“But...” Fellirion began.

“No,” the ursai rumbled, sitting back in his chair, crossing his bearlike arms over his expansive chest.

The old man rubbed his temples, then looked up at the council members again. On the left Serina Silverstone, a lupari dressed in the colour suited to her name, a thick necklace of the metal around her neck. Next, Belladin Stormstrong, a diminutive muscai who’s strength in the art far outstripped that of her small form. In the centre, Tanarik Firebrow, an ursai robed in red, the strength of his massive form matched surpassed only by his knowledge of magic. Next, an empty seat, Fellirion’s under most circumstances, but now he stood before the other councillors to better make his case. On the far right, Ralarin Stonewand, a vulpani dressed in yellows and browns, his frown the darkest thing in the room.

“Why?” Fellirion said, exasperated. “Are you afraid?” he asked, hoping to goad an answer out of the other councillors.

“Fellirion,” Belladin spoke softly. “Remember of what you speak. You are asking us to go against dragons. You know we cannot do that.”

“I am not,” Fellirion insisted. “I am asking you to go against Tiernach.”

“Who controls the dragons,” Ralarin said dryly, one eyebrow arched.

“Which cannot number greatly.”

“We don’t know that.”

“We don’t know that he actually has any dragons,” Serina forestalled Fellirion’s reply.

“We do know he has fragments of the staff,” Fellirion stated. “And if his regular use of them would set off the detectors then there would be records of it beyond the past month. There are none. Logically, there must be something else producing the disturbances.”

“Might there be another involved, someone else who controls the fragments?” Belladin asked, her voice as soft as ever.

Fellirion shook his head. “You don’t know Tiernach,” he said sadly. “He does not like to rely on anyone. He certainly would not give away power to somebody else freely, and I do not think there is anyone outside this island capable of forcing him to do so.”

“If we accept the presence of dragons,” Tanarik rumbled. “Then you must understand why we cannot fight against them.”

“There cannot be many,” Fellirion stated. “He only has two fragments of the Dragon Staff. There was not sufficient power in those to control any great number.”

“In your opinion,” Serina leaned forwards, elbows upon the bench in front of her. “You know that most of the records about it have been lost.”

The old man sighed. “Yes, in my opinion. But you know as well as I that even the complete staff could not control all the dragons, and we don’t even know how many he has encountered. There may only be one.”

“Granted,” Tanarik nodded. “But you do not know how many dragons the fragments he has could have power over.”

“It cannot be...”

“You do not know!” Ralarin hissed. “You come to us with theory and conjecture, not evidence, not proof, and you ask us to risk our lives upon it?”

“I ask you to realise what is at stake!”

“A way of life,” Belladin said quietly. “Tiernach will not destroy the world, merely change it a little. Destruction is never the aim in war. The majority of the population will survive.”

“The majority…” Fellirion snorted. “It could be all, if we do something about it!”

“That is not our policy,” Ralarin said sharply. “We do not allow ourselves to interfere in the affairs of others. We do not alter the natural balance.”

“How can this be a natural balance,” Fellirion demanded. “Tiernach was a part of our order, for a time. We would not be affecting the balance of power, merely correcting our mistake.”

“Your mistake,” Ralarin narrowed his eyes. Fellirion turned his face away as if struck.

“The blame for Tiernach’s actions does not lie wholly with Fellirion,” Tanarik addressed Ralarin, making a calming motion with one massive hand. “I also agreed that he should be taught the art. As, I remember, did you.”

The vulpani looked back at Tanarik. “He does have power. He could have been great, had he continued his studies, perhaps learned a little discipline – although that is clearly not Fellirion’s strong point,” he finished acidly.

“He seems to be set on finding his own way to greatness,” Fellirion said, ignoring the vulpani’s tone.

Ralarin shrugged. “Those with power make their own destiny. That is natural law. Valiant!” he turned his head, and a young man hurried up, purple robes rustling. “Hurry up, boy,” Ralarin indicated the glass on the bench in front of him, and the apprentice swiftly refilled it from a bottle he held before hurrying back to the side of the council chamber.

“Must those with such power also shape the destinies of others?” Fellirion asked as Valiant retreated. “Must they always attempt to dominate those weaker than themselves?”

“You have yet to prove that Tiernach’s aims will be to the degradation to the lives of the common people,” Serina countered.

“Oh, you mean apart from the fact he has started a war that will kill hundreds of people?”

“Wars come and go,” the lupari said mildly. “We do not take it upon ourselves to judge which side is right and which is wrong. For all you know, Tiernach may create a stable and secure society.”

“But will that be worth living in?” Fellirion demanded. “Would you turn over the world to a dictatorship so readily?”

“You do not know that he will form a dictatorship,” Serina said. “Again, you presume.”

“Why else would anyone gather such force and then start a war?” Fellirion threw his hands apart. “What else do you expect? That he will march over the Freelands – with all the bloodshed that will entail – then say ‘ok guys, I’m just here because I think you need a new government, let’s elect one’?”

“Fellirion...” Tanarik rumbled, and the the old man took a deep breath.

“My apologies,” he said quietly. “But do you not understand why I feel so strongly?”

“We understand your concern for the common people,” Belladin ignored an audible sniff from Ralarin’s direction. “But we cannot interfere in this. After the Dragon War the entire Order decided that never again would we act against dragons.”

“And the dragons agreed to leave us be, but now they are here among us!” Fellirion barked. “That argument is null and void.”

“Not necessarily by their choice,” Ralarin said.

“So instead of helping while we could, we are going to sit and watch as Tiernach uses the dragons power until he eventually controls the world? Is that what we have come to?”

“Our policy is to not interfere except in dire need,” Tanarik said in his deep voice.

“And this isn’t?”

“It is not the end of the world. It is not the end of the magi. It is not dire need.”

“And in time, when Tiernach’s power grows?”

“You have no proof that it will.”

“What else do you think he is doing?” Fellirion almost shouted. “Do you think he will stop at two fragments? Do you think he is not looking for more?”

“Why would he? He has sufficient power for his task.”

Fellirion groaned inwardly.

“I think,” Tanarik said slowly. “That you are allowing your past with Tiernach to cloud your judgement.”

“Oh rubbish,” the old man snapped. “If anything I am using it to judge him better.”

“I agree with Tanarik,” Belladin said. “You were not happy when he left, you made no secret of that. It is only natural that your anger at his actions would translate into your current frame of mind. I do not blame you for this, Fellirion,” she said gently. “It is a natural reaction. However, I do ask you to realise that this is what it is. Tiernach does not pose a threat to us, he poses no greater threat to the common people than any other of the would-be-dictators that have come and gone this past age.”

Fellirion looked at her.

“Perhaps a little more threat,” she amended. “But still, he has shown no hostility towards the magi.”

“So we run on a guess about his intentions?”

“We run on probabilities,” Tanarik said. “To fight against the Order would be extremely costly for him, and it is unlikely that he would succeed, even with the dragons at his side. It is extremely unlikely that Tiernach would fail to recognise this. It is unlikely, even, that the fragments that he has of the Dragon Staff came into his possession by intent, more that they were a lucky find, one which he has used to his advantage. We will not interfere, at this time.”

Fellirion’s eyes narrowed. “At this time?” he asked.

Tanarik nodded. “I am not an unreasonable man, Fellirion. Bring proof, bring fact, and I will reconsider. But I do not think you will be able to do so.”

“We shall see about that!” Fellirion declared. “I just hope for all our sakes that it is not too late by the time I do.”

It seemed that Tanarik was about to answer, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. A nervous looking young sciurel peered around it.

“What is it, boy?” Ralarin growled at him.

“Your p-pardon sirs, but there’s someone asking for Master Forester in viewing room one... a Miss Fleetfoot.”

Fellirion slapped himself on the head. “Of course! My word, this is about a week later than I’d expected, what have I been thinking. If you will excuse me?” he looked at Tanarik who waved one bearlike hand and nodded. “Thank you.” The apprentice scurried out of his way as he marched swiftly from the council chamber, heading down the stone corridor at considerable pace. Along the west wall, the tall windows showed a sunset of brilliant orange.

Not for the first time, Fellirion found himself wishing that the viewing rooms were a little closer to the main part of the complex. Of course, it was necessary, he reminded himself. The magics involved in such communications were powerful, and prone to interference from other spells. And Sanctuary was hardly a spell free zone.

The greatest, and oldest of the mageforts that had once been commonplace across the continent, Sanctuary had become far more than a centre of learning. Now it could be considered nothing less than a small town, the last refuge for those to whom the pursuit of the art was as the breath of life.

The town spanned five small islands, none of which appeared on regular maps. Laid out in a diamond pattern, the larger central island was surrounded on north, south, east and west by its smaller siblings. At the very centre of the main island, a tall, tapering tower that cast its moving shadow across the buildings below like a giant sundial. Within its walls the meeting chambers for the Council of Magi, the political heart of the Order. Around its base, an outer ring, two floors high, connected to the tower by four corridors that lay along the points of the compass. Here were all the administration offices, the viewing rooms, and official records repository containing minutes of every meeting the Council of Magi had ever had. Fellirion’s name had recently been appearing a lot.

In the shadow of Sanctuary Height, as the tower was named, lay libraries and study halls, shops and houses, bound together by tree lined streets. At the south east corner of the island lay a small port. A single pier pointed out into the ocean. Only one ship was currently moored, its sails furled, its deck empty.

On the outlying islands, joined to the centre by hundred-yard stone bridges, lay the workshops and laboratories. Here, safely away from the living areas and the stores of knowledge, experimental magics could be worked by those who studied. Here, the boundaries of knowledge, the limits of power were redefined.

“Tallow?” Fellirion leaned over the still water, puffing slightly from the walk, his elbows on the railing that surrounded the pool. Once again he found himself thinking that he really must build a railing for the one at home, for it was truly a work of divine inspiration. That, or the inspiration of someone who had been older when they built this viewing room than Fellirion had when he built his.

“Good evening, sir,” she smiled back from beneath the water. “I thought I should let you know that Cassanya came back, and...” but Fellirion wasn’t really paying attention anymore. Instead, he had focussed upon the young man kneeling across the pool from her. Blue eyes, russet hair, and those unmistakable ears left no question to his identity.

“Hello, Feral,” he smiled, breathing a shaky sigh of relief.

Feral looked down into the water as the image of the old man smiled up at him, then looked up across the water at Tallow, glanced behind him at Cassanya. He licked lips that had suddenly gone dry. “Unc-uncle Fellirion?”

The old man nodded. “I’m glad to see you again,” he said quietly. “You’ve grown a lot. Are you all right?”

“I… Uncle Fellirion…” Feral’s lower lip trembled. “It’s… it’s all gone wrong,” he said unhappily, not even noticing the tears that were suddenly running down his face. He felt Cassanya kneel behind him, putting her arms around him gently, and he took a deep breath, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Everything’s gone wrong,” he sniffed.

“I know, my boy, I know. I’m really, very sorry. There was nothing we could do.”

Sniffing, Feral nodded. “I know. I know you would have if... but against a...” he stopped, suddenly very aware of Cassanya. He knew she didn’t like hearing him speak of it.

“Against a what?” a crease appeared between Fellirion’s eyebrows. “Feral? What did this? Did you see?”

Unhappily, Feral nodded again, his ears sinking. Closing his eyes, he turned his face away.

“It’s all right, my boy, it’s all right,” Fellirion reassured him gently. “You can tell me. What did you see?”

Feral mumbled something inaudible, and Fellirion looked over his head to Cassanya.

“He said he saw a dragon, sir,” she sighed, not entirely concealing her disbelief.

There was a pause.

“I see,” Fellirion said expressionlessly. “Well, then, that does make sense.”

Opening his eyes, Feral looked down to the old man’s image. “Make sense? You-you believe me?”

“Yes, Feral. Yes, I do.” For a moment, Fellirion seemed to lapse into thought, then roused himself. “Why are you wearing a collar?” he asked suddenly, and Feral wondered if he was intentionally trying to change the subject. “You too, Cassanya?” She nodded, leaning around Feral and lifting her chin a little so that Fellirion could see the iron more clearly.

“It’s, uh, kind of a long story, uncle Fellirion...”

“Do you remember, you used to call me ‘uncle Felli’?”

Feral smiled. “Uncle Felli,” he began again, and the old man beamed cheerily at him once more.

“Why don’t you go ahead tell me the whole story? I have plenty of time.” Apparently out of nowhere, he pulled a tall stool up from behind him and sat on it, leaning on the rail around his side of the pool.

Taking a deep breath, Feral agreed. “All right. I guess it started... two days before Summersend festival...”

By now, the story of his travels had indeed become a long one, and it wasn’t easy for Feral to tell. Finding himself unable to sit still through it, he paced around the edge of the pool restlessly as he talked. Fellirion listened, and nodded sadly at the parts he apparently already knew, seeming particularly attentive through Feral’s description of the dragon he had witnessed. The time of imprisonment under the mountains was definitely new to Fellirion however, and by the time Feral concluded, he was shaking his head angrily.

“My boy, I am truly sorry for what you had to go through to get here. Had I known, I would have… Why I’ll... I’ll... I don’t know what I’ll do, but I promise you, when this is over I will deal with... Just a moment,” it seemed a new thought had occurred to him. “You said you fought off all those slavers yourself?” Feral nodded, and the old man looked sternly back at him. “Young man, I have no time for this. I appreciate that it may make the story more interesting, but I do not approve of lying, especially to me. I have quite enough to make sense of without...”

“Sir,” Cassanya broke into the old man’s speech.

“What?” Fellirion sounded just a mite testy.

“He isn’t lying, sir,” she said firmly, placing a supportive hand on Feral’s shoulder, and the young half-race glanced up at her gratefully. “Your nephew, or great-nephew, or whatever he is here, took on six of those slavers single handed, and won. Not a word he said was untrue.”

Fellirion blinked, looking rather suspiciously at the leonin. “How?” he asked, then seeing Feral’s face, went on. “My boy, I mean no disrespect to you, and I appreciate that I do not know you as well as perhaps I should, but even I can see that you are hardly prime warrior stock.”

“I don’t know how, sir,” Cassanya replied. “But it’s the truth. I’ve never seen anyone fight like that before. Perhaps you should ask him.”

“Well?” the old man looked at Feral again.

Feral simply shook his head. “I don’t really know either, uncle Felli, it was the strangest feeling. That Ironblack man was demanding I put my sword down... but I just felt that I could beat him, and I refused, and...” Feral stopped, seeing the expression on Fellirion’s face change from suspicion to astonishment. To his confusion he realised that he had been acting out his explanation and had actually drawn his sword and was pointing it down into the pool. “Oh, uh, sorry uncle Felli,” he said, hastily pulling it back.

“Just – just a moment, my boy. Bring that a little closer would you?” Curious, Feral knelt by the side of the pool, lowering the blade horizontally and very carefully. He had a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t want to be touching the surface of the water, especially given the look that Tallow was giving him.

On the other side, Fellirion had slid off his stool, and ducked under the railing to see closer. He reached down, as if to touch the blade, then, realising what he was doing, pulled his hand back again. “My gods,” he whispered. “Feral, my boy, do you have any idea what you have there?”

Feral looked up at the other two in the room with him, then back at his great uncle. “A sword?”

“A sword? A sword, a sword, a sword...” Fellirion repeated the question absently, apparently lost in wonderment. “You can actually use that? Properly?”

“I think so,” Feral said, sensing Cassanya nodding vigorously behind him.

“Remarkable,” Fellirion murmured. “Bless my soul. Well, I knew there must be some magic somewhere else in the family, it had to surface sooner or later!”

“Uncle Felli,” Feral asked, a slight headache settling into place as one more bafflement was added to the growing list. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Fellirion took out a handkerchief and mopped at his forehead. He seemed very excited. “I must admit, I never expected this. My boy, unless I am very much mistaken or that is a particularly good replica, what you hold there is known by legend as the Shining Blade. It is a tremendously powerful weapon in the right hands, but it was lost over a century ago! And now here you are, holding it, and fighting with it! My, my, my, but this is incredible! It’s wonderful, I must tell the historians! It’s...” his expression changed suddenly. “Exactly what we need,” he murmured, apparently to himself.

“Need for what?” Feral asked, sheathing the sword again.

“Hmm? Oh, never mind. Not your problem, my lad, just the ramblings of an old man,” Fellirion brushed the matter aside.

“Uncle Felli, if there’s something I can help with…”

“No, not at all. Don’t worry about it, you just get yourself some rest, you look like you could use it and I’ve kept you up far too long already. Cassanya, would you be so kind as to find him something to eat, and a room? Thank you. Now don’t worry, Feral,” he smiled, seeing the half-race’s expression. “Really, you just relax a while. Consider the house,” he waved at the ceiling above Feral’s head, “yours. Tallow and Cassanya will take good care of you, and I’ll talk to you again soon, I promise.”

“All right,” Feral nodded, realising that the conversation had ended whether or not he wanted it to.

“Good lad. Good night, my boy.”

“Good night, uncle Felli.” Standing, Feral allowed Cassanya to lead him out of the room.

“Tallow…” Fellirion began, when he had heard the door close behind Feral.

“Sir?”

“I’m dreadfully sorry, but I fear I’m going to have to ask you to do something dishonest,” the old man sighed.

Tallow blinked.

“I need that sword, Tallow. Feral said a dragon attacked his home, and I have little doubt about it. Nor, I fear, was it doing so of its own free will. You have read about the dragon staff, so I am sure you understand the problem when I say that it may soon be re-forged. We have a critical situation developing and that weapon may be the edge we need.”

“I see,” Tallow looked at the floor. “Couldn’t you just ask him to give it to you?”

Shaking his head, Fellirion smiled sadly. “That dragon and its rider killed his family, and his friends. If I were to tell him that he has in his possession a chance to fight back, I have no doubt that is exactly what he would do. For his own safety, I need him not to know about what’s going on.”

“So you want me to take the sword and…”

“Bring it to Sanctuary. Leave a note for Cassanya, she will understand, I’m sure.” Tallow felt it quite unlikely that the leonin would understand, but kept quiet. “And there is one more thing I need you to bring. The pointer charm, or Feral’s part of it, at least.”

“The attractor? Why?”

“I believe I have made a rather grievous error,” the old man admitted, lowering his voice and glancing around as if afraid to be overheard. “When I created that charm, it was years before any of this happened. I found a fragment of the dragon staff. Some innkeeper had it framed on his wall, but it didn’t take a lot to get him to part with it. Once I had it in my possession however, I began to realise its power, and suddenly it seemed as if it might have been better to have let it remain anonymous…”

“So you gave it to Feral?” Tallow’s eyebrows went up.

“To one who has no idea what it is, it’s quite safe. He is no challenge to it, no threat. And its natural power made it ideal for conversion to another use. Those charms do take quite a lot of magic to make, you know. With the fragment as a starting point, it was remarkably simple – indeed, I wonder if it did not choose to cooperate with me in order to remain anonymous and unknown.”

“But to give it away to a child…”

“Seemed an ideal way to hide it,” Fellirion finished. “Nobody would question it, nobody would think of it. And, with the pointer, I knew I could always find it if needs be.”

Tallow found herself grudgingly respecting the idea. “So you need me to steal the fragment, and the sword?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“And then run away without saying a word?”

“Yes.”

Tallow sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Fellirion said. “But think of it this way, you’ve been wanting to visit the library here anyway.”

Not quite sure what to say, Tallow looked back at him blankly. “All right, sir,” she said at last. “I’ll do it. But I hope you know that he’s not going to like either of us very much afterwards.”

“I know,” Fellirion sighed sadly. “But it’s the only way I can keep him safe now. I couldn’t help him before… this time I will, even if he hates me for it.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

“Thank you. Go on now, you’d best get back, otherwise they’ll start wondering what we’re talking about.”

“Yes, sir.” Quietly, Tallow stood, turning thoughtfully towards the door as Fellirion ended the communication spell, the pool fading into transparency again behind her.

She took a brightly glowing sphere of crystal down from its mounting place on the wall. One of the more practical inventions to have come out of Sanctuary in recent years, the glowball stored sunlight during the day, allowing it to be released overnight, lighting the room without flame or heat. Carrying it with her as she walked along the corridor outside, Tallow headed towards the kitchen where she could hear sounds of talking.

“Hey, Tee,” Cassanya looked up as she entered the kitchen, the illumination from the glowball being lost in the light of the fire.

“Hey, Cass,” she waved absently as she set the little sphere down in a hollow on the wooden table.

“What’d the boss want?”

“Oh, he just, wanted me to look up something in the library.”

Cassanya nodded as Tallow sat down, glancing at Balthor as he sat near her end of the table, and inconspicuously nudging her chair a few inches the other way. It wasn’t that she disliked the lupari... just that he was rather tall, and left her feeling somewhat overshadowed. She smiled at Feral.

“Everything ok, sir?”

“Um, fine,” Feral mumbled, more or less around a mouthful of bread and wondering why she was calling him sir. He asked.

“It’s only proper,” she answered, sounding surprised at the question.

“Why?”

“Well, you are the only heir of mister Forester. That puts this house, and anyone who works for him, at your disposal.”

There was a chuckle from the other end of the table. “I’d stick with it, Red. I think it suits you.”

Feral frowned as the sciurel as he leaned back in his chair, digging between his teeth with a splinter of wood from the table. He looked back at Tallow.

“Tallow, look...”

“Tee, please, sir!” Tallow’s expression was polite, but her voice held a hint of steel that told Feral it wasn’t a request.

“Yeah, I’d been meaning to ask about that...” Blue interrupted the conversation.

Sighing, Tallow looked at the table. “My parents are from the Eastern Kingdoms, Verdenford.”

“The capital of Verdignon?”

“About the only city of Verdignon,” Tallow nodded. “They let my grandparents name me, and, well they did it in the old local language. Not really their fault it didn’t translate.”

Blue shrugged his eyebrows. “Take away the meaning, the sound’s nice enough. Mean anything special?”

“Moon-rose,” Tallow felt her cheeks go pink.

“There y’are,” Blue smiled at her. “That’s more like it. A very pretty name. So it does suit you. Tee.”

Pink became red.

Feral coughed quietly. “On the subject,” he said, and Tallow looked up at him. “My name is Feral. I’m the son of a fisherman’s daughter, and a...” he hesitated, then laughed, a little bitterly. “See, I don’t even know what he was. I never expected anything from uncle Felli, especially not to be declared his heir, and I don’t lay claim to any of his property, or the services of those in his employ. But I will settle for a friend,” he finished gently, smiling.

Tallow nodded. “Thank you, Feral. Would you like me to prepare your room?” she added, noticing that he had finished eating.

“Please,” Feral nodded gratefully. “I don’t think I’ve slept right for a month...”

Despite the fact that the bed was clean and comfortable, and the room warm and tidy, Feral failed to sleep. Instead, he lay and stared at the dark ceiling until what felt like somewhere past midnight. Finally, sighing, he got up again, and went downstairs to see if he could find something in the pantry to make him sleep. Finding little but bread, cheese, jam, and flour, he settled for a jam sandwich. At least it was strawberry.

Pulling back the large bolt, he opened the door and stepped outside, breathing in the cool night air as he stepped off the path.

The surrounding walls stood dark and silent in moonlight, the grass underfoot short and peppered lightly with chicken droppings. Off to one side, a soft clucking sound emanated from a small henhouse.

Several buildings crouched within the walls’ protective embrace, one a stable, empty and dark, all the straw piled haphazardly into the end stall. Another building just one floor high, with evenly spaced windows every three paces, and a doorway at each end. A third with but a few small windows and a large door at each end, perhaps just for storage.

A fraction of the river’s flow had been diverted so that a stream ran in through a grate at the base of one of the walls. A small hut leaned against the wall where the artificial stream left the courtyard, just downstream of a stone trough that had been sunk into the ground where it received a portion of the water from the main flow. Overall, Feral thought, it was a very well thought out plumbing arrangement, and one which did not require a trip to the river to collect water every morning.

Behind him, the main building towered above the others, its large windows looking darkly into the night.

Off to one side, four small fruit trees at the corners of a patch of cultivated soil, in which a variety of herbs were laid out in neat rows. At one end, a small wheelbarrow, a spade, and a bucket hid in the shadows.

“You couldn’t sleep either, then?”

Feral jumped at the voice behind him.

“Sorry, Red, didn’t mean to make you jump,” Blue patted him on the back. “It’s the change of scenery. Feels strange being back in civilisation, don’t it?”

Feral nodded ruefully.

“Times like this I wish I was back at the Weatherbough inn...”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, it’s a lovely place, Red. The best in Highwood city. Never been there?”

Feral shook his head.

“Sciurel capital, way out to the east,” Blue sighed, a far away look in his eyes. “Oldest place my people lay claim to. Not that you wouldn’t be welcome, guv, but this... this were built before any of the alliances. The trees there... you’ve never seen the like. So tall, and green. And the ‘ouses are built right up there in ‘em, part of the living forest. Walking along the ground you’d not know there was a city there unless you look up.”

“Sounds nice,” Feral smiled, and Blue nodded.

“And when the wind blows, you can feel the shift of the forest... wonderful.”

Feral wasn’t quite sure he wanted to be in a house that moved with the wind, but let the matter slide. A cloud drifted across the moon and he glanced up at it.

Inside the house, so did Tallow. Good, darkness seemed more fitting, even if she did only need half a minute. If Feral and Blue just stayed outside another few moments she would have time to be out the back door. She sighed, recalling the note she had slid under Cassanya’s door, and hoping it wouldn’t threaten the friendship between them. She could tell the leonin was quite fond of Feral, but it was a direct order from Fellirion, and she was his apprentice. She couldn’t refuse.

Quietly, she pushed the door to Feral’s room open. Excellent, he had left the pendant on the table beside his bed. Silently, swiftly she reached out, wrapping it in silk before dropping it into a pocket. Now the sword. Behind her, against the wall. Thank goodness he felt safe enough around here to have left it. She reached for it.

As her fingertips brushed the golden hilt, the sapphire embedded in it lit up like a flash of lightning.

Feral and Blue stopped talking as they heard the scream from inside the house.