“Personally, I found the whole business disgusting,” said one of the women. “The very sight of those scaley beasts made my skin crawl. I look forward to putting an end to them. The hardest part will be killing the mothers. Poor girls. It wasn’t their fault.”

“They will die swiftly, at any rate. Not the long and painful death they faced bringing those monsters into the world. For them, the horror will be mercifully over.”

“True,” the woman agreed. Then she added, “Speaking of death, what happened to Grald, anyway? We all heard a crash and boom that shook the ground. Someone said the Abbey had been destroyed.”

“I heard something about a dragon battle,” Leopold said evasively. “Maristara will tell us what we need to know. No point in wasting our time speculating. We have work to do.”

Their voices trailed off down the corridor.

For long moments, no one moved.

Ven rose to a half crouch and motioned. “Quiedy,” he cautioned.

But Sorrow was having trouble lifting Draga. The child was dead weight, absorbed in watching the spinning colors in his mind. Ordinarily her strong arms would have made nothing of such a burden, but fear and horror had left her weak and trembling. Seeing her difficulty, Ven took the little boy from her. The child hung, a limp doll, in his hands.

“What did you do to him?” Ven asked.

“A magic spell,” said Sorrow. “The monks use it on those of their brethren who get out of control.”

“Well, it worked,” said Ven. He slung the child over one arm, like a sack of coal and started to leave.

Sorrow didn’t move.

“Sorrow, we have to go—now!”

She reached out to take hold of Draga’s limp hand.

“I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing,” she answered. “This is our home ...”

Screams echoed down the corridor. The screams of human women—the mothers. The screams ended suddenly, abruptly. Cut off. Mercifully.

Then an explosion shook the corridor. Sorrow smelled the acrid smell of brimstone and saw, in her mind’s eye, the illusion of herself and the other children slumbering peacefully in the chamber. The warriors stood in the corridor, the men attacking, the women defending, hurling their magic at the monsters, killing the horror.

Tears came and she couldn’t stop them. Human tears, for dragons cannot cry.

“It’s useless. It will be easier just to die here. We’re monsters, after all.”

“Are we monsters, Sorrow?” Ven gestured to the little boy, gazing rapdy at the pinwheel of his dreams. “Is he?”

Sorrow shook her head. “I don’t believe that. But you do. And so will all the others out there. The humans in their human world.”

Ven reached out. His hand clasped hers. “I was wrong. You made me see that. Now, are you coming with me?”

Out into the world. A world that she had never seen.