An undead dragon loomed above her, impossibly huge. Desiccated, dried flaps of skin trailing from its limbs, its almost translucent wings thundering, the creature was bearing her away.

She turned to study what lay below.

A featureless plain stretched out beneath her, dun brown. Long cracks in the earth were visible, filled with dully glowing ice. She saw a darker patch, ragged at its edges, flow over a hillside. A herd. I have walked that land before. Here, in my dreams . . . there were footprints . . .

The dragon banked suddenly, crooked its wings, and began a swift spiral earthward.

She found herself wailing – was shocked to realize that it was not terror she was feeling, but exhilaration. Spirits above, this is what it is to fly! Ah, now I know envy in truth!

The land rushed up to meet her. Moments before what would have been a fatal impact, the dragon’s wings snapped wide, caught the air, then, the leg directly above curling upward to join its twin, the creature glided silently an arm’s length above the loamy ground. Forward momentum abated. The leg lowered, the talons releasing her.

She landed with barely a thump, rolled onto her back, then sat up to watch the enormous dragon rising once more, wings thundering.

The Mhybe looked down and saw a youthful body – her own. She cried out at the cruelty of this dream. Cried out again, curling tight on the cool, damp earth.

Oh, why did you save me! Why? Only to awaken – spirits below – to awaken—

‘She was passing through.’ A soft voice – a stranger’s voice, in the language of the Rhivi – spoke in her mind.

The Mhybe’s head snapped up. She looked around. ‘Who speaks? Where are you?’

‘We’re here. When you are ready to see us, you shall. Your daughter has a will to match yours, it seems. To have so commanded the greatest of the Bonecasters – true, she comes in answer to the child’s summons. The Gathering. Making the detour a minor one. None the less ... we are impressed.’

‘My daughter?’

‘She still stings from harsh words – we can feel that. Indeed, it is how we have come to dwell here. That small, round man hides obsidian edges beneath his surfeit of flesh. Who would have thought? “She has given to you all she has, Silverfox. The time has come for you to gift in answer, lass. Kruppe is not alone in refusing to abandon her to her fate.” Ah, he opened her eyes, then, swept away her obsessing with her selves, and she only a child at the time, but she heeded his words – though in truth he spoke only within her dreams at that time. Heeded. Yes indeed.

‘So,’ the voice continued, ‘will you see us now?’ She stared down at her smooth hands, her young arms, and screamed. ‘Stop torturing me with this dream! Stop! Oh, stop—’