'From what you've told me yourself, the Dordovans clearly don't share that view,' returned Ilkar.

'And we are fairly sure she isn't alone,' added The Unknown.

Ilkar sighed and drained his coffee. 'Look, Denser, you have to make a full report to Xetesk on this. You know you do. Gods, I don't suppose they even know Erienne is gone yet. The point is that they can apply significant pressure on the Dordovans to curb any designs they may have on Lyanna's life. That leaves us to search for your family unmolested, so to speak.'

'Officially, anyway,' said The Unknown. He stretched his arms above his head, his shoulder muscles bunching, shirt stitching pulling.

'One more thing,' said Ilkar. 'This is going to spread. The rumours about Lyanna have been around even here, though as no more than a point of interest. But soon there'll be a lot of questions, particularly if Colleges start throwing their weight around. Tinjata's prophecy intimates a return to the One Way and that bothers most mages, me included.

'We can't afford a conflict so let's tread a little carefully, eh?'

Denser shrugged and his mouth twitched up at the corners.

› 1

'You're right. I know you're right. That's probably why I came here first. I needed a level-headed view. Thanks, Ilkar.'

'A pleasure. Right, I suggest a day's rest for you while I sort out my affairs here and make my excuses, then a ride to Dordover and then to Xetesk.'

'Why Dordover?' asked Denser.

'Because Therus is away from Julatsa and you really need to read the prophecy, and that's where the original lore script and translation are held. Assuming they'll let you in.'

'And someone must have seen something of Erienne at the time she was escaping,' said The Unknown. 'You just have to ask the right questions. Hmm. We could do with Will or Thraun. They knew Dordover's underbelly well. Still, perhaps their names will open a few doors.'

'There's something missing here,' said Ilkar.

'Hirad,' said The Unknown, nodding.

'We'll collect him after we've been to Xetesk,' said Denser.

'It won't be that simple,' warned The Unknown. 'After all, his dragons are still here.'

Hirad kicked sand over the fire outside his single-roomed stone- and-thatch hut and walked into the Choul. It was not ideal, not for a Kaan dragon. The wind echoed down the gaping maw of a cave forty feet wide, spreading a chill in the winter months for which even three dragons nested together could not fully compensate.

What they really needed was the heat and mud of a Kaan dwelling, but for that Hirad had to have builders, ironsmiths and labourers. And as with so much that concerned the saviours of Balaia, people simply turned their backs and chose to forget.

To a point, Hirad understood. Half a day's ride away in Black-thorne, the Baron still struggled to rebuild his dismembered town. And he alone had sent people to help make the mountain as comfortable as it could be. At least Hirad had a roof separate to that of the Kaan, and a lean-to stable for his nervous horse.

Lighting a lantern, Hirad turned the wick low, aware that his dwindling oil supply would force a trip to Blackthorne before long. Increasingly, he was anxious at leaving the dragons, even for a day and a night. One day, hunters would attack while he was gone.

Walking into the Choul, Hirad pulled his furs tight about him. It was a cold night, unseasonably so, and rain had fallen for much of the day. He yearned for a warm inn with roaring fire, ale in one hand, woman in the other. But he couldn't forget what he owed Sha-Kaan. It seemed, though, that he was the only one.

The stench of dragon filled his nostrils. Undeniably reptilian, it was layered with wood and oil and a sour taint that he knew was exhaled from huge lungs. It wasn't a smell you could ignore but it could be endured. Around a sweeping shallow bend, widened by Blackthorne's men, was a low, domed cavern, big enough for ten dragons. In its centre lay three, and their enormity staggered Hirad no less than it had the first time.

An initial glance revealed a mass of golden scales, moving with indrawn breaths and glittering faintly in the lantern light. A second glance, along with a boosting of the lantern wick, revealed three Kaan dragons. Nos- and Hyn-Kaan lay to either flank, tails coiled, necks laid inwards, bodies dwarfing Hirad as he watched, wings furled tight, claws skittering against the rough floor, tiny movements giving great comfort.

And in their midst, fully a quarter and more their size again, lay Sha-Kaan, Great Kaan of his Brood, exiled by choice to save two dimensions. His head lifted as Hirad entered the Choul and his one-hundred-and-twenty-foot body rippled along its ageing, dulling golden length. Hirad walked to the Great Kaan, standing before the mouth that could swallow him whole.

'I trust you enjoyed your meal, Hirad Coldheart,' rumbled Sha-Kaan, voice sounding only in Hirad's head.

'Yes, thank you, it was an unexpected feast,' replied the barbarian, recalling the sheep Sha-Kaan had deposited outside his hut, undamaged but for a neatly broken neck.

'When we can, we provide,' said Sha-Kaan.

'Though the farmer might right rue the fact you chose his flock.' Hirad smiled.

'Surely a small price for our continuing sacrifice.' Sha-Kaan did not share Hirad's humour.

The barbarian's smile faded and his heart beat a flurry as unsettling thoughts crowded his head for an instant. He stared deep into Sha-Kaan's eyes and saw in them an intense sadness, like grief at

a loss; the kind of enduring emptiness The Unknown spoke of when his link with the Protectors was severed.

'What's wrong, Great Kaan?'

Sha-Kaan blinked slowly and breathed in, Hirad feeling the air flow past him.

'This place ages us,' he said. 'It dampens our fire, dries our wings and starves our minds. The Brood psyche cannot sustain what it cannot touch. You have done everything you can, Hirad, and our gratitude will not fade. But our eyes dim, our scales dull and our muscles protest our every movement. Your dimension drains us.'

A chill stole down Hirad's neck and spread through his body.

'You're dying?' he ventured.

Sha-Kaan's startling blue eyes reflected the lantern light as he stared.

'We need to go home, Hirad Coldheart. Soon.'

Hirad bit his lip and strode from the Choul, his anger brimming, his frustration complete. There would have to be action.

In the warming early morning, following a breakfast of fruits, milk and rye bread, Lyanna played in the orchard, skipping around trees and singing to herself, engrossed in a game the rules of which Erienne couldn't fathom as she watched from a bench.

The night had been quiet and peaceful. Lyanna hadn't woken and as a result, had risen refreshed and full of energy. Erienne was glad, knowing she'd need it all and more. This was the calm soon to be shattered and Erienne felt a dreadful anxiety grip her as she watched her little girl play. Her innocence, her essential childishness, her carefree spirit, all were about to be deluged by an overwhelming need to unlock and then control the power within her.

And last night, as she had sat alone in the dining room, sipping at her wine and thinking, she had reached an inescapable truth. Lyanna was to be changed forever and it didn't take a great leap of understanding to realise that the risk of this change was mortal. If for any reason her teaching went astray, Lyanna would die.

'Come here, my sweet.' Erienne held out her arms, the desire to hug her child so strong it hurt. Lyanna trotted over and Erienne crushed her in an embrace she never wanted to release. But all too soon, Lyanna struggled and Erienne allowed her to pull away.

'You promise me you'll be good and listen to your teachers?' she asked, stroking Lyanna's hair.

Lyanna nodded. 'Yes, Mummy.'