'Well, no sense in hanging about.' Hirad raised his glass. Tlkar. An elf without peer and a friend I will miss for ever.'
The goblets clacked together. Hirad drained his in one and nudged Denser for more.
'He'll be proud of us, you know,' said Denser, rubbing a hand across his neatly trimmed and still jet-black beard.
'He'd bloody better be. Almost saw the end of the lot of us, dragging that piece of rubble from its hole.'
Denser laughed loud. Out in the courtyard, the panther turned her head lazily. 'Ah, Hirad, ever able to bring everything down to its most basic level.'
'Best thing is, though, whatever happens to us, this is a memorial to him, isn't it?' said Hirad. 'I mean, it's only raised because of what he started us doing.' He sighed, heart heavy for a moment. 'Should have been here to see it though, shouldn't he?'
There was a silence, each man lost in memories.
'You ready to go?' asked The Unknown.
Hirad shrugged and looked up into The Unknown's flint-grey eyes. 'Well, it's not as if I've got much to pack.'
'That isn't what I meant.'
'I know.'
The Unknown punched him on the arm. 'So tell me.'
'That hurt.'
'Not as much as the next one will.'
Hirad eyed the bunched muscles beneath the smile. 'Actually, I was thinking about it before you two interrupted me. There's nothing keeping me here now. And I'm tired of fighting. Really. Look at all we've done. And the only monuments are those we have built for our dead friends. Nearly everyone else wants us dead too. Ungrateful bastards.'
'We thought we'd go tomorrow. First light,' said The Unknown.
Hirad raised his eyebrows. 'Are we fit for that? I'm talking about Erienne, of course.'
'She's fine,' said Denser. 'Physically at any rate. I think she just can't make up her mind which part of arriving back on Herendeneth she is looking forward to least. Seeing Lyanna's grave or getting taught about the One by Cleress.'
'We'll get south all right, will we?' asked Hirad. 'There's still a war on, you know.'
'Nothing escapes you, does it?' said Denser.
'Darrick picked a route. I agree with it,' said The Unknown. 'It'll
see us back to Blackthorne without much problem. Then all we have to do is wait for the Calaian Sun to put into the Bay of Gyernath.'
'So long as you're happy,' said Hirad.
'I am,' said The Unknown. 'But you know how it is. We don't move until you say.'
Hirad felt that familiar surge. Even on their way out of the country they'd fought to save from itself for so long, even on their way to retirement, The Raven was still working. He nodded.
'There's no reason to stay if we're all fit to travel.' He smiled and looked across at The Unknown. 'Thanks for asking.'
'You know how it is.'
'Yeah.' Hirad stood up and looked down into his goblet, seeing the ripples in the dark liquid. 'Where are the others? I feel the need for another toast to someone or other.'
Sha-Kaan turned a lazy roll in the air. Below him, the mists enveloped the valley of the Kaan Broodlands. Ahead of him, the plains of Domar and the dense steaming forests of Teras fled away beyond the encircling mountains of Beshara from which the dragon dimension took its name. The mountains that made his valley so rich and humid, trapping the moisture and heat.
He could hear the calls of his brood-in-flight, operating the patterns that kept intruders from entering the Broodlands. Now more than ever, they must not fail. Now more than ever, they were prone to attack.
Sha-Kaan blessed the strength of Hirad Coldheart and The Raven. He blessed their belief and determination, their energy and their courage. Without them, he would not have been here to lead his brood at this most critical time and their own belief would surely have faltered. And without Hirad in particular, he would not have been able to spend these last days in the healing streams of inter-dimensional space. To relax in the Klene, the melde corridor that was anchored at one end by the brood consciousness and at die other by the remarkable barbarian's, and there be tended by the Vestare. His servant race. Faithful, steeped in awe of their masters and living to serve under their protection. It was a pleasure he had thought denied him for ever.
Sha-Kaan felt the frightened excitement of a dozen brood-at-
spawn. Their time was upon them. The next cycle of light and dark would see new births for the Kaan to celebrate and protect. The energy of a birth could be felt far beyond the Broodlands, in the minds of their enemies. Such was the danger linked to the joy of every birth. It was the reason the brood flew now, securing their borders, and would fly in even greater numbers very soon. The Kaan were ageing. They could not afford to lose any of their young.
Sha-Kaan pulsed out with his mind to his brood. His return had been like a birth to them and now of course they looked to their Great Kaan for guidance as they had done for so many cycles. He pulsed orders to be wary, to ensure the flight patterns were kept tight, and to keep the Kaan-in-flight changing and so keep them all fresh. And he pulsed harmony, calm and his confidence in living births to the brood-at-spawn.
Driving his wings hard for a dozen beats, he swept upwards, meaning to look down on his lands from the outer markers where his patrols circled, eyes and minds alert for early signs of enemies. He greeted them with barks and a pulse that warned against complacency.
Reaching his desired height, he turned into a gentle downward-spiralling glide, feeling the rush of the wind over his scales and fully extended wings. His eyes searched below, looking for anything he had missed, any gap that should be closed. He counted just on a hundred Kaan above the mist layer. There would be an equal number below it and twice that many at rest in chouls across the Broodlands.
It looked an impressive defence but it represented the immature and the very old in addition to those of fighting age. The Naik were strong. They knew Kaan birthings were close. He wondered whether they believed an attack worth the probable losses. They had so often proved an impossible brood to gauge. At once utterly, dismissive of rival broods' rights to land in Beshara and surprisingly concessionary and honest in alliance.
The Kaan had not experienced alliance with the Naik themselves but knew their ways from the Veret, a dying brood threatened and now defended by the Naik in a bizarre turn of attitude.
An attack depended on the Naik ability to defend their own homelands while trying to take the Kaan's. That meant new alliances
would have to be made. Sha-Kaan wished he had the time to visit the Veret to get some indication of likely force but they were too far distant.
Satisfied his flight organisation left no unseen access for their enemies, he sailed down faster. A rest in a choul was what he needed now to further ease his ageing muscles, not yet healed by his rest in inter-dimensional space; its coolness, darkness and companionship would be very welcome. But before that, he probed Hirad Cold-heart's mind. Across the uncertainties of inter-dimensional space and into Balaia, he let his consciousness wander.
He could sense the enemies that probed its enclosing membrane, looking for a way in. The Arakhe. Demons, the Balaians called them. An ever-present danger to every creature that inhabited the countless dimensions; and besides enemy broods, the only threat to the Kaan. Balaia was calm. The dimensional magic that had alerted the Arakhe had caused no lasting damage. The tears in space had been small and short-lived. And Hirad Coldheart was sleeping, his mind free though he did not know it.
Sha-Kaan withdrew, satisfied. Yet the density of the Arakhe surrounding Balaian space bothered him. Like they anticipated something. He could feel their minds like thorns in flamegrass. Unpleasant, unwelcome and unnatural.
He would keep close watch on them. Once the birthings were complete and the disruption to the brood psyche settled, he would have more time. Perhaps then he might build alliances of his own, do something about the Arakhe. Something terminal.
Barking his approach, he flew to a choul.
Dystran tried to calm himself before he entered Ranyl's private chamber. He took a moment to readjust his shirt and be sure his hair was smooth against his head. He slowed his breathing and hoped his face wasn't too red from his run. He nodded at the guard on the door who opened it for him. A wave of heat washed out from the dimly lit interior. He walked in.
To the left, the fireplace glowed hot, yellow and orange flames spreading beguiling shadows over walls and drapes. To the right, the light from a hooded lantern revealed Ranyl's bed and the woman
sitting beside it. She had one arm resting on the bed, her hand gripped by Ranyl's. At her side on a low table, a bowl and cloth.
Dystran had expected to hear the rasping of a man near his end but the room was quiet. Yet the atmosphere was thick with expectation, smelled sweet from bowls of infused herbs and petals and was hardly supportive of Ranyl's longevity. He moved quietly towards the bed.