Blood of the Dragon

By Merilyn F. George and R. Stone Penwell

The third book in the epic fantasy series "The Chronicles of the Last Elder Lord."

The history of Sha'azharet'th, last Elder Lord of Ard'dr, Master of Ta'arim, cursed by the gods to labor in the flesh for a thousand years.

Book Three details the final years of the life of Sha'azharet'th, told through six interlocking tales of adventure: of Loralys, the daughter of Yl'thaia, who founded the temple of the Lady of Light; of Allayne, a witch of Chalchis with an insatiable craving for the Master's power; of Eltiron, a young prince of Koth hell-bent on saving a kidnapped princess; of the Master's trials and triumphs in Schar'ran Vel; of Jarisande, a follower of the Lady of Light, hired to exterminate an evil cult; and of Talithyn, commanded by the Lady of Light to seek out and destroy the last Elder Lord of Ard'dr.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merilyn F. George
• Release date: Nov 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301243198

Book preview

The Chronicles of the Last Elder Lord

Book Three: Blood of the Dragon

by

Merilyn F. George and R. Stone Penwell

Copyright 2012 R. Stone Penwell

Smashwords Edition

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, entities or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Note from the Author

The books in The Chronicles of the Last Elder Lord series make use of the second person familiar form of address: thee, thou, and thy. Although these pronouns have fallen out of usage in English, they remain in most other languages such as French, Spanish, and German. Their usage indicates familiarity (for family, good friends), affection or devotion (lovers, deities, masters), condescension or scorn (children, slaves), translating to the ultimate put-down when used to someone for whom you should use the more respectful second person plural (you, yours). However, since it is incredibly hard to write easily readable, flowing English using this form consistently, the usage is inconsistent. I only used it where, to my mind, it really mattered, usually moments of great emotional intensity. This adds a dimension of expression and emphasis as well as a touch of antiquity to the dialogue.

–MFG

Notes on pronunciation:

In general, treat apostrophes as if they separated words. When apostrophes separate repeated vowels, the vowels change value, usually from long to short (e.g. sha'amoth is shay a-moth).

Ard'dr = Ard Der (with a full stop in the middle - not ardor)

Ard'dra'an = Ard DRAY Ann

Sha'azharet'th = Shay AZ-har-edth

Yndrin = IN-drin

Yl'thaia = Eel Thay-EE-ah

Ta’arim = Tay Ha-RIM

Sha’amoth ysthon = shay a-MOTH iss-THON

Caruna = Ka-ROON-ah

Carenar = Ka-REN-ahr

LORALYS

She had always been a strange child; she knew that because Mother had told her so. And even more times than she had told her, she had made the same remark to Father, who merely shrugged or changed the subject. But then he himself was strange – to Nmihr, at least – for he was a Shangi from the mainland, his hair black and his skin darker than that of most Nmihri men, even the fishermen who spent most of their time out in the sun and weather. Undoubtedly that was the reason Loralys had black hair and golden skin, but her eyes were grey, unlike those of either Mother or Father. And besides, the strangeness Mother referred to had nothing to do with colors. Instead, she meant more important things like reading and writing, which were so easy for Loralys and so hard for her brothers, and even for Father. Still it was he who had unaccountably insisted that she go to school along with her brothers, which was strange in itself, since none of her friends, nor their parents, seemed to feel that education was necessary or even desirable for a girl.

Not that she had many friends. The girls found her strange as well; she did not want to play house or whisper about secret lovers. And then there was the dream .... It came at odd intervals, rarely for any discernible reason, and it was always the same: she walked in a beautiful garden, with a beautiful, dark-haired white-skinned lady, whose eyes were grey like her own, but much prettier. As they walked, they conversed, sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping – but Loralys could never remember, when she awoke, what the conversation had been about. Mother said it was her guardian spirit, or perhaps the goddess Ilua. But no one else she knew had ever had a dream about her guardian spirit, or any god or goddess either!

Know thyself, the teacher had quoted from the sage Moranor. That is the first and last task of every man. And presumably every woman as well, although women didn't usually learn or think much about the sages.

While walking home from school, Loralys turned aside from her path and walked out onto the shore cliff, to the house of Arathonde. The wise woman (some called her 'witch', but not in her hearing) was working in her garden. Everything grew well for Arathonde, and for Loralys too, when she bothered to spend any time gardening.

Greeting, Revered Mother, the girl said to her bent back. I trust you are well this fine day?

I am, the gods be thanked, the woman responded without interrupting her labors. And what have you come to ask me today, O Loralys the Curious?

The girl chewed a fingertip. Why am I different?

Arathonde straightened slowly. Everyone is different from everyone else. Hasn't old Kerakis taught you that, for Erar's sake?

Yes, of course. That's not what I mean.

Of course not, the older woman sighed. The time is long gone when your questions had simple answers.

That's what I mean! Why am I more different from everyone else in more ways? Why do questions come into my head? Why do I wonder who I am, and who I am to be? My brothers, my friends, do not question – do not even want to question!

Perhaps that is because they do not want to hear the answers.

The girl considered this riddle for a moment. It seems to me more like they already know the answers.

Or think they know. Or they already have an answer they like and do not seek further for fear they may find one they don't like.

But I have no answer at all!

Certainly you do. You are the daughter of Nar Tem, the Shangi pearl merchant, and Melanythe of Nmihr.

And what will I be? A fisherman's wife? Concubine to some nobleman?

You don't like those answers?

Loralys shook her head.

How about ... a witch? A wise woman?

The girl's eyes grew large. Could I?

Perhaps. I could cast your fortune and find out.

Oh, will you? Will you? Please?

Not without your parents' consent. How old are you?

Ten. Almost eleven ....

And are you a woman yet?

Yes, the girl returned proudly.

How many times?

Well, only once, so far, she admitted, looking down at her toes.

The woman gripped her shoulders with deadly earnest. Loralys – your fortune may well answer your questions. And you may very well find that you do not like the answers! What will you do then?

The girl opened her mouth, and then shut it again, finding her mind in a turmoil. What if the fortune said she would be a fisherman's wife? Or a slave?

Do not answer me now. But think about it. As long as you do not know your future, you can dream it to be anything you wish. Once you know, you will be bound. Are you afraid to know?

No. The word popped out of Loralys's mouth without her willing it, but she did not draw it back. She could not remember ever being afraid of anything.

Arathonde sighed. I thought not. Very well, I'll speak to your mother.

Loralys was only a little late getting home. She confessed her side trip and asked her mother if she could have Arathonde cast her fortune. Mother answered neither yea nor nay, so the girl knew she would discuss it with Father, after the children were asleep. And she set herself to stay awake, all night if necessary, in order to hear what they said. (It wasn't really eavesdropping; her bed was inches from that of her parents, with only a thin wooden partition between. If she just happened to be awake when they talked, she could not help but overhear ....)

She had listened to a good many interesting things this way, but that night topped them all! Around midnight Mother woke Father. He thought she wanted to make love and was not pleased when she said instead that she wanted to talk to him.

What about, for Erath's sake? he responded peevishly.

Shh! Not so loud! It's about Loralys.

Father groaned. Again? What is it this time?

She wants Arathonde to cast her fortune.

So? How much will it cost?

I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd do it free, or very cheaply, at least. She's always had a liking for the girl. She's even asked me to give her to her as an apprentice.

That was news to Loralys, who just managed to smother a gasp.

Her mother was continuing. But that's beside the point. What if she finds out, from the fortune?

Finds out what? Father demanded irascibly.

That we're not her parents.

This time the girl was frozen in shock, not believing her ears. She had asked the wise woman, Who am I?, but she had never really believed that she didn't know even that much about herself! She held her breath as Mother continued, You know I've always thought that the 'beautiful lady' she keeps dreaming about is her real mother.

Father sounded more serious now. You think her mother may intervene in the casting, and Arathonde will find out?

I don't know what I'm afraid may happen. Who knows, with that blood? Yet I've no reason to forbid the reading. It's traditional, you know.

We do not always abide by your traditions, my dear.

No, Mother agreed, not sounding pleased. You think of a reason, then.

We could just tell Loralys and explain why it would not be wise to risk anyone else finding out. The Elder Lord told me to use my own judgement about when – and whether – to tell her.

I'm afraid to do that, too.

Why?

Because I'm afraid I'll lose her, Mother (who was suddenly now not-Mother!) answered plaintively. After all, she is the only daughter I'll ever have, and I love her just as if she came from my own womb!

You'll lose her sooner or later anyway, Father pointed out. In a few years she'll be getting married and moving away.

Maybe not. Maybe we could find her a marriage here in Talore, and I'd have my daughter and grandchildren too.

You're poppy-dreaming, wife. We can't marry a daughter of Princess Yl'thaia to any of these peasants! She must marry a nobleman, at least. If not, I'd be afraid her mother would start haunting my dreams! Or worse!

So she was the daughter of a princess? And that was why he had sent her to school, so he could make a noble marriage for her! But Loralys had little interest in getting married, if she could become a wise woman, like Arathonde. And that was what Mother returned to.

If we apprenticed her to Arathonde, she would stay here. Do you think her mother would be dissatisfied with that?

Now how would I know? Certainly she was of the blood of sorcery herself, although among the Ard'drin, women did not do magic. Not that I know of, anyway.

You say 'was', husband. Do you think then that her mother is dead?

They are all dead, and my dear lord with them, he replied somberly. That's why he sent us away with the child. He knew the destruction of Ard'dr was certain. Besides, how could she get into the child's dreams if she weren't dead? Maybe she's already told her, for that matter.

I'll talk to the wise woman tomorrow. Will you give your consent to apprentice her?

For how long?

Three years is usual. And she could live at home, as long as it's so close.

But she'd have to quit school.

I presume so. That would be up to Arathonde.

Tell her we'll still pay for it, if Loralys wants to continue.

I'd rather have her learning the arts of the wise one. She already has plenty of book learning, even for a duke's wife.

I suppose. Now are we going to do something? If not, I'd like to get some sleep.

Would you like to do something? his wife teased.

You know I would, woman, Father half growled. The bed creaked, and Mother giggled.

Except it wasn't Mother. And probably not Father either! They had said, not her real parents. Then who was her real father? Perhaps the dear lord Nar Tem had mentioned? But her mother...! Her mother was a princess of the blood of the Dragon! No wonder she was different!

Loralys had so much to think about that she never suspected she would go promptly to sleep, but she did. And she dreamed again. This time her mother took her in her arms and hugged her close. But still the girl could remember nothing of what she had said, when she awoke.

After that, of course, nothing would talk Loralys out of the reading. It was hard to guard her tongue, not to reveal or even hint of what she knew, but she managed it, at the same time insisting that her fortune be cast. At last Melanythe capitulated, and the reading was set for her eleventh birthday, five months away. That was a disappointment, but no more than she had expected. One's natal day was by far the best time for such a casting, and there was no reason for any rush, except her impatience to explore her future and find out whether she would indeed be one of the Wise.

In the meantime, she set herself to explore her past, but here she had to be even more careful! Starting with her teacher, she asked about the Ard'drin. He knew little enough, and that little they had already covered in history class. The Ard'drin had been the lords of the great mainland Dragon Empire; they were mighty sorcerers and irredeemably evil; and they had all been destroyed in the Sorcerers' War, when she was just a baby. For days she racked her brain to come up with questions which might elicit more information from Nar Tem, without revealing how much she knew already.

Father, did you fight in the Sorcerers' War? she ventured.

I did not, thank the gods!

But weren't you there?

No, I was right here in Talore, with you and your mother. Nmihr did not take part in the war, as I'm sure you must have learned at school.

Yes, but you're from the mainland, and I know you used to be a soldier, so I thought maybe ....

He regarded her narrowly. Sometimes you think too much, girl.

I can't help it, she replied uncomfortably. If you were a soldier, you must have fought in some kind of war. If it wasn't that one, then what war was it?

No war, really. A few battles ....

What battles? Where? Did you kill lots of people? Loralys was all bright eyes and adoring curiosity, hoping to get him talking and keep him from focusing on her line of inquiry.

Well, the first time I really fought was at Lorm Ten, where we trapped a pack of bandits. They wouldn't surrender; of course, if they had, they'd have been sold into the mines, so they fought us to the last man. We had to slaughter them all. I remember this one – a big fellow – he'd already downed three or four of us .... He went on, describing cut and thrust until Loralys's attention wandered, despite herself.

He noticed and halted in mid-sentence. Here now, what am I going on like this for? And to a young lady, too! I must be getting old!

Oh, no, Dada, she protested. But were you ever in any battles where there was magic, and demons, and things, like the Sorcerers' War?

Well, yes, he admitted with some reluctance. I'll tell you all about it, some other time.

He doubtless thought she would forget. But a few days later she cornered him again and demanded the story he had promised.

He drew a deep breath. The first time I saw real sorcery was on the Mai River, when the Kantra were trying to invade Chin province. I hope I never see the like again! His face was somber. All of us were scared silly! It was just before dawn, and there was this gigantic rearing demon horse in the sky, with eyes of flame and hooves of iron, that seemed to reach out to strike us down. And fear was so thick in the air it fairly took you by the throat. Everyone ran away – except my lord, who went out all by himself to fight the black magic. It was I who got him a horse; I offered him my mail shirt, but he said he didn't need it. He worked a spell called Shield, that made him glow like a white-hot iron, that would turn any blade or arrow, better than mail. And when he returned victorious, he rewarded me by taking me as his personal aide.

Loralys's ears had pricked up; was this lord the same one who had sent Father to Nmihr with her, as a baby? The one who just might even be her true father? Who was your lord? she asked. Was he a Dragon Lord, like the ones in Chan's stories? Chan, the story-teller, had been crippled in the Sorcerers' War and now made a living telling wide-eyed Nmihri about its horrors.

His lips tightened. As a matter of fact, he was. His name was Sha'azharet'th – Sha'azharet'th the Accursed, they call him now, and make him out to be an evil, wicked man. But he was not evil. He was kind and gentle, and he hated killing. He was just a lad – no older than I was then, and so much in love with his dear sister. He married her, later – they used to do such things, among the Ard'drin.

Why does Chan call him Accursed, then?

Because he killed so many, Shangi and Kantra alike, with his sorcery, in the defense of the Empire. But he didn't want to – it was just something he had to do, because he was son of the prince of Chin and grandson of the emperor.

Really? the girl gasped. Of the emperor?! That would mean that she was not only of Dragon blood, but that blood was imperial as well!

Yes, of the emperor. He should have been emperor himself, instead of that black-hearted Dir'ras'sinak. But the stories make him out to be the worst of that poisonous breed, whereas he was actually the best!

Is that why you don't like Chan? she asked. She had listened to the story-teller at school and in the village – Nar Tem would not allow him in their house.

Father grunted and shooed her away. I don't like Chan because he is a great liar. And he knows that I know it! But you can go listen to him if you want stories.

I don't want stories. I want to know how it really was! she protested.

But he had turned to his work and paid no heed. Loralys went away to consider what she had learned so far. She was almost sure that Sha'azharet'th the Accursed and his sister-wife Yl'thaia must have been her real parents. It gave her shivers all over to think of it – shivers of excitement, pride, and horror, all mixed up together. The Dragon blood was anathema in the new empire, and none too safe even in Nmihr. That would be why Melanythe and Nar Tem had never told her, or anyone else, about her real parentage, why they didn't want Arathonde to find out. She could not help but feel proud to be descended from such high and fabled lineage; but then on the other hand, everyone said the Ard'drin were such horrible people, and Sha'azharet'th one of the very worst! But Father had known him and said those were all lies!

She decided to see whether Chan could tell her any more – if nothing else, something she could ask Father about and get him to talk some more.

Next day she found the story-teller and asked him whether Sha'azharet'th the Accursed had a wife or any children.

Wife? he snorted. What woman would have been fool enough to marry such as he?

One of his own race? she suggested innocently.

Chan scowled fiercely. Even the Ard'drin hated and feared him – bad as they were, he was worse! Outcast and accursed even by his own people! He did not lie with women, after the fashion of other men, but tormented them and drank their blood. In one of these unholy orgies, he coupled with a female demon, but the offspring of that union was a monster so hideous that even he could not bear to look upon it. Not that I should be telling such tales to ladies, especially of your age, little mistress. But you must not be so foolish as to think that the Accursed One was like other men. So evil was he that when he died, the earth would not accept his body, and the gods would not allow his soul to go to the Afterworld. Even the demons of Hell would not have him! So he must wander in the outer darkness between the stars, without rest forevermore. He shook his head sadly and half held out a hand for the usual payment.

Loralys pretended she didn't see it. It was all she could do to keep from screaming, Liar! to his face. She turned abruptly and ran away, as if frightened and revolted, instead of seething with anger. How dare he! No wonder Nar Tem couldn't stand him! She would never, never listen to one of his tales again!

That evening Father drew her aside and, frowning, said, I hope you haven't been telling Chan what I told you about my lord.

Of course not! she replied indignantly. I know better than that!

Good, he approved, relaxing.

Now I know he's just a big liar, she added righteously. You can't believe anything he says. So won't you tell me how it really was?

Safer for you to believe the lies, little one, he told her soberly.

* * * * *

The time for the reading came at last. Loralys and Melanythe sat cross-legged on the floor on opposite sides of the room, watching Arathonde draw the Wheel with colored sand and powdered herbs. It took several hours, but the girl didn't feel a bit bored or impatient. She was as completely rapt in the process of the creation as if she herself had been forming the great circle with its strange, beautiful symbols. This was her life, taking shape beneath the clever hands of the wise woman, and she was fully involved.

It was almost anticlimactic when Arathonde finally straightened, with a groan, and asked for a lock of her hair. The girl extended the lock, cut by her own hand that morning, using a silver blade. The wise woman dropped it into the center of the circle, onto a symbol traced in black. The black hair blended with and seemed to become a part of that sign.

Now the blood, Arathonde directed, placing a miniature bowl carved of rock crystal before the girl. Loralys picked up the silver knife and jabbed it into her left thumb, then squeezed three drops of crimson into the bowl. As the woman took it up, the girl stuck her thumb in her mouth, so that it should not bleed on her new dress.

Arathonde set the bowl on top of the scattered hair. Then she seated herself and emptied the ivory rods into her lap. She gathered them in her hands and began to sing, softly, as if crooning to a sleepy baby. Loralys did not understand any of the words she sang (if they were indeed words, and not just sounds). But the song gripped her, just the same. The hair on the back of her neck rose; chills ran up and down her arms and back. She could feel the magical force rising, swirling about the Wheel, and sucking her into its dance. The sound filled her ears, the Wheel filled her eyes, and Power filled her body. The rods rose into the air and swirled briefly with the magic before falling across the pattern.

Then everything ceased. Motion, sound, magic .... It seemed that Loralys's very heart and breath stopped as well. She sucked a painful gasp and began to sob uncontrollably.

Melanythe cried out worriedly, What happened? What's the matter?

The wise woman raised a hand. Softly, softly, mistress. No need to be concerned. It happens – not often, but sometimes. It happened to me, for instance, when my life was cast. I'm not surprised – look here, at the Sign of Sorcery.

Loralys caught her breath in mid-sob in order to look as well. Five of the thirteen rods lay clustered on the golden symbol Arathonde indicated. The woman turned toward her. You felt the magic, she stated, rather than asked.

The girl nodded dumbly, her breast still heaving in leftover distress.

So you felt it cease.

Loralys swallowed hard and nodded again, lifting a hand to scrub away the tears.

Yes, of course. For Power is your heritage, and the Sign of Sorcery will rule your life. What you felt was the Wheel, with all its Signs, including this one – she pointed at the black one in the center. The Sign of Death, the fate that claims all, that none can escape. Now let us look at the rest. She pointed to five different symbols, each of which had captured a rod or two. Health, honor, wealth, marriage, children – all daughters, though, I'm afraid. A fortunate future indeed, but the Sign of Sorcery rules all. Mistress Melanythe, do you now see why I asked for this child?

The woman bowed her head. I see, Wise One.

And will you now give me an answer?

You may have her, if she is willing.

Loralys knew what they were talking about, thanks to her midnight eavesdropping, but she was still so shaken from the reading that it took no special effort to look bewildered.

Arathonde turned toward her. My child, do you accept the will of the gods, which has been shown here? Will you follow the Way of Power and become my apprentice?

I will, if you'll start by telling me all about the Wheel, and what all the Signs mean, and why you said I would only have daughters.

The two women both laughed, almost hysterically. After a moment Loralys joined them, despite her incomprehension of their amusement.

Arathonde was the first to get control of herself. Wiping her streaming eyes, she exclaimed, Has she always been this way?

Always! Melanythe gasped between giggles. Since she could speak! I think she will ask the Death God himself to tell her all his secrets, when she meets him!

Loralys looked down in embarrassment. True, she had always had an insatiable thirst to know. But she didn't see why that was so funny!

Out of darkness, into the light, the wise woman intoned. On the morrow we will begin your induction into the Way of Power.

But I want to know now, the girl protested. What are the other Signs?

Arathonde smiled. Oh, very well. Look closely. She pointed at one sign traced in vivid green. This is for Health. You see that the two rods are crossed over its center, but one extends out to the side. That is, not only shall you enjoy good health, but you shall extend it to others. You shall be a healer, in other words.

Really? Loralys clapped her hands.

Arathonde nodded and pointed to a sign traced in blue. This next sign is for status, nobility, honors. You see that the rod lies across the top, like a crown. So you shall have honor, and it shall not desert you. Next is Wealth. Two rods lie side by side on the sign, indicating that you shall enjoy great wealth. She skipped two symbols upon which no rod lay and pointed at the next, where one had barely clipped the edge. Marriage – not a long one, but long enough to have children. She moved from that sign to the next, half red and half white. Two rods lay on the red half. Children – but daughters only. And the sign of Power I have already spoken of. She waved a hand at the one with five rods.

And the others? Loralys persisted. The ones which are not part of my life?

They are Love, Life, and War.

Melanythe spoke up suddenly. No love?

Of the romantic sort.

Then she shall not love her husband?

How many wives do? Arathonde asked cynically.

I love mine, the other returned stiffly.

That is your good fortune, Mistress. And his.

I don't care about that, the girl put in impatiently. Nor about War, either. But what does it mean that the Life sign was untouched?

Arathonde shrugged. Only that other considerations rule your fate, my child.

When shall I come tomorrow?

After breakfast. Your mother would like you to continue living at home.

Loralys got to her feet, a little unsteadily. I'll be here. She made her best bow to the sorceress. Thank you, Great Mistress. Then she turned and bowed to Melanythe. Thank you, Mother.

* * * * *

Thus on the following day Loralys began her training with the wise woman. She quit school, for the things she was learning now were more interesting. Again, everything came easily. She learned the names and appearance of hundreds of herbs, flowers, roots, barks, leaves, and berries, how to preserve them, what they were useful for, and how to prepare them for use. She learned the patterns of Life in the body, how to stop bleeding, soothe pain, banish infection, and promote healing. Arathonde taught her few formal spells, invocations and such; she told Loralys scornfully that such sorcery had little use except to harm others, or to combat those who would use it thusly, neither of which was of interest to a Wise One. But even so, she did recommend that Loralys select a Place of Power – not for the working of formal magic, but to renew her strength and inner peace.

The girl already had such a place in mind. It was high on the Dragon's Head, the crag that overlooked Talore's small harbor. It wasn't right on top, for that was where the lookout and the beacon fire were. But as one followed the twisting trail, which was mostly hemmed in with prickly brush as tall as a man, there was a spot where one could push through or crawl under and come out on a lower point of rock, where there was a small flat area surrounded by rocks and bushes, not even visible from the lookout itself unless one did a little climbing and peered down from an unordinary vantage.

Loralys had found the place when she was just a child (of course, she was a woman now that her fortune had been cast, and she even had regular monthlies.) With her parents' permission, she moved the white onyx statue of Ilua, Lady of Mercy, goddess of healing and peace, from the family shrine to her Place of Power. This was eminently appropriate for her new calling as a healer, but Ilua had always been her favorite goddess; the white statue in its flowing robes, with arms outstretched, reminded her of her dream lady, the lady whom she now knew was not Ilua, but Yl'thaia, her real mother! She set the goddess up on a natural ledge in one of the rocky spires, where it stood out nicely in contrast with the grey-black of the stone.

Next she hauled buckets of sand up the hill to make a level floor in the little pocket, just big enough for her to lie on her back, her knees drawn up, and look at the stars. She generally returned home in the evening, as Mother desired, but sometimes she had to stay at Arathonde's house, or go with her somewhere else. And sometimes, on hot nights, she just came here to her Place instead of going home. She would lie on the warm sand, with the cool sea breeze washing over her, and think about her real mother and father, the blood of sorcery that ran in her veins. She made up stories about them and dreamed of her own future, when she would be a famous healer, honored and rich (as her fortune had declared!) because of all her grateful patients.

One night when the full moon rode high in a cloudless sky, she was dreaming lazily in her Place, when she heard footsteps approaching from up on the crag. This was not usual, since the lookouts spent the night up there and had no reason to come down till morning. But she was not alarmed until she heard voices only a few yards away.

First there came an anxious whisper which she could not understand; a louder one replied, Quit worrying, it'll only take a few minutes.

The first spoke again, only half whispering now. I don't believe you even saw her. You're just leading me on.

I tell you I did see her! Lying right out there in the moonlight like she was just waiting for us to come get her! A smothered snicker accompanied this.

Loralys sat up abruptly, a hand at her throat where her heart had leaped in panic.

Yeah, she thinks she's so high and mighty, the other voice agreed disgustedly.

Wildly the girl scanned the borders of her eyrie, which had always seemed so safe before. There was no place to run, no place to hide. The brush was impenetrable except for her entrance hole, the rocks unclimbable. Her eye caught on the statue of Ilua, and she flung out a desperate hand toward it. Goddess of Mercy, help me! she breathed soundlessly.

Then she jumped convulsively as a hoarse shriek broke the night silence, seemingly right behind her. She whirled around with a muffled shriek of her own, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Another wild cry of terror followed quickly, and yet another, amid sounds of breaking brush, ripping cloth, and yelps of pain. The noise went swiftly away down the mountain, and at last faded out of hearing.

Loralys knelt before the goddess and offered a fervent prayer of thanks, but she waited for several more hours, until the moon had set, before she dared to squeeze out and slip down the trail to Arathonde's house. She let herself in silently and stretched out on a pallet on the floor without disturbing the wise woman.

Next morning Arathonde awakened her with a question. Daughter, were you on the Dragon's Head last night?

For a time, Loralys answered cautiously. It was not safe to lie to Arathonde!

Did you hear or see anything unusual?

Like what?

The boys who were on lookout last night came trailing in, scratched and torn, with a story of being chased all over the mountain by a white ghost. Also, they let the fire go out, and the harbor master is going to beat them severely, for he thinks they just went to sleep on their watch and tried to cover up later with this wild tale.

I did hear some shouting and commotion, Loralys admitted. It was about the time the moon was high.

Then best you come with me to the harbor master and tell him, so we can get to the bottom of this.

The two chastened boys sat hunkered against the wall of the harbor office. Loralys knew them both – they were a few years older than she, rowdy friends of her oldest brother. They looked as if they had been dragged down off the mountain by a wildcat.

Whatever happened to you? Loralys asked in mock solicitude, hiding a grin.

One only groaned; the other glared up at her and spat, We were chased by evil spirits! His expression implied that it was all her fault.

Then Master Terjan came out. He was a small, bowlegged man, shorter than Loralys, but fierce and energetic. Good morrow, Revered Mistresses. How may I serve you this fine morning?

Good morrow, Master Terjan, Arathonde replied. Methinks we can serve you instead. My apprentice knows somewhat of the events last night.

Terjan faced the girl. Yes, little Mistress?

I was on the Dragon's Head last night, in my Place of Power, Loralys answered proudly. When the moon was high, there came shouts and sounds of cracking brush, which disturbed my meditations for a few moments. I paid little heed, presuming that some of the boys were hunting, or playing some foolish game. The sounds went away gradually, and when I returned to the village, I neither saw nor heard anything unusual on the way.

You saw no ghosts or spirits?

Not last night.

She had meant to imply that sometimes she did, to further impress the boys. Unfortunately she also succeeded in convincing Terjan, who asked fearfully, Then you have seen spirits on the mountain?

Those which visit me in my Place are only spirits of healing and peace, she temporized, not quite lying. Certainly none such as would endanger men's lives by distracting the lookouts from their duties. More likely it was other boys, playing tricks on their friends.

Arathonde threw in her support on this explanation. Very likely. Perhaps a stern talk to all the youths would be in order, Master Terjan, to impress upon them the danger of taking lightly the responsibility of lookout duty, whether that duty is theirs or not.

Terjan nodded. Well thought on, Mistress. But if the incident recurs ....

Then I shall investigate, have no doubt of that!

Thank you, Revered Mother. Thank you, little Mistress.

Loralys did not even glance at the boys as she turned to go, but it seemed she could feel their eyes boring into the back of her head. After that, she heard that people called her witch behind her back, just as some did Arathonde. It did not trouble her; she wanted to be taken seriously.

* * * * *

And as time went on, she was taken seriously, not as a witch, but as a healer. At first Arathonde would only allow her to assist, but such was her skill at easing aches and pains that people were asking for her by name, or for the little Wise One. Still her mistress kept for herself the really bad cases, those with crippling or life-threatening potential. That is, until the middle of the second year, when old Harkal seemed so far gone that Arathonde gave up on him and went on to another house, leaving the girl behind to soothe his final hour. To everyone's astonishment (even Loralys's), the old man not only failed to die, but was up next morning busily mending his nets in the prospect of going out that evening with the other boats. The fact that he dropped dead suddenly less than a month later was generally attributed to his own foolishness rather than to any failure of the young healer.

Both her skill and her reputation grew, until it was said that fretful children would calm at the very promise of a visit from Loralys. Colicky babies quieted the moment she took them in her arms, and old people blessed her touch on their arthritic joints. Still, there were some who died; these sobered Loralys and taught her the limits of human skill, magical or mundane.

If we only knew more! she complained to her mistress after one mysterious loss. He seemed to be getting better. What went wrong?

Arathonde shook her head heavily. Whom the Death God desires, he will have, despite anything we do.

Loralys did not argue, but she thought privately that although fate or the will of the gods was a very convenient excuse for almost anything, it was really lack of knowing that was the true culprit! And she swore that never would she pass up an opportunity to learn.

* * * * *

Shortly after her fifteenth birthday, they had a most unexpected visitor – Nar Tem's brother. Nar Ket was older and fatter than Father, and quite willing to talk about the Sorcerers' War, since he was agent for a Chingi nobleman who had joined the rebellion early and been well rewarded for its success. Ket thought sure his brother had been slain in the war, so imagine his surprise when upon coming to Nmihr to seek pearls for his master, he was told that Nar Tem of Talore was one of the foremost pearl brokers in the country! He dashed off to see for himself and was delighted to find that it was indeed his little brother, doing marvelously for himself, all set up with a Nmihri wife and family and a thriving business.

He stayed for three days. And every night, Loralys massaged his arthritic feet, while he and Tem reminisced of old days in the Dragon Empire. Thus the girl heard again about the battle on the Mai River, but in greater detail this time. And she heard how Yl'thaia had been abducted by barbarians and her brother Sha'azharet'th had gone off alone to rescue her. Then, months after the Kantra had been driven out, and the two had been given up for dead, they appeared out of nowhere, safe and sound! Both Tem and Ket fondly recalled the celebration of their wedding afterward – the entertainment, and how much they had eaten and drunk.

Afterward, Sha'azharet'th had been called away to Lu Shan by Dir'ras'sinak, the last Dragon Emperor; Tem and Yl'thaia had gone with him, and the Nar brothers had never seen one another again. Their Chingi lord, Lin Tar, had joined the rebels and called up all his peasants to fight against the loyalist forces of Sha'azharet'th's father, Prince Eth'harit'th. So if Tem had not gone to the capital with his lord, they would have been on opposite sides of that battle, a situation which was not that unusual, but which would have been distressing just the same.

Anyway, Ket had survived and managed to work his way up in the service of Duke Lin Tar, until now he traveled far and wide, with servants of his own, to bring home the finest arts and treasures to his master, whose holdings in western Chin province controlled three major passes through the mountains. Therefore Lin ruled the trade which flowed through those passes, and it had made him unbelievably wealthy, enough that he could even send a personal representative to Nmihr to buy pearls.

On the fourth day, Ket declared that he must be on his way with those he had bought from his brother (and paid premium prices for). Loralys was sorry to see him go. He had reawakened her thirst to know about her true parents, and all things Ard'dra'an, and with him gone, Father was sure to revert to his old closed mouth policy. She had learned more in those three evenings than in the three years before that!

She was astonished, but delighted, when just a few months later one of her brothers came to Arathonde's house to tell her that Uncle Ket was back and had a special present for her, so she was to come home at once. She finished up the decoction she was preparing, made her excuses to her mistress, and hurried home.

The whole family was waiting in the sitting room, where Father entertained guests and clients. Nar Ket rose up when she entered, and then knelt and prostrated himself as if she were an empress.

What on earth ...? she began puzzledly.

Her uncle raised his head with a beaming smile. Little mistress, I have the great joy and honor of presenting the compliments of my lord and master, Lin Tar, Duke of Nan Or, who begs that you will do him the favor of becoming his bride, to gladden his heart and fill his house with the joy of your presence!

Loralys stood there for a moment in shock, her mouth hanging open foolishly, staring at all their smiling faces, while her whole world fell apart around her. Then she cried out in wild protest, No! She spun about and ran, out of the house, out of the town, toward her Place of Power.

Tears streamed down her face; she gasped for breath between sobs. No, no, no, no .... She couldn't get married now, especially to a Shangi in the faraway mainland! It would spoil everything! There was no way she could pursue her studies in the empire – they treated all women like slaves and had no Wise Ones, only sorcerers that called up demons and cast bane spells on their enemies!

She fought her way through the bushes; it seemed they were obstinately bent on preventing her. Once inside, she flopped down on the sand and sobbed in earnest. Dear Lady of Mercy, have mercy on me, thy servant! Save me, as thou didst before!

But there was no answer. Gradually her tears wore themselves out, and she lay still, waiting for the peace of her Place to seep into her and soothe her as it always did. But that didn't come either. The Place seemed dead – no longer hers – no longer empowered – it was just a plain place, like any other spot on the shore or the mountain! The statue of the goddess still stood in its niche, but it was just a piece of rock, nicely carved and a little soiled, resting on another, bigger piece of rock. The magic was gone!

When the truth of that touched Loralys's heart, she went into a renewed fit of sobbing. But to no avail – the Place was dead, and no amount of mourning could bring it back to life. At last she rose and fled once more, this time to Arathonde's house. She was no longer crying, but the ravages must have been plain on her face, for the wise woman took one look at her and almost dragged her indoors, demanding, What in Erath's name happened to you?

Loralys swallowed twice before she could get out the terrible news. I have to marry a Shangi duke. And my Place of Power is dead!

Arathonde frowned. Here, sit down and tell me all about it. From the beginning. And don't you dare start crying again – that's for babies, and you've done far too much of it already!

The girl related the story, almost calmly. What can I do? she wailed at the end. Oh, Mistress, help me!

You can start by acting like an adult and a Wise One! the other snapped. I'm ashamed of you! Don't you remember your reading? Marriage? Daughters? Wealth? Status? This is obviously just the fulfillment of your destiny. Why do you fight against it?

But I don't want to get married now! The sages say there is a proper time for everything ....

Indeed there is. And clearly this is the proper time for you to make the choice which will make or break your life. You may choose to follow the path laid out for you by fate and the gods, or you may turn your back on your destiny and die.

Die?! Loralys gasped. Why ...?

If you reject the fate of the Wheel, then the Death Sign alone will claim and rule your fate. Did I not warn you that if you saw the future you would be bound by it? Do you not remember how you felt when the spell ended?

The girl nodded, swallowing once more, as it seemed that even now she felt anew that utter cessation of everything ... just like her Place had ceased ....

That is all there is left if you reject the rest, Arathonde told her grimly.

No! she cried again. Oh, no, Mistress! I could not bear that! She sank into a heap on the floor, her eyes stinging with more tears that she dared not shed. Then I must marry this old man, and go far away, and bear his children, and leave the Power behind? I don't know if I can bear that, either!

Who ever said you would leave the Power behind? It is in you, daughter, not in Talore, or up there in the rocks. Wherever you go, you will carry it with you, as long as you are true to your destiny.

But ... they don't let women do magic in the empire!

I'm sure they let women tend the sick and prepare medicines. Your uncle didn't seem to object to you rubbing his feet.

Then I must hide the Power?

And doubtless other things as well. We women are good at that.

Loralys bit her lip. She was old enough to know how that went. Then what honor will I have?

The honor of being a duchess! What do you want, girl?

I just want to stay here and be a Wise One!

That is no longer one of your choices, the woman replied stonily.

So in the end Arathonde took her home. They went in through the kitchen door, and the woman sent a servant to fetch Melanythe. Just tell her she is needed in the kitchen, she ordered the maid.

When Melanythe saw Loralys, she flew to enfold her in her arms, crying, Oh, my poor darling! Thank the gods you're all right! I was so worried ....

I'm sorry, Mother, the girl apologized. It was just so sudden ... and ... and I don't want to go all the way to Nan Or! The last came out in a wail, despite her intention to submit to fate.

Oh, my darling, my darling, I don't want you to go either, Mother cried, hugging her uncomfortably close. But your father is right – it's a great honor, and we can't refuse it, can't stand in your way. You'll be a very great lady, a duchess, and your children will be noble lords and ladies ....

Only ladies, remember? Loralys reminded her. Maybe he won't want me when he finds out I can't give him any sons, she added hopefully.

He may well be disappointed when it happens, Arathonde put in dryly. But I doubt very much that he would believe the prophecy before its fulfillment.

They helped her repair her face, and then took her back to the sitting room. Everyone acted as if nothing at all had happened since she entered the last time. Uncle Ket laid out the gifts he had brought for her (which she would carry back with her to Nan Or, of course) and those he had for the rest of the family. This was all in addition to the bride price of gold and rubies and fine horses, which were rare and expensive on the islands. For the girl herself he had lovely necklaces and rings, which she might be able to wear as a duchess, but which would be useless in Talore. The chest to keep them in was made of cunningly inlaid wood forming a picture of swans on a lake. And there was a bridal tiara of gold wire, strung with all the pearls her uncle had bought on his last visit. Although Loralys was not overly fond of such trinkets, she did appreciate beautiful things, and these evidences of her future husband's good taste went far toward reconciling her to the marriage.

The duke was old – almost seventy – and his wife had died the year before without ever bearing a child. Nar Ket had returned from Nmihr with not only the pearls he had been sent after, but with glowing tales of the young healer whose magical touch had made his feet feel like new again. He had urged his master to send for the girl, to cure his own aches and pains. And by way of advancing his own family fortune, he intimated that she was not only skilled but beautiful and well educated, young and unwed – a jewel waiting to be plucked. The timing was perfect; the duke immediately made up his mind that he was ready to marry again.

Loralys bowed her head in submission. Could there be any doubt that destiny had her firmly in its grasp? Clearly, it would be useless to struggle. But before she left Nmihr, perhaps never to return, she was determined to know the truth of her parentage!

Amid all the bustle of preparation, it proved almost impossible to get either Mother or Father alone for more than a few seconds. At last she practically dragged Melanythe away, citing a need to discuss the intimate details of married life, since she was going so far away, among strangers.

But when they were alone, with the door shut, she asked her real question. Mother, all my life I have honored and loved you and Father as my parents. But now I want to know the truth. Who were my real father and mother?

The woman hid her face in her hands, and Loralys hastened to put an arm around her and hold her close. Come now, no tears! Surely you will always be first in my affection, after all you have done for me! But I must know ... and I may never have a chance to ask again.

Melanythe rubbed her eyes. I suppose we should have told you long ago. But the truth can be dangerous, and we saw no way that knowing could help you, and besides, I was selfish and wanted you for my own. What made you suspect that you were not?

The girl shrugged. Bits of this and that. Like the lady of my dream. Is that my mother?

It is likely. She took a deep breath. Your mother was the Princess Yl'thaia, daughter of Eth'harit'th, Prince of Chin, and Princess Yl'nytha, who was daughter of As'sarin'non the Golden, Emperor of Ard'dr.

Most of this Loralys already knew, but the sonorous thunder of the Ard'dra'an names and the thought of her high lineage made goosebumps pop out on her arms. And my father? she asked, fully anticipating another such recital.

Melanythe shook her head. "None knows, dearest. It was not Nar Tem. Nor was it the Lord Sha'azharet'th, Princess Yl'thaia's brother and husband. I was midwife at your birth, little one, and he, whom men name Accursed, was there also, through all that long labor, comforting and strengthening his beloved sister-wife, easing her pain with his magic. Never, after seeing that, could I believe any tale of evil told of him. Especially when I found that he knew very well that you were not his seed! According to Ard'dra'an custom and law, he should have slain you in the womb! But instead, he and your mother suffered through the birthing, and then he gave you to me, and gave me Nar Tem as well, and sent us back to Nmihr with money to start a business and care for you and the boys I already had. And he put abroad the tale that the babe had been born dead.

It was not until we were on our way that Tem told me how your mother had come to be pregnant. Do you remember his tale of the battle on the River Mai, when Yl'thaia was abducted? While she was held in the barbarian camp, she was raped by many men – Kantra, Shangi, Ard'drin .... No telling which of them was your natural father.

Loralys looked down at her clenched hands. Tears of shock and pity and gratitude stung her eyes. She could think of nothing to say.

Melanythe patted her hands. Nor does it matter. You are Princess Yl'thaia's daughter and mine. And out of that pain and violence has come beauty and healing. She pulled her close and hugged her, while Loralys wept on her breast.

Thank you, Mother. Thank you for telling me. And for loving me.

* * * * *

Loralys settled into her new life much more easily than she had ever expected to. The former duchess had been bed-ridden for many years before her death, so the management of the household had devolved upon Chief Steward Ho Kam and his staff, who handled everything with efficiency and despatch. The duke was also ailing and took little part in the actual governance of his vast estates. Loralys had no official responsibilities beyond looking decorative at a few court functions each year. Nor did she try to meddle in the affairs of either the vassal lords or the stewards.

Instead, she took up the responsibilities of her calling as a Wise One. Starting with her husband's aches and pains, and bolstered by her uncle's glowing boasts about her, she soon became known throughout the duchy, not only for her skills as a healer, but for her willingness to help the humblest of her subjects. People marvelled that this lovely little foreign doll would lay aside her golden ornaments and embroidered robes to don a rough apron and bring potions and poultices to the sick and the dying. Ho Kam disapproved; he thought it unseemly; but the duke allowed her to do whatever she wished. Indeed, he acted more like a doting grandfather than a husband.

Still, he did lie with her, and after about a year she found herself pregnant. Then she could not go abroad as much, not only because of the state of her own health, but because of the way the people worried about her. They got so distressed whenever she tried to do something, that at last she gave up in disgust.

Instead she decided to read her way through the ducal library. Lin had an extensive collection, but as she began to explore it, she soon found that most of the books were written in Ard'dra'an – not just Ard'dra'an script, which she had learned in school, but in the original tongue, which was interdicted in the empire, and not taught even in Nmihr.

Loralys had not confided the secret of her heritage to anyone – as her parents had pointed out, there was distinct danger in doing so, and no advantage whatsoever. But nothing could make her ashamed of her Dragon blood! So now she determined to learn what she considered her proper native tongue.

That, of course, was not the reason she gave old Tam Lik, the librarian. She merely asked him to teach her so that she could read the books. He was flattered and thrilled to do so, having been raised in a generation when the Ard'drin were worshipped rather than execrated.

As always, her studies progressed apace. She read voraciously, beginning at one end of the top shelf and working her way down. History, memoirs, poetry, letters, household inventories, treatises on cattle-breeding and food preparation, records of litigations and probates, philosophy, religious exhortation, proverbs and nostrums – she read it all.

One day Tam Lik wasn't there when she returned a couple of scrolls, so she knelt to replace them on the bottom shelf where they belonged. But they would not go all the way in, although the shelf should have been deep enough. Frowning, she pulled out several more cases and thrust her arm in to find out what was wrong. Her hand fell upon a thin square box shoved clear to the back. Apparently the scroll cases had been resting on top of it. She drew it out and blew off the dust.

It was not a box after all, but a very odd sort of book, a collection of seven square plates of blackened metal a little bigger than