The pearlcatcher guard stepped forward. “It was late at night, the gates were shut, and I was patrolling Pilgrim’s Rest when I heard a commotion. Shouting, mostly, from upstairs, but as I headed towards it I started feeling something magical, too. Can’t tell you what it was; I’m no archmage.”

“Excuse me?” said the dark tundra, stepping forward. “If I may, Aridatha; since I am an archmage, and I took the liberty of briefly examining the scene of the incident?”

“Go on, Bartos.”

“From the traces left behind, it appears that someone used a spell designed to drain all the magic out of the room -- including out of any living creatures in the room, a process that would certainly be fatal.” A moment’s silence fell after that word, as all the dragons in the room took in the seriousness of the event. And it only got worse as the tundra continued: “The spell was not contained; Ammanas informed me that dragons in neighboring rooms complained of its effects, and particularly sensitive dragons could feel it from across the inn. If left unchecked, it could have harmed dragons across the inn -- perhaps more than ‘harmed,’ and perhaps further than the inn.”

Achzina felt cold, and he snuck a peek at the silver fae. He found it hard to believe that someone would go to such excessive lengths to kill him -- and he’d never even met this fae! What could he have done to engender such hate?

Barholme has a problem with shape-shifters, Ammanas had told him, but Achzina had never imagined such a “problem” would manifest itself like this.

“I don’t know anything about that,” the pearlcatcher, Talise, said as the tundra stepped back into the audience. “What I do know is that by the time I got up to the room, Barholme was just there looking -- well, I don’t know what; faes, you know? But he was there in the doorway, trying to cast, and the other two were writhing on the floor, clearly unwell, so I restrained Barholme and took all three of them into custody. That’s all I have to say.”

Talise retreated. Aridatha glanced around the room for a second, and then her gaze focused on the tawny skydancer. “Elain. What were you doing there?”

“When I went to bed last night, I found a note in my nest,” Elain said. “It said that Barholme would try to attack the new Oracle tonight, because he was a shape-shifter. I don’t know who sent it, but, well, they were right, weren’t they? I went out to the inn to warn him. And then Barholme tried to kill us both! I mean, I always knew he was going to, but I figured he’d go for me first.”

The skydancer’s matter-of-fact tone struck Achzina: he wondered how long she’d lived with the knowledge that one of her own clan-mates wished her dead, like a sword hanging over her throat. And still she’d come to warn him -- risking her life in the process. Almost unconsciously, Achzina moved closed to Elain, literally standing by the other skydancer.

“What happened when you got to the inn?” Aridatha prompted.

“I didn’t have time to tell Achzina why I was there, but I did wake him up, so at least Barholme couldn’t murder him in his sleep.”

“I would have woken him,” interrupted Barholme. “Sinners must know that they are punished.”

Elain gave Aridatha a significant look, as if to say, See? Achzina muttered, “Sinners?” with a growing weight in his chest.

“Elain.” Aridatha placed heavy emphasis on the name, glaring at Barholme.

“Barholme started in on his whole ‘sinners’ rhetoric, just like he just did.” Elain’s snout crinkled in contempt. “Which was whatever, but then he started firing bolts at us. Cut straight through the wall! I tried to stop him, but he shielded himself, held me off -- and then he created that rift thing. It had us both on the ground; hurt like Shade itself. And then it just … stopped. Not sure why. I figured Talise did something.”

Talise shook his head. “Unless ‘doing something’ means ‘just showing up,’ nope.”

The two tundras in the audience muttered to each other. Achzina remembered a flash of white cloth and a claw held to crystal lips, but he said nothing. For one, it wasn’t his turn to speak; and he also didn’t feel secure enough in his place here to speak up, or to disregard the request for silence in that held-up claw.

But now Aridatha turned to him. “Achzina. What happened, from your perspective?”

Achzina took a deep breath. Tell the truth, or keep quiet? What had Clan Lukra done to deserve the truth from him, when they couldn’t even control the homicidal maniac in their midst? He felt more inclined to trust the dragon at the window, who had probably saved his life.

“I don’t have much to add to Elain’s account,” he said. “I attempted to shield us, but it wasn’t going to hold -- but I suppose Barholme grew impatient, and that’s when he released the rift. It wasn’t really necessary.”

“You don’t know what halted the rift?” Aridatha asked.

Achzina hesitated. He hadn’t expected a direct question. But then, he wasn’t lying -- he didn’t know that the mysterious dragon had anything to do with the rift closing. He only suspected as much. “No. My talents lie in divination; I’m no great expert in other forms of magic.”

Aridatha seemed satisfied, anyway, though Lioska’s green eyes bored into Achzina as if she suspected something. Or perhaps only his guilt made him see accusations everywhere. Achzina reminded himself that he had done nothing wrong, that he was the victim of Barholme’s attack.

Reluctantly, Aridatha turned to the last dragon in custody. “Barholme. Defend yourself, if you can.”

The fae raised his head. “What else was I to do? For too long, you’ve stalled me, quibbled and refused to deal with the blasphemer among us. Then I hear that you consider inviting a second beast-lover to join us, and as an Oracle, favored of the gods. Obviously I could not allow this. I spoke to you on the subject, remember? I told you not to accept this creature, and you dismissed me.”

Aridatha frowned as eyes turned to her. “I recall. I told you I’d take your concerns into account.”

“You dismissed me.” Barholme’s fins flared. As little as Achzina wanted to give the fae any credit, he had a point: Aridatha barely sounded sincere making that promise now, after the fact. Then Achzina remembered how backwards Barholme’s “concerns” were, and any sympathy he’d had for the priest vanished. “I could not let this stand. And even if you refused him, by some chance -- such a sinner could not be permitted to claim the mantle of Oracle, here or anywhere else. So I went to take care of him, to show him the error of his ways with holy fire.”

“The Arcanist is not a god of holy fire,” interrupted the purple tundra. “He would wish us to study strange forms of magic, not destroy them on sight.”

Barholme’s neck swelled, fins extended to their full length and surface area as he hissed in rage. But others nodded in agreement: Lioska, the dark tundra, the imperial.

“Thank you for not attempting to deny your guilt, Barholme,” Aridatha said, a note of anger in her voice. “It makes this simpler.”

“Guilt?” hissed Barholme. “Guilt? What have I done? He is not of our clan, not yet; he is nothing to us. I have broken no law.”

He actually seemed to get some support on that one: the guard Talise tilted his head, considering the argument, and the mirror in the audience nodded.

“Pale excuses,” Aridatha snapped. “We will not allow murder on our grounds, whomever the victim may be.”

“Not to mention your total disregard for collateral damage,” Lioska said. “We must ensure the safety of the pilgrims who come to us for answers. What are we to tell them, if one of our number can set off dangerous magic among them with no consequences?”

“And your attack also targeted Elain, who is a clan member,” the imperial added. Elain herself looked rather surprised at that.

“You’ve admitted your guilt,” Aridatha repeated. “Now all that remains is to decide what’s to be done with you.”

Barholme’s head tilted as he looked up at Aridatha. “Kill me, then. I can think of no fate more glorious than to be a martyr for my lord.”

“We’re not going to kill you,” Aridatha said firmly.

Beside Achzina, Elain snorted, as if she disliked this decision, but Achzina himself felt rather relieved. For all Barholme’s willingness to do so to him -- not to mention the fae’s unpleasant demeanor -- Achzina didn’t want to feel responsible for another dragon’s death.

Aridatha glanced around the chamber. “I intend to exile Barholme from our clan and lands, so that he no longer possesses the privileges of a member of Clan Lukra, and nor may he approach our lair. If our patrols meet him, they are to turn him back with as much force as he makes necessary.”

“What, so he can go murder some other shape-shifters somewhere else?” Elain demanded. “So he can vent his spleen on the beastclans?”

Achzina felt much the same, and said so. “Exile does nothing to curb Barholme’s murderous tendencies, or to prevent him from enacting them somewhere else. He must be stopped, not simply made someone else’s problem.”

“If I may make a suggestion,” said the imperial, stepping forward. “I know you asked Nesita and Bartos to seal these three’s magic, to prevent any conflict from breaking out here in council.”

From beside Achzina, Elain let out a soft “oh,” and Achzina himself realized at that moment that his shape-shifting lay beyond him. That they had done so to all three dragons, not just the obviously guilty Barholme, and that they hadn’t bothered to mention it, irked him.

“I believe the first step in punishing Barholme would be to seal his magic in a more long-term manner,” the imperial continued. “That is possible, is it not, Bartos?”

“I’ve never tried it,” said the dark tundra. “But the theory certainly supports it, and I’ve heard of such things from other clans. I don’t doubt that I could work out how to do it. Permanently, if you wish.”

“You cannot take my lord’s blessing from me,” said Barholme, but he spoke quietly, as if not quite sure himself that the words were true.

“You sometimes speak as if you are the only Arcane dragon in this clan,” Bartos said, an almost contemplative note in his voice, though his pink eyes were sharp. “I think we’ll be able to demonstrate quite effectively that that’s not true.”

Aridatha turned to Elain and Achzina. “Without his magic, Barholme will post little threat to anyone. As the injured parties: does his sealing and exile satisfy you?”

Achzina looked at Elain. Elain appeared to consider the matter for a moment. Then turned to Barholme, curled her claws together, and punched him in the gut.

“That’s for all the mind control,” Elain said, while Barholme coughed on the ground.

“Mind control?” Achzina mouthed, but everyone ignored him.

Isildur’s concern today was her own retirement. The skydancer had long since expressed interest in leaving her own post to work at Cypress’ budding newspaper -- now all the more important to the clan since they had word of plague to spread to the rest of Sornieth. Since the prospect of ever stepping into an untended hoard -- one that had returned to its sprawling, chaotic, pre-Isildur state -- Aridatha had asked the quartermaster to retain her role until she could find someone else to replace her. Now, apparently, she had. But, of course, Aridatha had to meet this stranger before potentially offering them such a vital role in her clan.

Lioska would be there as well, for security, though Aridatha wasn’t sure what kind of threat she really anticipated -- she found herself questioning Lioska’s “security” measures more than ever now, after the clan had faced a threat that all of Lioska’s supposed hard work had failed to protect them from. Not that she blamed Zeal on Lioska, of course not; she simply wondered what the point of caution was, now that they’d seen how easily friends could be torn away …

Aridatha managed to shake such thoughts from her head as she headed out of the lair, towards the designated meeting point. She’d glanced into Lioska’s chambers on her way down from her own and found them empty, so she assumed Lioska would meet her there. Probably she was already there, as she tended to adhere more rigidly to punctuality than Aridatha. Something in the back of Aridatha’s mind -- the same thing that had tried to extrapolate so ridiculously from Isildur’s letter -- suggested feeling hurt, that Lioska had not made the walk with Aridatha, but there was certain to be a perfectly reasonable explanation that was not the simple and histrionic “she hates me now.” Perhaps Lioska had come directly from another task.

As she’d expected, Aridatha found both Isildur and Lioska waiting for her in the small clearing that comprised their meeting place. Between them sat a blue coatl with golden stripes running down her body. She was beautiful, sitting with her talons folded demurely before her.

They had not lost a full twenty dragons. Frip’s and Boolean’s travels had kept them out of harm’s way -- the former Aridatha knew of from Acrux’s account, the latter from Isildur’s records. Boolean would return in about a week’s time, and of course Aridatha doubted that the incident would have inconvenienced Frip even if she had been present. By pure bad luck, however, the catastrophe had caught the familiar-trader Nilith on one of her visits, and several dragons had seen her fly up over the treetops with that motley fire in her veins.

Surviving dragons had witnessed similar scenes with Weythran, Xylia, and Moros, and of course Aridatha had seen the infections of Iburel, Rakgi, Cobalt, and Kelsus for herself. And Talva, whose case had been their one inadequate attempt at a quarantine … Other dragons were simply missing: Arven, Zura, Sovari, Halamshiral, Gavin, Sunfall … and Nessa. That last name on the list of the vanished tore at Aridatha’s heart more than she cared to admit. No one could say whether these dragons had succumbed to the disease or simply become lost in the woods, so a painful thread of hope continued to spin in Aridatha’s veins …

And she had to act on that hope. She made a decision: even with everyone tired, they needed to do at least a quick check of the lair. If it was safe, they would rest far better in their own home than in the middle of the woods -- unless, of course, the infection lingered invisibly, or they were too haunted by the images of their fallen friends … Regardless, Aridatha needed information. She turned to the rest of the clan and called for their attention. “Everyone! I know you’re tired; I know you’re hurting. But we need to know what the current state of the lair is, and … it may be dangerous to investigate. I’m not going to order anyone to go back in there, but I would appreciate volunteers.”

The entire clan -- excluding Delemont, Zarya, and Luna, who had gone off to find food -- stared blankly at Aridatha, clearly not enthused by the idea. Even Lioska appeared less than thrilled. Maybe Aridatha really should have waited until the next day.

Then, a voice from behind Aridatha: “That won’t be necessary. The lair is fine. The infection’s cleared out by now.”

Aridatha spun to see, of course, Frip, sauntering into their temporary camp as if she hadn’t just conveniently abandoned them in their hour of greatest need. Bile rose in Aridatha’s throat, and clearly not only in hers: Acrux lunged forward, snarling, “Where were you?”

Frip paused and surveyed the scene: fourteen faces angry, like Acrux’s; or sad, like Cypress’s; or simply contemptuous, like Isildur’s. As she looked at the others, Aridatha felt her own rage fade away, replaced by despairing exhaustion. “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you, Frip?”

For a long moment, the nocturne said nothing. Then: “Doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?” With a single abrupt movement, Geras lifted herself from the spot where she’d lain listless and silent ever since they’d gathered, clearly suddenly furious. She stalked across the clearing and loomed over Frip, teeth bared, and even Acrux stepped back. “Half our clan is gone. Kelsus is dead. And you just -- How can you just come marching back in here like nothing’s -- ”

“Oh, right.” Frip held up a talon before Geras, ordering her to wait, and Aridatha could see the guardian’s entire body shaking at the casual insult of the gesture, but she seemed baffled into compliance, too surprised to either continue her tirade or take more physical action. Meanwhile, Frip lifted one wing and appeared to search under it, as if she had far more hidden there than her relatively small wingspan would suggest. Finally, after an agonizing moment, she turned back to Geras, pulling out from under her wing and rather disheveled, very confused green fae.

“K … Kelsus?” Geras jerked back in shock. “But I saw him -- I saw you -- ”

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Frip said, setting Kelsus on the grass, where he blinked and looked around blankly. Geras slowly, carefully, reached out a talon towards him, and he grabbed it -- both of them looked like they could not quite believe the other was real, or perhaps it was his own existence Kelsus struggled with -- and then, in a quick motion, he scampered up Geras’ leg and sat on her shoulder, nestling into her haori. Carefully, Geras twisted her neck back and nuzzled him gently with her snout.

Aridatha looked at Frip and felt a strange cocktail of emotions, not all of which she could identify. Relief was in there, and joy -- of course she was glad to have Kelsus back, so glad -- but also something sadder, something like disappointment, and then shame that she could greet such a boon with anything negative. “The others … ?”

“Don’t get greedy,” Frip said, as Aridatha had rather expected. “We broke the rules just to bring back Green Bean. Everything else is as written. Nobody else is coming back.”

Cautiously, the imperial began to pick their way down the ridge, into the valley.

*

Shade, Shade, Shade.

Aridatha dashed through the lair, watching in horror as flares of that awful light went off in the trees, crackled across the canopy above and coursed through the ground below. She’d managed to meet up with -- or spontaneous run into -- some clan members, though she didn’t really have any more to tell them than to run, something they really ought to be able to figure out for themselves. Geras she’d sent to try and salvage the familiars, in the hopes that her established duty to the beasts might help overcome her grief. The guardian had gone off in the right direction, at least, and nodded, but Aridatha had no idea whether she would actually do it. She couldn’t worry about that now.

There were no eggs in the hatchery; Aridatha thanked the Arcanist for that, for one less fear on her plate. She’d also been lucky enough to encounter Lioska fairly quickly. The wildclaw had immediately grasped the idea of emergency and contagion, even if there hadn’t been time to give her all the details, and run off. Aridatha wasn’t completely sure what Lioska actually planned to do about the emergency and contagion, but Lioska had a level head and some good military training: Aridatha trusted her to think of something helpful.

The rest of the clan, however …

As Aridatha clambered up into Isildur’s chamber, she saw Rakgi diving in the pond, the glow spreading under his skin telling her that it was too late to warn him. In the distance, the same light forked through the veins of a large, dark wing, though it vanished between the trees too quickly for Aridatha to tell whose. Don’t let it be Geras -- don’t let us lose Geras because I told her to go after the beasts instead of fleeing. Peeking out from her own room, Zura made rather frightened inquiring noises at Aridatha, but there was no time to find the coatl a translator: Aridatha just gestured at her to run, and she seemed to get the message, jumping down and scurrying away on her tiny legs.

“Aridatha? I would most appreciate being informed as to what is happening.”

Aridatha barely restrained herself from a curt response: now was not the time for Isildur’s customary wordiness. Instead, she said, “There’s some kind of … disease, or contagious magic, spreading through the clan. It affects dragons and inanimate objects, and it … it’s deadly, we think.”

Clever as always, Isildur grasped the situation quickly. “You want me to move the hoard to safety?”

“Not the whole hoard.” That would be an impossible task: it had taken the clan’s largest and strongest members dozens of trips to bring all the accumulated products of all their labor over the mountains to the new lair. “Just grab the currency, the valuables. Don’t worry about the familiars; Geras is on it. And, Isildur? Don’t martyr yourself. Get out quickly, and don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

Isildur snorted delicately. “Trust me, Aridatha, I have no intention of dying for a handful of trinkets.”

“Good. Anyone else you run into, tell them to run. Doesn’t matter where, just get away from the lair.”

A frown. “You don’t want to set a rendezvous point for afterwards? Sounds like a recipe for chaos.”

Aridatha shook her head. “The infected dragons, they’re … they’re lucid, but something’s wrong with them. I think they might be deliberately spreading … whatever it is. So I don’t want to give them a target.”

“Very well.” With uncharacteristic brevity, Isildur departed, leaving Aridatha to a moment’s quiet.

What now? Aridatha had initially planned to go to Cypress and Illyan, to seek the journalists’ help in spreading word of the disaster, but she doubted anyone remained unaware now -- sending those two back into the lair would risk their lives needlessly. Of course, knowing Cypress, he might have gone in anyway, just to investigate … Was it time for Aridatha herself to run? A captain goes down with her ship … But she was not going to die here. The metaphorical ship meant less than its crew, and they would need her in the days to come. Assuming, of course, that she could do any better as a leader in the future -- she hadn’t exactly prepared for this …

Pushing the thought away -- you can wallow in your own inadequacy when there’s no immediate danger -- Aridatha decided that as long as she was here, she might at least try to warn the rest of the building. She’d already seen on her way up that Moros’ ground-floor chamber was empty, but the sound-mages Arven and Halamshiral lived above Isildur. They were, in fact, her parents, though none of them really found that particularly significant -- as evinced by the fact that Isildur had felt no need to ensure their safety. Aridatha scrambled up the trunk of the structure’s central tree.

Arven stood in the center of the room, watching his delicate harps and flutes vibrate on the walls. He turned to Aridatha as she entered. “What is all this commotion? I was trying to work.”

“You need to get out of here,” Aridatha said shortly. “There’s a magical plague spreading across the lair. Take what you can carry, but don’t let it slow you down -- just go.”

Arven started to ask a question, but Aridatha was already gone, climbing further up into the thin branches above, where she had to balance herself carefully. These areas were not designed for the use of any dragons above fae size, but she could see Halamshiral’s nest above her …

“Help!” The cry came from Cobalt’s nearby lean-to, though it was higher-pitched than the imperial’s typical voice, and sounded absolutely desperate. “Please, help me!”

Pausing only to shout a warning at Halamshiral’s nest, just in case the fae was in there, Aridatha spread her wings and glided into the lean-to, where she found a harshly glowing Cobalt casually crushing a blue spiral in his claws. The tilt of Cobalt’s head was more curious than malicious, as if he honestly just wanted to see what would happen to the smaller dragon’s body if he kept squeezing; and Aridatha had never seen the spiral before in her life.

That didn’t slow her intervention, though. She wasn’t large enough or magically skilled enough to fight Cobalt head-on, but she fluttered into the imperial’s face and threw sparks at his eyes, distracting him enough that the spiral managed to squirm out of his grip. Having escaped, he stood, panting, on the ground before Cobalt, staring up at the imperial in bewilderment; Aridatha dropped down next to him and shoved him towards the exit. “Go! Now!”

Cobalt shook the sparks from his eyes and roared, and the spiral at last fled with Aridatha on his tail. She glanced back, to see if Cobalt was in pursuit, and saw him flashing and spasming with rainbow light instead; quickly, she threw herself at the spiral, hurling both of them behind a large mirror. An explosion, and when she peered out again Cobalt was gone, leaving only the odd shred of that awful glow.

“Cobalt …” the spiral said, clearly in shock.

“Who are -- never mind. Questions for later. Just run, get out of here -- not that way!” This, when the spiral would have fluttered for a crevice in the lean-to’s construction, one where the multicolored fire was already spreading. “This thing is everywhere; there’s no hiding from it. Just get out of the lair, and we’ll all meet back up later.”

Acrux frowned. “Telyn said I would probably survive. She said some of us were definitely going to make it, but half … lost.”

“This is our lord’s punishment for suffering a filthy beast-lover to live,” Barholme said, quietly, almost to himself. Perhaps Aridatha was only projecting smug satisfaction onto his monotone voice.

Geras whirled abruptly to face the silver fae and roared, a savage sound that Aridatha had never heard from her -- or any dragon -- outside of battle; the force of her breath blew Barholme back a bit. He picked himself up with an offended air, the pink light of his magic beginning to form around his talons as if he anticipated a fight, but with her piece said, more or less, Geras curled back into herself, head hidden under a wing.

“Barholme, unless you have some truly helpful insight to offer, please leave,” Aridatha said. “It’s probably unwise to have any unnecessary dragons near the site of this … contagion.”

“I did offer helpful insight,” Barholme said, unblinking pink eyes fixed on Aridatha. “Kill the shape-shifter and we may beg our lord’s forgiveness.”

“This … phenomenon … does not bear the signature of Arcane magic,” Bartos said, distaste in his voice as he side-eyed Barholme. While they shared an interest in complex, theoretical magic, Barholme’s fanatical, apparently senseless devotion did not endear him to Bartos. “I find it unlikely to be a divine punishment.”

“Barholme, why don’t you go pray to the Arcanist for insight,” Aridatha suggested. Under her breath, she added, “I think we’ll need all the help we can get.”

“Do not mock me, spark-stealer,” Barholme said, fins pinned back; but he left, and Aridatha forced herself not to wonder what she’d just been called, as there were more important questions at hand.

“Right,” Aridatha said instead, refocusing. “Bartos, you stay here and study this thing. Try to figure out how to stop it, would you? Nesita, check on Talva, from a distance.” They’d placed the snapper in a quarantine of sorts, sending her to wait outside the lair and avoid contact with other dragons. “Acrux, can you make sure no one else has it, and that everyone knows to stay away from here and Talva? Rope in Cypress, and Isildur, and anyone else -- ”

“Now, you would not deprive a dame of her darling, would you?” the deep voice came from behind Aridatha, inside the impacted area, and Aridatha felt ice run down her spine as she turned to see the shining eyes of the ridgeback standing right in the center of the web of rainbow light.

“Iburel … ”

How many dragons had Talva encountered, spoken to, before her eyes had started glowing -- before anyone had known that there might be something wrong with her? At least one, apparently, her own mate … Or perhaps there was another means of transmission …

“Iburel, you need to go join Talva in quarantine.” Aridatha looked around, thinking of the lair’s layout, trying to calculate the quickest way to isolate Iburel, how to minimize exposure …

A toothy grin spread across the ridgeback’s snout. “No.”

“No?” Acrux stepped forward, putting himself bodily between Iburel and the smaller dragons. “Iburel, you’re sick. You’re contagious.”

“Perhaps.” Iburel shrugged. “But I’m afraid I feel acutely alive, and I reject restraint.”

Iburel reached out and picked up a cauldron, one of those he typically used for his brewing -- the cold iron of which, Aridatha noticed distantly, had not been infected with the terrible light, despite its proximity to the site of Kelsus’ disappearance. Then Iburel lifted the cauldron to his face and spat into it, and the glow starting to trace its way across his skin from his eyes filled the cauldron. He held it out to his clanmates, grinning, his teeth shining like cruel stars.

“Won’t you experience my elixir? It animates, I assure.”

“We don’t want what you have,” Acrux said curtly. Then, under his breath: “Aridatha, Nesita, you should go. Bartos too, and Geras. I’ll deal with him.”

“Don’t curtail our company!” Iburel’s laughter was too loud and bright, and Aridatha saw Nesita and Bartos slip away, but she hesitated, unwilling to leave Acrux to deal with this.

“Go! If I’m busy here, you’ll have to warn the others,” Acrux said, pushing Aridatha slightly. When Aridatha didn’t move -- simply wondered if by “busy” he meant “potentially dying” -- Acrux turned to Geras, whose presence Aridatha had almost forgotten, she’d been so quiet. “Geras, get Aridatha out of here. We can’t let this happen to anyone else.”

Acrux seemed to have hit on the key phrase to wake Geras up; in a single, quick motion, the guardian snatched up Aridatha, who could manage no more than an offended squawk, magic and combat never having been among her skills, and crested the treetops with great heaves of her wings.

“There are two whom Isildur considers our most likely recruits.” Lioska was watching Aridatha, she could tell – evaluating how much information had slipped past the clan’s leader, how reliable she really was. It made Aridatha tense, defensively, though if there was one dragon she could admit her exhaustion to, it should have been Lioska. Or Nessa, but Lioska was more likely to have useful advice and not just sympathy. “One is Boolean, a nocturne. She is flightless, but travels Sornieth on foot, buying and selling as she wanders.”

“On foot?” Aridatha frowned. “Wouldn’t it take her ages to get to and from the market?”

Lioska shrugged. “The question does occur, but you will have to ask it to Boolean herself.”

“All right. Who’s the other one?”

“Nilith. Isildur provided little information about them, which is … uncharacteristic. They – and it’s they, not she – have offered to escort spare familiars to market.”

“Something we badly need, if Geras’ reports – and increasingly strained voice – are anything to go by.”

“Yes.” Something in Lioska’s tone suggested that she had more to say, but she fell silent instead, and by the time Aridatha finished considering whether to ask her to elaborate, they had arrived.

Isildur perched delicately in the branches of a sparkling Starwood tree. Under the tree curled a pink ridgeback, head tilted back to peer up at the skydancer, while an orange nocturne sat beside a small, overstuffed wheeled cart. That was probably Boolean – that cart didn’t look like it’d make it into the air, and her wings were disproportionately small, unable to support her weight.

“Howdy!” the ridgeback said. For some reason, this greeting made Isildur narrow her eyes. “The name’s Nilith. You’re the big bug round here, yeah? I hear y’all’ve a hankering for somebody to run some varmints up to market.”

For a moment there was totally silence, broken only by muffled giggling from the nocturne, Boolean, who had pressed a callused fore-talon to her face. Aridatha looked at Isildur, then at Lioska, and finally back to Nilith.

“What?”

“I said – ”

“We heard what you said,” Isildur inserted, her voice tight with annoyance. “But no one here knows what those words mean.”

“Isildur … ” Aridatha trailed off, unsure how to phrase the many things she wanted to ask. Or, at least, unsure how to frame them without offending Nilith. Truly, the ridgeback’s existence and dialect filled Aridatha with more general confusion than any coherent questions. Isildur had to have known they communicated like this, didn’t she, if she’d recruited them by letter? Then she had no one but herself to blame for the colorful phrasing she’d just sat through. And yet she seemed considerably vexed.

Lioska, meanwhile, had gone stony-faced, so much so that even Aridatha, who knew her best, couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

Aridatha decided to set aside the question – the many questions – of Nilith for now. She could at least give herself some time to think. “Thank you. As I understand it, you’re here to deal with our familiars. That issue is a little more complex than moving inanimate objects, so I’d like to deal with Boolean first, if you’d be kind enough to wait.”

“Sounds fine as gravy cream to me. I don’t mind hanging fire for a bit.” Nilith looked at Boolean, who at least seemed to have mastered her sense of humor. “Here’s hoping you make a mash, you winsome trat. I know I’d be all-overish going first.”

“Thank you?” Boolean said, only the slightest note of question in her voice. Clearly, she was struggling to figure out whether she ought to be insulted. Aridatha felt a similar confusion but she could only assume that Nilith had indicated assent and move on.

“Boolean, I don’t want to insult you, but wouldn’t not being able to fly considerably hinder you in traveling Sornieth?”

“I can see how you would think that.” Boolean’s stunted wings waved gently as she spoke. “And it’s true: I’m not that fast. But I didn’t get the impression that you were in a particular hurry. And, by walking instead of flying, I can drag with me far greater loads than a dragon of my size would be able to carry in the air.”

Isildur broke in. “Boolean’s records do show a remarkably efficient profit, despite her increased transit time. She appears quite adept at bargaining to receive optimal prices for her goods. Of course, these records could be falsified, but if I thought her mendacious, I would not have summoned her here.”

“Well, if Isildur speaks for you, I trust her judgment. Unless Lioska has any other concerns?” Aridatha turned to her friend, but Lioska appeared lost in thought and didn’t immediately respond. “Lioska?”

“Sorry.” The wildclaw shook her head, refocused, and examined Boolean closely for a moment. “Ah, yes. While I see no signs of ill intentions from you specifically, I have some doubts about entrusting any stranger with our clan’s goods and funds.”

“Reasonable, but I’m not sure what I can give you, beyond my word.” Boolean shrugged. “I sent Isildur my references. And, considering that I don’t move that fast – and tend to stick out, being flightless – I’m sure that if I did run off with your stuff, you could track me down pretty easily.”

“True.” Lioska looked at Aridatha. “Boolean seems quite qualified to me. And admirably level-headed.”

“That’s settled, then,” Aridatha said. “Boolean, you’ll be working with Isildur here – she’ll have all the inventories of what’s salable and so on. If you’d like to go ahead and meet some of the clan, take a look at the hoard, whatever, the lair’s that way, between the ridges. You can’t miss it. Isildur, maybe you should show her the way. You could even get started.”

Isildur was the expert on the clan’s stock, but she seemed to have already taken a dislike to Nilith, so perhaps it would be best if she were absent for this interview. Though, since Nilith would be working with Isildur, that animosity alone might disqualify them … But Isildur shook her head. “I would prefer to remain. I’m certain Boolean can find her way to the lair without me. As you say, it is rather difficult to overlook.”

Boolean glanced between Aridatha and Nilith. If she had to guess, Aridatha would have said that she was considering whether it was worth sticking around for the entertainment value of Nilith’s colorful speech. But she apparently concluded no – or that she’d have plenty of time for that later – for she took up her cart, thanked Aridatha, and trundled off into the woods.

Well, now there was nothing else for it. Aridatha took a deep breath and turned to face Nilith, who sat expectantly, bright-eyed, under the tree. They were Arcane, Aridatha noticed, though this fact didn’t seem significant to their behavior.

“You done?” the ridgeback said. “Phew! Nothing against y’all, but what a load of wobbling jaws. Now, I ain’t no bunko artist, I ain’t looking to chisel you, but I can set with it if y’all want to copper your bets here. I don’t care a continental how y’all satisfy yourselves that I’m sound on the goose, but let’s bobtail her and fill her with meat, yeah? I’m played out just listening to y’all.”

Another moment of baffled silence: Nilith seemed quite adapt at eliciting those. But how well would they really be able to work with the clan – or bargain at market – if no one could understand what they were saying?

“Nilith, I’m sorry, but we find your speech … mystifying – at least I do,” Aridatha said. Lioska and Isildur nodded in agreement. “And I’m not sure how we can entrust you with our clan’s resources if we don’t know what you’re talking about most of the time.”

Nilith’s face fell. They opened their mouth, then closed it, obviously unsure what to say. Aridatha felt sorry for them; she hadn’t expected them to look so sad when she pointed out their impenetrable vocabulary. Surely they knew how they came across? Surely someone had told them before; surely they realized that most dragons had no idea what these phrases meant.

“I’ll level with y’all,” Nilith said finally. “I love being all yeehaw and Simon pure, but if I have to throw up the sponge, I can shoot – er, talk – straight with the rest of y’all.”

Aridatha didn’t know what to say to that, but Isildur muttered, “Better,” in a begrudging tone.

“I will take your animals to market, I will get good prices for them, and I will bring y’all back the money. Not sure what I can say plainer than that.” Nilith looked between Aridatha and Lioska. “Ask me any questions you need to, and I’ll do my level best to answer ‘em.”

“It does strike me that, if Nilith were to abscond with our beasts, we would scarcely be any worse off than we are now,” Lioska said. “We gain nothing by not selling, but if they are stolen, at least we don’t have to feed and house them anymore.”

“I ain’t going to shin out – er, run off – with your stock or your actu – treasure.” Sounding anxious, almost unnerved, Nilith looked up at Isildur. “I known you ain’t cottoned to me much, but I can only pray I haven’t woke the wrong passenger here. I’ll acknowledge the corn: I’m not of the first water, but I’ll die standing up and go through the mill as well as any shave tail.”

Isildur sighed at this sincere-sounding, if still incomprehensible, confession. “Worse.”

“There’s not many who can speak for me, and I’m no flannel mouth, but I’ll get afly – uh, I’ll learn – and I’m a bang-up dickerer – I mean, a good bargainer. I may be at sea, but I do need this job something dreadful. Not exactly flush right now, if you know what I mean.”

“I really don’t,” Aridatha began, and Nilith raised two claws and rubbed them together in the apparently universal sign for money. “Ah. Well, I see no reason we shouldn’t at least give you a chance, but this shouldn’t be a unilateral decision.”

Aridatha turned to Lioska and Isildur. Lioska raised her head, giving Nilith a skeptical look, but said only, “I would like to get this resolved and the actual sales started. If that means taking a potentially imperfect candidate … ”

Isildur sighed again. “Fine. I will accept Nilith as a clan-mate and co-worker on one condition.”

“What is it?” Nilith said hopefully.

Isildur fluttered down off her branch to land before Nilith’s eyes, staring into them. “Don’t talk like that before me. Out on the road I don’t care how many ‘y’alls’ and ‘ain’ts’ you feel the need to employ, but in my hoard, we speak with respectable syntax.”

Was Nilith nervously avoiding Isildur’s gaze? Aridatha couldn’t tell from where she sat. “All right … caporal.”