Six days later, Alfred approached another dragon of Pryan. "I'm ready for my next lesson, now," he said quietly.

The drake-in-elven-form raised a delicate blond eyebrow. "Are you."

"I am."

"You're dead on your feet," it observed. "When is the last time you slept?"

"Two days ago," Alfred admitted, "but I'm afraid that if I don't do something now, I'll lose the courage to arrive at my real next lesson."

The drake shook its head. "Worry not, Master Montbank. My people have no intention of letting you slack off." It smiled teasingly. "Nor, I'm sure, do Haplo and Marit."

Alfred smiled back; the creature had a point.

"Now go back home. See to your new children."

"They're sleeping," he replied. "They're even more exhausted than I am, poor things." His smile faded. "I'm not quite certain if…."

"You might be a Sartan, Coren, but you are also the man who helped save their lives. They will learn to love you, just as you have already learned to love them—though I've no doubt that the children will prove more difficult pupils."

"I hope so." He always had loved children, always had wanted some of his own. That wasn't likely, not at his age, and anyways, these children were in desperate need of love. They could be his in spirit, if not in blood.

Besides, someone had to make sure that Haplo and Marit remembered the children's youth. Without his influence, they'd probably try to turn the children into a group of soldiers. Someone had to be there to play with them, to give them the remainder of their childhoods.

They had struck gold with this Run, somehow bringing back one of the largest Squatter tribes Haplo or Marit had ever seen. One hundred Patryns strong, it had stayed together for the past twenty Gates. However, as time went on, many of its members chose to Run instead of Squat. The remainder were either quite old or heavily pregnant or too young to go out on their own. That, of course, made the tribe weaker; they had been desperately trying to recruit new members when a large green dragon had swooped down from the skies and offered them hope.

Since the tribe's demographic was so uneven, there was a surplus of children in need of guardians. Two of them were little girls named Rue; the other ten consisted of six boys and four girls ranging in age from three to thirteen. Haplo and Marit had no idea which, if either, of the Rues was theirs, but they didn't much care. They were both their daughters now.

Alfred transported back. His friends were sitting in the main room, resting, tired after the strain of their Run and the different, though equally valid, strain of helping the children settle in. Those children were sleeping now, curled up in soft blankets on the upper floor, their faces relaxed for the first time in their short lives.

Haplo half-opened an eye. "You're home early," he observed, his voice a bit slurred from tiredness.

Alfred smiled, nodded. "They pointed out that I'm dead on my feet and should come back tomorrow."

Haplo nodded back. "They're right. Go to sleep, my friend."

"Only when you two do," he retorted. "You're both as exhausted as I am. Maybe worse." He folded his arms, fixed them with a stern gaze. "Go to bed now."

"Yes, Mother," Marit muttered, but her voice and smile were fond.

It didn't take Alfred long to fall asleep, to tumble into a dream. A good dream, nothing like the nightmare he'd expected. He floated on a wave of light and time, his body relaxed, his heart at peace. Beautiful music filled the air. Rune-magic. Alfred sang along with it, hands waving half to conduct the song, half to trace the runes in the air. Was there really any difference? he wondered blearily. He was warm and happy and content, soaring through the magic like his dragon-self soared through the air.

"Enjoying yourself, Alfred?" growled a dark, familiar voice.

Alfred righted himself. The bliss shattered, leaving him cold and frightened. His heart thundered in his chest. He fell, landing awkwardly on the ground, nearly twisting his ankle. "S-sir Hugh," he squeaked. "You're- you're-"

Hugh the Hand smiled at him, teeth gleaming. His shirt's top button was undone, revealing the happily pulsing rune on his chest. The sigil seemed almost happy to see its maker again. "Surprised to see me? But you shouldn't be."

"You're dead." A whimper, a pathetic denial. Alfred shook his head, not wanting to believe it. "I changed the spell. Three more deaths, then you'd be gone for good. I know I-"

"You thought you changed the spell." Hugh leaned forward, yanked the prone Sartan upright. Their faces nearly touched; he could feel the assassin's breath on his cheeks. "But you didn't, because you're such an incompetent wreck that you couldn't even do that right. I'm back, Serpent Mage. And I don't want to be." His grip tightened. Alfred struggled to breathe. "Now let me go!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't-"

Hugh shook him once; tremors wracked his body as though he were a ragdoll. "I don't care what you didn't do! Let me go!"

"But I did!" Alfred wailed.

Hugh snarled, shook him again. This time, he didn't stop. "Then why am I still here?"

The force of his shaking made Alfred bite his tongue. Blood pooled in his mouth, trickled down his throat, made it even harder to breathe. His chest constricted, guilt and misery and fear choking him even more effectively than the blood. "I'm sorry!"

"Not good enough!"

The assassin threw him. Alfred went flying through the air, falling as he'd once fallen from the Labyrinth's skies. He kept his eyes shut, shaking, waiting for Hugh to come back and get him.

He didn't have to wait long. Footsteps sounded. The Sartan peeked, one eye half-opening. Sure enough, there was Hugh, the rune on his chest glowing, the blade on his belt shivering in anticipation, red eyes gleaming hungrily—

Wait. Red eyes? Hugh didn't have red eyes. He hadn't had red eyes a moment ago.

Alfred pushed himself to his feet. Sure enough, there was another Hugh, bound and bleeding, lying in a pool of his own blood just a few feet away. Even as he watched, the prone body began to heal, the rune on his chest doing its work. White-faced, Alfred looked up at the other Hugh. The dragon-snake in Hugh's form.

A lazy smile crossed the monster's face. "Remember me, Serpent Mage?" it hissed.

Alfred stepped back. A rune-song rose in his throat. He tried to sing, tried to change himself, but the monster's might cut through his magic, kept him in his weak Sartan form. Kept him helpless. It was powerful, fat from his fear, from Hugh's despair and rage. "N-no. Now go away. I'm not—I'm not afraid of you." A lie, a pathetic, unbelievable lie. But he forced himself to stop backing away, to stand tall and firm, shoulders squared, eyes narrow.

Hugh's stolen body warped, grew huge and twisted. And scarred. The creature's scaly hide had been punctured in several places, broken and even uglier than the rest of it. Its wounds had healed, but the circles of lighter scales would remain forever.

"Recognize me now?" It spoke in its true voice, a voice that Alfred recognized. He'd heard that voice on Chelestra, on Draknor, listened to it beg for mercy. Mercy which he hadn't given.

"Royal One."

"Yes!"

The serpent lunged. Alfred threw himself aside, unable to perform any spells before the head hit him, crushed him between its jaws. He managed, barely, to get out of the way; the Royal One's mouth grazed his shoe. Alfred pushed himself up, scrambling, but it was too late. He would die, he would—

Chanting filled the air. Light flared; a rune-rope lassoed the serpent, distracted it long enough for Alfred to switch forms. The green and golden dragon lunged, fangs and claws slipping into the monster's scars. Magic mingled with his snarl, flayed the meat from the dragon-snake's bones. The beast's muscles evaporated, leaving nothing but a charred skeleton.

Alfred spat blood from his mouth, not all of it his own, turned to see the face of his savior.

A Patryn man stood before him, very straight, very tall. He was young, somewhere in his early or mid-twenties, with rather homely features and blue eyes the color of his protective tattoos. Something about him looked familiar, but Alfred couldn't place him. He was probably from Abri, though—another Patryn would have let the Sartan die before attacking the dragon-snake.

Alfred shifted back into his usual form, raised his hands in the universal gesture of peace. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, Brother."

The Sartan's jaw sagged. It was one thing for a Patryn to save his life. It was quite another for that same Patryn to call his ancestral enemy brother. "I'm sorry?"

Annoyance flashed in the stranger's eyes. "Haplo's right. Quit apologizing," he snapped, sounding exactly like his slightly older kinsman. "You're the Serpent Mage, aren't you?"

Alfred just stared at him.

The man huffed. "Aren't you?" he repeated.

"Oh!" Alfred started. "Well, yes. I am."

"Then start acting like one," the stranger ordered.

Alfred opened his mouth. He could think of several things to say to that (few of which were polite), but something kept him from a snarky retort. Instead, he heaved a bone-rattling sigh and sank to the ground. "I know. I'm trying. I really am." He glanced up at the not-so-strange stranger, gazed at him sideways.

Oh.

The man nodded, a tiny smile quirking his lips, came to squat beside the Sartan.

They sat there in companionable silence for a long time, staring out at the gently rolling ocean. Not Chelestra's magic-nullifying sea. A different ocean, one that had died when Samah entered the Seventh Gate all those centuries ago. Alfred didn't know its name, didn't care.

"I admit it's tough," the man said finally. "Very tough. Everyone asking for this or that, parents wanting tutelage for their children, headmen pestering you about an exodus. So many choices…. But the thing is, you're the one with the magic. You don't have to listen to them. You're the one who gets to choose, Coren." He chuckled softly. "Of course, you can do what I did and take that attitude too far. We're opposites, you and I: humble and arrogant, meek and loud, Sartan and Patryn. But in other ways, we're the same. Each time we stand aside, each time someone suffers when we could have fixed that… each time, we die a little inside."

"I know, Constin," Alfred whispered, not meeting the other's gaze. "Believe me, I know." He stood, just as straight and tall as the other man. They really did look alike, equals in height, slender, their eyes the same color, though not the same in other ways. "If you'll excuse me, there's something I need to do."

The Sartan padded towards Hugh the Hand. The assassin's flesh had knit together, had made him whole again, but he wasn't at peace. He wouldn't be at peace until Alfred released him.

"Sir Hugh?"

The Hand met his eyes. "Yeah?"

"On our way to Abarrach, I gave you a choice. Do you remember?"

"I remember. And I chose to die three more times before leaving permanently. That's why those things in Haplo's homeland got me." He scowled.

"I give you that choice again," Alfred said quietly.

"Then let me go." No hesitation, no pause. Just simple, clear acknowledgement.

"I will." He closed his eyes, let the magic flow through him. When he opened his eyes, Hugh's body lay flat across the ground. His eyes were closed, his lips curved in a gentle smile. The rune on his chest was gone.

Alfred looked up, at Constin. "As you see, I'm-"

"Shut up." The Patryn waved a negligent hand. "Shut up and listen."

Alfred shut up and listened. But Constin was silent, listening himself. Finally, he murmured, "Do you hear it?"

Music…. He'd always been able to hear it, whenever he focused, a whisper of song in the place between sleep and the waking world. The place where spells came from—at least for him. Others could craft incantations from careful reason, from long hours of logic and deduction, and, in truth, so could he. He just preferred the silent song that had sung him to sleep in his cradle.

"For me, it's chanting," Constin confided. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back. "I thought I was mad as a child, hearing chanting all the time."

"I thought so too," the Sartan confessed. "Though for me, it's a song, a beautiful song. It lulled me to sleep as a baby. Then it came to hurt too much. It was a reminder, you see, of happier times." He thought of his ghosts, his friends. "So I denied it. I denied it, hid it deep inside, and that is the source of much, if not most of my current incompetence." A sigh. "You see, I'm not particularly good at this. As you say, I don't act like it. I've made, I will make, so many mistakes-"

"You've made, you will make, even more miracles, so accept your errors and move on."

Alfred gave a wan little smile. This Patryn was a great deal more practical than he had ever been. He reminded him of the drake, nonchalant and trusting. Softly, sadly, he murmured, "I wish I was more like you."

Constin shrugged. "And I wish I'd been more like you."

Alfred's jaw sagged. He spluttered, incapable of speech.

"I wasn't exactly the most likeable person," Constin admitted. "Nor was I particularly well-suited for my task. No, don't look at me like that. I wasn't. A lot of what I did was for showing off, even for the thrill of spell casting, not for protecting people."

Alfred stared. Sure, he knew that some people liked to show off their magic, and he himself adored the simple sensation of enacting possibilities, but….

"You, though—even when you do wrong, you do it for the right reasons." He nodded at Hugh's corpse. "Pity, mercy, compassion. And that means you'll go farther than I ever did."

"What?"

"Ow!" Haplo jerked back, rubbing his forehead. "What was that for, Sartan?"

Alfred blinked owlishly at his friend. His brain was still asleep, still standing before Hugh's corpse. "Haplo?" he asked. Where had Constin gone? Why wasn't he—oh. He must have been dreaming. Yes. He'd been dreaming, and now he was awake. Yes, that would indeed explain everything except why his forehead hurt.

"Is there any reason you just tried to head-butt Haplo?" Marit asked, lips twitching.

"Oh." Alfred blushed. All right, now everything had been explained. "He startled me."

"I noticed," Haplo muttered, wondering why his runes hadn't protected him from the Sartan's surprise. "We weren't intending to wake you up, though. Just checking on you."

"Oh." Alfred smiled, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. It was nice to have someone check up on him, nice that they cared enough to do so. "Thank you. Good morning."

"Good morning," Haplo returned.

They spent the next few hours helping the children adjust, showing them around the city and explaining some of the facts of their new lives. Haplo and Marit did more than Alfred; the older man was a Sartan. Even if he had helped save them, they were still cautious enough to reserve judgment. And though Alfred couldn't deny that their aloofness hurt, he couldn't help but understand. From their perspective, he was potentially a wolf in sheep's clothing, a disaster waiting to happen.

And they didn't even know about his power yet. Alfred dreaded telling them, dreaded explaining that he had once won a battle against Samah himself.

Then, on their way back, Marit ruined all the Sartan's plans by turning to him and asking when he would go to the drakes.

"What for?" asked Enno, a round-faced boy of four. At least, they thought he was four.

Alfred turned very red. He hemmed and hawed and didn't quite meet their gaze, but in the end he grudgingly admitted that he might be a wee bit more powerful than the average Sartan.

Haplo snorted. "He's more powerful than Samah ever was but didn't realize it until just a few weeks ago. He's going to talk with the drakes about what to do with that power."

The children's eyes went very wide. "Really? Samah?"

Alfred gazed down at his shoes, red from the base of his neck to the top of his head. "I'm not quite certain how that happened," he mumbled, "but… yes. So people keep telling me."

"Oh." Rue nodded. "That explains the shiny dragon then." She looked torn between relief that not all Sartan could transform into shiny dragons and worry that this one could.

"How could you not know something like that?" Britta demanded. "You can't possibly be that stupid."

"It's a very long story…." Somehow (probably because he didn't want to appear threatening, and making them laugh at him was better than making them fear him), Alfred ended up reciting his biography to the children in more detail than he'd ever given it before. Not even Haplo had heard some of the stories he told. The children were torn between horror, amusement, and mockery at the beginning (the incident wherein he'd flooded the High Realms with a simple replication spell was rather funny now that he wasn't in imminent danger of drowning), but that graduated to horror and grudging sympathy, followed by even more grudging not-quite-respect as he related his part in Haplo's Death Gate Cycle. "So yes," he concluded, squirming beneath the children's collective gaze, "I rather desperately need a bit of help. But I'd rather not leave you."

"Go," Britta ordered. "Before you flood the Nexus and drown us all."

Alfred frowned. "I'll have you remember that I was two years old at the time."

Britta blinked at him.

Alfred had the feeling that he'd just been insulted.

"Eat something first, though," Marit advised. Alfred was physically better off than when she had first met him (there was a reason that she and Haplo had taken him for so many walks around the Nexus), but he still needed to eat regularly. He was no Patryn, able to go two or more days without food.

The Sartan, knowing that she wouldn't let him go otherwise, agreed. He grabbed a quick lunch before heading to the outskirts of the city. Surely there would be a drake nearby.

Sure enough, there was. A trio of dragons was working on the forest, helping the trees grow taller and stronger, their leaves greener. Alfred waited politely until the creatures were finished. Then, when the trees around him stopped visibly changing, he approached, exchanged pleasantries. Or at least he tried to. The drakes knew exactly why he was there and had little time to waste.

"You're certain you want to do this?" one asked. This one had the deep voice of a male. It was slightly larger than its comrades, its fangs slightly thicker than normal. "For once you make your choice, Coren, there will be no going back."

His heart clenched in his chest. For a moment he was tempted to give in, to back away. "I've made, I will make, so many mistakes-"

Constin's voice, annoyed, impatient. "You've made, you will make, even more miracles, so accept your errors and move on."

Accept your errors and move on. Accept your power, your burden, even your fear… and move on.

Alfred swallowed hard. He squeezed shut his eyes, clenched his fists. When he opened his eyes, they were filled with determination, their usual mildness gone. "I choose to become the Serpent Mage."

And a burden lifted from his shoulders that he hadn't even known was there. He had made his choice, he had chosen, and it felt wonderful. He was more at peace with himself than he had been since the closing of Death's Gate, when he might have died without apology.

The drakes beamed at him, their expressions filled with transcendent joy. "Congratulations, Coren," the largest said.

"We are so, so glad for you," another agreed. This one spoke in a higher pitch, a rich alto instead of its comrade's baritone. "Now come, Coren, Serpent Mage. We will help you."

He followed them deeper into the forest, glad that they weren't making him display his gifts (and they were gifts. Really. They really were gifts. If he told himself that often enough, he might start believing it) in front of the entire city. Well, not yet. There's no telling what they would make him do later on in his training.

"Today's lesson is an exercise in shape-shifting," the third, formerly silent dragon explained. "You have already experience the wonder of a dragon form—an excellent first choice, if I say so myself—but it's wise for you to try out other shapes."

"That makes sense." And, more importantly, it didn't sound too intimidating. They weren't demanding that he rain down terror upon their enemies or anything like that.

"I'm glad you think so, Coren." Its mouth quirked up in a toothy smile. "We will be shape-shifting into different forms. You need to copy us as closely as you can. If I become a hound, you will become a hound. If I become a wren, you will become a wren."

"Simple enough," he admitted, wondering what the catch was.

The second drake, the alto, chuckled. "What, Coren, don't you trust us? I'm wounded."

"He's wise not to," the first pointed out. "As you guessed, we will be creating some small obstacles for you to overcome. You need to keep us in your sight if you want to learn your next form."

Alfred winced, thought of all the 'distractions' his tutors could create. They were just as powerful as their dragon-snake cousins, though their magic wouldn't try to kill him. "What kinds of distractions?"

The third drake beamed at him. "Why, Master Montbank, we were just waiting for you to ask!" Its answer was a signal to the others. Their shapes rippled, altered. One donned squirrel form, shooting off into the trees. Another became a fire-furred vixen, darting through the undergrowth. The third leapt into the air, a swan.

"But which of you am I supposed to follow?"

No answer.

Alfred groaned, sang the runes that would make him a swan. He reasoned that if he could spot them from the air, then it would be much harder to lose them again.

That was when the drakes enacted the first of their distractions. Ropes coiled around him, binding his wings. Acting on instinct, he altered his form to that of a dog fox. The ropes tightened, refused to let him go.

All right, then. The fox pictured a blazing blue rune-structure, barked a single note. The spell flared to life around him, dissolving the bindings, freeing him.

Casting spells in beast form was so much quicker, though not easier, than casting them as a Sartan. Animals didn't need to (and indeed frequently couldn't) sing and dance; they just had to picture the runes and add magic. The trick was visualizing the entire rune-structure, dozens if not hundreds of perfectly formed marks, at once. For some reason, everyone else seemed to find the concept rather difficult, but Alfred was quite capable of it. It took him a lot more mental effort and would fall apart if he formed even one line incorrectly, not to mention that it felt so strange and unnatural and the spells weren't quite as powerful, but the speed more than made up for the difficulty.

The ropes dissolved as though they'd never existed in the first place. The dog fox landed lightly on his large paws, swiveled his ears around, searching for one of the drakes.

Then the squirrel-drake solved his problem by throwing an acorn at the fox's head. Its aim was true; Alfred, surprised at being hit, looked up towards the missile's source. The squirrel waved before launching another acorn.

All right, that was just offensive.

The dog fox barked with irritation, loped toward the tree. The tree splintered right down its middle. Alfred changed shapes again. A slender squirrel latched onto the shaking tree. The shape-shifter closed his eyes for a moment, focused on another rune-structure, and the tree was healed. When he opened his eyes, though, the drake-squirrel was gone.

"Hello? Could someone please show me what I'm supposed to do next?"

The world went black. The squirrel leapt nearly out of his skin. How in the name of the Sundering was he supposed to find his next form if he couldn't see it? Annoyed, he reached for his magic, cast a spell to undo the darkness.

The drakes fought back, refusing to let his spell take hold. Alfred scowled, increased the pressure on his end. The darkness lightened a tad before the drakes brought it back full force.

Why were they doing this? They'd said they wanted him to shape-shift, not use his magic for a dozen different things at the drop of a hat. They weren't even giving him time to think!

Oh. That was it. They reasoned that if he thought, he would realize just how much power it took to shift so often, to undo their spells. They were trying to distract him, to make him use his gifts to their greatest extent without realizing it.

…and of course he'd inadvertently thwarted them by figuring their plan out. Of course he had.

But, he supposed, as long as he kept going, kept using his magic—even consciously—the exercise had to have some merit.

The darkness had strengthened while he was thinking. Alfred frowned, the expression ridiculous on his borrowed face, and pushed back. The darkness shattered, let the light through.

He scurried up his tree, searching for the next drake. A hoot rewarded him; he turned and saw an owl just before the tree melted beneath his paws.

Fix the tree, leap into the air in bird-shape. Winds tore at his feathers, jostling him, but a quick spell calmed the skies. The owl became a bat, a mouse, a wolf, a serpent. Spells assailed him—rain, undergrowth, dizziness—but he had magic of his own. He unmade every spell, reshaped every shattered tree and stone, followed every beast and bird.

He actually began to enjoy himself, near the end.

"That's enough," announced the second drake. It had reverted to its humanoid form, a slender elf-maid. The others, young and beautiful men, stepped into the forest glade. They, too, were smiling. "Feel free to change back, Coren."

The Sartan did so. A thin sheen of sweat matted his forehead, but he was grinning even more widely than the other shape-shifters.

The drake's eyes went wide. "Well," it exclaimed, surprised, "it seems you have surprises even for my kind."

Alfred blinked at it.

The creature chuckled. "You're in your true form, all right, but it's not the one we all know and love. Feel your head."

He obeyed. His hands ran through a great deal more hair than was supposed to be there. Startled, Alfred continued feeling around for his bald spot. He didn't find it.

"You seem to have accidentally invoked the possibility that you didn't age during the stasis sleep," another drake noted.

Alfred groaned. He really needed to quit casting spells by accident. He willed himself back to his ordinary form, felt the bald spot reappear.

The drakes laughed, blue-green eyes glittering. Their bodies were strong sleek, despite the magic they'd expended for Alfred's lesson.

"What do you think?" the female asked.

Exhaustion rolled over Alfred in a wave. He slumped, nearly fell, then grit his teeth. No. He was just being an idiot again. It was all in his head. Hopefully. The Sartan grabbed a nearby tree (one of the many which had nearly perished the drakes' assault) until the dizziness passed.

Cool hands wiped his brow, wicked the sweat away. Blue-green eyes filled with sympathy crinkled in a smile. "I think you did quite well," the female continued.

"If you say so." Alfred leaned against the tree, afraid of another episode. "But I'm afraid I figured out what you were doing. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," ordered one of the males, a pseudo-human. "You continued on, did you not?"

"I suppose."

"Then you performed above and beyond what we asked of you," the not-quite-human informed him. "And we asked quite a bit of you, Master Montbank." It nodded, a smug smile on its face. "Oh, yes. You will go far."

Alfred forced a smile of his own, wishing that he'd gone farther earlier, that he didn't need this training, that he'd been able to do more in the past. Perhaps, if his people had known about, had used his power, then….

"But you have no way of knowing," the other male said, nicely derailing his gloomy line of thought. "You must stop living in the past. Learn from it, yes. Live in it, no. Do you understand, Coren?" It took hold of his wrist, a delicate but strong hand clasping the end of a skinny, knobby arm. Its eyes, blue-green as Pryan's jungles, as Chelestra's seawater, held the universe within. "Do you understand?"

"I will try to." This time, Alfred's smile was genuine, though filled with sorrow. "I know you probably wanted more-"

"Not really." The drake shook its head. "You will understand in your own time. We cannot force you to grow, only help you. Now, should we make a schedule for our next few lessons?"

Alfred winced at the thought of more lessons, then winced again once he'd realized what he had done. No, no, he told himself, these are good. Remember how nice it felt to experiment with different forms? Remember the joy, the completion of all that magic singing in your veins? His expression softened into contentment. Oh, he remembered.

"Master Montbank," the drake called softly.

Alfred blushed, remembering that oh, yes, he'd been asked a question. "Perhaps we could discuss that on the way back to the city? I feel a bit guilty about letting Haplo and Marit watch the children so much."

"They don't mind, you know," commented the first drake, the one in human form. It turned, began walking, presumably towards the city proper. Alfred didn't know for certain—he'd gotten all turned around during his lesson and couldn't see any towers through the trees. But he trusted that the drakes had their own ways of knowing these things, that they could get him back home. He followed. "And they don't have quite the same views of child-rearing that you do. In the Labyrinth, children are trained quickly not to wander off or get into trouble."

The Sartan sighed softly. "I know, though I don't like it at all."

The drake returned his sigh. "Nor do we, but what is, is. You and your friends have already made a great deal of progress with your Run. Don't be surprised if the teardrop you've dripped into the Wave makes ripples."

"What does that mean?"

"You'll see. Now, how often do you want to have your lessons?"

Alfred hadn't thought about it. He slowed slightly, nearly walked into a tree. Avoiding the tree (though only barely), the Sartan suggested, "Perhaps every day or so for a few hours at a time? That way I can spend time helping Haplo and Marit with the children." And the more they were exposed to him, a friendly Sartan, the better. They desperately needed some positive contact with his people. Why, just that morning he'd tried to make them a special breakfast delicacy from Arianus and they had checked it for poison! Okay, so they were probably justified in their worry, but still. It hurt, and the sooner Alfred made them realize that he wanted them alive, not dead, the happier they all would be.

He and the drakes eventually settled on once every two days at mid-morning. They (or some of their brethren) would meet him at the gates of the city. If necessary, they would all go somewhere else—a spring, the Final Gate, the heart of the Nexus. The lesson would take until lunchtime, when Alfred would rejoin his friends and the children.

"Oh," added the female, just as the four shape-shifters arrived at the orphanage, "bring Haplo next time."

"What? Why?"

But the drakes were gone.

Constin is fun to write. He's a bit like Haplo (I think that most Patryns are) in that he's very practical and doesn't put up with nonsense. And it's fun to see him interact with Alfred, even if it's only in a dream. Or is it only in a dream?

Hugh's for-realsies death in Book 7 always annoyed me. The whole point of his presence was the fact that he couldn't die, and then he just does? My justification: Alfred did something to him on their ride to Abarrach that enabled him to die. It makes more sense than what the authors came up with. Maybe one day I'll write that scene.

So Haplo gets to attend Alfred's lesson next time. Yay? But the lesson must inevitably involve the supremely awesome friendship/dragons combo, so that's good. And so is the momentary appearance of my patented young!Alfred.

Happy New Year!

-Antares