proper draconic gesture. "Not immediately," I rumbled, much to her dismay. "No; neither you nor the children are in immediate danger. I need to speak with Deebs. He around?"

"Deebs," Pasqual echoed blankly, then her head lifted with understanding. "Ah; the noisy one. He is in the, ah, the place where prey were kept."

Place where. . .? Oh; the barn. "Thank you." I turned myself around and headed out the door, but paused when Pasqual gestured. "Yes?"

"My lord--" she hesitated, then continued "is there something with which I may assist?"

I eyed her for several long seconds, felt a twinge of surprise when I realized she meant it. "Yes," I replied at last "a little later, I may need you to show me some things."

She looked at me for a moment, her thoughts unreadable, then gestured acknowledgement. I hesitated, but then yanked my thoughts back to the task at hand and went out the door.

Deebs was indeed in the barn, where both he and Grease were busy assembling some metal components with the help of a TIG welder the two of them had scrounged from somewhere. I had a word with them, and they in turn gathered the balance of our people for a council of war in the cabin. Once there, I told them the long, sad story.

Fields, as was often the case, summed up the entire situation with a single word. "Shit."

"Yeah," I responded, shaking my head. "I just didn't know what else to do. So, I just . . . declared war. I don't know. Maybe there was something else I could have done, but I don't know what, short of tossing Anna to the wolves, and from the feel of things in that place, that wouldn't have worked either." I rubbed my hands together, a far corner of my mind noting how strange it seemed not to feel the rasp of metallic scales. I looked at our former Stasi agent. "What else could I have done, Stefan? Was there any other way out?"

Stefan looked at me for a moment, his eyes holding a silent message of sympathy for my predicament. Then those eyes dropped as his expression became pensive. "No, my Lord," he responded at last "none that I can think of. Not, and still retain your honor." Immediately he turned and raised a placating hand to Dithra, who was rousing herself to the issue. "My Lady, please, hear me out. I know you spent much time, effort, and political capital to assemble the greater strength that was needed to oust Ahnkar, but that strength was based upon that of the clans, and we all know how fickle the clans can be, do we not? My Lady, what was the feel of the gathering? Was our strength firm, or was it shifting, as so-often happens with the clans?"

The agent paused, studying the play of emotions across Dithra's face. "I see. My Lady, what else could Lord Hasai have done, short of declaring Blood Feud? The Ancestors themselves would acknowledge he had ample grounds for it if he had, and yet he stopped short of that. Why do you think he did so?" Stefan looked at me for a moment, and that glance held far more respect than I could ever hope to earn. "Because, I believe, he knew that Blood Feud ends in nothing but destruction and death, no matter how satisfying revenge might seem at the moment.

"What Lord Hasai did was something that was far more important than a brief satisfaction. He bought us time. With enough time, one can surmount any obstacle, even this one, and that is something I learned from the humans." He paused, then added as an afterthought "Curious, isn't it, the places where one can find wisdom?" he asked wryly.

There was a long moment after Stefan had finished that I just sat there and looked at him, a smile slowly working its way across my face. "There have been times," I said at last "when I've wondered what the world would be like if it were run by spooks and soldiers, rather than by diplomats and politicians. Stefan, you make me believe it just might be a nicer place to live. Or," I added "at least far more honest."

A small, wry smile came to Stefan's own face, and he bowed slightly. "If that was a compliment, my Lord, then I thank you."

I gave him my own small smile, then turned back to the others. "Now let's make use of the time we have. Deebs, do you think that contraption you've been messing with has any hope of working?"

Deebs blinked. "Well, um. . . ." He paused, one hand going to scratch at his hedgehog-like hair as he glanced uneasily at Grease. "We, um, really didn't think we'd need the stuff so soon," he temporized. "Maybe in a couple--"

"Stefan, how long?"

"Seventeen days, my Lord."

"That's as long as we have, Deebs. Now; up or down? I need to know right now."

Deebs licked his lips, glanced once again at Grease, who tilted his head, one shoulder lifting in a slight shrug, then nodded. Deebs looked back to me, his expression firming. "It'll be ready. It won't be pretty, and I don't know how long it'll hold together, but it'll be ready."

"If it holds together for twenty minutes, that'll be good enough." I looked around the table. "What else can we do?"

A pause, then Fields spoke up. "We know exactly when and where?"

I glanced at Stefan for verification, and he nodded. "Yes," I responded.

The Special Ops man stared at me, then slowly leaned back in his chair, his lips pursed into a silent whistle of astonishment. "What kind of moron would hand us that kind of advantage?" he asked at last.

Stefan gave Fields a cool look. "It would indeed seem odd," he began with more than a trace of sarcasm "until one understands that the moron can bring whomever that wishes to stand with him."

Fields thought about that for a bit, then nodded. "Just wishes to, huh? That just might actually work; the less-popular a leader is, the lonelier he is on the battlefield. I like it." He smiled then, and the smile wasn't pleasant. "Anyway, maybe we should have a few surprises waiting for your friends when they show up?"

My answering smile was equally nasty. "Yeah, maybe we should at that. Why don't you work up a few things and get back to me?"

Still smiling, Fields sketched a scout's salute to me. "Will do, Sarge."

"Good." I turned to Lucifer. "Luce, I know Lady Dithra thinks we're safe here for now, but I think we should take out a little insurance on that. Have yourself a look at our perimeter defenses, and in addition to the alarms let's add some stuff that's just a little more . . . lethal."

Once again wearing that little Buddha-like smile of his, Luce nodded slightly. "Consider it done," he replied simply.

I nodded back, then turned my attention to Dithra's agent. "Lastly, Stefan, I need you to go check on some things for me."

An hour after the meeting broke up I found myself leaning against the front porch rail, a mug of Wolfman's superb coffee steaming in my hand, gazing across the brilliantly sunlit clearing at the old barn. Raised voices were beginning to make themselves heard from there. Evidently Deebs and Grease were having an argument over something, and I supposed I should wander over there eventually and see what all the yelling was about.

That line of thought, however, was put on hold when I heard a quiet step behind me. I closed my eyes for a moment, bracing myself, then nodded without turning. "My Lady," I greeted.

"Hasai," Dithra returned, then paused for several seconds before continuing. "Hasai, the clans--"

"My Lady, please," I interrupted, fighting down a surge of irritation. "It was the only thing I could think of to do. I'm sorry your plan didn't work; more sorry than you could ever possibly imagine. But it didn't work, and that's all there is to it. We need to find another way, and if you're not willing to help, may I respectfully suggest you be so kind as to step aside and let a soldier do his job."

"Hasai, please; allow me to speak."

I sighed, then turned to look at the ancient dragoness. Her expression was still quite unhappy, but now that unhappiness was mixed with a distinct helping of pensiveness that had replaced the simmering anger of earlier. She sighed. "You are correct, young one," she began. "I was quite upset with you at the gathering, when it seemed to me that you took all of our work and casually discarded it without a thought. It took Stefan's words, the words of a dragon far younger than myself, to make me realize that the path I had expected you to take, to disavow that child and turn away, was a path bereft of honor. It was a path that Ahnkar or Ksstha might take, but not yourself and, I pray to the Ancestors, not I."

Dithra fell silent then, her eyes studying the weathered planking beneath her feet. I was about to say something, but then she continued. "I may yet be of some small use. In those moments between the destruction of Ahnkar's agent and our departure I had an opportunity to study those around us." Her gaze rose to meet mine, her expression one of sadness. "I once told you that a dragon fears nothing but dishonor, but I may have overstated myself a little. There may indeed be something else that a dragon would dread, and I think I saw it in the expressions of my peers as we stood within that chamber and watched someone evaporate into nothingness. A dragon would indeed fear being casually swatted out of existence, with no hope of defending herself."

"In an all-out war, the humans would do no less to us, my Lady."

She carefully searched my face, then finally gestured assent. "Yes; I see that you truly believe that, and I confess you would know far more about the subject than I. Most dragons, however, would not believe it. They do, however, now fear your sphere of the Lung and what it can do. I saw it there, in their eyes." Dithra's expression grew intense. "If reason will not work, then perhaps fear will. Let me play upon that fear, dear one. Perhaps I can persuade some to turn away from this course, before it is too late."

I gazed at Dithra for a long moment, more than a little surprised that she felt she needed to ask me permission for something. "If you could get just a few of the Elders to remain neutral--"

"There is no neutrality among those who give or receive Challenge, young one. Still, there may be something that can be done."

I looked at her some more, then silently nodded to myself. What was there to lose? Let them hate, so long as they fear, quoted my human side, and I was in no position to disagree. "If you truly believe that it can be done, my Lady, then all I can ask of you is to be careful." I paused, then sighed. "I don't think I could bear losing you as well."

The ancient dragon bowed slightly, her warm, gold-green eyes never leaving my face. Then she sobered. "Dear one, there is one more thing I must know. Forgive me for asking this, but have you given any thought as to what might happen if you fail? Have you made any plans?"

I grimaced, my mouth pressing itself into a thin line as I turned away to gaze at the barn again. "I have started to, my Lady." I responded at last. "No--" I held up a hand to stave off her next question. "I hope you will forgive me, but I think it would be better if I kept them to myself. At least for now."

-I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
-Watching the tide roll away
-Oh, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
-Wastin' time. . . .

The tourists generally don't come down here, not to the parts of the San Francisco waterfront that deal in freighters and trawlers rather than cutesy little souvenir shops and hideously overpriced restaurants. Down here, the grimy waves lap against the battered piers, various bits of waterlogged trash bobbing at the edges, the whole smelling of dead fish, overripe garbage, and spilled fuel oil. I felt one corner of my mouth curl down into a grimace, then turned the collar of my field jacket up against the chill Pacific wind and walked toward the lone figure that sat on the end of the wharf, legs dangling over the edge, staring out at the fading evening sky.

"Thinking of tossing yourself in?"

The figure exploded to his feet, spinning to face me, teeth skinning back in a feral snarl. I fought down the urge to recoil, held perfectly still until Kaa'saht recognized me and slowly, very slowly, straightened from his crouch, his red-rimmed eyes staring at me. "The thought did occur," he muttered at last "more than once." I nodded silently, and for several long moments we stood there, looking at one another. "Have you come to kill me at last?" he finally asked.

My mouth twitched into a thin, cold smile. "I'm rarely that merciful," I replied.

"Then why are you here?" he rasped.

That smile widened a fraction. "To offer you a job."

Stefan's former agent just stood there, looking at me for so long that I began to believe that he'd had some sort of seizure. Finally he blinked. "What?"

"You heard me; I'm offering you a job. Are you interested?"

Kaa'saht seemed to sway slightly, but then gave himself a sharp shake and glared at me suspiciously. "What sort of job?"

"One that just might require the rest of a very unpleasant, very short life," I replied, the smile fading. "But one I think that you will accept. I want you to care for my mate and children."

The disgraced dragon sagged in disbelief. "What-- What do you mean? What in the name of the Ancestors are you talking about? What--"

I sighed, leaned back against a dirty tarp draped over some anonymous crates. "Kaa'saht, just shut up and listen. Things have gone to hell in a hand basket, and there's a good chance I'm going to need someone in place and ready to spirit Pasqual and the children away. I need someone who will hide them from both the Council and the clans, and who will defend them beyond all sanity." I sighed again, lifting a hand to rub my eyes. "I cannot give this responsibility to Lady Dithra. She is an admirable person, but I suspect a bit too much the politician. She may be tempted to be reasonable, to compromise, if it meant peace between the factions. Stefan, I'm afraid, is far too much of a realist. No," I lifted my gaze to meet Kaa'saht's "what I need is someone who will not be reasonable, who will not be a realist. Who would be better than someone who loves Pasqual, and whom she loves in return?"

Kaa'saht became perfectly still, his face going deathly pale. "She told you this?"

"She didn't need to." I smiled, perhaps a bit wistfully. "The two of you were together in Ahnkar's shadow, then within my control, plotting your mutual escape, for so very long. Then afterwards, after you had been banished, nothing. In all the time since then, she has never asked about you, mentioned you, not referred to you in even the most indirect of terms. Nothing." The smile became a quiet chuckle. "Pasqual will be quite formidable someday, but first she must learn subtlety. No, there can be only one reason for your sudden, utter, non-existence, and it is that Pasqual fears that if I learn about what exists between the two of you I will hunt you down and kill you."

"And why haven't you?" the young dragon asked quietly.

"Good question." I leaned forward, rested my hands on my knees, my gaze dropping to the weathered planks beneath our feet. "I suspect it's because I haven't been very good for Pasqual. We met in a cloud of deceit, both of us using the other. Fear and misery are the only things that I have ever offered her, and I think . . . . And I think that it is ruined between us, that we will never be able to trust one another." I looked up at Kaa'saht. "Perhaps it would be better if she started over, with someone else." I felt the corner of my mouth quirk upward sardonically. "I accused Stefan of being a realist. Well, I'm a realist as well. And reality tells me that you're the only one I can hope to trust with this, even if it is for all the wrong reasons. Will you take the job?"

Kaa'saht looked just a little bit like someone running short on oxygen. "You will want-- Do you wish an oath of fealty from me?"

I snorted. "Dithra and Stefan had oaths of fealty from you, and you walked away from both." The dragon flinched at that. "No, all I want is your word. Do I have it?"

The disgraced dragon stood there, staring at me, and for a minute I thought he was going to burst into tears. "You have it, my Lord," he choked out at last. "With all my heart I say that you have it."

And we're back to the 'my Lord' crap again. . . . I nodded, carefully looking away from Kaa'saht's raw emotion. "Very well; we still need to hammer things out. You'll be operating completely isolated from the rest of us, and no-one else will know of this arrangement. So, we'll need to rig a contact system among other things." I thought for a moment. "I passed a pub a few blocks back. Lets go there to work things out, and to get the hell out of this wind."

-I got a name, I got a number, I got a line on you
-I got a name, I got a number, and I got a job to do. . . .

I swear, sometimes I'm nothing but a bloody amateur. I should have known there would be people watching Kaa'saht, my little bungalow, all of my usual contacts and haunts. But I took no precautions, didn't even think of the possibility until we had gone perhaps a hundred meters up the street, and someone rounded the corner ahead of us.

He was a small man, seedy-looking, and shabbily dressed. I would have dismissed him as a bum, except that his movements were all wrong for a derelict, and his dark eyes were cold, clear, and staring straight at me. The folded newspaper he held in his left hand looked like it had been dredged out of the gutter. There was, however, nothing scruffy about the silenced .45 ACP he pulled from beneath it.

Time slowed to a crawl. I crouched, my breath drawing in through my teeth in a loud hiss as my eyes darted about, checking my options. There were none; the empty street to my left and the blank wall to my right offered no hope of cover or avenue of retreat. The assassin had chosen his spot well. I lunged for the man, but his weapon was already up, the hammer already cocked, there was no time--

Suddenly I felt something grab the back of my coat and yank. With a surprised grunt I felt my feet go out from under me, found myself flying backwards through the air. There was a THUMP and something very hot and very fast scorched its way past my right temple, then I slammed down onto the grimy pavement with stunning force. Orange fireballs exploded behind my eyes as the back of my head smacked the pavement. Half blind with pain I fumbled to my hands and knees, mentally groping for my true form as I watched Stefan's ex-agent pounce upon the assassin. There was a short scuffle and two more THUMPs, then a ghastly, bubbling scream as Kaa'saht ripped the man's throat out.

Silence, save for the sound of splashing liquid, and soon most of that faded as well. Gingerly I made my way to my feet, wincing as my skull let me know in no uncertain terms its opinion on collisions with concrete. I wobbled over to where Kaa'saht silently stood, gazing down at what was left of the assassin. Kneeling, I picked up the man's weapon and gave it a careful once-over, noted the quality of the silencer construction and mounting, and also the cut where the .45's serial number had been neatly excised. "Pro gear," I remarked worriedly, stuffing the weapon under my jacket as I scanned the area around us. "Ksstha certainly learns fast, doesn't he? There could be a backup, so we'd better get the hell out of. . . ."

I trailed off as Kaa'saht swayed, then fell heavily to his knees. I caught him as he toppled to the side, barely managing to keep his face from hitting the sidewalk. Something scalding-hot was trickling over my right forearm. I lifted it, found it covered with steaming blood of such a rich red color it bordered on black.

No. . . . Quickly I eased his inert form down onto his back, soon found the two holes blasted into the front of Kaa'saht's shirt, their edges charred by the muzzle-blast of the weapon as it fired into him at point-blank range. A human would have been dead before he hit the ground after taking this kind of damage. As it was, Kaa'saht was in bad shape. The blood flowing from the wounds was coming in erratic spurts, and I could hear a rattle in what little breathing I could detect.

Not again. . . . I ripped-up what was left of his shirt and much of the assassin's in an effort to bind the wounds, and managed to at least slow the bleeding. I had to get Kaa'saht out of there, and take him. . . . Where? Stefan had admitted to me the dragons had lost what they'd known of medicine, so even if I brought Kaa'saht to him and Lady Dithra, all they would be able to do is stand and watch him die.

NOT AGAIN. I thought my head was going to split apart as I struggled to my feet, Kaa'saht's limp form in my arms. Slowly I staggered back down the street, finally reaching a gap between two warehouses where I could get us out of sight. Scarcely five meters in, I set the young dragon down as best I could, then slumped down next to him as I called my true form. The pain was so great when my skull shifted shape that I almost passed out, and I spent several precious seconds trying to keep my stomach from emptying itself onto the trash-strewn concrete. Finally I managed to concentrate enough to summon the sphere, then stuff it into my mouth as I pieced-together a mental image of a certain old, dilapidated barn.

Snap.

The barn was the same; drafty, leaky, waiting for a stiff wind to knock it down. The dirt floor inside showed no sign of its earlier use; my team had been too thorough in policing-up after itself to leave any traces of our activities. Summoning the power of the sphere until I was wrapped in a cloak of silvery light, I tried to use it to patch Kaa'saht up, but every time I tried to do something Kaa'saht would groan and convulse until I backed off.

I felt like howling my frustration to the stars. Damn it, I still didn't know enough! All I managed to do was what a certain dark sword had done for me once, and feed some of my own strength into the young dragon, at least to the point that his breathing grew a little stronger. Then I left Kaa'saht there on that dirt floor with nothing but some moldering tarp to keep him warm as I shouldered the barn's main door aside and headed cross-country at a lope.

A half-mile of open field, maybe a little more, then several acres of scrubby forest, then another open field, in the middle of which a small cottage sat. It was already dark this far east, and the windows of the house glowed with a cheery, welcoming light. There was also a watcher, sitting just inside the edge of the woods. But boredom had evidently dulled his senses, and shortly after I scented him the man quickly lost interest in watching anything, ever again.

I was just setting foot onto the porch when a horse in a fenced-in pasture perhaps another hundred meters further down the slope began to scream in terror. I hesitated, then glanced down at my glittering scales and blinked in confusion. What the hell am I thinking? Giving myself a shake I shifted back to human form, that headache assaulting me with a renewed fury as I trudged up the steps and banged on the door.

A long pause, then the porch light came on and the door opened to reveal Schmoo's ugly, ever-so-welcome face. "Who in the world-- Mike? What the hell are you doing 'way out here?"

"Schmoo, need some help," I panted. I jerked my head up at the sound of a woman's voice from within the house, winced. "Step out here. Quick."

"Um, okay." Puzzled, Schmoo turned back long enough to tell his wife he'd be back in a minute, then came out onto the porch. "All right, what's--" as I stepped back the porch light fell more fully upon me and Schmoo caught his first glimpse of what I was covered in. "Good God! Are you all right?"

"Not mine. It's a friend of mine's," I quickly corrected, my cleaner hand lifting to fend him off. Damn, that headache was bad. "Need a-- um, need a vet."

Schmoo blinked at me in confusion. "A what?"

"A vet. Animal doctor. Best one you know. Schmoo, please," I pleaded, cutting off the flood of questions I knew were about to erupt "just help me with this, will you?"

My tall, lanky friend stood there for a long moment, studying me. Finally he sighed. "The best one I know of is Doctor Clarke. He heads the Veterinary Medicine branch at the university."

I nodded, wincing again. "That big warehouse-like place on the west edge of campus?"

"Yeah, looks like an aircraft hangar. That's it."

"Can you call and have him meet me there? Tell him-- Tell him it's a large-animal emergency. Very large."

Schmoo blinked at that, relaxing slightly. "I can try. Whether or not he'll actually show, I don't know." He turned to the door. "Let me get my coat on, and--"

"No, Schmoo. Just the call."

"What?" He turned back to me. "Hey, you're gonna need more than--"

"That's all I can afford to ask of you." I glanced meaningfully at the house behind him, then back. "Remember the kids? This is something along those lines."

Schmoo went quiet at that. Finally he sighed. "I'll make the call."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, nodded. "Thank you."

My civilian friend snorted. "Y'know, someday you're going to let me know what this is all about."

I smiled tiredly. "Someday, Schmoo, it'll be my privilege to tell you."

Schmoo chuckled at that, then made a small shooing gesture. "Get out of here; I'll make the call."

Putting my scales back on the moment I was out of sight, I covered the ground back to the barn at a run. I had spent far too much time arguing with Schmoo, but when I made it back to Kaa'saht he was still hanging in there, though his wounds were still seeping blood he could ill-afford to lose. Summoning the sphere, I popped it into my mouth while allowing myself to expand enough to allow me to pick up Kaa'saht's inert form with one forepaw. Cradling him to me, I snapped us to a grassy field in back of the facility Schmoo had described. Almost immediately a small herd of cattle penned nearby began to bawl in panic, but I ignored them as I hobbled three-legged the rest of the way to the building.

The nearest door I could use was one of those big metal roll-up affairs at the near end of the loading dock. It was also locked for the night, but hooking my talons under the lower edge and heaving upwards until the locking bar sheared through solved that problem. Pulling the damaged door back down behind me I peered about the cluttered, thankfully deserted interior of the cavernous facility, my slitted eyes finally alighting upon what looked to be an open area near the center of the floor. I made my way toward it, carefully threading my way through the labyrinth of crates, cages, equipment and cubicle partitions with Kaa'saht still cradled to my breast. The area turned out to be the sort of open, pen-like setup one might reserve for the treatment of larger creatures. Excellent. There was rubberized padding on the concrete floor in this area; I carefully eased Kaa'saht limp body down to rest upon it.

There had been a steadily growing din as more and more of the various animals caged and penned within the building caught my scent and went berserk; I reduced all but the stupidest of them to a terrified silence by removing the sphere from my mouth and giving them a single angry hiss. As things quieted I studied Kaa'saht, then used the power of the sphere to carefully remove his human seeming. The air seemed to ripple, and suddenly Kaa'saht's striking, blue-black form appeared, lying on his side before me. Then I cursed myself for an idiot as my hastily applied bandages shredded away within the blink of an eye, revealing wounds writ huge upon the reptilian form, blood pouring from them.

Frantically I pressed my hands down upon the now howitzer-sized damage as I cast about for something, anything, to staunch the flow but finding nothing. Desperately I drew breath, then flamed, directing that azure column of fire across the bleeding flesh. There was a sizzling hiss and a boiling cloud of steam, then the stench of charring meat filled my nostrils. I blinked the steam out of my eyes to see the blood flow greatly reduced by my field-expedient cauterization, added a few more puffs of flame to seal-off the rest.

For a long moment I stared down at the charred mess I had made, swallowing several times to keep my gorge down. Then a weak groan had me whipping my head around to see Kaa'saht's eyes flicker open. Apparently the pain of what I'd done had jolted him to consciousness, and he blinked dazedly at his surroundings before finally focusing on me. "My Lord," he sighed, his voice a shadow of its normal self.

"Kaa'saht, I'm sorry," I began. "I should have known better. You didn't have to--"

"No, my Lord, no. Please--" Kaa'saht broke off, panted for a moment, then resumed. "Please, there is no apology to be made. It is I who am beholden to you. I betrayed you, betrayed you all. I stole your family away." He paused again, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as something within him spasmed painfully. "I threw away my honor." He looked back up to me, astonishment in my eyes. "But, rather than killing me, as was your right, you not only spared me but offered my honor back to me. How could I-- How could I do any less than place myself between you and the-- and the death that was reaching for you? How could I do any less?" He gasped for breath, his eyes growing vague. "My-- My only regret is that I cannot serve you further. I am so sorry, my Lord. . . . Please, please tell Pasqual that I died with my honor. Please tell . . . tell . . . ."

"You're not going to die today, Kaa'saht," I rumbled, "not if I can help it." But my words went unheard as the young dragon once again fell unconscious.

I studied his inert form, drew in a breath, then let it out in a shaky gust. I then used the sphere once more to transfer more strength to Kaa'saht. His breathing steadied again, but it took more energy to achieve than the last time. Dragons are incredibly tough, but the damage done was just too severe, and he was slowly but steadily slipping away. After that desperate midnight skirmish in Dithra's abode, Stefan had attempted to explain to me the nature of the dangerous but necessary link between a dragon's human simulacrum and his true form, the link that would cause injury to one to be reflected upon the other, but I'd only understood roughly one word in three. Now I silently cursed myself for my ignorance, and waited for the physician who might never arrive.

It was another twenty minutes or so; it felt like twenty years. Finally my draconic senses detected the sound of a car's engine. I quickly shifted back to human form, winced again at the still-ferocious but slowly receding headache, then hurried to the front of the building. As I went I checked the clip in the assassin's weapon, then adjusted the .45 beneath my jacket so that the silencer wouldn't hang-up on the waistline of my trousers if I needed it in a hurry. If the doctor thought to bring the police with him, I would have no choice but to kill them all.

There was a tiny lobby at the building's main entrance. In the unlit gloom of it, I peered through the front glass, saw a lone figure standing beside a car now parked in the front lot. Hands in his pockets, he stood looking back up the drive, possibly not believing that whoever had the emergency had arrived yet, possibly for another reason.

No time for paranoia. I took a deep breath, then unlocked the front door and stepped out. The door made a small squeak as it opened, and the man turned at the sound. I studied him as I approached; heavy-set, mid-sixties perhaps, with a jowly, care-worn face and hair an iron-gray in color. His dark blue eyes studied me in turn. As I neared, he finally spoke. "One of the staffers at the university called me, told me there was some sort of medical emergency here."

I nodded, my eyes never leaving him. "Yes, sir. Doctor Clarke?" He nodded. "I'm sorry to have to call you sir, but I had no choice." I half-turned, gestured back toward the building. "The patient's already been moved inside. If you would--?"

The man studied me for a moment more, then nodded again and preceded me into the building. Once inside, he frowned at the dark, empty lobby, but continued on down the hall toward the main work areas. "By the way, who let you in?" he asked a little too casually.

My eyes flicked down the length of the hallway, I calculated the odds of the good doctor escaping me at this point. "No-one, sir," I responded at last.

He paused at that and half-turned back to me, his eyes immediately going to where I had my hand tucked inside my jacket. He sighed. "I see."

I felt a pang of remorse at that. "Sorry, sir," I apologized, but then gestured forward again. He sighed once more, and we resumed our course. He didn't speak again until we were almost to our destination. "You realize, of course, that I'm not licensed to work on--"

We rounded a final supply cabinet, and Clarke lurched to a halt. For long seconds he just stared, his jaw sagging slightly. "Good Lord," he mumbled at last. "Is that-- Is that--" He turned to me, recoiled slightly when he saw the silenced .45 in my hand, though the weapon was pointed at the floor at the moment.

"Yes, doctor, it's a dragon," I replied, my growing frustration at all the damned delays beginning to leak into my voice "and he's going to be a dead dragon if we don't get to work right now."

The vet blinked at me for a long moment, then gave his head a sharp shake. "Yes. Yes, of course." He rubbed at his forehead for a moment, then looked back to Kaa'saht. "Okay," he said, seemingly to himself, then walked over to the young dragon's still form. With a hand that trembled slightly, he traced the damage. "Ye gods," he exclaimed at last "what the. . . ." He glanced back at me, but reconsidered whatever he was going to ask me when he saw my face. He licked his lips, then nodded slightly as he straightened. "These are severe injuries. I'm going to need to call in my team," he stated, but I shook my head.

"Sorry, sir, but I can't let you do that," I responded.

His eyes sparked with anger. "Look," he flared "I don't think I can handle this by myself. I'm going to need help here, and if I don't get it there's a very good chance this . . . creature is going to die."

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathed in, then let it out in a long sigh. "I understand, sir, and I won't hold you responsible for the results. But I'm the only help you're going to get."

He drew himself to his full height, folded his arms and glared at me. I just stood there, returning his gaze, the .45 still in my hand. Finally he sighed, shaking his head disgustedly. "Let's get washed up. And," he pointed to the weapon "put that thing away."

I hesitated. "Do I have your word?" I asked.

"Of course you have my word! Now let's get busy."

Doctor Clarke stomped off to a nearby sink, already pulling off and casting aside his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. I stared after him, looked down at my weapon, then tucked it back under my belt and went to join him.

The hours that followed were bad. Very bad. The doctor was forced to resort to 1800s-style medicine, as he couldn't use anything out of the drug cabinet for fear of killing his patient. In addition there were other things, things that brought exclamations of amazement from the good doctor, and for me turned a suspicion into a certainty.

Needle, string, the occasional clamp, everything in sight soaked-down with ethanol in the hope it would kill anything that would try to gain a foothold in Kaa'saht's injuries. Slowly, the last of the bleeding was staunched, the wounds were laboriously closed. It was almost dawn by the time the last stitch was made, the last length of surgical tape was slapped into place. In the aftermath both Doctor Clarke and myself just stood there looking at each other, covered in gore, our faces gray with fatigue. "Two days," he said at last, his voice hoarse. "If he makes it through the next two days. . . ." He trailed off, made a weary gesture.

I nodded, the motion almost sending me staggering in my fatigue. "Now I know why medical guys get paid so much," I started, equally hoarse. "Damn; that was like combat."

"Yeah, it is, sometimes," he gave me a sharp glance, then nodded and looked at his patient. "There should have been no way he could have survived all that, but. . . ."

I chuckled tiredly. "Dragons are tough," I replied. "Damned tough."

"I believe it." By unspoken consent we moved over to a nearby set of cheap plastic lawn chairs, slumped into them. Clarke let his head loll backwards for a bit, but eventually lifted it again to eye me speculatively. "I don't suppose. . . .?"

I looked at him for several long, silent moments, then felt my lips curve up into a small, tight smile. "No, Doctor; I'm afraid not. Maybe someday."

"'Someday?'"

"Yeah, someday. When people no longer consider a killer of infants to be a saint."

Clarke gave me a puzzled look at first, but then his face grew pensive. Finally he changed the subject. "So; what happens now?"

I smiled again. "We clean up, you leave, I take my friend out of here, and everyone forgets it ever happened."

The doctor seemed a bit surprised by that, and his eyes flicked involuntarily to the heavy-caliber automatic still tucked beneath my belt. I caught that glance and chuckled grimly. "That would be counter-productive, sir," I replied to the unspoken question. "If you disappeared, there would be an investigation, which is something I would rather avoid. On the other hand, if you were foolish enough to try to tell people what happened here tonight, all that would happen is your reputation would be destroyed, and you quite possibly get carted off to the state hospital."

The aging veterinarian thought about it for a moment, then chuckled as well. "You're right; that's exactly what would happen. 'Poor Doctor Clarke, he's finally gone 'round the bend,'" he mimicked, then shook his head ruefully and sighed. He glanced upward at the building's high roofline, where a skylight was glowing with the pale light of early morning. "Well, looks like we had better get started on that cleanup."

It didn't take long; there was a hose nearby that was just for this sort of thing, and a big drain in the middle of the floor cheerfully sucked down all the runoff. I insisted all the medical waste go into one of those plastic biohazard drums that places like this usually had sitting around. The good doctor, obviously thinking of DNA samples, looked quite disappointed, but said nothing.

Finally, everything was fully scrubbed-down, leaving only Kaa'saht's still-inert form as the only clue we had ever been there. I gave everything a careful looking-over, nodded to myself. "Time to go," I said at last.

Doctor Clarke glanced up at the skylight again, now shining with the first rays of the sun. "Although where you're going to go with a creature this large, I haven't a clue. You can't possibly move him and not be seen, you know."

I gave the doctor an evil smile. "I do the impossible on a daily basis, Doctor."

This earned me what started out as a skeptical look, but then Clarke glanced at Kaa'saht and snorted. "I don't doubt that," he said wryly "not one little bit." He paused then, still looking at me, his expression growing thoughtful. Finally he continued. "You know, when I first started to study medicine, I thought it was the most wonderful profession to be in, and I was going to 'save the world' with what I knew."

He shook his head, chuckled with quiet cynicism. "Two years as a combat medic in Vietnam cured me of that." He sighed, his shoulders slumping tiredly. "I moved over to veterinary practice then, because after that, every time I looked at a human body, well. . . ." Clarke fell silent for a long moment, his eyes gazing into the distance. Finally he looked at Kaa'saht, then back to me, and smiled slightly. "Thank you," he said quietly.

I held his gaze, then slowly nodded. "Time to go, Doc. Thank you, as well; we won't forget."

The vet's smile grew a little wider at that. He hesitated for a moment, then offered me a freshly-scrubbed hand. After a hesitation of my own, I took it. We stood there for a second or two more, then without another word he turned and walked away, soon lost to sight amid the maze of cabinets, pens, equipment, and partitions.

I waited until I heard the door leading back to the front entrance slam shut, then turned and surveyed my sleeping charge. "Time to get you put to bed," I said to him as I reached for my true form. Moments later I called the sphere and stuffed it between my jaws once again, then gently lifted Kaa'saht, grabbed that drum, and thought of what should be a safe place.

Snap.

That garage-slash-barn in back of Dithra's abode was huge; big enough to satisfy the megalomaniacal whims of its original builder, and, fortunately, big enough to house a dragon or two. I eased Kaa'saht down in the corner furthest from the building's other occupant, made him as comfortable as I could. Then over the next several hours I set about weaving Power around the place, using a pattern I had worked-out after long hours of studying the weavings of protection some distant ancestor of mine had placed about my sphere's ancient home.

The sun was well-up and shining brightly by the time I was satisfied with my defenses. Much like the ones guarding the sandstone cliffs, these wards were vampiric in nature and would cause any dragon approaching them to grow increasingly weak, listless, and subtly encouraged to turn away. More determined attempts to penetrate the perimeter would result in an increasingly serious drain on the invader's energy, possibly all the way down to and including death. Where this barrier differed, however, was it faced inward as well as outward, making it just as difficult for a non-Lung to leave as it was to approach. That might shortly prove critical, if what I was about to try went badly.

I gave the weave one last careful inspection, then turned and re-entered the barn, headed over to the place's other occupant. I stared down at Niata for a long time. The battered dragoness had barely moved from the last time I had seen her, her eyes still just half-open and gazing off into some strange distance that nothing sane would ever see.

Finally I sighed, then once again reached up and activated my little translator pattern. "Niata, we are running out of time," I stated without preamble. "I must know what that place was, the one you pulled me to. Where is it? What is it called? What is its meaning?"

Silence.

"Niata, please. I do not wish to resort to other methods, but you are leaving me with little choice."

Nothing.

I sighed. "Very well." After that I stopped delaying. I turned, and with the tip of a steely talon began to scribe an elaborate pattern upon the concrete floor in front of Niata. Soon the lines of that pattern began to glow gently, a glow that rapidly escalated into an actinic glare as I added my own power to the mix.

There was a faint whimper from behind me as the pattern continued to grow and elaborate, but I ignored the sound as I lifted my talons free of the floor, the pattern lifting with them and beginning to swirl and rotate in midair. A sharp motion of my right hand stabilized that rotation, pulled the construct into turning a flat, dish-like facet of itself toward us. With a single talon I traced a curiously warped circle of blue-black light in the air about a certain set of scratches that marred the scales of one of my hind legs. That circle then floated away to join the main mass of the pattern hanging before us, and the symbols that adorned the pattern's circular edge writhed as a result, almost as if they were caught in the throes of some hellish torment.

There was another whine from the broken magus; I glanced back to see her eyes completely open and staring at the swirling gray chaos at the pattern's center, her head shaking erratically as she tried to edge away. I chuckled darkly. "No, Niata, this place is sealed. There is no place to run, no place to hide, not unless you give me what I want."

With that I gave a few final, abrupt gestures, and the center of the pattern's circle suddenly went black. At first that blackness was as stygian as the Pit, but slowly, almost reluctantly the blackness resolved itself into the image of an all-too familiar clearing, its blasted, charcoal-gray soil surrounded on all sides by a twisted, tortured terrain of shattered basaltic rock and old lava flows, the view illuminated only by the faint, frosty light of distant stars.

It didn't take long for the first of them to show up. In less than a minute dozens, then hundreds were there, all of them battering insanely against the barrier I had put across the portal, the view rapidly degenerating into a scene of fangs, talons, and mad, hate-filled eyes that would have overwhelmed even Hieronymus Bosch at his most deranged.

Once again I couldn't quite focus on the creature's forms at first, my eyes refusing to make sense of what I saw. They finally gave up on that, however, and suddenly everything snapped into an all-too sharp focus and I shuddered. But I was ready for my reaction this time around, and my concentration did not waver.

<. . . . No. . . . Don't. . . .>

The desperate power behind the whisper that came echoing faintly into my head must have been great indeed for me to have heard it, and it was almost surprise enough to make me lose control of the portal. For an awful moment the barrier actually bulged, the creatures on the other side clawing wildly at the thing that held them back, that kept them from breaking through to invade attack devour destroy--

<. . . . Don't . . . don't . . . don't let them. . . . Don't let them in. . . .Don't. . . .>

I risked a glance back at Niata's violently trembling form, then set my jaws and poured Power into the pattern until it crackled with energy. Slowly, reluctantly, the bulge began to flatten back out. "Do you want me to close this?" I gritted "Do you want me to make them go away? Then tell me what I want to know!"

The maimed dragoness gave vent to a thin, screeching wail of terror, and into my mind whispered a single word. It was a word that I had been half-expecting, half-dreading, and with it a great many things suddenly made sense. I nodded, then abruptly slashed my talons across the patterns I'd made on the floor. The construct responded by shattering into a blaze of random shards of light, a shockwave of released energy nearly bowling me off my feet. In the aftermath I shook my head and blinked my eyes clear of dazzle then quickly looked again, but both the portal and that which it had held had vanished as if they had never been.

I stared at that chunk of now-empty air for a long moment, turned to see Niata staring at me with terror-filled eyes. I studied her for several seconds, then chuckled humorlessly. "Welcome back to the realm of the living," I rumbled "perhaps this time you will decide to remain." I paused, then made a formal gesture. "What you have told me today may quite possibly save all that is Dragon in this world. The debt between us is paid, Niata. Go, magus. Heal yourself, if you can." I summoned the sphere then, and with its power I flung Niata away from that place. She vanished with a snap to reappear atop a high, windswept crag in another, far-distant land I had known once, long ago, and had striven with little success to forget. There she could either survive or perish, whichever she preferred.

After she was gone I turned and padded back to where Kaa'saht still slept. I looked down at him, then with a sigh removed the sphere from my jaws and sent it back to its sandstone home. I laid down, head atop my forepaws, my eyes still watching Kaa'saht as the tension and fatigue of the previous hours slowly drained out of me and I contemplated the information I had just been given, pondering how to go about using it.

". . . . ?"

Chuckle. "Good morning, Kaa'saht."

". . . . My Lord?" Confused pause. "I don't . . . . My Lord, why have I not-- Why am I not dead?"

Another quiet laugh. "I told you once before, Kaa'saht; I am not that merciful. Rest now, and regain your strength. This place is warded. You will be safe here, and I will return shortly with something for you to eat."

"I . . . ." A pause, then a quiet sigh. "Yes, my Lord."

Snap.

"Got any more of that coffee?"

Deebs jumped slightly, then glanced back at me. "Um, yeah." He set his own mug down and fished another out of the kitchen cabinet, filled it from the pot sitting on the wood-fired stove. He handed it to me. "Here you go, and just where the hell have you been? Again?"

I smiled tiredly at Deebs, took a grateful sip out of the steaming mug. "Preparing fallback positions," I answered at last.

The Texan squinted hard at me, his face growing pensive. Finally he nodded. "All right; that makes sense. You gonna let us know what they are?"

"When they're ready, yes."

"O-kay. I'm gettin' the distinct feelin' I'm not gonna get any more out of you on that, so let's talk about the gear a bit." Picking his mug back up, Deebs stepped out of the tiny kitchen and out the front door, heading for the barn. "C'mon out to the workshop and take a look at what we have so far," he tossed over his shoulder. I paused for a moment, but then followed.

Inside the barn, held off the ground by an array of hastily-built sawhorses, was a bizarre assembly of metal odds and ends that looked vaguely like a leftover prop from the set of a Mad Max movie. I stared at it, a slightly dizzy feeling stealing over me. "Good grief," I said at last.

"It's nowhere near finished yet," Deebs said quickly, doubtlessly reading my expression. "In fact, me and Grease are running low on supplies, and we were thinkin' that, since we're short on time, you and that funny ball of yours could, well, you know."

I looked at my Logistics expert for several long seconds. "You want me to play pack mule for you."

Deebs winced slightly. "Well, kind-of. Look; the only reason I'm askin' is otherwise I don't think there's any way we're gonna get this finished in time. Yeah, yeah, I know I told you otherwise the other day, but I screwed-up, okay?" He gestured past me vaguely. "That crazy ball of yours is the only thing that'll get the stuff here fast enough. Man, I'll tell you, if there's anything that's gonna win this fight, it'll be that ball. Just think about it for a moment, man! Instantaneous transportation! Perfect logistics! Have you any idea what DARPA would give to get their hands on that thing?"

I felt my lips compressing into a thin, straight line, but in the end I nodded. "All right, lay-off with the soft soap. What do you need?"

"Hang on. . . ." The Texan hurried over to where some planks and a pair of sawhorses made a makeshift desk, pulled several sheets of slightly grimy paper out from under their screwdriver paperweight. "Here y'go."

I glanced at some of the items on the top sheet of paper, then did a double-take as some of the nomenclatures sunk in. "Deebs, are you crazy? What in the hell makes you think we'd need something like--"

"Lemme see," Deebs interrupted, peering over the top of the sheet. "Oh, that. Hey; that's just a little something I'm doing a little brainstorming with. Stefan said something interestin' the other day, and it's given me an idea I'd like to try out."

"But . . . isn't this thing classified?"

"Um, well, just a little," Deebs hedged outrageously "but it's just the on-board data that's touchy, and I don't want that. Really; there's a few unclassified External Sales units floatin' around, and my people down south think they can get their hands on one."

I gave Deebs a long, hard look, then sighed. "All right, I'll trust you on that. . . ." I trailed off, leafing through the remainder of the pages, my eyes narrowing at a few entries, but reluctantly nodding at last. "One last thing, though." I walked over to the desk, used one of Deebs' well-chewed writing implements to pencil-in an additional entry. He read it over my shoulder, and this time it was his turn to yelp. "What? What the hell do you want those for? They'll never penetrate--"

"Precisely."

"Look; I am not gonna let you go out there and get your ass shot-off because--"

"Deebs, I think you need to realize something," I interrupted, then turned to look the Texan in the eye. "These will be the leaders, Deebs, the decision-makers. It won't be the usual bunch of poor, dumb, teenaged ground-pounders that have to keep coming at you until you kill them because some jack-booted monster will butcher their families if they don't. Get it? These will be the politicians."

Deebs blinked at that. I smiled grimly. "Yeah, that's right; we finally get a crack at those bastards, old buddy, and you want to know why? Because they can't hide behind their age. For dragons, age empowers rather than enfeebles, and for them to hide behind hatchlings? Well, what would you do to a soldier who used an infant as a shield? You'd kill him on sight, wouldn't you? The same goes for dragons, and compared to an elder, buddy, everyone is an infant!"

The graying NCO blinked again, a look of wonder slowly dawning on his face. "They'll be up-front," he mumbled almost to himself. "We'll be able to get at them."

"Right. And get this: they can stop. They can throw up their hands and say 'Okay, that's it. This isn't any fun anymore.' There's no pistol against the backs of their heads. They can turn and walk away. Dithra tells me that there's some that are already trying to find an honorable way out of this mess." I jabbed a finger at Deeb's grimy coveralls for emphasis. "All we have to do is slap-around the rest of them until they decide they don't want to play anymore. But we gotta keep the body-count down. If a clan's Eldest gets killed, who do you think will replace him? Think it'll be someone younger? Think it'll be some slogan-spouting firebrand screaming for revenge? I tell you man, I guarantee it! Minimum body-count, Deebs!"

Deebs stared at me with a slightly dazed expression, an almost-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Finally he sucked in a lungful of air, let it out in a gust. "Wow. Talk about strippin' your gears, man. Wow," he repeated, then dropped his gaze to the barn's dirt floor, thinking hard. "Okay," he said at last "we'll get them silly things for you, but . . . ." He scowled at the ground. "Look: some damned fool isn't gonna fold. You know that, so let me toss you a counter-offer. We mount both loads, one on each side. You pick which one you want to use. Hell, it'll even solve a balance problem for me. Sound good?"

I thought about it for a moment. "You'll mark them clearly?"

Deebs looked up, his expression scandalized. "Well, hell yes!"

I nodded. "Deal," I replied, glancing down at the shopping list once again. "Where do I go, and who do I contact?"

"What did you find out?"

"They know nothing of what has occurred, my Lord. Evidently, Ahnkar has used a--" Stefan made a sound reminiscent of someone dragging a concrete block across a rough wooden floor "--to replace the child."

I blinked. "A what?"

Dithra's agent frowned at my question, but then lifted his head in sudden understanding. "Ah; forgive me. It is a, hmm, a simulacrum, my Lord, made to look and act like the child. It is made in very much the same manner as these," he gestured to his human form "but unlike these it is not bound to anything that truly lives. Eventually it will grow listless, then weaken and die, apparently of natural causes. The technique was used many times to gather new material during the, ah, project that eventually resulted in yourself, my Lord," Stefan finished, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Changeling.".

Stefan frowned again. "My Lord?"

"It's an ancient term for what you just described. Some human legends have it that the Sidhe used them to conceal the theft of children for use as slaves." I chuckled darkly. "Not quite right, I guess, but pretty darned close to the truth. Harvesting genetic material, I presume?"

The ex-Stasi agent grimaced. "Yes, my Lord."

I nodded, sighed. "Hopefully, we will be able to get away from things like that soon." I leaned back in my wooden chair until the rickety thing creaked alarmingly, glanced out the cabin window at the lengthening shadows of another evening in the mountains. I sipped at my umpteenth mug of coffee. "How long before the replacement keels over?" I asked as last.

Stefan sighed, looked down to where his hands lay folded upon the table. "Unknown, my Lord; it all depends upon how much Power was expended in the making of the . . . simulacrum, and I know of no way of measuring that Power. I regret that I am not very knowledgeable in such things."

"Worst-case, then."

"Mere days, I suspect, my Lord."

I frowned, sipped again at my coffee. "So; the thing could already be dead."

"Unlikely, my Lord. In order to avert suspicion they are typically constructed to feign illness first, rather than simply coming to a sudden stop."

"So; not yet, but possibly soon."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Great," I sighed, "something else to worry about. If we don't get Anna back before that thing dies. . . ." I rubbed at my eyes with my free hand, thought for a bit. "Please, have one of your people keep an eye on it, would you? If it starts to fail, let me know immediately."

"Yes, my Lord."

"So; you're going to put it here?" My finger moved to a point on the map where a small rectangle had been penciled-in.

Fields nodded. "Yeah, that's the spot, give or take a meter or two. I took a look at the ground up there; it's pretty rocky, but I think we'll manage."

I frowned, propping my head on my hand while I studied the diagram. "A little close, don't you think?"

The Special Ops man ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of mild frustration. "Yeah; I thought so too, but any further out and you hit solid rock. Deebs says we can shore it up so it won't slam shut on you, though."

I chuckled darkly. "Well, I certainly hope so. . . ." I trailed off, looking up from the table as Stefan came in the cabin's front door. He looked a little agitated about something. "Yes, Stefan?"

The former Stasi agent glanced at Fields and the papers covering the table, bowed slightly. "Forgive me, my Lord, but Lady Dithra is outside and must see you immediately. There are . . . some people that she wishes you to have words with."

I blinked at that, frowned, then turned back to Fields and gave the diagrams one last careful going-over. "Okay; let's go with this. Let me know how much help you'll need, okay?"

Fields sketched a salute. "No problem, Sarge. I'll get right on it."

"Good." I nodded to Fields then turned to Stefan, who gestured me out the door. I snagged my coat off its wall hook and we headed out. Dithra was waiting for us, standing in the soft snow at the edge of the forest. "Dear one," she greeted me warmly, I have someone I wish you to meet."

"So I understand, my Lady." I glanced at the empty forest around us, then back to her, one eyebrow lifting in inquiry.

The ancient dragoness caught the gesture and smiled. "They cannot come here, dear one. To do so would violate their agreement with me." She swung out an arm, gestured upslope. "We must meet with them at the edge of the clan territories."

Clan. I felt my lips pressing into a thin line, but I nodded. "As you wish, my Lady. May I lead the way? The one known as Lucifer has placed . . . things . . . in the forest about us, and an encounter with one of them can be extremely unpleasant."

Stefan nodded soberly. Dithra looked a trifle blank at my warning, but gestured assent anyway. We shifted to our true forms, then I spread my wings and headed up the slope with the others in train, in the direction the dragoness indicated. Shortly we came upon a small, high clearing on the mountain slope, a short distance from the clearing where I had caught up with Pasqual not-all that long ago.

There, two large draconic forms patiently awaited us. One of them I knew by his tiger-like striping of black and white. The other was markedly larger and was mostly a flat black in color, relieved only by the occasional marking of slate gray. His pale yellow eyes were a stark contrast to his somber, battle-scarred scales. Those ancient eyes studied me carefully as we approached, then passed on to regard Dithra. I paused just short of the two, my own eyes moving momentarily to Tin'na'tak to nod a silent greeting, then looking to Dithra as well.

The ancient dragoness stepped forward, stopping to the right and just behind me, and bowed to the elder dragon. "Hasai, may I present to you the one known as Trassahn, Eldest of the Sstahn clan. He has expressed a wish to have words, and words only, with you."

In other words, parley. Trassahn and I bowed formally to each other, our eyes carefully never leaving our opposite. "I am here, Eldest Trassahn," I said at last. "What is it that you would wish to discuss?"

Trassahn's eyes widened fractionally, possibly surprised by my bluntness. Then they narrowed, studying me even more intently. Finally he came to some sort of conclusion and he straightened fractionally. "I have come to discuss with you the coming . . . altercation . . . between yourself and the Eldest of each of the clans, Lord Hasai," he replied with equal bluntness. "Discuss the situation, and, perhaps, come to some sort of accommodation. You are of course aware that when you gave Challenge you gave it to clan Sstahn, an ally of Lady Dithra, as well?"

I gestured confirmation. "Regretfully, Lord Trassahn. The one known as Ahnkar has assaulted myself and those of my blood, not once or twice, but thrice. His transgressions must cease, and this is the only course that was truly available to me."

Trassahn drew in a breath, then let it out in a sharp snort. "Ahnkar is a fool. A fool to so goad one of the Lung, and worse to pick such a battle while our world burns to ashes about our very ears." The Eldest made a sharp slashing motion. "I wish no part of this. My clan wishes no part of this. We were one of the first of the clans to join with Ksstha in his 'holy war' against the humans, and after years without number, battles without number, we have nothing to show for it. Nothing, save sending most of our people to join our Ancestors. Those few of us who remain have had enough."

Trassahn finally broke eye-contact, his gaze dropping to the snowy ground as he gave a very human sigh. "I am old, Lord Hasai; old and tired. I believe that I shall sleep soon." Tin'na'tak started at this simple statement, the look he turned upon his Eldest full of anguish. He remained silent, however, as Trassahn's gaze once again rose to meet mine. "But not until I know that the clan that I have been so fortunate to lead for all these years is safe," he continued. "A short time ago, a short distance from here, you held the honor of both our clan and my son in your claws. Held it, and then gave it back. We do not forget such things, Lord Hasai, and I do not forget them now. Therefore I need to ask you one and only one question: how will you rule?"

Taken aback, I blinked at the ancient dragon. Up to now I had never even conceived of such a question, so focused I had been on just simple survival. Now Trassahn was confronting me with it, and I had to consider what would happen if my mad gambit actually managed to succeed.

How will you rule?

Suddenly I realized that I stood on a razor's edge. To one side lay defeat and death; that I already understood. To the other side, however, lay ultimate power. All of the clans would bow to me, the Council would be meaningless before me. My word would be Law, until the day another challenger succeeded in dragging me down. Such were the old ways, the ways of power.

How will you rule?

In some shadowy corner of my mind, the dark wraith that was my human half slowly uncoiled itself like some midnight serpent, then whispered to me a single word. I felt my hackles rise at the sound of it. "Lightly, my Lord Trassahn, very lightly," I answered at last, my voice rough with emotion. "My interests are few; the safety of those of my blood, the well-being of those who follow me, and the ending of this idiotic war. Beyond these, I care little."

Lord Trassahn continued to study me for several long moments. What he thought of my answer, or perhaps more importantly my reaction to his question, he gave no sign. Finally he gestured satisfaction. "It will suffice," he said at last. For a moment more he looked at me, his emotions unreadable, then he drew himself up and spoke once again. "Those within the sound of my voice, I ask thee to bear witness," he intoned formally. "I am known as Trassahn, and I am the Eldest of clan Sstahn." Then, with a strange, slow grace he crouched down before me, forelegs splayed, wings laid flat on the ground, his head turned up and away, exposing his throat. "On behalf of both myself and my clan, I doth yield to thee, Lord Hasai."

The next four days saw that scene replayed three times. None of those who followed were as admirable as Lord Trassahn, but perhaps that was fortunate. Late evening of the fourth day found me up on the mountain slope, sitting on a sun-warmed rocky outcrop with a coffee mug in my hands and dark thoughts on my mind.

"My Lord?"

I looked up. "Hm? Oh. Hi, Stefan," I said distractedly, my eyes drifting back to once again blindly regard the scenery. "What can I do for you?"

"My Lord . . . is there something amiss?"

I felt one corner of my mouth turn upward slightly. "No; just up here, visiting," I replied, gesturing toward a low earthen mound nearby, "talking about old times. That sort of stuff."

Stefan's eyes flicked over to the unmarked grave for a moment then slid back to mine. His lips compressed into a thin flat line, but he said nothing.

I returned the gaze of Dithra's agent for a long moment, then sighed and shook my head. "Well, yeah; a lot of things, actually. I guess I just don't like where all this is going." I dropped my eyes to my coffee mug, noted its contents were well on the way to becoming a lump of ice. I dumped it on the ground and refilled my cup with the thermos I brought with me. "It just feels wrong, like I'm screwing-up somewhere." I shook my head again. "It's strange, but what I have to go up that mountain and do, the thought of failure doesn't bother me all-that much. It's the thought of success that's scaring the crap out of me.

"There's this word that keeps floating around in my head, and it's tying my stomach into knots. All my life I've fought against the creatures that were described by this word, and now it seems increasingly likely that I'm going to end up joining their ranks. That, or die." I raised a hand to gesture, looked at it, let it fall back to my lap. "Remember the gorge, Stefan? Remember that patch of ice I hit? I feel like I'm back on that ice, Stefan, sliding into the abyss. And this time, there's no tree for me to grab."

I sighed, rubbed at my burning eyes. Sleep, what little any of us could get, had come hard for me these past several days. "I'm just a dumb, worn-out old grunt. I mean, just what the hell am I doing? A soldier should follow orders, not give them."

Stefan was silent for a long time. "Even when the soldier knows the orders are wrong, my Lord?" he finally said.

I looked up at Stefan. "Say again?"

"I said, what if the soldier knows that following his orders will lead to nothing but horror? Should he follow them then?" The ex-Stasi agent looked out at the darkened tree line, his eyes distant. "Once, not very long ago," he continued at last "there was a Russian officer sitting in a place deep underground. The machine in front of him was telling him, again and again, that his homeland was being attacked.

"His orders, my Lord, were to pass that information on to his superiors. He refused to do so, and was cast aside into disgrace and eventual madness. And yet, if he had followed his orders, if he had been what the Soviets considered a 'good soldier' and passed along what he correctly believed to be false information, it is quite possible that all of us would now be dead," he finished simply, then looked back at me. "There are indeed many times, my Lord, when being a good soldier means obeying one's superiors. Sometimes, however, it means realizing that those superiors are wrong and must not be obeyed. And, sometimes the only way to stop them is to take the trappings of power away from those who consider themselves your superiors, before it is too late."

Stefan looked at me for a moment more in the gathering darkness, then reached out and carefully gripped my shoulder. "You are indeed on a slippery slope, my Lord, but, much like the last time, you are not on it alone. Do what needs to be done, my Lord. I, at the least, will be there."

"Feelin' better?"

I looked up from the hardware, a wry smile curving my lips. "You too, Deebs?"

Deebs snorted. "Whaddya mean, 'you too?' You've been moping around like a sick dog for days now. So; you snappin' out of it?"

I looked at him for a moment more, then chuckled quietly. "Yeah; I think so. I just needed someone to slap me up-side the head and help me get my priorities straight." I rubbed the back of my neck, then refocused on what lay on the test bench before me. "So; what the heck are we trying to do here?"

"Well, you've worked with this rig before, right?" The Texan gestured at the conglomeration of boxes and puck-shaped sensors, all hay-wired into the back of a small, round display unit with a data plate marked AN/APR-39. "We had 'em on the Mohawks, and I hear they're still usin' them on the Apaches and stuff."

I waved him off. "Yeah, yeah; the radar warning system. But so what, Deebs? Somehow I don't think I'm going to have to worry about Ahnkar having a SA-6 battery in his hip pocket."

"No, no, no!" Deebs flagged me down "That isn't the kind of stuff that I'm tryin' to sweet-talk this little feller into lookin' for. Y'see, I had a little talk with Stefan about how you folks do some of that, um, that weird stuff you do, and it got me to thinkin'. Now could you, ah, could you like turn into a dragon for a little bit?"

I stared at Deebs for a long moment, then shrugged and closed my eyes. I concentrated, and the usual pain of change assailed me. When my forepaws touched the ground I opened my eyes and looked at Deebs enquiringly.

"Good, good, now just stay right there while I fire this thing up." Looking very much the mad scientist, the scene spoiled only slightly by his green Army-issue coveralls, Deebs closed a switch on the test bench and a soft whine began to emanate from the equipment. The APR's little display screen flickered, then start-up text began to scroll across it. "Y'see, there's an old rule you prob'ly know already," he continued distractedly as he scanned the text "that if something uses energy, that energy can be detected and located. Well, I'm bankin' that whatever stuff you folks're usin' it's still energy, and with a little tweakin' this little critter can detect it." The screen paused for a moment then went blank, and Deebs straightened. "All right, now do one of them weird things."

Do one of them weird things. Jeez. My mane jangled musically as I shook my head in amusement, then after a moment's thought I reached up and tapped my little translator pattern. It began to glow softly. "Like this?" I asked.

"Um, yeah . . . ." Deebs peered at the little screen, frowned, poked at a control, then peered at the screen again. "Ah, you are doin' something, right?"

"Yes, Deebs," I replied wryly, perfectly understandable human speech issuing from my draconic jaws, "I'm doing something."

"Well, hell," my logistics NCO growled, then proceeded to check all his connections, ran an equipment self-test, tweaked stuff some more, ran another self-test, et-cetera, until finally he straightened with a curse. "Damn it, I was sure this was gonna work!" Baffled, he scratched at his shoebrush-like hair. "Maybe I have the freqs wrong. . . . No; that's not . . . . Aw, hell."

I looked at Deebs, back at the pile of hardware, then back at Deebs. "Okay, I think I'm getting the idea as to what you're trying for. Let's see. . . ." I thought for a moment, then used one of my talons to scribe a small pattern in the barn's dirt floor. After a little more thought I added to it, paused, then added a bit more. Finally satisfied with it, I then placed a talon-tip against the pattern and fed it a little Power. The pattern responded with the usual blue-black glow, the light flickering strangely at its edges. "How about now?"

"I got something! I got a line!" Deebs crowed, pointing to an amber line on the APR's display that radiated from the edge closest to my pattern to almost the center of the screen. "I even have vector and range! What the hell did you do?"

I opened my jaws, hesitated, closed them again, thought for a bit. Finally I sighed. "I'm sorry, Deebs, but if I told you, and things go south next week . . . ." I gave him a pleading look. "It could hurt us very badly," I finished lamely.

The Texan frowned, but then understanding dawned and he nodded at last. "Okay; I know what you're gettin' at. Forget I asked."

"Thanks, Deebs," I replied, suddenly chilled to the bone by the thought of how close Deebs had come, and how quickly. If he could get this far working alone, what would, say, the military scientists at the Signal Warfare Laboratories be able to achieve? I shuddered, but then set about duplicating the pattern on the face of each of the APR's sensors. Soon the gizmo could track me wherever I went, the little amber line following me unerringly as I moved about. "That should do it," I rumbled at last. "Now; what about all the other hardware?"

"We're gettin' there," Deebs responded, reluctantly shutting down his test bench "though there's a few parts and such I'm still waitin' for." He turned and regarded the main assembly. "Grease is just about done with the rail, and we'll try a few dry runs with it sometime tomorrow, make sure it works right." At that he turned and gave me a devilish grin. "Just wouldn't do to have that momma hang-up on you, now would it?"

I chuckled. "No, I suppose it wouldn't. What about this thing?" I gestured with one set of talons. "Get it running, yet?"

"That critter is a whole different story," Deebs sighed. "Got a whole bunch of problems to iron-out with that thing . . . though. . . . ." He trailed off, glanced back at his test bench, then back at me, a speculative gleam coming to his eye. ". . . .Though, maybe if I explained them to you, maybe between us we might be able to come up with something."

Kaa'saht started a bit when I snapped into existence within the garage, but at least he didn't try to leap to his feet. Evidently he was growing used to the sphere. He still rose to his feet, though, and bowed respectfully, his movements more than a little stiff. "My Lord," he rumbled quietly.

"Kaa'saht," I returned, just as soon as I set down the pallet-load of supplies and removed the sphere from my jaws. "And how are you, today?"

The young dragon hesitated, then settled back to his haunches and gestured. "I regret I am still more than a little unwell, my Lord, though I continue to improve daily."

He paused again, his gaze shifting to eye what was on the pallet. I chuckled quietly. "Well, your appetite is certainly improving." I then did a pause of my own, carefully studying Stefan's former agent. "I will be needing you soon, Kaa'saht. Will you be ready? Please; answer with your head, not your heart."

Kaa'saht looked at me for a moment, then his gaze dropped to study the floor. "Yes, my Lord, I will be ready," he replied after some small while. "There will be some pain, and flight has not yet returned to me, but I will otherwise be ready."

I examined his words carefully, then gestured acknowledgement. "Hopefully, flight will not be necessary, though flight of a different sort may indeed be," I finished a trifle sadly. I thought for a moment more, then placed the sphere back into my jaws for a moment. It flared briefly, and I removed it. "The wards about this place are now down; you are free to leave . . . and others to enter." I indicated a cardboard box sitting on the corner of the pallet. "In there you will find instructions, maps, various currencies, and some other items that you may find useful. If the call comes at all, it will come soon. Be prepared."

"My Lord--" The agent hesitated, his eyes sliding away from me as if he were having second thoughts as to what he was about to say. Finally he appeared to steel himself, and asked anyway. "My Lord, what if-- What if I make an error, and we are found? What should-- What should I do then?"

I understood what Kaa'saht was asking, and my estimation of him rose for asking it. I sighed, sat back. "I think you know what will happen to Ashadh and Dahiric if Ahnkar or, Ancestors help us, Ksstha, gets their claws on them, what their lives would be like." Kaa'saht winced visibly, looked away. "Yes; I see that you do. I will leave the answer to that question to you, though this time perhaps you should use your heart instead of your head."

I looked away for a moment myself, sighed, then rose to my feet. There was nothing more to be said. "Be well, Kaa'saht,"I said quietly, "and, be ready."

Snap.

I awakened with a jolt. Gasping for air, I looked wildly about myself for a moment but found nothing but the room's normal contents. It was late, shading toward morning, and the front room of the cabin was illuminated only by the bit of light coming in the window from the brightly-lit barn. In the distance, I could hear a banging as either Deebs or Grease pounded some stubborn piece of metal into shape. Behind me, Fields sat with his head down on the table, deep in an exhausted sleep, a half-eaten meal still sitting on a plate next to him. I shook off a twinge of guilt. Hell, all of us were exhausted, working flat-out as the day of reckoning rapidly drew nearer. . . .

I closed my eyes, and with a bit of struggle slowly calmed my breathing. I held that pose for a little more, then with a resigned sigh uncoiled myself from my spot next to the stove and headed for the front door. Nearby, Pasqual raised her head from where she lay at the foot of our children's nest, a question in her eyes. I met those eyes, gave my head a gentle shake, then went outside.

The scent of pine and snow did much to clear my head and settle my jangling nerves, to the point that I was almost calm by the time Pasqual followed me out onto the porch. "My Lord?" she asked quietly, appearing concerned "Is there something wrong?"

I drew a breath in, held it for a moment, then slowly let it out. Finally I gestured negation. "Just a dream, Pasqual. Just a bad dream."

"A dream, my Lord?" Pasqual pressed, her eyes now much more intent for some reason.

"Yes, a dream," I repeated, then hesitated. The images were starting to fade, but even those dimming memories were enough to set my armored hide crawling with horror. Other than young Ashadh, I had never spoken to anyone about my dreams before. But this time, for some reason I needed to talk. Finally I shook my head. "I was . . . dreaming we had lost the war, and that the humans had built a 'reservation' for the surviving dragons. Or, at least that was what it was called. Really, though, the only thing that was missing was the sign over the gate."

"A . . . sign?"

"Yeah; the one reading Arbeit macht frei." I chuckled darkly at Pasqual's blank look. "Never studied human history? Never mind. Hopefully, you will never learn what I meant by that." And find even more reasons to fear and loathe the humans, or worse yet, find out who in my dream had been that place's commandant.

If anything, now Pasqual looked even more concerned. "Many times, when a dragon dreams, it is not 'just' a dream. Many times, a dragon's visions have meaning."

I nodded absently, looking up at the star-spangled sky where the waning moon floated serenely in the icy void, oblivious to the silly little struggles of both men and dragons. I felt a twinge of envy. "Yes; I've come to that conclusion, myself. Every time something big comes up, the dreams start. Dreams of . . . what could happen. They . . . they feel like warnings."

The young dragoness studied me carefully, her metallic scales gleaming softly in the glow of the barn's work lights. "Have any of your dreams ever come to pass, my Lord?"

My mane clashed quietly as I gave my head a sharp shake, my eyes dropping to study the snow. "No, and as long as I am alive, I will make sure that they never do." We both winced as a harsh grating noise began to issue from the barn as someone fired-up a grinder. Well, looks like neither of us will get any more sleep tonight, so we might as well get some things done. "Pasqual, would you walk with me, please?"

She hesitated, glancing back to where both Ashadh and Dahiric lay curled up in their little nest, somehow managing to sleep through all the racket. Finally she gestured consent and we moved to the other end of the compound, as far away from the barn as we could get. Within the shadow of the surrounding pines, Pasqual turned and looked at me enquiringly.

I looked back at her for a moment, a touch of sadness meandering its way through whatever served as a dragon's heart as I measured the coolness of that gaze. "We must make arrangements," I began at last "in case things do not go well. If I fail in my Challenge, I want you to search beneath our children's nest. There you will find a box containing certain things, including a letter that will tell you where to take our children, and whom you should expect to meet when you get there." I paused as something occurred to me. "Forgive me, but can you read written human language?"

"Yes, my Lord, I can; the one most common on this continent, and one other." Pasqual looked at me then for a silent moment, the moonlight creating silvery sparkles within the strands of her mane. "My Lord, if Ahnkar is the victor, he will rightfully demand the spoils of his victory."

"Do you consider yourself and our children spoils, Pasqual? Even if you did, would you ever deliver both yourself and them back into Ahnkar's grip?"

The dragoness' gaze met mine, and the gold within them simmered with barely-checked emotion. "No. Never," she responded, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Read the letter," I told her "meet the one who shall await you. No--" I held up a taloned hand "do not ask me who it will be, you do not yet need to know. Just be assured that you can trust them."

"And how do you know this, my Lord?" Pasqual asked suspiciously "How do you know that they will not betray us?"

I studied her for a moment, studied the way her golden eyes gleamed in the darkness. Memory of another pair of golden eyes, set amidst opalescent green rather than gleaming gunsteel came to me, and I sighed. "I simply know, my Lady. And, if the time comes, you will know as well. It was you, wasn't it?"

". . . . My Lord?"

"In Panama, when I was about to battle Ksstha in earnest. The apparition that blocked me; it was you, wasn't it?"

Pasqual froze, then winced, her gaze dropping. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I needed Ksstha alive." She looked back up, her eyes pleading for understanding. "As long as he drew breath, continued to struggle for control with Ahnkar, Ahnkar's grip upon our children could not be absolute, and there was still hope that grip could be broken." She lifted a forepaw, made a gesture of regret. "It was the only thing that I could think of to do, that you would not brush aside. I-- I am sorry."

I looked at her, my gaze bleak as I felt another brick dropping into place in the wall we had built between us. "I see," I said at last, not really seeing at all. "Enough of this, then." I made a cutting gesture, perhaps a bit more sharply than necessary, signaling the end of the topic. "Not long ago, you offered your help. Do you still offer it?"

She paused for a moment, looking relieved by the change in subject. "Yes, my Lord," she sighed "I still offer it, if you would still accept it."

I felt the corner of my hard mouth curling upward into a small, wry smile. "How I wish people would just stop with all that 'my Lord' crap," I sighed, then shook my head ruefully. "Anyway. That shape-shifting thing you do, I'd like you to teach me how. It just might be that it will prove useful."

Pasqual blinked, then nodded. "Of course, my Lo-- um, Hasai." For a moment she looked at me sidelong, her own brief smile curling the corner of her mouth, then continued. "It is not too difficult, really; you actually do it every time you shift from dragon to human and back."

"I suspected as much," I sighed "but something is eluding me. Would you be willing to help this slow learner find what he is missing?"

Again that smile. This time it lasted a little longer. "Yes, m-- Hasai, I would."

The snow sprayed away from my forepaws, the light of the morning sun turning the crystals into powdered diamonds, sparkling with a cold white fire as they fled from me. I bounded up the mountain slope, an occasional bittersweet tang that worked its way up from beneath the drifts to my sensitive nose telling me to dodge that particular spot here or to step around that bit right there.

Soon I had worked my way through the perimeter, and up ahead my hearing picked up the voices of men. I slowed then, taking the opportunity to turn and look out over the valley, see the sun rising over the far hills. I let my long tongue loll out in a wolfish smile as I lifted my gray muzzle into the wind and breathed deeply of its scents.

It was incredible. A dragon's sense of smell was actually sharper, but a wolf's ability to process what it scented was far better. Information as rich and intense as the colors my vision lacked flooded into my canine brain, intoxicating me. Winter's pitiless grip upon the land was beginning to weaken, and the wind carried with it the first faint hints of spring, as well as the resinous smell of the pines and the sour, exciting scent of a nearby rabbit's terror.

There were other scents as well; a touch of wood smoke, the smells of men and their tools, and one other, unique scent that sent a frisson of fear through my silver-furred frame. Dragon. I gave my head an annoyed shake, then continued upslope. Pasqual was right; the form did indeed influence one's thinking, and the more alien the form the stronger those influences would be, she had warned. I would do well to heed those warnings, it seemed.

The conversation of the trio lounging off to one side trailed off within a few seconds of my emergence into the clearing; Stefan the first to turn and look at me, his form difficult to pick out as his mottled scales blended into the surrounding pines. His gaze was soon followed by Fields, then Wolfman. We studied each other for a few tense, silent seconds, punctuated by Wolfman's eyes momentarily cutting over to where a G3 assault rifle leaned against a nearby tree. Rather than have things possibly turn nasty, I sat back on my haunches and concentrated for a moment. There was the usual pain, less this time as I had less distance to 'travel,' then my true form was sitting there in its usual metallic finery.

Fields blinked, jerked his head back in surprise. "Whoa! Neat trick! What's-her-name finally get around to showing you how she does that?"

Chuckling quietly I gestured assent. "Yes, she did. How's our little project coming?"

"Pretty good. We have everything settled in, and we're just finishing the hookups." Fields waved at Dithra's agent. "At first, I figured we were gonna have quite a time chopping away at this frozen dirt, but it turns out Stefan here makes one hell of a good backhoe."

We all chuckled at that, then I turned to Stefan, who was giving me an approving look. "What do you think?"

The agent hesitated for a moment, surveying the clearing before replying. "The scent of men is strong here at the moment, but it should fade fairly quickly, especially if I and another dragon or two trampled it for awhile." He turned to look at me. "I believe they will not suspect."

I nodded, then looked to Wolfman, who gave me a wicked little smile and a thumbs-up. "Good. Once you finish testing head back down to the cabin; we need to talk about some other stuff."

"No problem," Fields turned to pick up a shovel lying in the surrounding snow "give us about, oh, three more hours and we'll be there."

"Thanks, guys." I swung my head to give the clearing a hard look, finally nodding to myself in satisfaction as I turned to leave. "See everyone downstairs."

The meeting didn't go off very well. All of my troops, even normally reticent Wolfman went up in flames when I told them the bad news; that they wouldn't be backing me up the next day.

"Look," I said patiently for what was the fourth time "you can't go up there with me. Don't you see? There won't be a single dragon up in that clearing tomorrow that doesn't hate humans' guts, and if they lay eyes on you the war will start that very moment. You have to stay out of sight, or everything Dithra, Stefan, myself, all of us have worked for, what Mink died for, won't have meant a damned thing. Do you want that?"

"Mink didn't die for a bunch of dragons, Sarge, and you damned-well know it," gritted Deebs, his eyes suspiciously bright. "He died for you, Sarge. You, and the rest of us. So don't you throw that shit in our faces!"

Damn it, that hurt. I rounded upon Deebs, and whatever he saw in my face, it made him take a half-step back. "I know that," I replied, my voice surprisingly level. "I know that none of you would be here if it wasn't for me. I also know that if it wasn't for me, Mink would still be alive."

Deebs eyes widened. "Now, you just wait--"

"Mink was looking for a place to die, Max," Luce interrupted, his voice low. "It could have been a shoot-out with the cops, a fight in some bar, or a header off a bridge. It was just a matter of time before he found one. All you did was give his death some meaning."

I paused at that, my gaze dropping to gaze blindly at the wooden floor for a long moment. "Maybe," I sighed at last, then looked to Luce "but don't you see my point? We have a chance here, guys, for the first time, to stop one of these damned things before it gets off the ground. There's no way I could have gotten this far without you guys, and that's a fact. But now we need to finish it, and the only way that it will work, the only way that we can make sure this war doesn't come crawling right back out of whatever grave we throw it into, is for me to go up there alone.

"And there's another thing," I added. "There are no rules in this thing, guys; no Geneva, no Hague, no nothing. There's nothing that says this place can't be hit while I'm up that hill." I glanced back at the nest, where Ashadh and Dahiric were watching all this with wide, apprehensive eyes. "I need you here, people, to make sure we don't end up winning the battle just to lose the war."

"But we can--" Grease began, but cut himself off when Luce turned to him and made a small gesture. "No," he rumbled quietly "I think I see where Max is going with this. I don't like it," he turned back to me, gave me a measuring look "no more than anyone else here does. But all right, Sarge, we'll hold tight here." Lucifer paused, then the corner of his mouth turned upward slightly. "At least until all the screaming stops, anyway."

I gave Luce a suspicious look. "Luce, just stay--"

"And what about us, dear one?" Lady Dithra chose that moment to cut in, her eyes intent. "Will you not at least take the dragons, Stefan, myself, and possibly even Pasqual, with you?"

I looked at the ancient dragoness. Dressed simply in gray-green blouse and gray wool slacks, seated in a rickety old chair in a rude ranch house high in the northern Rockies, she still managed to radiate an aura of royalty. I sighed again. "No, my Lady, I cannot." I turned to where her agent leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes cold. I shook my head. "Not this time, either, Stefan. I'm sorry, but I only want to do this once, and to pull that off, I have to make damned sure that the opposition has no hope. They must not be able to look back upon this and say to themselves 'we can take him, once he no longer has Lady Dithra's wing to hide beneath,' or 'if we eliminate Stefan, we may yet succeed.' They must have no hope, and the only way for us to remove all hope is for me to stand alone."

"Forgive me, my Lord, but can you stand alone?" Stefan responded quietly "You will be up against the elders of almost two-thirds of the clans, as well as the Council itself. Frankly, I find your confidence in this more than a little . . . alarming. Are you quite sure about this?"

I snorted. "Nothing is sure, Stefan. Hell, I don't even assume the sun will rise every morning. But you remember that little conversation I had with Lady Dithra awhile back? The one about time and place?" Stefan's eyes glinted; I grinned. "I thought you might. Well, what we have here is the same situation again. Interesting that Ksstha hasn't realized it." Actually, I suspected he had, which would go a long way toward explaining that assassin. What other surprises would that crafty warrior have in store for me, come tomorrow?

"Forgive me, Stefan, my Lady, but one of the things that's going to win this for us is the fact that dragons are so incredibly hidebound. You never throw anything away, not even the most ridiculous, most obsolete traditions, valuing them for nothing more than the fact that they're old. There are some human societies that have in their past traditions similar to the Challenge, but they've scrapped them long since because they're dangerous. If they continued to be honored, then any power-hungry bastard could swagger in at any time and bring everything people have built over the generations crashing to the ground." I shook my head. "I'm sorry, but the tradition of the Challenge should have been discarded centuries, if not millennia ago, and the tradition of allowing one's opponent to choose the time and place of battle? Well, that's just plain crazy, and it's going to help us win this thing.

"Final point," I held up a finger, turned to meet the eyes of each of the dragons in the room, including Pasqual, who was coiled at the base of the nest as usual, silent as usual. "Once again you'll have to forgive me, but Luce? I've described to you the battles I've been in; how would you characterize the way dragons fight as a group?"

Luce hesitated, his gaze moving to Dithra and Stefan before returning to my own. "A mob," he replied at last.

"Exactly. Every time I've seen dragons fight in a group, it was nothing more than an undisciplined mob. There was no coordination, no cooperation, no leadership beyond the barest rudiments. If this is how the dragons fought for Ksstha in the first war, I can see why we lost."

I looked at Stefan again. The gaze he returned was almost a glare, but it soon dropped, and he nodded reluctantly. "No soldier is ever outnumbered by a mob," I continued quietly. "No matter how powerful the individual members, it's still just a mob."

I fell silent for a moment, my own gaze dropping to the floor as what I said ran through my head once again. For a moment, I almost allowed myself to believe it. Finally I turned to my mate. "Pasqual, I very much wish you could stand by my side, but that isn't possible, either." Because I can't trust you. "You must stay here and watch our children, protect them, and make sure that they do not stray at the worst moment. Will you do this?"

The dragoness looked at me for a long moment; what emotions ran behind those golden eyes I could only guess at. "I will, my Lord," she finally responded.

"Thank you. Please, if things go badly, read the letter." I turned. "Lady Dithra, Luce, there are letters for you as well in Pasqual's envelope." And there were, though both said more-or-less the same thing: walk away. I straightened, looked around the room. "It's late. Try to get some sleep if you can. We'll give everything one last check tomorrow, and then tomorrow night . . . well, then we'll see."

-Late last night the rain was knocking on my window
-I moved across the darkened room, and in the lamp glow
-Thought I saw down in the street
-The spirit of the century
-Telling us we were standing
-On the Border. . . .

The sunlight was almost gone. I wondered if I'd be around to see it come back again.

I sat on my haunches in the snow and watched the western sky fade from peach and orange to gold and scarlet, then slowly swallowed up by ultramarine that was itself being devoured by black. The first stars began to emerge; I studied them for several minutes, then dropped my gaze to the clearing I'd been pacing for several hours now, and to those I shared it with. Lady Dithra and Stefan had come up here a little while ago, and we'd talked for a time about small, inconsequential things.

Eventually, though, the light conversation ground to a halt and silence reigned for a time. Dithra finally turned to me. "Dear one," she asked "is there any way that I can turn you from this course?"

I chuckled sadly, my mane jangling quietly as I shook my head. "Is there any other course left to take, my Lady? No; like a certain human commander once said long ago, the die is cast. There is no going back. This battle must be fought." I sighed, looked at the ancient dragoness "You understand this, probably far better than I do."

Dithra gazed at me for a long moment, her gray-green eyes dark with sadness and regret. "Yes. Yes, I am afraid that I do." She looked away. "I am sorry, young one; I had hoped for so much better for you."

I felt one corner of my hard mouth curve upward into a humorless smile. "Things rarely turn out the way we intend, my Lady, for good or for ill." I sighed. "The humans have it right, you know; the only justice to be had in this life is what you rip from the underbelly of this uncaring universe." I winced slightly at my words, realizing whom I had unconsciously paraphrased. I looked up at the sky. "You'd best leave, my Lady; they'll be coming soon."

Dithra glanced upward, nodded reluctantly. "Yes, but not before I complete one final task." Her gaze swung back to me, her eyes ironic. "You may not have realized it, but the elders and the Council were not the only ones Challenged that day, young Hasai, which left me in a most interesting position; one that, I suspect in all honesty, was what truly annoyed me the most about the situation. The problem can, however, be simply remedied. Stefan, please bear witness."

Before I could react, Dithra folded gracefully into the same posture I had seen more than a few clan elders assume in the previous days, and intoned the same words of capitulation to me. Numbly I watched as she straightened, her eyes holding a trace of amusement as she studied my stunned expression. A trace of amusement, and, perhaps, something else. "Lord Hasai," she began, her voice sounding strange in my ears "in our short time together I have found you to be impetuous, overconfident, independent to the extreme, and infuriating to the brink of insanity." The amusement faded, the other emotion grew stronger. "It has been a good time. My Lord, I will remember you."

The ancient dragoness watched me for a moment longer, watched as I opened my jaws, closed them, nodded silently. Then she turned and walked away, quickly disappearing into the surrounding trees.

"My Lord, I know of only one other dragon who courts death as readily as you, and he is on the other side. Are you as mad as he, or are you simply the most courageous dragon I have ever known?"

I grimaced, then turned to face Stefan, who stood a short distance away. "I am not a brave person, Stefan; far from it. But I'm not crazy, either." I chuckled grimly "Or at least I don't think I am. No," I sobered, searching for the right words "it's just that-- It's just that some things have to be done, and if I don't do them, who the hell is going to?" I asked lamely.

A thought occurred to me then, and a short, sharp bark of amusement escaped my jaws, though it felt like it should have been a sob. "I am about to cover myself with shame, Stefan; I am about to use our people's sense of honor as a weapon against them. But I would do it again, and again and again and again, if it meant I could save them from themselves. Many of our people will curse my name after this night, but I can live with that. Hell, I can die with that, knowing that at least I tried."

And how are you different, then, from your adversaries? hissed a certain wraith. I winced.

Stefan eyed me warily, his form very still. "My Lord, you sounded so very confident before, yet I hear none of that confidence now. Why?"

"Because if I hadn't sounded confident, Heaven and Hell together would not have been able to keep Luce, Deebs, and the rest of the troops from standing here with me, and in doing so destroying everything." I cocked my head as a distant rumble came to my ears. I looked back at Stefan. "They're coming. Stefan, if I fall, remember there is a letter for you as well. You may not understand what's in it, but swear to me you will not only follow it exactly, but ensure everyone else does as well. Swear that to me now."

The sound was swiftly growing louder. Stefan gave the skies an uneasy glance, then bowed to me. "Upon my honor, my Lord, upon my honor." He hesitated, glanced up at the rumbling sky again then back down to me. "My Lord, if there is any way-- Let me stand with you. Please."

"I wish to both God and Ancestors that you could, Stefan, but I can't think of any way. Go, soldier. Go now."

His normal impassivity in tatters, Stefan gave me one last, agonized look, then turned and fled down the way Dithra had taken earlier. Mere seconds after he had vanished into the trees the rolling thunder resolved itself as the sound of vast, leathery wings beating the air as dozens of huge, reptilian forms hove into view over the flank of the mountain.

So many. Even after all of Dithra's efforts, still so many . . . . I gave my head a sharp shake, forced my talons to unclench themselves from the icy soil. A moment to steady my thoughts, then the sphere of the Lung snapped into being next to me, its soft glow gently illuminating my immediate surroundings. The elder dragons soaring above me saw the glow, seemed to hesitate, then began to settle in for a landing.

Huge, clawed feet slammed down onto the ground, then again, and again. Soon the clearing was filled almost to capacity with armored bodies, their eyes glowing like multicolored lanterns as they stared either at me, or, more often, at the sphere.

A moment of near-silence ensued, then was broken by a stirring in the ranks facing me as Ahnkar shouldered his way to the fore. He stared at me for a long moment, then raised his eyes to look at the empty forest behind me. "You are alone?" he spoke at last, his tone incredulous "You would face all of us? Alone?"

"Not all of you, Ahnkar," I replied mockingly "as it seems your ranks have thinned just a bit since last we met."

"No! Do not speak with it! Just kill it!" Another commotion and Ksstha fought his way forward, his eyes glowing like twin bonfires as they glared at me with a mixture of revulsion and fear. "Kill it now, before it is too late!"

Ahnkar gave a twitch of annoyance, made a quelling gesture with one forepaw. Several of the dragons around him moved in response to block Ksstha. "Hasai, we can yet avoid this foolishness," he began, his voice almost pleading. "Cease this madness and pledge your fealty, if not to me, then to the will of the Council itself--"

I gave him a savage grin, then raised my own voice, cutting him off. "Whose head is held highest here?"

Ahnkar gave me a despairing look as I slammed the last door shut, a look that settled into a grim bleakness. "Mine is the head that is held highest here, and highest it shall remain. I am here, at thy behest, to settle our accounts."

"And so it shall be." I paused, then turned to pluck the sphere of the Lung from the air and hold it in my upturned forepaw before my opponents. "You fear this, don't you?" I watched, my fangs baring themselves in a carnivore's grin as the closest of the elders drew back slightly, their eyes apprehensive. "And well you should. If any of you were willing to learn the lessons of the past, you would not be here at all, but instead would have sought a different way. But you do not learn, do you? A dragon is reduced to nothingness before your very eyes, and you do not learn. I suppose I should not be surprised, as you failed to learn your lessons regarding the humans, as well." I gave then a look packed with as much scorn as I could muster. "I have seen whole cities devoured by the flames of war. My parents, my own Ancestors, saw entire continents burn. And still, Ahnkar, you and yours have learned nothing about war against the humans."

The clearing was thick with tension. Only indecision and curiosity kept the elders from attacking that very instant. My very body was vibrating with that tension. The human half of my soul was crooning Phil Collins' In The Air Tonight, as it reveled in it. My killer's smile grew wider, and I chuckled grimly. "Perhaps another lesson would do the trick? Oh, no; not with this--" I responded to the tension that immediately curdled the very atmosphere, then suddenly took the sphere and flicked it high into the air much the way a human would flip a coin, where it disappeared with a quiet snap "--but with this."

That old pain swept over me once more. Within seconds what stood before those stunned elders was not a steel-armored dragon, but a human soldier in full winter battle dress. Ahnkar stared down at me in utter confusion as I grinned at him, swung my empty hands wide, walked toward him. "Well, Ahnkar? Shall we begin?"

I took one, two steps forward, then the ground collapsed beneath my feet. I yanked my arms back in to keep them from snagging on the sides of the slit trench as I fell, then my combat boots hit bottom with a thud. Up above there was a fraction of a second of deadly silence, then an ear-shattering roar erupted from a dozen throats and the slice of sky above me was blotted out by a wave of searing flame. I gritted my teeth against the wash of heat penetrating my body armor, scrabbled for the little clacker that sat in its small, earthen cubbyhole in the trench wall, its dull-green frame wrapped in bright yellow tape so I wouldn't miss it. My frantic hands grabbed it, flipped down the safety bale, squeezed down hard on the thick plastic lever. . . .

Clack!

Inside the little green box, a spring-loaded hammer slammed down upon a small crystal. That crystal protested the abuse by releasing a sharp pulse of electricity that was caught and sent screaming down a wire. That pulse didn't go very far, traveling less than fifty meters before slamming into the base of an electrical blasting cap. The cap detonated, setting off the three strands of det-cord wrapped around it. Traveling at a rate of over seven thousand meters per second, three bright little balls of purest chemical energy flashed down the cords, going their separate ways to dive into several heavy steel drums buried just beneath my opponents' feet where another set of blasting caps awaited them. They themselves detonated, touching-off the M112 blocks of C4 they were embedded in, and in turn those C4 boosters set-off the main contents of the drums, a thick slurry of ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel.

When the ANFO went, the world ended.

The shock wave would have imploded the trench, burying me alive, if it hadn't been for all the shoring Deebs and Fields had braced the sides with. As it was, I felt like a ping-pong ball in a paint mixer as I was slammed mercilessly into the walls of the trench by the convulsing earth while the sky above me flashed a dazzling blue-white.

Silence, save for a ringing din within my badly abused ears. Something warm was dripping off my chin; I wiped at it dazedly, discovered it to be blood streaming from my nose. I wasted several more stunned seconds staring at the cracks that now zigzagged through the trench's surrounding timbers, then I was scrambling out of there just as quickly as I could.

When I emerged from the battered foxhole, what greeted me was devastation. What had once been a modest mountainside clearing was now a war zone. A triad of broad, shallow craters now scarred the clearing's center, the surrounding soil stripped away to bare rock. Many of the trees surrounding the clearing were down, snapped off at the base, their shattered trunks all lying pointed away from the epicenter of the blast.

As for my opponents, they weren't in much better shape. Fully two-thirds lay still on the ground, either knocked cold by the triple concussion or two badly injured to move. Some, I suspected from the amount of dark red blood splashed about the clearing, would never move again. That left the remainder, many of whom were already beginning to slowly wobble their way back to their feet, blinking their eyes dazedly as they fought to clear their ringing heads.

Not bad for a first-strike; indeed, if the charges had been topped with containers of CS the way Fields had wanted, this fight would have been over already. But no; we still needed to prove a few things to these knot-heads. Stifling an urge to cough on air laden with dust and poisonous fumes, I planted my fists on my hips and shouted: "How'd you like that, folks? You want to fight the humans, you'd better get used to it! That, and things far worse!" I paused for a second, feeling my lips skinning back from my teeth in a carnivore's grin as I felt a wave of almost tangible rage washing over me. "Enjoyed it, did you? Well, then you'll love Round Two! That is, of course, assuming you slugs can catch me!"

Scarcely had the last word left my mouth I was shifting, more swiftly than I had ever done before. The instant my forepaws thumped to the ground I was spinning, my wings snapping open as I flung myself into the air, clawing for both speed and altitude. Behind me, bellows of utter fury burst from perhaps twenty draconic throats as the remainder gave chase.

The moment I cleared the trees I swerved to the right, cutting across and down the mountain's face, building speed. Risking a glance back, I saw the six least-damaged of my foes right behind me in hot pursuit. Too close. I cursed quietly, but my team had foreseen this possibility. I swerved right again, angling through a sharp draw in the ridgeline's flank. Trees, snow, and solid rock rose up to either side of me, and I could almost feel the hot breath of my pursuers on the back of my neck as I arrowed up the narrow passage, my eyes searching. . . .

There! The instant I saw the little strip of bright orange tape dangling from a tree branch I was diving for the bottom of the draw, leveling-out only at the last moment and continuing up the passage with the trees' topmost branches painting green streaks down my belly. Behind me, I heard my pursuers bellow with joy at my foolish maneuver as they bent their wings to dive down upon me.

Those shouts of triumph abruptly turned into screams of horror as the three spans of heavy steel cable my people had labored to string across the chasm suddenly loomed out of the darkness, far too close to dodge. There were sounds behind me then, sounds of steel wire slicing through both flesh and bone, then howls of agony and despair as my pursuers fell, wings broken, tumbling helplessly into the gorge to smash into the pitiless rocks that awaited below.

Now. The nearest of my pursuers eliminated, I pulled up out of the chasm, straining for altitude while my form swelled to its maximum size. A talon reached down to tap at my clothes-hamper pattern, now slightly modified, and the little squiggle flared like a tiny star. Ahead of me, a hole in the very fabric of the universe opened, its perfectly circular edges glowing blue-black in the evening sky, its center darker than any night.

I flew into the hole, my wings cringing inward to avoid the mathematically sharp edges . . . then less than a second later flew right back out at exactly the same speed, but now pointed back the way I came. Deebs' Rube Goldberg-like contraption was now draped across my form, its steel framework trailing icy vapor from its hellishly cold storage site. All about the frame, heavy-duty magnets (scavenged from speaker cabinets) grabbed onto my steely scales, while a makeshift visor (the windshield of our much-abused rental truck) settled down across my eyes. A final magnet clanked into place, closing a circuit, and the bandoliers of lead-acid gel-cells slung Pancho Villa-style across my chest grew warm as they poured power into the system.

The AN/APR-39 bolted and duct-taped to the lower-left quadrant of my visor bleeped to life, began to boot itself. Shortly thereafter it was showing me a gaggle of short, thin lines straggling toward me from the forward edge of the screen. I felt my fangs baring themselves in a savage grin. As we'd hoped, the fools had strung themselves out, the more injured of my opponents falling behind as the healthier pulled ahead in their pursuit of me, and were using Power to thrust themselves along in an effort to catch up.

Perfect. Perfect! I fumbled for a device that dangled from my chest harness by a short cable. I juggled the item, once a plastic storage tank of some sort, until my metallic talons came in contact with the correct group of metal plates bolted onto the tank's surface. Sparks flew, and somewhere back in the frame a hydraulic pump began to whine as the GAU-8 AVENGER slung under my right wing hissed to life, its drum quickly blurring up to full speed.

The first few of the lines on the APR were closing on the center of the device's little screen; I looked up from it to see two elder dragons closing fast, their tattered wings rattling and booming as they strained to reach me. I tilted my own wings downward, diving to meet them, rowing hard to add still more speed as my grip shifted on my makeshift joystick, a talon hovering over a certain contact plate, then coming down on it.

A Warthog driver once likened the sound of a GAU-8 firing to a giant chain-saw chewing through steel. He wasn't far from the mark. I was almost deafened as the front end of the Gatling gun vanished within a ball of white-hot flame. Recoil slammed against me, and only the continued, frantic flapping of my wings kept the weapon from swatting me out of the sky. From the forward edge of the muzzle blast a solid red line of tracers emerged, streaming toward my adversaries. Fighting for control, I swung my body until that line intersected my oncoming foes, and their snarls of defiance became screams of pain as manhole-sized sections of both scales and wing skin began to vanish in yellow-white flashes of light.

Seconds later, their power of flight destroyed, the two elders tumbled howling out of the sky as my eye dipped once again to the APR-39, looking for my next set of targets. There. I swung to the left slightly, accelerated to meet a group of three.

It was all-too easy. Scattered by their injuries and their own unthinking rage, the elders fell before me in ones, twos, and threes, their wings devoured by a sleet of 30mm HE shells that shredded the delicate vanes but did not penetrate their bodies deeply enough to reach anything vital. Within minutes I was watching as the last of my opponents, a green-black dragoness so battered it was a wonder she had managed to get aloft in the first place, careen face-first into a stand of mountain pine, the thick trunks snapping like toothpicks under her helplessly skidding bulk. I felt a tiny touch of pity then, but more of disgust. You fools; you actually wished to do battle with the humans?

Then the APR-39 screamed. My eye darted to it, to see a glaring yellow line and a frantically flashing warning light. Instantly I threw myself to the left, not-quite fast enough as a huge bolt of blue-green energy caromed off my shields to scar the ice and stone below in a thunderous explosion. Pain surged through me, feedback from my badly-abused shields. I blinked, looked at the APR again, then peered upward. High above me, his dark green scales hard to see against the night, soared the one dragon who had not fallen into my trap, who had actually paused to think before attacking, and who now held the high ground against me.

Ksstha.

I twisted my wings upward, labored to bring the Gatling's long barrels to bear on my high-flying adversary. The ancient warrior was readying another one of those bolts, a nimbus of pure Power gathering about his forepaws as I finally managed to lift my weapon high enough and touched the contact. The GAU-8 began to fire, but then abruptly went silent.

Empty.

Cursing my wastefulness, I quickly swung away as the APR-39 screamed again and the elder's bolt came slamming down, narrowly missing me to turn a grove of snow-covered evergreens into an ocean of furious flame. I dove, picking some speed back up. Ksstha pursued, craftily conserving his altitude as he began to prepare yet another bolt, evidently planning to stand off and pound me to pieces at his leisure. I gave a snort of bitter humor as I realized the irony of the situation.

But I still had a card left to play. I shifted my grip, and the Gatling went dead as power was removed from it and diverted to the device under my other wing. That device seemed to twitch as current flowed into it, and a dull, confused-sounding drone filled my ears. A small box clamped to the right side of my visor came to life, a small LED on its side glowing bright red.

I turned hard, began to climb, to lift my snout upward until the device was no longer masked by my wing. At the same time I started to line-up Ksstha's dark silhouette with a small set of crosshairs painted in white on my visor just in front of my right eye. "Hey, Ksstha!" I bellowed, that black joy soaring within me .

It was hard to maintain this nose-up attitude; already my airspeed was dropping, making me a sitting-duck for the ancient warrior's next bolt. I managed to get the crosshairs settled on Ksstha, and I knew that little box on my visor was now painting a tiny dot of infrared laser light on my adversary's breast. That tone in my ears changed then, from a puzzled buzz to a squeal of electronic glee as the little LED shifted from red to green.

"I got something for you!"

My talon came down on another contact, and the AGM-114A HELLFIRE came off its launch rail with a thunderous roar. Trailing a long, thin column of white flame, the missile clawed its way up into the sky, its lethal nose centering itself on that distant dot of laser light.

At almost that same moment, Ksstha hurled another bolt. I watched the amorphous blob of blue-green energy come; no-way I could dodge this time, not without breaking weapons lock and losing the missile. I set my teeth, then fed as much Power as I had left into my shields. It turned into a game of nerves, each of us watching an engine of destruction coming right at our face, each of us waiting for the other to blink. In the end, neither of us did.

Ksstha's bolt hit, and it hurt like hell. The blue-green plasma splashed across my shields, and I grunted from the impact as the raw energy clawed at them, working its way through at several points to lash across my wings and back, leaving jagged bands of black char in its wake. Through it all I held that attitude, feeling the first buffetings of an imminent stall, held that crosshair on Ksstha's distant form, though I did it with eyes streaming with tears of pain, guiding the missile in, guiding it. . . .

Impact.

The ATGM was designed to turn main battle tanks into flaming masses of scrap metal. It would have reduced Ksstha to a thin red mist, if both myself and a thoroughly pissed-off Deebs hadn't removed most of the weapon's warhead. But there was still the missile's frame, remaining propellant, and sheer velocity for the ancient warrior to contend with. Seconds before I pitched down into a complete stall, I saw Ksstha disappear within a huge flash of yellow, orange, and white light. Artificial thunder rolled through the sky, and as I began to fall I saw the elder dragon's limp form, torn and smoking, come tumbling out of the fireball.

I lost sight of him then, as I had to fight to arrest my own plunge toward the ground. I yanked my wings down, tilting them forward. For several long seconds my fall actually accelerated, then the wind began to flow smoothly across my vanes once again. Banking to avoid the mountain's rocky flank, I caught a fading thermal, gained altitude, turned back toward the clearing while I fumbled with my equipment. Carefully I switched the GAU-8's jerry-rigged feed chute from the empty, yellow-colored ammo drum slung on one side of my harness to the black-painted drum opposite it.

I'd worried that the elders that I'd grounded with my opening strike would have gathered their wits by now; gathered them, sorted themselves out, and would have a united front ready and waiting for me. I'd worried needlessly, for when I arrived back at the clearing it was still howling chaos there. Thinking like a human again. . . . I felt my lips curling back from my fangs, part savage anticipation, part something else, and dove. Below me, the heads of the elders that were capable of it snapped upward at my thunderous bellow, as my talons once again closed the circuit and the huge Gatling gun began its own snarl.

The PGU-14/B DU projectiles that were in that second drum could rip through the armor of a Soviet T-72 like bullets through butter. What the little tank-busters would do to a dragon did not bear thinking about. My first burst dug a narrow trench at the elders' feet, scarcely wide enough to stick a talon into. Not very impressive, not until the path of that instant trench intersected a large outcropping of granite and the rock promptly dissolved into a cloud of dust and flying stone splinters. The elders flinched away, then flinched again at my second bellow.

"Yield!"

I swung around, made another pass. This time the deadly little trench passed right through their midst, and my remaining opponents frantically leaped, limped, or crawled out of its way.

"Yield!" I thundered relentlessly, coming around for yet another pass. Before my talon could once again close the contact, however, the elders decided they'd had enough. First in ones and twos, then in groups, my opponents began to drop into postures of submission. Soon all who could were kneeling before me.

A gamut of emotions went through me as I circled, staring down at the bowing elders, not one of them joy. Finally I came in to land. A touch upon the clothes-hamper pattern banished Deebs' gear back to its storage site, but I kept my size as high as it would go as I stalked up to the elders, sternly gazed out over them, then filled my lungs.

"Whose head is held highest here?"

I asked the question once, twice, then finally thrice. Each time I was answered by silence. "Then it is mine own head that is held highest here," I declared, and no-one disagreed. I turned, eyes searching. "Ahnkar, stand forth!"I bellowed.

There was a pause, then once again the banded dragon worked his way to the fore, though he was far more the worse for wear than he had been just a short while before. His left wing dragged in the dirt, blood streamed from myriad flesh wounds, and he moved with a deep limp. He stopped before me, then looked at me silently, his eyes filled with shock, pain, and despair.

"Say it," I hissed.

Ahnkar bowed his head for a long moment, then spoke, the words heavy as lead. "I am known as Ahnkar. I am the Eldest of clan Gessett, and I am the Eldest of the Council." Slowly, he assumed the posture of submission, exposing his throat. "On behalf of both myself, my clan, and the members of the Council, I doth yield to thee, Lord Hasai."

I stared at his throat for the longest time, my fangs aching. Seemingly without my willing it, I saw my right foreleg lift free of the ground, my talons reaching out. The elder, seeing death reaching for him, gave a tired, hopeless sigh, closed his eyes, and waited.

If he had fought, begged, or tried to run I would have killed him instantly. But that simple, quiet sigh stopped me. I stood there, frozen, for the longest time, my talons just touching his waiting throat, a hundred voices and a thousand memories thundering in my head. Behind me, I could hear both Lady Dithra and Stefan re-enter what was left of the clearing, then move to stand behind me. Neither said anything; neither of them could, for it was no longer their place. Still, I could sense Dithra's anguish.

"You cost me five children, Ahnkar," I gritted out at last. "Five children, a mate, and more pain than any just universe would ever withstand. I should kill you, dragon; the spirits of my lost children and my own heart demand it , but I gave my word--" --to the ghost of a long-dead dream. I stood there, remembering, for just a moment, then abruptly my lips curled back in a wide carnivore's grin. "Besides," I hissed "I am not that merciful."

The talons of my right hand lifted from the banded dragon's throat, swung back, and slashed. Ahnkar went tumbling to the ground, blood gushing from the five long, deep cuts that now decorated the left side of his face. "You will serve me," I snarled down at his writhing form. "You, your clan, your Council, all will serve both me and my Line from this point on. Beyond life, beyond time, to the very edges of honor, you will serve both me and mine. Hear me!" I suddenly bellowed to all those who crouched before us "Lord Ahnkar is hereby stripped of his positions as Eldest and member of the Council. Lord Trassahn will take his place as member, and Lady Dithra will resume her rightful place as Eldest of the Council, not by the greater strength of the clans, not by the greater strength of the Council, but because I will it! Those who would object, face me now!"

Silence, broken only by the groans of the wounded. I dragged a cold, cruel gaze across the mob, then returned it to Ahnkar, who was slowly working his way back to his feet. "Your precious war dies here, dragon; your sick dream of flinging us into hopeless battle against the humans ends now--"

Then Ksstha was there. There wasn't much left of him; his wings were crumpled ruin, blood poured from gaping wounds that should have been fatal, and at least one leg was broken, yet there he was, charging at me from out of nowhere, his gleaming fangs silently arrowing for my throat.

There was no time. Before I could react, his shoulder had smashed into mine, toppling me, his teeth closing on the soft scales just beneath my own jaws and clamping down. I rolled, bringing my hind legs up to rake great bloody furrows in Ksstha's underbelly, but the ancient warrior made no move to protect himself. Flashes of both gray-green and green-black scales told me that Dithra and Stefan were trying to pull him off of me, and after a moment of stunned horror as he watched the few remaining shards of his honor crumble to dust, even Ahnkar piled in. All four of us did hideous damage to Ksstha, but Death's Hunter made no sound, no effort to protect himself as he threw his life away, concentrating on nothing but forever tightening his grip on my throat with his splintering fangs.

I couldn't breathe; the terrible pressure on my windpipe was too great, and the arteries that fed my brain were being squeezed shut. My blows became weak, random things, hardly hurting Ksstha at all. My vision narrowed down into a black, roaring tunnel. I felt one of the scales protecting my throat fail, and Ksstha's fangs digging onto the meat beneath.

I'm coming, baby . . . . I'm coming. . . . I'm . . . .

Then, abruptly, it stopped. Slowly, both air and blood began to leak past Ksstha's slackening jaws, and I dragged in a weak, shuddering breath. Vision began to reluctantly return, but there wasn't much to see; Ksstha lying limply atop me, three more bodies atop him. There had been a sound, just as I was losing consciousness; a sound like. . . like. . . .

The others hesitated in their attacks on Ksstha, began to get off of us. Ksstha himself slid free as I rolled to my feet, and fell limply to the ground beside me, his eyes open but empty.

. . . . his eyes red ruin from their weapons . . . .

I knew that sound; it was the earsplitting, supersonic crack that military ordinance makes as it passes by, far too close for comfort. Shakily I searched, and quickly found what I was looking for. The hole was small, only about a half-inch in diameter, located a little to the rear of Ksstha's left eye. It would have been almost unnoticeable, save that all around the hole the scales were gone, blasted away by the projectile's trailing shockwave.

. . . . he cried out in a voice so filled with despair that I hear it even now . . . .

I didn't want to, but I had to see. Gently, I lifted Ksstha's head and turned it, saw how much of the other side of his skull was missing, blown out by the combination of detonating warhead and hydrostatic shock. I swallowed hard.

. . . . and fell dead, leaving me alone. With them. . . .

Now there were other sounds; an astonished and angry hissing rising from at least a dozen throats, and voices. Voices of men.

"Back off, back off, BACK OFF!"

"Get away from him! Get away from him NOW!"

"Oh, you wanna play, do ya? Well, c'mon, baby, I'm right here! Let's dance! Let's PARTY!"

Ice clutching at my heart, I looked up to see the draconic bodies around us grudgingly part. Into the gap stormed Luce and the rest of the squad, all of them armed to the teeth and looking for a fight. Quickly they formed a perimeter around Ksstha and myself, facing outward, their weapons ready and pointing at the other dragons, Stefan and Lady Dithra included. Luce glanced back, quickly assessing the damage done to the body I held in my arms. "Outstanding shot, Wolfman," he remarked, then looked up at me. "You all right?"

No. . . . NO!

It was all going to hell. Every member of Ahnkar's mob of elders who could do so was on their feet. Eyes fixed on the humans and hissing like enraged tea kettles, at least a dozen dragons were crouching, preparing to attack. Dithra looked about herself in growing alarm, then cast me a despairing look. "Hasai!"

I tried to shout, to bellow the crowd back into submission, but all I could manage at the moment was a weak croak. Desperate, I summoned the sphere. It materialized next to me with its usual quiet snap; I grabbed it and stuffed it between my jaws. Connection was made, and I roared.

<Silence!>

Those dragons closest to me, Ahnkar, Dithra, and Stefan included, fell over from the force of the mental shout. All the dragons, from the front rank to the rear, grabbed at their heads in pain. Even the humans, oblivious as they usually were to such things, blinked and gave me a puzzled look.

<Whose head is held highest here?> The elders looked back up, their eyes going wide with apprehension when they saw me standing before them, wrapped in a sizzling silver-white glow, the sphere of the Lung clenched in my jaws. Most quickly dropped back into the posture of submission. A few hesitated, glancing back and forth between me and Luce's team. I quickly picked them out. <Do you challenge me?> I asked, pointing at one with a saber-like talon. Her eyes went wide and she quickly bowed. The talon swung to others. <Do you? . . . . Do you?>

Soon, all the elders were back down and I swung my glare to the humans. Wolfman was off to my right, the massive Barret sniper rifle cradled in his arms. <Little fool,> I hissed to the unhearing human <give me that!> I hooked my talons around the weapon and ripped it out of his grasp, and it was all poor Wolfman could do to keep the shoulder strap from tearing his arm off.

I took the Barret and held it high, brandishing it at the other dragons. <Did you not see? Did you not see? Our most ancient, our most venerated warrior has fallen in battle! Not to a thousand humans, not to a hundred, but to one! One human, armed with one tool, a scrap of metal scarcely as long as one of my fingers, has defeated our greatest! This will be the result of any war with the humans, this! Not victory, not an honorable death in battle, but hunted and killed as casually as you or I would hunt and kill the elk that roam these slopes.>

I paused, my eyes looking out across my audience. <Do you truly wish, truly wish, for yourselves, your mates, your children to be nothing but prey? To come to an end as some human hunter's trivial sport? If we start this war, that will most certainly be our fate. Wake up, my people; your precious dream is naught but a nightmare.>

With a tired gesture I tossed Wolfman back his weapon. <Go now, and take our injured with you. Tomorrow . . . . Tomorrow we will re-convene the Council, and work to determine our fate in this world. You as well, Ahnkar. Go.>

A collective sigh rippled its way through the assembled ranks of the elders. Slowly, painfully they collected themselves and began to trickle away into the battered forest, eventually leaving me alone with the squad, Dithra, Stefan . . . and the dead.

I reached up and removed the sphere from my jaws, then looked upon what had once been a pretty little forest clearing, looked upon the occasional crumpled form littering the blasted earth, my gaze returning at last to the one lying at my feet. "I so very much wish I hadn't had to do that," I sighed at last.

There was no reply, not from the squad, not from Stefan or Dithra. Eventually I gave another sigh and sent the sphere to its home, then turned and slowly trudged back down the hill to the cabin.

"All is over but the shouting. . . ."

-- Unknown

"My Lady, I feel that I must respectfully ask you to reconsider this strategy that you have put forward. Many of us who have examined it have concluded that it is far too rapid in its pace! Surely we must take into consideration that this is a species that visits feral barbarisms even upon its own kind, slaying millions for nothing more than some obscure ecumenical or political point! Assuming we can ever succeed at all, this process should consume centuries --nay, millennia!-- rather than the breathlessly short span that you have foreseen. . . ."

With hooded eyes I watched the Council Elder (What was her name? Damned if I could recall . . . .) natter on, methodically pointing out one area after another where Dithra's plan of re-introducing ourselves to the humans could come apart at the seams. They were good points, and it was a good speech, though the whole argument had doubtlessly been orchestrated by Ahnkar. Whatever his other flaws, and they were legion, I had to admit that old dragon definitely had guts, still pushing his agenda even when my talons were wrapped around his throat.

On that thought I glanced over to the far side of the compound clearing to where the name's owner sat, a corner of my hard mouth curling upward slightly as I noted his own gaze quickly veering away from me. Everyone was doing it; giving me nervous little glances when they thought my attention was directed elsewhere. It was like the elders were having a polite little political discussion in a tidy little tea room, striving to ignore the main battle tank (main battle dragon?) crouching in the corner, looking at them.

The smile faded as my mind went on to other subjects, other problems, such as how to go about telling Pasqual what we needed to do with our children. She would probably try to kill me over it, certainly hate me forever. But I could see no alternative, if they were to survive in a world shared with humans.

Natter-natter-natter. . . .

Almost two weeks had now passed since the battle in the clearing, and the dying season's accumulation of snow was beginning to soften and slump in the afternoons. It re-froze when evening fell, but every day it took just a little longer for Winter to get its battle-lines back into order. Speaking of cold, I remembered the message I received the day after the battle. It was from Ksstha, crafted before-hand and delivered verbally to me by one of his surviving followers.

"Despised creature, if you are hearing this now, then I have fallen in battle to you. If this is my lot, then so be it; I long to once again see those who were torn from me so very long ago by the vermin you share kinship with. But you have not won. You have not won, not as long as a single dragon remains to draw breath, not as long as a single dragon remains to raise their voice against you and your vermin in blessed defiance. The battle will go on, and one day both you and your beloved vermin will fall, as I have, and my people will once again rise up in triumph, and spread their wings to the sunlit skies, their feet grinding down upon the ashes of you and everything you hold dear. . . ."

It went on in this manner at length, then ended with a surprising request.

"All of those who were of my Line are gone, ages ago. So it must be you, my slayer, who performs the Duty for the Fallen. Do it, and in doing so look upon your own bleak future."

Puzzled, I asked Stefan what this "Duty for the Fallen" was, and he brought me up to speed. That same evening, after more than a little thought, I once again found myself in that battered mountain clearing. It was empty now, save for scorch marks where other dragons had fallen, and Ksstha's lonely remains.

I stared down at the crumpled, battle-scarred form, my mane chiming softly in the chill evening wind. I thought about that one brief moment, seemingly an eternity ago, when I saw something in the ancient dragon's eyes, something other than the leaping flames of Hell. I sighed, spoke the ancient words Stefan had taught me, then invoked Power.

Immediately Ksstha's remains exploded into bright blue-green flame, the heat so intense that it penetrated even my steely armor as the Power still lingering within the body was released. I watched, as Ksstha had demanded, and within minutes his body was devoured by the flames, leaving only a scorch mark upon the ground and a small heap of ash that was quickly picked up by the wind and carried away, up into a darkening, star-sprinkled sky. "Rest, warrior," I murmured, "rest at last. I will take up your burden from here, and I pray to the Ancestors that they grant me the strength and wisdom to bear it well."

I stared up at those cold, uncaring points of light for awhile, thinking of far too many might-have-beens. Then I sighed once again, shook my head, and slowly walked back down the hill.

Natter-natter-natter-natter. . . .

Less than a day later, I received the first of the Challenges. Most of them were what I'd thought they would be; acts of vengeance attempted by younger, rasher dragons mourning their fallen elders. Some, however, were nothing more than thinly-veiled assassination attempts, pre-arranged, I suspect, by Ksstha prior to his demise. I should have expected it, I suppose; the wily old warrior had been dragon-kind's closest thing to a general, and he'd had millennia to hone his skills.

The Challenges weren't all-that much of a problem; the tactics used by the younger dragons tended to be of the scream-and-leap variety, and only a few of the most stubborn forced me to kill them. After a week of one Challenge right after another, however, I'd had enough. My next Challenger/assassin was astonished to find me facing him on two legs and clad in full battle-dress. Shortly after that the screaming began, when the first CS round smacked him in the face. I gave him five more, until he finally passed out from the pain. I then slung the grenade launcher back over my shoulder, picked up the chainsaw I'd brought with me, and used it to open his throat. Afterward I turned to the Challenger's horrified cronies, shook the steaming, blood-dripping machine at them, and roared "Which of you dogs is next?"

The Challenges stopped after that, but then two nights later came the assault. We awoke to the sound of exploding mines, and found a dragon writhing in silent agony on the perimeter, his left foreleg ripped away at the shoulder by an AT unit. Additional craters, splashes of blood and marks of a hasty retreat told us he had not been alone. The gravely wounded dragon never said a word before he died, not even after we turned him over to Stefan, but it didn't take a genius to know what he and his friends had been after. Up to that point I'd lied to myself, kept telling myself that somehow, between Pasqual, Stefan and myself, we would be able to manage. That night in the minefield shattered that fantasy, and with a heavy heart I made arrangements for a meeting with Kaa'saht.

Natter-natter-natter-natter-natter. . . .

"Enough."

The Council Elders jumped slightly, then turned to stare at me. I returned their gaze for a moment, then realized with a small start that it was I who had spoken. Slowly I rose to my feet, gathering my thoughts, then turned to Lady Dithra, who once again sat as Council Eldest. "Your pardon, my Lady, but enough," I rumbled, then glanced at Ahnkar. "Your influence upon these proceedings has been noted, Ahnkar; we will discuss your interference at a later time, in private."

Over by Dithra, Stefan rose to his feet at my words, began to head toward Ahnkar. He stopped when I made a small patting motion with one hand. I then returned my attention to the elder dragon who had been speaking. "What you do not seem to realize, Elder, is that we have no choice in this matter; no choice as to this course, and no choice as to its timetable."

I looked at the other members of the council. "Think back, Elders of the Council. Think back just a single century ago. What were the humans like back then? They either walked or rode dumb beasts, and their greatest form of power was realized by burning a bit of wood beneath a covered container of water. What are they like now? Do they not now fly, far better than we do? Do they not now employ tools, machines that make our strength and speed seem as nothing in comparison? Have they not walked upon other worlds? These things they have done in the span of a hundred winters. What will they be like in another hundred?"

I drew in a breath, let it out in an exasperated gust. "Elders, there is no time left. Dithra's timetable is indeed ambitious, but it is the only one that we have any hope of completing before it becomes no longer possible to hide from the humans. Before that day comes, the humans must be willing to share their world with us, or we are lost."

"Their world? Their world? It is ours! Our homes, our lands that those upstart vermin stole from. . . ." I turned to look at Ahnkar, and what he saw in my eyes caused him to choke-off whatever else he was about to say. I gazed at him for a long moment more, then turned back to the Council. "Upstarts? Perhaps. Perhaps not." I murmured. "But even if the humans did indeed come to these lands after we had occupied them, they still have the stronger claim."

There was a rumble at that last from the gathered dragons. Ignoring it, I rose to my feet and ambled out into the clear area before the gathered Council, paused, then began to doodle in the snow with one of my talons. As I drew I glanced up at Stefan, dipped my head slightly in his direction, signaling respect. "The one known as Stefan has labored long and hard to educate me in our ways. Our ways, traditions, protocols, everything. Even a little bit of our mythology." One corner of my hard mouth twitched upward into an ironic little smile as I once again looked back to the Council. "Of those stories, there was one in particular I found intriguing, as it had such a strong resemblance to parts of a human legend."

My doodles were beginning to coalesce into a circular shape upon the ground, one that was already flickering with the first signs of Power. Several Council members shifted uneasily as they stared at it, their puzzlement obvious. "Do you recall the story?" I continued "Of how our people once lived in a dark place, hounded by demons until their wisest created a passageway out of that grim domain?"

A few more practiced strokes and the pattern was complete, shining with blue-black brilliance. I gestured, and it began to rise free of the ground, a construct of glowing lines and sheets of light. "Long did the people roam, through lands of searing heat and lands of bitter cold, through lands where the very air was a poison. Many died along the way, until only the smallest handful survived. Survived to come here."

The pattern was rotating its largest facet toward us, one filled with gray chaos already clearing, already darkening. A black sky studded with cold white dots of nuclear flame came into view, their wan light shining down upon a devastated landscape. "And what of those ancient, stygian lands that our Ancestors fled? Do they still exist? They do, and not just in memory or in fantasy, but in reality."

I bowed then, my arm sweeping across in a grandiose gesture, to end pointing to the gateway. "Here and now, I bring before you those oh-so-real lands. Welcome, dear Elders of the Council, to the realm of your Ancestors. Welcome home!"

Moments later the first of those things hit the portal. Within seconds the entire view was nothing but foaming madness as the dark, twisted creatures tore at the barrier and each other to get at the prey they sensed so-very nearby. To a one, the dragons recoiled violently from the horrific scene, hissing loudly with both shock and horror. I studied them for a moment with a cold eye, then gave them a feral grin. "Ah, but you do not enjoy the sight of my brothers? Yes, dear Elders, brothers, if not in blood, then most certainly in intent."

I sat back onto my haunches, radiating ease. Beside me, Hell strove to break through, but I'd wrought far better this time and the barrier held. "Let me tell you another story," I rumbled. "Once upon a time, long, long ago and far, far away, there was a world. It was a very old world, cold and harsh in its twilight years, and those who dwelled upon its face were in turn just as cold and harsh. Those people bickered and fought amongst themselves, forever jockeying for power and position," I paused minutely, mockingly, "until there came one who thought he had discovered the key to ultimate power. In his mad bid he tore the very stuff of Life from those near him, and used it, twisted it, to create a different sort of life."

I glanced back up at the creatures within the portal. "A military form of life. One as brutal, vicious, and implacable as the battlefields it was bred for. But life owes allegiance to no-one, and that power-mad fool soon found himself being devoured by his own creations." I made a slicing gesture. "That was the end of him, but not his creations, who thrived, multiplied, and spread. Soon the people of that world found themselves beset by the ultimate predators. Beset, and overrun."

Oh, the more it changes, the more it stays the same, the human half of my soul quietly sang, its mental voice bitter in its mockery. My mane clashed harshly as I gave my head a sharp shake. "Does this not sound familiar, O Elders? Desperate, their rapidly dwindling numbers being devoured alive, the people turned to those among them who were the most adept in the workings of Power. Those magi, however, could do little but slow the onslaught, buying time to find a way to escape the doom that reached for them all." I gestured to the portal again. "They used that time to work out a way to weave devices such as this; devices to open passages to other realms, and through these passages the people fled."

"But most realms, most worlds, are hostile to life, being too hot, too cold, or most commonly dead and sterile. In a journey to make Exodus pale in comparison, the people blundered from world to world, leaving a trail of their own dead in their wake. Then, finally, a last, pitiful remnant opened one last passageway, and found themselves looking upon Paradise."

I paused, my eyes scanning the crowd, my silent audience rapt in spite of themselves. Then I lifted a single talon skyward, slowly tilted it down until it at last pointed at the snow beneath me. "Here. This is the world the Ancestors discovered at last, and settled upon, refugees of their own folly. Refugees, and usurpers."

I looked to Dithra's agent, who looked just as spellbound as the rest. "I once discussed with the one known as Stefan how it was that we were the only higher creatures upon this world with six limbs rather than the usual four. His answer, unfortunately, was not correct. The magi remember the true answer, and when the proper pressure was applied one of them showed it, showed this, to me. Why they have kept this secret to themselves for all this time, while letting others forget, is a question that I will leave you the task of asking them."

At last I turned my gaze back to the banded dragon. "So, Ahnkar, if the humans are thieves, then what are we? When the Ancestors settled within this realm without so much as a by-your-leave to the humans, to the Lung, what were they?" I stabbed a talon at the banded dragon. "If you truly wish to apply the metric of thievery, Ahnkar, then I have only one thing to say to you and all the other dragons, on behalf of myself as the last of the Lung, my family, the humans, all those who are the true children of this world.

"Get off our land."

I raked my gaze over the silent group for a long moment, then gave them all another dose of that feral grin. "And where would you go? Well, you could always . . . go home," I hissed, jerking a thumb at the gate to Inferno that hovered beside me.

I held it there, for a long, slow count to ten, then my tail whipped out and across the patterns carved into the snow. The portal shattered in a concussion that rocked all of us. Into the ringing silence that followed, I quietly spoke. "You are the guests in these lands, not the owners. Adopt Lady Dithra's policy and make peace with the true owners, or go home. The choice is yours. Make it now."

"And how did they respond, my Lord?"

I chuckled darkly. "Poorly, as you might have expected. One of the Council Elders even suggested, oh-so discreetly, that what they saw was just an illusion. I offered to bring the portal back up and allow him to step through, but he has yet to take me up on that."

Kaa'saht almost smiled at that, then sobered. "My Lord, what was his name, the one who destroyed what you say was our Ancestors' home? I feel that perhaps we should learn it."

I gave the young dragon a sideways look. "You sound unconvinced."

"It . . . will require some thought, my Lord."

I chuckled again, my mane jangling softly as I gave my head a small shake. "Yes; it probably will take a while to digest, come to think of it. To answer your question, I have no idea. In fact, I have no proof that he or she ever actually existed."

Kaa'saht blinked, then blinked again. "My Lord? I don't understand," he said at last. "Did Niata not--"

"I only managed to get one word out of Niata, Kaa'saht, but that one word, home, was enough. After that, everything made sense; our uniqueness among all the species of this world, the portals, that place, and most importantly those who dwell there." I gave him a hard look. "Those creatures are our kin, Kaa'saht, that is plain to see. What is also plain to see is that they were tampered with. Nothing like that could ever evolve naturally, no more than an assault rifle could. And like an assault rifle, they exist for only one purpose."

I sighed, then made a slashing motion with one hand. "There was indeed a war, and either before or during its course someone made those things to serve as weapons in that war. But the weapons turned on their masters, and now they rule what was once our home. We are naught but the last ragged remnants of the refugees who fled our Ancestors' folly."

I looked away, out across the empty expanse of the Mojave that surrounded us and seemed to stretch out forever. It was cold and clear, with scarcely a breath of wind at this early morning hour. It should have been raining, really, to better match my mood, but rain rarely comes to the high desert. Not far away, both Ashadh and Dahiric romped about, delightedly exploring this strange new environment they found themselves in.

Kaa'saht's eyes followed my gaze, soberly watched the children play for awhile. "How did Pasqual react to . . . this, my Lord?"

"You don't approve either, do you?" My agent winced slightly, his gaze averting. I gave him a small, sad smile. "I can't blame you; I don't like it either, and I have far greater reason."

I snorted then, with grim amusement. "To answer your question, Pasqual went completely ape-shit. Lady Dithra had to practically knock her down and sit on her to keep her from killing me right then and there. Dithra wasn't exactly thrilled, either, and I couldn't get either of them to listen to my arguments. Finally I had Stefan draw his weapon."

Kaa'saht blinked in alarm. "My Lord?"

"I had him draw it, and fire a round out the door of the cabin. When everyone's ears stopped ringing, I pointed out what Stefan had just done."

The young dragon looked at me for a long moment, his confusion plain. A small breeze played with the corner of his dark jacket. "Forgive me my Lord," he said at last "but . . . ."

"Stefan used a tool, Kaa'saht. He drew that nine-millimeter Makarov he always carries and popped a round right out that door, and he didn't even think about it. A born dragon, not some cobbled-together half-breed, but a born dragon used a tool, just as easily and automatically as any human could."

I gave that a few seconds to sink in. "Yeah, that's right, and the next question is: how? Stefan himself supplied the answer to that one awhile back: he spent the first fifteen years of his life forced to live as a human does. You yourself had some of the same exposure. The purpose of that time was to have Stefan master the ability to blend-in with the humans, but he picked-up something else as well; he acquired some of the humans' knack of tool-using. So did you, for that matter." I gestured, indicating the SUV Kaa'saht had arrived in. He turned and stared at it, as if seeing it for the very first time.

"Now, as to why that would allow him to grasp something that has proved so-very slippery to other dragons," I continued "that had me stumped for a time. I only found the last piece of the puzzle just a short while ago, when Pasqual taught me the Lung's ability to assume other forms and gave me a warning: the form influences your thoughts. The humans have an old saying: if you wish to understand a man, walk a mile in his shoes." I chuckled softly, shook my head. "Ancestors, the irony."

There was a long silence then, broken only by the occasional sounds of a pair of hatchlings playing. "So, that means," Kaa'saht slowly began at last "all we had to do to master the riddle of tools . . . ."

". . . . was to spend time in their makers' shoes," I finished for him. "It won't be that easy, of course; I suspect older dragons, those who matured without exposure to the humans' ways, won't be able to overcome their 'blind spot' when it comes to tools. Our children, however. . . ." I trailed off, then swung my head to gaze over to where Ashadh and Dahiric were both digging furiously at the base of a large lump of rock, possibly scenting some small, terrified animal beneath. "And that is why we're here," I finished at last, a deep sadness welling up within me.

A moment of silence. "My Lord, surely you do not mean to--" Kaa'saht began.

"I most definitely mean to," I cut him off, then gave my head another shake, my mane jangling dissonantly. "I have thought upon this long and hard. To live as dragons in their youngest years would leave our children crippled in the world of humans, prey to the whims of the tool-users. At best, perhaps a nice little reservation, out in some barren place like this, for the quaint little creatures. At worst? Well, open any history book, and see how those who cannot defend themselves usually fare in this world."

I paused for a moment, hearing the savage bitterness in my own voice, but then resumed. "I also thought upon having them brought up by us, Pasqual and I, hanging up our wings for the twenty years or so we'd need to live as humans, never letting the kids know of their heritage until it could no longer hold them back. But Pasqual would never be able to bear it, and Ksstha's remaining people are still out there, working on their next move. Sooner or later they will strike at me again, probably through our children."

"My Lord!" Kaa'saht sounded scandalized "No dragon would ever strike at a child!"

I froze at that sanctimonious statement, then slowly turned to stare at my agent. Whatever it was he saw in my eyes at that moment, it caused him to take a step back. "Young Kaa'saht," I began at last "just where the hell have you been? No dragon would strike through a child? Tell that to the five that I've lost. Tell that to the snatch operation that tried to break our perimeter last week. Perhaps you would also like to claim that no dragon would use a soul-snare, either?"

The young dragon winced at that, his gaze flinching away from mine. I looked at him for a moment more, then went back to watching the children play. "Fear makes monsters of us all Kaa'saht; humans, dragons, all of us. I have met true Evil in my time upon this world, and I have met fear and ignorance. And you know something? I think I prefer the former over the latter, because with true Evil you can at least negotiate."

Enough stalling. I called, and two heads immediately turned to me. In a diamond glitter of scales they came bounding over to me, their lambent eyes glowing with happiness and . . . and I had to look away for a moment. So trusting. I ran my hands over them, drinking in their scent as they crooned and butted their heads against me. Ashadh wanted to play bat-bat again. We did so, and as we played, Dahiric soon joining in, I began to weave Power. Soon the game of patty-cake began to slow, the children growing increasingly sleepy, until they sighed and coiled up about my feet, their eyes closing at last. I continued to weave, fighting the urge to wipe at whatever was interfering with my vision.

Finally I closed my eyes and concentrated, the familiar, nauseating pain of bones bending seemingly just punishment for my sins. Then I reopened those eyes to look upon a dimmer, greyer world, and what lay at my feet. Slowly I knelt, gathered up the two sleeping infants, wrapped them in the blankets I brought for them. Carefully I rose to my feet, one child cradled in each arm. I turned back to my agent with them. "Watch over them, Kaa'saht, but protect them from nothing but death. They will be leaders in the coming world, simply because of what they are and who their parents were, and so they must learn all the lessons. Even the most painful ones."

The agent stared at my cargo, his face tragic. "My Lord, I-- Where should I take them?"

"Where I, Pasqual, or any other dragon cannot find them," I replied. "Pasqual will search for them, no matter how much I or Lady Dithra try to reason with her or try to command her. Eventually, she will come to you, and for you that will be the hardest task of all; to keep her from her children." My voice wavered slightly at the last; I paused to hand the two bundles over to him. "Think you can handle that?" I asked at last, my words far too harsh.

Kaa'saht blinked down at the two children sleeping in his arms. "If what you say is correct, my Lord, then I shall have to," he sighed. A long silence came, then passed. "Will-- My Lord, will there be . . . others?"

I looked at him for a moment, then allowed my gaze to slide to the ground. "I doubt it," I replied at last. "Too much pain, betrayal, too many lies. Pasqual will never trust me again," and neither will my children. "Perhaps if Lady Dithra commands her; I most certainly will not. But the Lady very much wants us to help replenish our ranks, if nothing else. Certainly the original intent for both Pasqual and myself is long past, no matter what my opposition might believe."

"My Lord--!"

"Maybe in the last war, Kaa'saht, we might have made a difference, but not now. Not anymore. When dragons created Pasqual and I, they built war chariots to face main battle tanks, medieval castles to face ICBMs. We were obsolete the day we were born." I shook my head, my burning gaze flinching away from him, from what he held. "Our time is past. The only thing I-- we can to do to justify our existence, is to help the other dragons find a way to survive. Whether they like it or not."

Silence. I stared at the ground a little longer, then slowly, deliberately turned my back to him. "So, go now, Kaa'saht, and take our children with you."

"My Lord . . . Hasai . . . ."

I looked up into the distant hills, the image of their empty flanks wavering in my sight like a watercolor in the rain. "Go, Kaa'saht. Now." Before I can change my mind.

"Yes, my Lord." I heard him turn to leave, then pause and turn back to me. "My Lord . . . why me? Why do you choose someone such as myself to bear such a precious trust?"

My chin lifted at the question, a small, white-hot spark of anger blooming in my chest. "You, of all people, should know the answer to that, oathbreaker," I grated at last.

Silence, then finally the sound of footsteps slowly moving away. A car door closed, an engine started, and I listened as the vehicle receded into the distance. Then it was gone, and I was left standing there, my back to the wind. I, the Steel Dragon, last of the Shen Lung and absolute ruler of all dragon-kind was left standing there, staring at the barren hills, with tears streaming down my face.

"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings," I whispered to the uncaring wind, "Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away. . . ."

Epilogue

"I must study politics and war, that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy."

--John Adams

It was late in the evening when the car pulled into the driveway of the modest but well-kept house, nestled in one of the area's older neighborhoods. The engine died, and a few seconds later so did the lights. From the car stepped an older man, heavy-set, mid-sixties perhaps, his hair an iron-gray in color. He looked tired, as if he'd just finished a very long, very hard day. For some reason, however, he paused to look up at the darkening, star-sprinkled sky, and a slight smile came to his lined face for a moment before he headed up the walk.

He was halfway between the car and his front door when a large, dark shape separated itself from the shadows. "Doctor Clarke," it rumbled.

Clarke jumped slightly at the voice, then turned and peered through the darkness. "Ah; I thought it was you."

Clarke's visitor gave him a small, tired smile, nodded slightly. "Yes, sir. Sorry to have disturbed you again."

He snorted, made a small waving motion with one hand as he once again glanced up at the sky. "Quite all right. How's my patient doing?"

The visitor smiled again, curiously a bit sadly this time. "Very well, sir. Thank you."

"Good, good." Clarke nodded, then paused expectantly. "I think that I can assume that this is not a social call?" he stated at last, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

The visitor's own smile grew a little broader, the dark shadows under his eyes lightening a bit. "No, sir, it isn't. I have been informed that you will be retiring from your position at the university, soon."

The doctor blinked at that. "How did you-- Ahh, silly question; never mind. Yes, that is correct. Why do you ask?"

The big man hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the ground before looking back up into Clarke's face. "I was hoping that we might offer you a job."

Clarke looked at him for a moment. "As-- As a physician? For your--"

"A little bit at first, yes, sir. But mostly, as a teacher."

"A . . . teacher."

"Yes, sir." the man plowed on hurriedly. "We lost the last of our, um, the last of our medical people . . . a very long time ago. Since then, it's either you recover on your own, or you don't recover at all. I-- we want to change that."

"A teacher," Clarke said once more. Slowly he began to smile again, his eyes coming alight. "You want me to train doctors for your people."

"Yes, sir; but we don't call them doctors. We call them Lifeweavers."

. . . .And now, in despair, we die--

I stood there for the longest time, silently staring at that final line. I studied its symbols, so hurriedly scratched into the column, as I pondered the rightness of what I was about to do.

But the record had run for eons; it would be sacrilegious not to continue it. And if I did not, then who?

I lifted a talon, sent a thought to the sphere held within my jaws. Guide me. The sphere flared slightly, my talon descended to the stone, and new words began to appear.

It looked like the Friday night party was getting into full-swing. I shivered slightly, hunched my shoulders as I looked out the brew pub window at the people seated out in the sheltered alleyway next to the pub in spite the chilly evening air. The dark spirit in the back of my head hissed a wry spring fever to me before settling back into the muck. I chuckled a quiet agreement, took another quaff from my mug, then leaned back in my seat and let my thoughts drift as my eyes continued to roam.

After a bit of quiet encouragement Ahnkar had ceased the last of his meddling, and Lady Dithra was once again in firm control of her Council; a control reinforced when I declared that from now on she would speak with my voice, and any challenge to her would be a challenge to me. Last I checked she was leveraging that advantage to the hilt, ramming-through her agenda far more quickly than she might have dared otherwise. Already her propaganda campaign was being put into motion, and some of her people had recently shown me a few of their projects: novels, plushy toys, cartoons for the kiddies, perhaps even a movie or two where the dragons were not the Bad Guys for once. I wryly called the whole thing her Hearts and Minds campaign, and once I explained to her the old Marine joke, Dithra was so amused by it she adopted the label.

Let me win your hearts and minds, or I'll burn your damned huts down.

I felt a warm smile work its way across my face as I recalled just how hard she had laughed; Ancestors, how young she had looked at that moment. . . .

The smile faded as I remembered another moment, the moment I learned what Lord Trassahn had meant, and why Tin'na'tak had looked so distressed, when Trassahn had said that he was tired. Not long after my little junta, once he was sure Ksstha's war wasn't going to come clawing its way back out of the grave I'd flung it into, he named Tin'na'tak as his successor, and then . . . stopped. Just . . . stopped.

How long do you wish to live, my lord?

Until I become tired, and then no more. I sighed, shook my head. I did not have the chance to truly know Lord Trassahn, but from what little I did know, I had a feeling I was going to forever regret not having had that chance. Tin'na'tak was doing well as the new head of clan Sstahn; Trassahn had evidently trained him long and well as his replacement, so perhaps at least this death could not be laid at my door.

I gave my head another shake, more sharply this time, as I forced myself to think of other things. Two women at a nearby table glanced at me several times, perhaps wondering at my thoughts. Putting little Anna back where she belonged had gone smoothly; Stefan and I had plucked the ailing changeling out of its crib and replaced it with Anna without disturbing anyone else in the household. The changeling was a marvel; so much like the real thing that I had felt a stab of guilt when I destroyed it. My estimate of the dragons, who in spite of living in an era of computers and police states still managed to remain concealed, went up a few notches. I felt a sudden surge of grief as I remembered carefully pulling the blankets up to cover Anna's sleeping form, then pausing to run my fingers though her pale hair as I recalled my own, now-lost children.

Someday, maybe, if there really was any such thing as Justice in this uncaring universe, perhaps I would be permitted to beg their forgiveness.

I sighed again, shifted in my chair as I continued to gaze at the people in the alleyway, recalling some of the places I'd been in this world where no-one would have dared to congregate like that, for fear of attracting the tender mercies of a mortar crew or a dead-eyed suicide bomber. Such a naive, sheltered people, these Americans; I almost laughed when I felt a pang of envy.

Pasqual. Poor, sad Pasqual. After all this, after all the dust had settled, she had ended up with nothing; not even her children. There are people like her in every war; innocent, undeserving of the hell that befalls them, bearing the brunt for nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She drifted away, perhaps to find Kaa'saht, but not before Lady Dithra had extracted a promise from her. I would see her again, someday, and perhaps there would be more of the children that our species so desperately needs. But there would be no joy in it, and certainly no love. So many things had been sacrificed to stop Ksstha's damnable war; men, dragons, dreams. . . .

The meal was done, the last of the booze was gone. There were puzzles that still remained . . . bequeath to thee stewardship . . . but they would either be answered in the fullness of time, or they would not. I was just a little too tired to care. For a long moment I pondered the possibility of a refill, but then tossed my money on the table and headed out into the night. I was out of the loop now, if I wished; I could go back to being the proverbial steel fist inside Dithra's velvet glove, and after having neutralized all serious opposition, I could perhaps hope to never again come out of that glove. My squad could also look forward to a long, comfortable, Dithra-financed pension, if they so chose, but I doubted they'd go for it. People like Lucifer, Fields, Deebs, Grease, and the Wolfman weren't the types to willingly stroll to the lyre, and I was certain they would soon find other windmills to tilt against.

. . . .What was the line from that book? Oh, yeah; "It was never for the money."

I even had my job back, incredibly enough. According to a rather mystified Steve, shortly before the last of my vacation time had run out the General had received a registered letter from somewhere deep within the DoD, and had promptly placed me on Military Leave until I came back. No questions asked, no answers offered. I thought of Stefan, and felt a chill as I wondered just how deeply Stasi had penetrated Washington's inner circles before that grim organization's time had finally run out.

Out on the street, I turned the collar of my old flight jacket up against the wind, which was still raw despite carrying all the scents of Spring. I really should go on home now, to my little bungalow next to the railroad tracks, where I could spend the rest of my days mowing the lawn and fussing with the roses, interrupted only rarely by the need to crack a few skulls together.

Those nut cases in the alley were still at it; looked like the pub staff had rolled out some space heaters to keep those crazy carousers from freezing solid. I felt a wry smile on my lips as I shook my head and turned away. Yeah; I really should go home now, home to a quiet, civilian life, where the biggest worries were ants sneaking into the pantry and leaky water-heaters.

For some reason, though, I lingered on that sidewalk, the wind swirling around me, my eyes slowly drawn back to those partiers. For long seconds I watched them chatter amongst themselves, eat their food, drink their beer. Then abruptly the whole scene seemed to blur before my eyes, and for a brief moment I could have sworn I saw other, larger beings coiled comfortably amidst the party-goers, conversing, laughing with them, lifting barrel-sized mugs of the pub's best to their massive jaws. Then I blinked, and the vision was gone.

For long minutes I stood there, waiting for something else to happen, something else to show itself to me, but there was nothing more. Finally, reluctantly, I turned away. It had been nothing but a moment's hallucination, nothing but a fanciful dream.

Many times, a dragon's visions have meaning.

I hesitated, then looked back at the alley. I was out of the loop. Dithra and her people still had a long, rocky road ahead of them, but I myself could, at long last, retire.

. . . . "It was never for the money." . . . .

. . . . Or the glory, what precious little there ever was of it. Yeah; I could retire, put the whole bloody mess behind me, mow my lawn, maybe even someday actually sit in a pub without first finding a seat with its back to the wall.

Or . . . .

. . . .

. . . .Well, I never was any damned good at that strolling-to-the-lyre crap, myself.

A strange emotion slid through me then, riding the wind, half grief, half joy. I shook my head at the perversity of both men and dragons, then looked up into the starry night sky, and thanked the cold, uncaring universe for its largesse. Jamming my hands into my pockets, shoulder turned against the cutting wind, I then turned and headed up through the alley, past the revelers, my strides long as I walked toward an uncertain future.

. . . . Mission accepted.

Agent Mendez gave a quiet sigh of annoyance when his assignment decided to go up the alley, and he had to step smartly across the street in order to follow. The narrow, cobblestoned alley eventually let out onto a dimly-lit cross-street, and for a moment Mendez thought he'd lost his quarry. Then he heard a shoe scuffing a patch of gravel and he quickly turned left to follow the sound. Up ahead he caught glimpses of the man's dark form from time to time as he passed beneath the occasional street lamp.

The trail continued for several blocks, then the quarry abruptly turned left again, back downhill. Mendez frowned; there was nothing that way but the river. The agent rounded the same corner less than a minute later, but to his surprise the street before him was empty; his assignment had vanished. Mendez hesitated, then silently cursed. Damn it! Did he spot me? He hurried on down the hill and soon reached the river. A concrete railing protected a thirty-foot drop to the chill waters below. Nearby, the road ended in a stack of safety barriers and a high chain-link fence, the bridge beyond partially demolished to make way for its replacement. Could he have climbed-- No; I would have heard the fencing rattle. Where the hell did he--?

"Mendez. I thought you were a dream."

Mendez crouched and spun, his heart in his throat, his hand darting beneath his coat as his eyes sought the source of that strangely resonant whisper. At the same time, that word, dream, set off a cascade of images in his mind. Images of combat, of fighting a hopeless battle in suffocating darkness. He shook his head, heard quiet laughter in response.

"Until we meet again, soldier. . . ."

Silence, but for the wind and the water. Slowly Agent Mendez straightened, his eyes still scanning for his quarry but finding nothing. He sighed, pulled his hand out of his coat, then shook his head. Lost him. Great; the boss was going to give him hell for letting the assignment shake him off so--

Movement! Mendez's gaze snapped upward, then his eyes widened in disbelief at what he saw for just an instant, silhouetted against the stars. He blinked, shook his head and looked again, but whatever he'd seen, whatever he thought he'd seen, had vanished.

No, that was just. . . . No. No way. Just to be sure, though, he continued to scan the sky for a few moments more, but only the blank, cold light of the stars met his gaze. Finally he dropped his head and rubbed at his eyes as he turned to trudge back up the hill, silently vowing to get more sleep on his nights off. And as to what he'd seen? He gave a mental shrug: it had been nothing but a moment's hallucination, nothing but a fanciful dream. . . .

-See stars everywhere, see the sky, so clear
-And the moon, it will be, there for you, and for me
-I can feel that you are near, no doubt, no fear
-Take the step and come with me, into my dream. . . .

Regards from the Steel Dragon;

---------> Hasai

Lyrics for Roads to Moscow copyright Al Stewart.
Lyrics for Face Up copyright Rush
Lyrics for Sitting On The Dock of The Bay copyright Otis Redding.
Lyrics for Just a Job To Do copyright Genesis
Lyrics for On the Border copyright Al Stewart.
Lyrics for Into My Dream copyright Lagoona