If victory was theirs, why were the ravens restless?

“SO THIS is IT.” LILIAS held the mirror in both hands. It was small and tamished, reflecting dimly in the low-burning torchlight that augmented the diffuse light of dawn. The dragon did not like any fire save his own to illuminate his lair. “We do it now?”

“It is time, Liliasss.” Calandor’s claws flexed, sifting through gold coins, jeweled goblets. High above her, his eyes winked like emeralds in the torchlight. “Elterrion’s granddaughter has arrived in Darkhaven.”

“How can you be sure?”

The emerald eyes stared unwinking. “I am sure.”

Outside the mouth of the cavern, a troop of Gergon’s wardsmen and her personal attendants huddled, waiting. What Lilias attempted this morning would draw strength from her, even with the aid of the Soumanië. It was Ellylon magic, and not meant to be undertaken by a Daughter of Men. “If we used only the eyes, if we watched them longer, we might learn more of their plans.”

Calandor snorted smoke in a laugh. “Can you read the speech of their lipsss, little ssissster? Neither can I.”

“I know.” Lilias flicked the mirror with a fingernail in annoyance. “Haergan the Craftsman should have crafted ears onto his creation, instead of eyes and a mouth. It would have been more useful.”

“Indeed.” A nictitating membrane blinked over the dragon’s eyes. “I might not have eaten him if he had been more ussseful.”

“I would feel better if Lord Satoris’ decoy had arrived in Beshtanag.”

“Sso would I, little ssissster.” Calandor sounded regretful. “But there is risssk in waiting. I would have gone, if you wished, to ssseek them.”

“No.” Lilias covered the mirror with her palm. On that point she had been adamant. Calandor was one of the last of his kind, the last known to the Lesser Shapers. In the Shapers’ War, scores of dragons had died defending Satoris from his kin; after the Sundering, the Ellylon had hunted them mercilessly, slaying the weak and wounded. She would not allow Calandor to risk himself for a Shaper’s machinations. “My spies have laid a trail of rumor from Pelmar to Vedasia, swearing the Dragon of Beshtanag was seen aloft and heading south. It is enough.”

“Then it is enough,” the dragon said gently. “Haomane’s Allies will believe I ferried the Lady here on dragonback. If you ssspeak now, they will be ssertain of it. If you delay, it may be proved a lie.”

“All right.” Lilias sighed again. “It’s time, it’s time. I understand. I’ll do it.”

“You know the way … ?”

“Yes,” she said shortly. “I know it.”

She knew it because Calandor had showed her, as he had done so many times before. What the dragon consumed, he consumed wholly, knowledge and all. And long ago, in the First Age of the Sundered World, he had consumed Haergan the Craftsman, who had built a folly into the great hall of Meronil.