“Chentelle, what’s wrong?” Drup’s eyes flicked restlessly through the shadowed hillside.

  “Nothing,” she said, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. Her strength was returning swiftly. “Everything’s wonderful! I found him.” She grabbed the Legionnaire’s arm and started pulling him back up the hill. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  A’stoc lurched to a halt as he saw them approaching.

  “I found him,” Chentelle called as she and Drup ran past. “Hurry! He’s very faint.”

  She dashed into the camp, unconcerned with the commotion she was causing. “Dacius! Where are you?”

  “Here.” The human lord lay facedown across a slab of rock, naked below the waist. A jagged rip extended nearly the length of his left thigh, spilling blood onto the stones. A’rullen stood behind him, weaving the wound closed with a tendril of shimmering light.

  “I found Sulmar!” Chentelle said. “I know where he is. I need one of the horses to go get him.”

  Drup walked up beside her. “I’ll go with her, to keep her safe.”

  “As will I.” It was the young archer from the wall. He picked up his bow and swung it casually over one shoulder.

  “Very well.” Dacius turned to Drup. “You’re in charge. No unnecessary risks, turn back if you’re challenged seriously.”

  “Let’s go!” Chentelle ran to the corner and ripped the hobbles and blinders off three of the horses. She swung immediately onto the back of a brown mare, not even pausing to remove the saddle.

  “Wait.” A’stoc shuffled through the gateway. “Hel’s blood, girl, give a minute.”

  Chentelle dropped to the ground and readied the last horse. She bristled at the delay, but part of her also smiled. It would be good to have the wizard along.

  As soon as they were mounted, Chentelle led them northward. The horses stepped nervously across the shattered landscape, dropping each hoof carefully through the dust. Chentelle’s heart pounded with the need for speed, but she kept their pace to a walk. It wouldn’t help anyone if a horse came up lame.

  A’stoc mumbled a soft spell, and soft orb-light shone from between his fingers. “Here.” He tossed her the adartak.

  Chentelle grabbed the glowing crystal gratefully. She leaned over her mare’s neck, letting the orb-light illuminate their path. She closed her eyes and rocked with the motion of the horse, blending her body into the mare’s rhythm. Then, confident that her seat was secure, she cast her Gift into the north.

  She knew where to look, now, and the mare’s strength shielded her from the Desecration. She found Sulmar’s presence almost immediately. But it was weak, a dying ember fading to ash. She sang softly into her mount’s ear, touching her with the sense of Sulmar and the urgency of their need.

  The mare snorted and broke into a run.

  Chentelle held Sulmar’s spark in her mind, willing it to survive. I’m coming. Hold on, Sulmar, hold on. We’re almost—There!

  Chentelle was on the ground before the mare could come to a stop. Sulmar’s body lay in the dust at the base of a hill, like a discarded doll. His legs were twisted horribly, and points of white bone poked through the torn fabric of his trousers. A crust of dried blood covered one side of his face and neck. His eyes were open but unfocused, and his right arm was completely covered with a writhing shadow.

  Chentelle dropped to her knees and pressed her face to Sulmar’s. Immediately, her Gift pressed into the darkness. Black tendrils floated through the agony of shattered limbs and blood-filled lungs, but a hard light blocked their progress. Despite his injuries, Sulmar’s will remained strong, resolute. But his body was dying, and the flame of his spirit grew weaker with each ragged breath. It was only a matter of time until the curse claimed him.

  NO. Chentelle drove her Gift toward the light, blending her own will with Sulmar’s. The instant she made contact, a feeling of peace flushed through her. The pain faded, the sorrow disappeared. There was no fear, no rage—only focus, discipline. A shimmer of warmth carried Sulmar’s recognition of her presence. He welcomed her into the struggle with a surge of satisfaction, almost joy. What more could a warrior ask than to enter his final battle at his liege’s side.

  No. Chentelle refused to accept that. Sulmar had the will but not the strength, so she gave him hers. The Gift rose within her, and she shaped it into a song of hope and power, a song of life. She poured her music into Sulmar, filling him with the dance of butterflies and the laughter of children. The light of his spirit steadied and grew. They could not banish the darkness. But, together, they could press it back.

  With that contact of spirit, Chentelle found also Sulmar’s memory of the most recent events. It focused on the struggle that had brought him to this state. His spirit had been injured as well as his body, and in her effort of healing she became part of both. To understand it and help mend it, she had to relive the struggle with him. She joined him on the body of the Black Dragon.

  The wind howled in Sulmar’s ears as he crawled across the creature’s back. His fingers gripped the scant purchase of the rough scales. Their metallic plating overlapped, making the armor as effective as any worn by man. Now he understood why his sword had not penetrated deeply. The dragon had been injured, but the wound was far from mortal.

  The great head whipped back and forth on the sinuous neck, trying to locate the nuisance that rode the body. But the neck flexed mainly down and to the sides, where the prey usually was, rather than up or back. Perhaps on the ground the dragon could have twisted its body tightly enough to snap effectively at the encumbrance, but in flight it had to maintain an extended position. It couldn’t reach him. Yet.

  The head oriented on something to the side. Sulmar looked. There was a faint outline of a shape in the distance. It seemed to be a truncated mountain with a roughly level plateau on top. That would be an ideal place for a dragon to land, so that it could then coil and dispose of whatever clung to it. The wing beats strengthened, and the flight pattern changed. The mountain plateau was now ahead.

  Sulmar knew that he could not afford to wait on the Black Dragon’s convenience. He had to act now. Stretched flat, he worked his way to the base of the neck, where the necromancer had been seated. From here he might be able to control the dragon’s flight, the way Bone had. If there were any spurs or reins or other devices to compel its compliance as a steed—

  Aware of the motion, the dragon also acted. She raised a hind leg and clawed at the vorpal sword wedged in her side. The sword came loose and fell away.

  Sulmar cursed under his breath. He should have tried to recover that sword first! Now he had no chance to use an effective weapon.

  The dragon swung its head around, trying to bite, but the saddle region was out of its reach. The jaws snapped just shy of Sulmar’s leg. It occurred to him that if he had gone for the sword, the dragon’s leg could have caught him and dislodged him as readily as it had the sword. So maybe his mistake had avoided a worse mistake. That could even be why the dragon had waited to scratch out that sword; she had expected the man’to go for it.

  Nevertheless, Sulmar knew he was at a serious disadvantage. The dragon was at home in the skies, while he was not. Every time he lifted his head, the freezing wind threatened to rip him away. He saw the dragon’s neck writhe as the head tried once more to get at him. Any slip, any misjudgment on Sulmar’s part, would give the dragon that marginal leeway to catch at some part of him. The moment that happened, it would be over. But for the moment, they were at a stalemate.

  It would last only until the dragon reached the plateau. Yet why was it still trying to snap at him now? Why didn’t it simply wait until it could more conveniently dispatch him on the ground? That suggested that it knew something he didn’t. That it had a vulnerability it feared he was about to exploit. But what could that be?

  Then the dragon changed tactics. It bucked and twisted in the air like an unbroken horse, trying to pitch him from his precarious perch. Sulmar held on, knowing that it would be folly to let go. Fortunately this saddle region had places for hands and feet to grip, though he found no reins or other mechanism of control. Probably Bone had used magic for that.

  When it was apparent that the effort wasn’t effective, the dragon tried a new ploy. It climbed up into the heavens. Sulmar was amazed as it moved so high so fast, seeming to leave the whole of Infinitera behind. Higher and higher, it sailed through the darkness of night. The air became thin. Sulmar dug his fingers into the fleshy crevices of the beast and hung on. If it could breathe here, so could he!

  The pale luminescence of the earth below and the overbright stars above became a swirl as the dragon spiraled on upward. Was it trying to use centrifugal force to dislodge him? That wasn’t sensible, because though his legs dangled out over empty space, the neck of the creature was between him and that space; he was actually more firmly anchored than before.

  Then the dragon folded its wings and dropped like a stone, plunging toward the earth with terrific speed. The wind increased, threatening to tear him away, but still he managed to hang on, hoping the monster was not aware how close it was coming to success. The thing was using everything to throw him off. Eventually, it would succeed.

  Sulmar, uncertain whether his life would continue more than a few moments, considered the alternatives. If the dragon didn’t bite him or throw him off, it would soon land and finish the job more messily there. Without a sword, he could not hope to fight it. So he had to stop it very soon. But even if he found a way, it would be only half a victory, because when the dragon fell out of the sky, Sulmar would fall, too. Still, he was determined to do something. He had vowed to put an end to this evil creature and the curse. If it meant dying in the process, then so be it. At least he would not be tormented after death.

  Yet it seemed to be hopeless. There was no clear way to kill the beast without a weapon. Was he to do it bare-handed?

  Bare-handed. Abruptly he had an idea.

  The dragon spread its wings and leveled out from its dive, almost grazing the ground. Sulmar left his relatively safe perch in the saddle region and began inching his way forward. Now he was scaling the creature’s massive neck. The dragon thrashed its head around, trying to gore him with its horns, but this was another vain effort, because of course the motions carried him with them. He realized that the creature wasn’t all that smart; it was proceeding mostly on instinct and viciousness.

  But the mountain plateau was coming uncomfortably close, and that was a kind of deadline. Had the dragon simply flown straight toward it, instead of trying the fancy maneuvers, it would have had him at its nonexistent mercy by now. Would it kill him outright, or cripple him and play with him for a while, prolonging his torture and its entertainment? He would soon find out, if he didn’t deal with it very shortly.

  He worked his way forward until he reached the back of the giant head. Here he found that the armor was of rigid bone, rather than scales, impenetrable. He sighted down the long snout and saw the dull gleam of the monstrous teeth, the darting red tongue, and closer in, the burning right eye.

  That eye swiveled in its socket until it focused directly back on him. The effect was eerie; he had had no idea the dragon could do that. It was watching him!

  Suddenly Sulmar heard a booming voice in the wind. “Accursed, I will destroy you!”

  He was so surprised that he almost let go of his grip. The Black Dragon was speaking in his human language!

  But it didn’t matter. He had a job to do, and it had to be done now, or he would be lost. So he didn’t answer, once again denying the creature knowledge of how close it had come to unseating him. Instead he leaned forward as far as he could without falling, and stabbed the rigid fingers of his hand into the bright globe of the dragon’s immense eye.

  There was a scream of outraged anguish. It wasn’t Sulmar’s. He felt the tissues parting and the fluid shifting. Ooze squirted, flowing along his arm. But he drove his hand in deeper, then clenched his fingers into a fist inside the eye, ripping the jellylike substance asunder.

  The dragon roared as never before, a howl of utter pain. The sound deafened Sulmar, who was so close to the trumpet of its throat. But it was immensely gratifying. He had found his weapon, and its target. He was truly hurting his ancient enemy.

  The Black Dragon veered as if losing control of its flight. It dipped down close to the ground before recovering, and then its flight was unsteady, because it was hardly concentrating on it. It was simply suffering the pain. But soon enough it would realize that though one eye was injured, the prey had not escaped. The dark slope of the mountain was just ahead.

  Sulmar attempted to draw his hand free, and could not. The eyelid was clasped tightly down on his wrist. It was an involuntary reflex on the part of the dragon, but effective. He was unable to free his hand. He had been caught.

  Then the dragon’s head snapped back, dislodging Sulmar from his precarious seating. His hand sucked out of the eye, and he went sprawling down the length of the creature’s back. The creature had inadvertently freed him even as it reached the base of the mountain.

  Sulmar groped for a hold, but the slime that covered his arm prevented him from getting a grip. He slid off the dragon’s back and slammed into an outstretched wing. He tried again to catch hold, but rebounded over the moving wing, rolling. Unable to recover, he plunged into the emptiness below.

  Chentelle recovered her perspective. Her body was shaking from the horror of the savage encounter and the near death of Sulmar. “But you survived!” she cried. “You did not die! You were very close to the ground, and your fall was short, and you lived. The dragon is injured and gone. Now I have you safe, my friend. Safe!” But was it enough?

  Sulmar’s iron discipline shielded them both from the pain of his body, and they drifted in the harmony of Chentelle’s Gift. Dimly, they were aware of other voices. A horse rode off. Later, one returned. Words floated around them. Gentle hands lifted them and set them down again. The ground moved, sliding beneath a makeshift travois. When it stopped, there were more voices and more hands. The travois gave way to a large bed, and coarse pillows materialized to support her back. Sulmar’s body was straightened, and his wounds were cleaned.

  Time passed. The song had no words, now, no images, no shape. It was life, passing through her lips as naturally as her own breath. The music flowed into Sulmar, taking her strength with it. Occasionally, she listened to the voices, riding the waves of worry and concern that carried the words. But most of the time she just drifted in the song.

  Exhaustion claimed her several times, and she was forced to rest. Whenever that happened, A’stoc or Drup would be waiting nearby with food and water. She accepted the sustenance mechanically and dozed fitfully, never letting the contact with Sulmar disappear. The slightest waver in his spirit brought her instantly to alertness. Twice, she woke to the sound of her own song.

  Her muscles twitched with the strain of inactivity, and she became aware of deep pains in her knees and hips. Eventually, the sensation melted into a numb tingle. Then it vanished altogether as her body moved past fatigue. She let the world fade away. Existence was a defiant glow and a single chord that enfolded two souls in desperate harmony.

  She was not surprised when a third spirit joined in the song. She had felt it approach, and dismissed it as unimportant. But something in the new voice touched her: notes of worry and concern, pain and self-recrimination. The voice trembled with a spiritual depletion that echoed her own physical weariness. The other spirit pulled away and she allowed herself to follow it back to the physical world. Words drifted into her awareness.

  “…no response since she found him three days ago.” It was A’stoc. He gave no sign of noticing her, Perhaps she hadn’t opened her eyes after all.

  “Her song is the only thing keeping him alive.” The other voice belonged to Father Marcus. That was the one that had brought her back. “His injuries are beyond healing. I haven’t the power to bring him back.”

  “You must!” Urgency rang in A’stoc’s voice. “It will crush her if he dies after all her efforts.”

  Sadness flared in the High Bishop. “It is worse than that. Their spirits are so closely bound that when he dies it may kill her as well.”

  Chentelle listened without alarm. It was only proper. When the song ended, life would fade. The tension she felt in the two humans seemed strange and unnecessary.

  “We have to break the connection!”

  “After so long?” Father Marcus’ hand brushed lightly against hers. “They balance on the edge of a precipice. Sundering their bond could send them both toppling over. No, you were correct the first time. I must heal him.”

  “How? You said that you could not.”

  “I said that I lacked the power.” There was silence, punctuated by a flicker of shame. Then Marcus continued. “The Staff of Life has more than enough. I can save them, but only if I possess you once again.”

  Emotions poured from the wizard: anger, fear, bitterness. His spirit shivered with tension. “Do it.”

  Father Marcus began to chant. His voice formed a bridge to A’stoc, a bond similar to her own song but so very different. There was no sharing, no peaceful harmony. The chant jangled harshly against the wizard’s will. The music dissolved into cacophony and discord. Then the wizard surrendered. The chant poured into him, echoing through body and spirit. One will drove both bodies now, Marcus’ will.

  Earthpower blazed into being. It danced around the two bodies that were Marcus, wrapping them in the warm radiance. A hand reached out and touched Sulmar’s chest.

  Life. Chentelle sucked greedily at the power, pulling it into her Gift. Sulmar’s spirit flashed in response. Light filled their union, driving the dragon’s shadow deep into hiding. The Earthpower thrummed with vitality, swallowing their song in its own cadence.

  Sulmar’s bones shifted and knit together. Veins mended and ruptured tissues became whole. Bloodchoked lungs emptied, then refilled with air. The healing rhythm pulsed through them, replenishing body and spirit. In its wake came peace and safety and an exhaustion filled with satisfaction and accomplishment.