“I don’t want to fight you or the others,” Draconas replied. “You can still stop this, Maristara. Your army is exhausted and demoralized. The magic they use comes with a price—the warriors grow too weak to fight. That’s the true reason that the warriors waited so long between attacks, isn’t it? It was not a cunning ploy to let the humans stew in their fear. It was simply that your army didn’t have strength enough to do battle.

“And while it is true that your humans are powerful in the magic and well-trained as a fighting force, they were never taught how to survive in the world outside their sheltered cave. Grald never expected they would have to. He expected a swift victory, followed by capitulation. He did not foresee a prolonged war, which is what you have now. Your warriors are footsore and weary and half-starved. Many have fallen ill. They have no supplies and no supply lines. They cannot undertake a siege of the castle, and now that the priestesses of Seth are here, Edward can hold out against your army for a long, long time. Call them off, Maristara. Retreat. Go back to Dragonkeep.”

“And then what, Walker?” the elderly dragon asked. “What happens then? Will your humans leave us alone now that they know where to find us? Or will they come with their armies to conquer us?”

“We can talk, negotiate . . .”

Maristara snorted. Shadowed silence fell between them.

“Anora was right,” Maristara said at last. “We are our own doom.”

Marcus came back to consciousness to find himself lying on the floor beneath a stone bench. He sat up, rubbing a sore jaw. His father and Ven both bent over him.

“What happened? Are you all right?” Edward asked in concern.

“Draconas hit me!” said Marcus.

Edward smiled. “He’s done the same to me on occasion. Usually for my own good. Here, can you stand?”

Marcus staggered to his feet, supported by his father. He could hear strange sounds coming from outside—roars and bellows and eerie, bestial screams of wordless rage and defiance.

“Father, what is it? What is happening?” Marcus glanced back at the chapel. “Anna, the sisters—”

“The High Priestess and the sisters are all safe and well. They are resting from their labors. Your mother has taken charge of them.” Edward was grim. “Come and see for yourself, son.”

As Marcus walked outside, a drop of liquid hit him in the face. He thought at first it was raining, but the sun was shining, the day was clear. He touched the liquid on his cheek and drew back his hand.

His fingers were red with blood. Blood that had fallen from the sky. He lifted his eyes, tilted back his head, and gasped. He had to hang on to his father’s arm for support, or he might have fallen.

In the sky above Idylswylde, dragons fought dragons.