"All of you, get out of here this instant!" came Millie's voice from within, and Chase had to wait for a line of people to stream out before he could force his way in. Millie cast him a glaring look that softened when she saw who it was. "It's not as bad as it looks. He's got a gash on his head, and it's a bleeder. I'll get him cleaned up and some fluids in him, and he'll be good as new."

Sinjin lay still on the feather-stuffed mattress, his eyes open just slightly. The bluish pallor to his skin made him look already dead. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest gave Chase any reassurance.

"General Chase, sir!" came a shout in the hall. "I must find General Chase. It's urgent!"

"Easy there, young man, breathe," Chase called into the hall. "It's all right. I'm here and I know Sinjin has been found. You may return to your duties." Chase turned back to watch Sinjin breathe.

"I'm sorry, sir," the young guard said, still breathing heavily and clearly uncomfortable with the position in which he found himself. "There is another problem, sir. The tribes of Arghast have gathered near the entrance to the God's Eye and they want to speak to Lady Catrin."

"What?"

The young guard looked as if he might faint. Chase stood silently for a moment, trying to decide what to do. The Arghast were renowned for their horsemanship and their fiercely insular culture. Relations between Catrin and the Arghast were generally good, despite the fact that their very nature made the tribes volatile and unpredictable.

Morif spoke softly, "Catrin generally offers them water, wine, and meat, sir."

"Get someone working on it."

"Yes, sir," Morif said, offering the wink of a one-eyed man that unnerved most but assured Chase that the job would be done properly.

With a last glance at those who meant the most to him, Chase wondered if any of them would ever be returned to him. With nothing more he could do, he left them in Millie's capable hands. For a moment he wondered where Mirta was since she was almost always near the infirmary, but then he heard the melody from outside again, and he recalled the party she was holding for the dragons. As insane as it seemed, he wished her luck. Maybe Kyrien really could help Catrin and Prios. That thought froze in his blood as the haunting melody shifted and was suddenly drowned out by cheers, which almost instantly turned to screams.

Chase ran.

When he reached the front entrance of Dragonhold, he gazed into the valley below, horrified by what he saw. Dragons. Not the color-changing regent dragons that had befriended Catrin, but those that seemed carved from pure darkness. Feral dragons, Chase realized, having heard the ancient descriptions. Verdant dragons had been said to be the largest and most plentiful during the last age of power; feral dragons, the most dangerous; and regent dragons, the most rare. As Chase watched, a man dressed in Arghast garb soared through the air and landed on top of a dragon that was swooping down on the still milling crowd. To his amazement, the man held on and even managed to secure a leather line around the beast's head. Soon, though, that dragon flew beyond Chase's view. Another took its place and soared straight for Chase, who took a few steps back then turned and ran. "We're under attack!" he yelled as the hold's wooden fortifications exploded.

Halmsa of the Wind clan clenched his teeth and held on as best he could, his clan's namesake buffeting him. The dragon beneath him certainly knew he was there and had been trying to dislodge him for some time, but Halmsa was strong and fast and clever. Even when the beast had slammed itself into the canyon wall, he'd been quick enough to slide around to the underside of the dragon's neck, just barely avoiding being crushed. Other dragons had nearly knocked him free as well. It didn't seem as if they were trying to protect their brethren. The beasts were just adept at flying within very close proximity to one another, at times glancing off each other or rubbing together in midair, yet they managed to do it without knocking themselves from the sky.

The sensation of flying overwhelmed Halmsa's senses for a time, and he simply enjoyed it. An instant later, the dragon dived steeply and aimed for a patch of tall trees. Branches rushed toward Halmsa at impossible speed, the first struck him like thunder. His world nearly went black, but he willed himself to stay conscious. The dragon, now desperate to be rid of him, had taken too great a risk and misjudged the trees. Halmsa held on to his leather lines alone, having lost his footing, and he was tossed wildly as the mighty feral dragon slammed into the treetops.

Despite the intense desire to fly once again, Halmsa climbed down, knowing this dragon would fly no more. Blood warmed his scalp and caked around his ear, but Halmsa's grin was huge. He'd flown a dragon! His people had waited many lifetimes for this day, and he was among the first. Pride filled his chest and motivated Halmsa more than ever. There was much work to be done, but the first step had been taken. Riding a dragon was not at all like riding a horse, and they all had quite a lot to learn.

Limping and bleeding, he climbed along the ridge, watching the skies. The dying dragon thrashed in the trees, crying out its anguish. Halmsa fled but stopped as the skies above him filled with writhing black shapes dancing through the clouds. Like a practiced dance, they dived in near unison. Halmsa felt his courage tested as the dragons fell on their own, ending the dragon's suffering. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, he limped along the crest of the ridgeline toward the remains of Dragonhold's front entrance. He could see the wooden stairs swinging away from their moorings; the mass of people seeking refuge within the hold had no choice but to climb through the shattered timbers to reach the safety of solid stone.

Flames and dark smoke leaped from makeshift torches attached to metal-tipped spears. Guards stood at intervals on the stairs, guarding the line of refugees from the dragons, which patrolled the skies, waiting for a chance to grab an easy meal. Chase watched as Martik and his crew worked to repair the fortifications and entryway that had been reduced to splinters in a single devastating strike. In one day, the world had changed, and Chase knew they were not ready. Boil Nat Dersinger and his visions. Chase knew that Nat's visions couldn't have actually caused these events, but he needed to aim his anger and frustration somewhere. The dragons were wild creatures, and he could not expect them to show kindness or listen to reason. How could he fight such an enemy when so grossly overmatched? Hide. The thought made him sick, but the process was already under way.

He also knew that he could not blame Trinda for calling the dragons to them, though that hadn't stopped others in the hold from casting curses at the girl. How could he blame them; the girl's father had tried to kill Catrin when she was but a babe and had succeeded in killing Catrin's mother and Chase's mother. Chase was somewhat surprised that when he saw her, he'd felt no malice or revulsion. She still looked like a child, and her deep-set eyes contained the sadness of ages. Truly this girl deserved respite.

"She'll stay with us," Mirta had insisted, and Chase was grateful for it. Mirta had a heart full of kindness, and not for the first time, Chase congratulated Brother Vaughn on landing the ideal wife for him.

The great hall now looked more like a shantytown as people did what they could to claim their own space. The disorder seemed out of place amid the towering grace of the pillars and the worn but nonetheless mighty bas-reliefs.