Then a cloaked shape appeared at the edge of the hold access. Her breath caught slightly. It was Japheth!

Even from two decks below, Anusha could see Japheth's eyes gleamed red. His gaze locked with her own. Fear thrilled down her spine and her stomach tightened.

A third shape appeared next to Thoster, a woman dressed in a bone white sari wielding a scarlet-glyphed wand.

It was Seren, the Green Siren's mercenary wizard.

Thoster complained to Japheth and Seren, "I don't see anything."

Japheth looked up at the captain and the wizard, then back down into her eyes, still silent. Could he see her, or was she imagining it?

Seren traced symbols in the air with her free hand. Where her fingers passed, lines of magical energy persisted moments before fading. Syllables of pure arcane magic tumbled from Seren's lips. Her eyes flashed with a glint of citrine light.

"There!" said Seren, gesturing with her wand down at Anusha. "I see it now-an apparition! The spirit of a drowned woman, perhaps, lingers in your hold, Captain."

Anusha cursed. She nearly woke herself… but then thought, I've got to lead them away from my travel chest!

Instead of retreating, Anusha ran to the steps of the ladder and climbed. She slipped past the still petrified Brida on the broad rope rungs without touching her.

Seren cried, "It ascends; it attacks!"

Seren backed out of Anusha's view, as did Thoster, his features betraying bafflement and a hint of concern. Japheth merely cocked his head and observed. There was no doubt he saw her; his eyes didn't leave her as she climbed, and she ascended quickly. Without any real weight, rising required hardly any effort. She wondered, even as she clambered onto the top deck, apparently in full sight of Japheth, if she needed a ladder to ascend at all. She'd had dreams of flying when she was younger. Maybe if-

Seren hadn't run away; she'd merely retreated a few steps to cast another spell. The war wizard threw out her free hand, and from her fingertips sprang a tremendous stroke of blinding purple-white lightning.

Anusha screamed as obliterating, mind-shattering pain coursed through her naked, unprotected soul.

A remarkable bridge provided access to Nathlekh. Not long ago, no such bridge had been required.

A decade earlier, a slow but inexorable earth movement thrust a majority of the city's Shou ward several hundred feet higher than the rest of the city. Hundreds of structures along the edges of the fault were destroyed. By chance, the destroyed structures were mostly the homes of non-Shou, though the Shou faced their own share of loss. When the earth stopped moving, the survivors slowly forgot their fear, especially those whose homes, mansions, and businesses remained. As many pointed out too, the new city heights provided an unexpected but welcome defensive stance against a landscape suddenly more dangerous than ever before.

Thus, once the sky fires, earth movements, and attacks by plaguechanged monsters subsided, a collection of the city's Shou nobles poured a large portion of their considerable wealth into the creation of the bridge.

The Dragon Bridge supported a wide and thick stone span that sprang from the earth near the piers on Long Arm Lake to rise in a diagonal line all the way up to the Sky District. The Dragon Bridge was named for its supporting arches, each of which took the form of a sculpted, sinuous stone dragon. Each successively larger stone dragon bore the weight of its span section in a unique fashion-some on arched backs, others in wide maws, and even one, who stood closest to Nathlekh's stone column, in clawed hands raised high above its head as it reared on its hind legs.

A series of three massive, gated checkpoints along the bridge's span guarded against attacking ground forces, or, as happened on occasion even more than a decade after the Spellplague, groups of homeless refugees. Each gated wall contained barracks for a company of bridge guardians commanded by a gate captain.

Raidon Kane ascended the Dragon Bridge in the back of a cart drawn by two donkeys, driven by an old Shou farmer. Raidon silently wondered if he were, in truth, being brought to Nathlekh as the farmer claimed. Last time he'd been here, there'd been no Dragon Bridge.

It seemed impossible that such a dramatic change could overtake the city in little over a decade. Then again, the changes that occurred while the blue fire raged defied reason. In comparison to what he'd seen in Starmantle, Nathlekh's uplift hardly seemed worth mentioning.

His foot cramped suddenly, as if to rebuke him for recalling the awful image of Starmantle and the ghoul-like aberrations that inhabited it. He wondered if the wound would ever completely heal. Even now, wrapped in linens provided by the kindly farmer's wife, his foot seeped fluids.

Each new day, he concentrated all his healing ability on the limb, attempting to re-knit more of the lost skin and sensitivity to touch. Each day, he convinced himself he made a little more progress.

In truth, the wound was much improved. Raidon might have walked this final distance into Nathlekh today, probably with just a minor limp. But the solicitous farmers, who'd found him crawling amid their turnip beds a tenday earlier, who'd nursed him back to health in their modest dwelling, wouldn't hear of him walking so soon. They offered to take him up to Nathlekh by donkey cart. In the end, he'd gratefully accepted.

The biggest mystery of all was his location. He was far closer to the city when the farmers found him than he should have been.

The last thing he recalled was falling asleep in the rain on top of a hard-won bluff near Starmantle. Even upon reaching the safety of the bluffs top, he half suspected he would never see another day.

But he survived. When he opened his eyes next, it was to a cool sunrise. There was no bluff, no burning forest, and no rain. He lay in a turnip field. He couldn't recall anything between falling asleep and waking along the edge of a farm. A turnip farm that turned out to be nearly two hundred miles west of his last location just outside Nathlekh!

Raidon wondered again if he were going insane. It could be he was losing his memory before his mind.

Or perhaps the Spellplague described to him by the ghouls had so altered the landscape that cities and other previously fixed points had become unstuck from their old foundations. He didn't have enough information to rightly judge.

A new thought struck him. Perhaps the Cerulean Sign had something to do with it. Had the symbol, now spellscarred into his flesh, somehow contrived to move him toward his unconscious goal while he lay at death's door?

Sometimes it seemed he could almost discern a voice speaking his name____________________

Raidon pushed these speculations from his head. Right now, all that mattered was finding Ailyn. He tried to imagine in what circumstance he'd find her. His anxiety over what had become of the girl was more painful than his throbbing foot.

They ascended the great dragon-supported bridge. As the cart approached the third and final gate, a gate guard signaled the farmer to stop his cart.

Words penetrated Raidon's apprehension. The gate guard was saying… only. Turn around and take your cargo with you, I said. Be glad I do not fine you."

"What is this nuisance?" Raidon spoke up. "Why are you holding us up? This man has no cargo today but me. He is due no merchant fees."

The guard sneered and returned, "In these dangerous times, non-Shou who wish to enter Nathlekh can only do so with an invitation."

"But this man…" The guard's implication struck home. The guard referred to Raidon, not the farmer.