Chapter 1

The sun glinted on the green, silver and blue scales of the young dragons clustered around Ebañy Salamonderiel as he stood on the roof of his tower home. Although there was a bite to the air already so far north, the spring day was still warm enough that he was dressed in shirt sleeves, plain by his standards and quite well-worn, but tastefully embroidered, over fitted elven-style leggings. It was the mix of clothing styles that he and Aneirin usually favoured when they were alone. His storm-grey eyes were animated as he regaled his wyrm kin with a tale of far-off Deverry, where civil wars had torn the kingdom apart for a hundred years until Nevyn the sorcerer used dweomer to find the one true king of all Deverry, Maryn I, and helped put him on the throne, thus ending a century of bloodshed. Ebañy had heard part of the tale from Nevyn himself, and read the official account held by the priests on the island of Wmmglaedd, but as always he filled out the tale with rich detail, putting on a different voice for each character. As he spoke, something nagged at his mind, a memory struggling to surface, and he made a mental note to meditate on it.

He had just reached the part where the legendary captain Caradoc led his silver daggers into the heart of Dun Deverry itself via a secret tunnel, when he felt Dallandra's urgent touch on his mind.

'Apologies, my hatchlings, I've an urgent matter to attend to. But never fear, I shall return to bring the tale to its thrilling conclusion forthwith!'

He opened the trapdoor and hurried down the stairs, for he found it easier to concentrate without the young dragons looming over him. There was also the very real risk that they might knock him over by accident with an over-zealous flap of wings.

He sat cross-legged on the floor before the hearth and lit the fire with a snap of his fingers.

Dallandra's image built up rapidly, and he thought to her, 'What is it, Dalla?'

Her face was grave. 'Valandario's had an omen about the southern isles. She thinks they're in danger. Can you go?'

'To the isles?'

'No, to Bardek. We figure the trouble originates there, though Val can't see exactly what it is.'

Ebañy went pale. 'Can't somebody else go? This isn't a good time. Varanin is just learning to scry, and-'

Dallandra's eyes flashed. 'Don't be ridiculous!' she snapped. 'You know cursed well there isn't anyone else. You speak the language like you were born there, you know the archipelago better than most natives, and you can pass for Deverrian. Besides, there's none like you for gathering information without drawing the wrong sort of attention.'

'Ye gods, of course I know that! But…' His thought trailed away, and Dallandra could see old pain sprung fresh in his eyes.

Her face softened. 'I know you want to leave the past where it lies, my friend, and if I could spare you this, truly I would. Val thinks the isles may be in mortal danger. It wouldn't be safe to take you via dweomer road without someone at the other end for a focus, if I could even find one, anymore. There's no-one I trust more, especially when there might be dark dweomer involved.'

His eyes widened. 'Not the dark brotherhood? I thought Nevyn destroyed them years ago.'

'So did we all. But there was something about the omen that seemed off, like. Val's going to keep working on it, as will we all, but you know how these things are – we might not get an answer until it's too late to do anything about it.'

'Dallandra. You want me to travel to Bardek to take on a potentially resurrected dark brotherhood and avert disaster to the southern isles, single-handedly.'

'Nah nah nah. It's a scouting mission. The danger could be years off, but we need to know what it is and we need to know now, in case we do need to rouse the Bardek dweomerfolk.'

'Ye gods, everyone I knew would be long dead by now.'

'I hadn't thought of that. Human lives are so fleeting. Gavranatar is heading to the isles as soon as we can manage, so that they'll be on the alert at least, and we can work out what kind of force we can muster.'

His eyebrows shot up in alarm. 'Do you think there's an army of invaders on the way?'

'I've no idea, and nor does Val.'

'Ah well. Mayhap they've had omens of their own.'

'Just so. Do you think you can find any of the Bardek dweomerfolk?'

'Perhaps. I should be able to track down Eleano's family, I suppose, if they're still merchanting, though none of the other folk that Jill and I were in touch with while researching the rose ring had kin. Or none that I recall, anyway. It was all such a cursed long time ago.'

'That it was. So you'll go?'

He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again they were haunted and dark, though his face was set. He nodded. 'You're right, true enough. You know, I would have thought I would sense any omens touching Bardek,' and as he said it, it seemed as if he had, once, but the memory slithered away like quicksilver and was gone before he could grasp it. He shook his head. 'Ah well, mayhap it's because I've closed my mind to the place for so long.'

'No doubt. You'll have Aneirin with you, and you can send Vara here to me while you're gone – I've an apprentice of my own, but I think I can still manage to help a beginner with scrying!'

'Do you think it's safe for Anno to come?'

'I don't doubt he can haul you out of danger as easily as you can him.'

Ebañy grinned. 'He is a useful sort of lad, truly.'

When Aneirin came in for their evening meal, he found Ebañy still staring into the fire, although Dallandra had bidden him farewell long since. Aneirin hunkered down beside him. Ebañy's face was bleak as he turned to face his lover.

Aneirin put a hand on his shoulder. 'Ye gods, beloved, has someone died?'

Ebañy shook his head. 'Nah nah nah, naught like that. I've only got to go play the fool down in Bardek to prevent some mortal danger befalling the Isles, like a hero out of one of my tales.' He broke into the sunny grin of Salamander the gerthddyn so suddenly that Aneirin blinked, but there was a brittle edge to his voice as he intoned, 'Come one, come all, to spend an hour or two in the land of never was and never will be!' The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, and he sighed with a resigned weariness. 'I suppose at the very least I can earn us enough coin to stay in decent inns along the way. I mean to say, will you come with me?'

'Of course! I shall be your beauteous assistant.' Aneirin struck a pose, one hand on his hip and the other thrust into the air, gesturing to an imaginary crowd.

Ebañy's laugh was genuine. 'Beauteous indeed!' he replied, 'and my thanks, from the bottom of my heart'. He kissed Aneirin lightly on the mouth.

Aneirin's heart bled for Ebañy's pain, but the thought of visiting the archipelago with his lover, where they could travel more or less openly, filled him with a deep excitement.

Although the dragons could carry them to the coast along with their gear, even Bardektinna, the northernmost island of the archipelago, was too far across open water for the wyrms to attempt, not even Arzosah. As Aneirin remarked, at least the ship voyage should be smooth enough at that time of year.

While Aneirin finished off some fine carvings that he'd a buyer for down in Cerrmor, where they'd take ship, Ebañy busied himself with preparing for their journey. Most of his ordinary clothes were lined with secret threads and pockets for sleight of hand tricks, as the young dragons were as fond of them as most children, whatever their species. But he insisted that he and Aneirin would both need some suitably 'barbarous' outfits made up for performing, silk scarves to replace some that had faded or ripped, and a deck of playing cards as they had gone missing altogether. His juggling balls were declared suitable, a rainbow of leather spheres so finely stitched together that the seams were practically invisible.

Just before sunset one evening, Aneirin descended the stairs from the roof to find Ebañy sitting cross-legged on the floor, tent bags strewn before him, silently staring at some carved wooden birds held loosely in his hands.

When he saw Aneirin watching him, he held up one of the birds, with his head cocked. 'I carved these to juggle with many a long year ago, over in Bardek. But I can't remember if I ever even used them. So much of that time remains shrouded in fog.' He shrugged and began to wrap them up again, but Aneirin laid a hand on his arm.

'May I see?'

'Oh, it's naught but a child's idle whittling next to yours, beloved.' He reluctantly surrendered one into Aneirin's waiting hand.

Sitting the bird flat on his palm, Aneirin raised it to his eyes, rotating it so that he could study it from every angle. He smiled. 'It's a charming piece, love!' he said. 'The eyes look like she's up to some mischief.' Ebañy let him take each one in turn, examining outstretched wings, the tilt of a head or curve of a beak.

When Aneirin returned the last one to his lap, Ebañy stared at them for a moment more. Then he flashed Aneirin a smile. 'Shall we see how they fly?'

He began to juggle, and it truly did look like their little wings were fluttering as they spun in circle after circle in his practised hands. And then Ebañy did remember. Marka, gasping and clapping her hands together in delight as she exclaimed, 'Oh Keeta, look! It's like they've come to life and will fly off on their own!' Tillya jumping up and down, begging him to let her try.

Tears ran down his face, and by the time he drew them all in with a flick of his wrist, he was weeping openly. Aneirin held him and let him cry. When Ebañy told him the story of the birds, he asked, 'Does it trouble you that I mourn her still?'

'Not truly. Unless you're wishing she were here instead of me.'

He smiled and kissed Aneirin on the mouth, a slow, lingering kiss. 'Never that, beloved.' He sat back on his heels. 'You know, you're the first person I've truly loved that I've not had to hide who I am from. It's not something I could ever take for granted.' Suddenly he laughed. 'Well, the only one who's loved me back, that is. Jill knew me rather too well, of course, and we probably would have murdered each other within a month!'

Sweeping into the main chamber of their Cerrmor inn, dressed in a voluminous ruby robe so heavily embroidered with mystical barbarian symbols it would have stood up by itself, Ebañy intoned, 'The Great Krysello, barbarian wizard of the far, far north brings-' He cut off abruptly. 'No. Let's put Krysello to rest. A suitably barbarian-sounding name…'

'What about The Great Devaberiel?' Aneirin suggested, one eyebrow raised.

Ebañy threw back his head and laughed. 'Oh, that would vex the esteemed bard no end! And shall you travel under your father's name, too, my turtledove?'

Aneirin thought for a moment. 'Truly, I'd rather be your wild barbarian lad, Calonderiel. Mayhap I could wear a sword and glare fiercely out at the crowd while you juggle.'

Ebañy looked at him appraisingly, one eyebrow raised. 'You've the physique for it, but you don't move like a fighting man any more than I do, alas and alack and so forth.'

Aneirin shrugged. 'It's only an act, after all.' He planted his feet, crossed his arms and glared at Ebañy in such a creditable imitation of the banadar that Ebañy couldn't help laughing again.

Wiping his eyes, he said, 'Done then! And I know just the thing for your costume!'