"One of your 'mirrors of the sky'?" asked Alec.

"Yes," said Seregil. "It's the largest hot spring along this trail, a very sacred spot."

"Why is that?"

Seregil smiled. "That's Arnali's tale to tell. We're in Akhendi fai'thast now."

They made camp upwind of the tarn. It was warm in the little vale; the ground gave off heat they could feel through the soles of their boots. The foul odor was stronger here, too, like eggs gone bad. The yellow coloration Alec had noted earlier turned out to be a crusty rime built up just above the waterline.

"Sulfur," Thero said, taking a pinch between his fingers and igniting it in a puff of orange flame.

Despite the smell, most of the 'faie were already stripping off to bathe in it. Amali a Yassara dipped up a cupful and presented it to Klia.

"Odd sort of spot to call sacred, don't you think?" asked Alec, eyeing the gently roiling water distrustfully. "It can't be poison, though. Everyone's drinking it."

Testing the water, he found it hot as a bath. He scooped up a small amount in one cupped palm and took a sip. It was an effort to swallow; the flat, metallic flavor was not something that invited deep drinking.

"A mineral spring!" Thero noted, wiping his lips—though not discreetly enough to escape Amali's notice.

"You are perhaps wondering why we revere such a place?" she asked, laughing at the wizard's expression. "I will show you in a little while. In the meantime, you all should bathe, especially you, Alec i Amasa. The waters are healing and would do that ear of yours good."

"Is my talimenios welcome, as well?" Alec asked, keeping his tone respectful even as his gut tightened.

Amali colored, but shook her head. "That I cannot grant."

"Then I thank you for the offer." He gave her a slight bow and strolled off to the cluster of tents nearby. Seregil followed.

"You didn't have to do that!"

"Yes, I did. I can't stand them all fussing over me while they slap you down at every opportunity."

Seregil pulled him to a halt. "They aren't doing it to insult me, you damn fool!" he whispered angrily. "I brought this on myself a long time ago. You're here for Klia, not me. Any insult you offer to our hosts reflects on her."

Alec stared at him a moment, hating the resignation that underlay his friend's hard words. "I'll try to keep that in mind," he mumbled, pulling his pack down from the saddle and carrying it into the tent assigned to them. He waited, expecting Seregil to come in. When he didn't, Alec looked out through the tent flaps and saw him back at the water's edge, watching the others swim.

Seregil kept up his air of cordial distance, speaking little but making no effort to retreat from the main company. When Amali invited the Skalans to walk along the shore that evening, he joined in without comment or apology.

She led them up to the outcropping of dark stone. Bulging up from the surrounding stone and skree, it spread like an ink stain to the edge of the lake.

"Look closely," she told them, running her hand over a curving slab.

Examining it, Alec saw nothing out of the ordinary except the peculiar smoothness of the weathering in places.

"It's skin!" Thero exclaimed from the other side of an upthrust slab. "Or at least, it was. And here's the ridge of a spine. By the Light, was this a dragon? It must have been over three hundred feet long, if we're seeing all that there was of it."

"Then it's true what I've read," Klia mused, climbing around to where the crumbling edge of what might have been a wing bone jutted from the ground. "Dragons do turn to stone when they die."

"This one did," Amali replied. "But it is the only one of this size ever found. How they die, just as how they are born, remains a mystery. The little ones appear; the great ones disappear. But this place, called Vhada'nakori, is sacred because of this creature, so drink deeply, sleep well, and attend carefully to your dreams. In a few days, we will be in Sarikali."

Seregil knew the Akhendi woman had not meant to include him in her invitation at the Vhada'nakori; she'd been unfailingly distant since Gedre. Perhaps her ill will accounted for his poor sleep that night.

Curled beside Alec in the tent they shared with Torsin and Thero, he tossed restlessly through a dream of uncommon vividness, even without aid of the waters.

It began like so many of his nightmares had over the past two years. He stood again in his old sitting room at the Cockerel, but this time there were no mutilated corpses, no heads gummed in their own blood on the mantelpiece chattering accusations at him.

Instead, it was as he remembered it from happier days. The cluttered tables, the piles of books, the tools laid out on the workbench beneath the window — everything was just as it should be. Turning

to the corner by the fireplace, however, he found it empty. Alec's narrow cot was gone.

Puzzled, Seregil walked to the door of his bedchamber. Opening it, he found himself instead in his childhood room at Bokthersa. The details here were equally clear and achingly familiar — the cool play of leaf shadow on the wall above his bed, the rack of practice swords near the door, the rich colors of the corner screen in the corner — painted by the mother he'd never known. Toys long since lost or packed away were there, too, as if someone had collected all of his most treasured belongings and laid them out for his return.

The only discordant element were the delicate glass orbs strewn across the bed. He hadn't noticed these when he'd first come in.

He was taken by their beauty. Some were tiny, others the size of his fist, and they gleamed like jewels, multihued and translucent. He didn't recognize them, but in the strange way of dreams, knew that these, too, were his.

As he stood there, smoke suddenly seeped up through the floorboards around him. He could feel heat through the soles of his boots and hear the angry crackle of flames from below.

His first thought was to save the orbs. Try as he might, though, a few always slipped away and he had to stop and pick them up again. Looking around frantically, he knew that he couldn't save everything; the fire was bursting up through the floor in earnest now, licking at the corners of the room.

He knew he should run and warn Adzriel. He longed to save familiar mementos but could not decide what to take, what to sacrifice. And all this time, he was still trying to gather the glistening spheres. Looking down, he saw that some had turned to iron and threatened to smash the more fragile ones. Others were filled with smoke or liquid. Confused and frightened, he stood helpless as smoke boiled up around him, blotting out the light —

Seregil woke drenched in sweat, with his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest. It was still dark, but he had no intention of sleeping again in this place. Finding his clothes, he slipped out.

The stars were still bright enough to cast faint shadows. Dressing quickly, he climbed up to the dragon stones overlooking the water.

"Aura Lightbearer, send me insight," he whispered, stretching out on his back to wait for dawn.

"Welcome home, Korit's son," a strange little voice replied, close to his ear.

Seregil looked around in surprise. No one was there. Leaning over the edge of the rock, he peered underneath. A pair of shining yellow eyes looked back at him, then tilted as the creature moved its head.

"Are you khtir'bai?" asked Seregil.

The eyes tilted in the other direction. "Yes, child of Aura. Do you know me?"

"Should I, Honored One?" Seregil had encountered only one such being, the khtir'bai of an aunt who'd taken the form of a white bear. This creature was far too small.

"Perhaps," the voice told him. "You have much to do, son of Korit."