“I’ve missed you, too. And worried as well. I managed to see a bit of the ritual, you see, by scrying. It went on for a truly long time. I hate to admit this, but I finally fell asleep.”

Branna laughed, and she could feel his laughter join hers.

“One thing,” Neb said. “That child they were turning into a dragon. Did she survive?”

“She did, and truly, she must have been a dragon in her soul, because she leaped into the air and flew. She was born to the air, I swear it!”

“Splendid! You can tell me more when we’re together. But I need to ask, is it truly all right with you, that we’ll be spending the winter with the Cerr Cawnen folk?”

“It is. Dalla told me that we can learn much from their dweomer-woman and their spirit talker.”

“That gladdens my heart! I hated to think we’d have to stop our studies.”

“So did I. And I’m looking forward to getting to know them all, the folk from the town, that is. It was their land, after all, before our folk came here. Somehow that seems truly important to me, that we all understand what our people did, even if it was ever so long ago.”

They spoke for a while more, mostly about how much they loved and missed each other. Exhaustion finally got the better of Branna, though, and she broke the link.

She blew the silver horn to summon Lon and the dragon boat, then walked down to the shore. She could hear the gong answering the horn’s call, coming closer and closer, and the splash of oars in the water. Far off to the east a thin silver line appeared in the sky as the sun announced that it was intending to rise. I’m free of him, she thought, of Rhodry and everything he meant to me. Although she didn’t know how she knew, she did know, and that, she decided, would have to do for now.

With the morning light Rhodry woke and realized that he was lying in Angmar’s chamber on Haen Marn. The wide window across from the foot of the bed stood open. He could see the figure of a woman sitting on the window ledge, silhouetted against the brightening sunshine. Angmar, was it? His dreams still clung to him, confused images of flying among dragons, of pillars of smoke reaching to the sky, and ruined towers and vast caves inside fire mountains. He sat up and remembered that the Horsekin were marching upon Cengarn.

“Raena, the mazrak,” he said in Elvish, “and that cursed false goddess of hers! I’ve got to get to Cengarn.”

The woman by the window stood up fast, as if she were alarmed.