The alarm bell-with its weight, its metal, its worldly harshness-shocked him as if the hammer had struck his skull. The acolyte rushed to the window.

"What do you see? My brother, where is he?"

"He's still at the window."

"It cannot be." He joined her there. Stars shone fiercely in the storm-scrubbed sky. The air seemed charged with conspiracy. "That's not Scharr ben Fray. It's a statue. Rebellious as ever, my brother." Ryp spit two teeth into his hand, then shoved them back into their places. "Where is he then?" Drawing his heavy cloak around his shoulders, he trudged wearily to the door.

As he did, the floor shuddered under their feet.

"Did you feel that?" Tenderly gasped.

They both heard a thunderclap in the distance. Such strange thunder-it seemed to emanate from underground, far, far away.

Ryp frowned. "Another trick."

They moved up the stairs slowly and then onto the curve of wall that stretched out from his Skull Chamber. Ryp cocked his head to one side, holding up his hand to demand silence.

Again there was the roll of some distant, powerful drum.

"That," he whispered, "is a sound I haven't heard in almost three hundred years." His voice deepened to a growl through clenched teeth. "And I was certain I'd never hear it again."

"Are we being attacked?"

"It isn't an army." Ryp gazed out toward the horizon. "Oh, he's going to enjoy his surprise. But it will lead to nothing."

"What do we do?"

"Watch the chimneyhouse," he said. "And stay close to me." He reached out, seized Tenderly's shoulder, and drew her body hard against his, seizing the excuse to steal her warmth. "You're a lucky girl, Tenderly. We're about to witness something no one's seen in almost three hundred years. And it may be the last thing we see."

Against early morning's azure sky, the chimneyhouse looked like a fat, melting candle in the center of the yard, its east side faintly detailed by the dawn.

At another distant boom Tenderly tried to pull away.

"The creature that approaches," Ryp sighed, his doubts erased, "has been eating and sleeping in seclusion for generations. During those years its armored shell has thickened. Its muscles, which it flexes in its sleep, have grown strong. The ancients thought that it flew, for it leaps in strides as long as a man can walk in a day."

The acolyte's eyes rolled as if she were searching back through memories of studies.

"We thought they'd lost interest in the Expanse, moving away across the Eastern Heatlands," said Ryp, hating the jealousy in his voice. "But Scharr has lured one here."

Boom.

"If I believed in myths," said Tenderly softly, "I'd think you spoke of a dragon. Not a puffdragon. But one of the great Fearblind Dragons."

Ryp pointed to the brightening sky.

A shape-very like a grasshopper-launched into view, stark black against the blue. Its long, thick legs were extended beneath it. But it was still far off. And after it silently descended into the shadow of the dunes, they felt another reverberation, and dust mushroomed skyward. The wall rattled. A haze browned the air around the School.

"It'll destroy us," said the acolyte, her voice pinched with fear.

"Perhaps," said Ryp. "But Scharr's not bloodthirsty. Just arrogant."

Again the shape shot up into the sky, growing more distinct as it approached, its silhouette blotting out the moon at the height of its ascent.

Tenderly slipped from Ryp's embrace and buried her face in her hands.

As the dragon hurtled toward Jenta, Ryp imagined the patterns made by the serrated black shields layered across the belly, protecting the soft flesh. Somewhere in its shielded head, the burning spheres of its eyes would be scanning the scene for its target.

The dragon's landing sent a shock wave through the School, throwing Ryp and Tenderly down. Sand moved in waves. A plume of dust cast a canopy across the sky. Somewhere a section of wall collapsed. Screams rose throughout the School.

When it leapt again, there was a sound like a gasp-a rain of debris falling from its feet. Ryp looked up in time to see something like a snake wrap itself around one of the creature's feet. Caught in midleap, the dragon made a sound, like a shell scraping rock. Then it fell hard and fast, trailing a fiery lacework.

"Deathweed," whispered Ryp. "Deathweed on our doorstep!"

The dragon thudded to the earth. Then a sphere of blue fire erupted and went out. The dragon leapt again, trailing a strand of charred, crumbling tentacle. When it came down at the edge of the School, it sent a spray of sand gusting across the ground. There were more shouts-Aerial mages calling for arrows, calling for stonemasters to turn the ground to glue, calling for help.

Daring to unshield his eyes and lift his head, Ryp found himself staring into the dragon's face. It stared back and shook its armored head. Again-that sound like shards of broken plate grating against one another.

Aiming the sharp beak of its snout toward the chimneyhouse, the dragon twitched its tail, a chain of interlocking shields. Then it threw itself at the smokestack. Clasping the bricks, it climbed the tower like a mantis up the side of a well. At the top it thrust its long head down into the chimney.

"For the rest of his life, Scharr will boast of this. He found the only creature in the Expanse, other than a firewalker, who could bear the furnace's flames and steal what they protect."

Tenderly did not answer him. She had fled.

The dragon disappeared, wriggling down through the smokestack toward the vast furnace pit that burned now with no purpose but to preserve House Jenta's pride. The furnace chimney became a fiery fountain, and smoke spilled as if a dam had been unblocked.

What did he promise it?

Bursts of sound blasted from the smokestack, like hammers striking metal drums. Then the deed was done. Something unrecognizable climbed out of the fire. Cracking, disintegrating fragments of its shields slid away, shattered by the heat. All that remained was the glossy sheen of bright green bristles-tender skin newly exposed.

The dragon almost fell from its perch as it craned its neck and blinked its glassy eyes. It looked like something made of thistle-stalks. Barking in annoyance, the dragon licked its exposed limbs with a sinuous, vermilion tongue. It turned its face, which looked like a pricklecone, toward Ryp and stared hatefully at him.

"Our famous Jentan Defenders should be grateful now for the dismissal," said Ryp to no one in particular. "If they had been here tonight, they'd have been ashes in an hour."

The dragon did not attack. Instead, it shrank back as if humiliated by its nakedness. Then, growling, it ascended as swiftly as a hummingbird. Without the weight of the shields, it could move almost too fast for the eye to follow. As it launched, it tore out a wedge of the chimneyhouse wall and the blazing stew of the furnace spewed into the courtyard. Mages and acolytes scattered, some fleeing, others rushing in to fight the fire with stonemastery.

"Oh no," moaned Ryp.

The dragon dropped, landing on the distant, leaning spire of the Epiphany Tower. The tower did not break, but it moved, the ground at its base bulging as the foundation was uprooted from the earth with the sound of tearing fabric.

Ryp pulled a farglass from his pocket and saw that the dragon held the legendary casket, a massive stone box glowing from the furnace's heat, in its claws.

Strange emotions roiled within the mage as he turned to trudge along the wall toward his chamber. Awe, for he had never dreamed he'd see a dragon again, much less up so close. Rage, for he was ashamed of his reaction. And of course, jealousy. But what did it matter after all? Everything was meaningless in the end.

Farewell, my brother. You've had your fun. And you've only made my time in this world more unbearable.

Ryp paused in the doorway of his chamber and blinked. The pillowstone was missing from his bed.

He staggered, his hand clutched at his chest. But before he could cry out, he heard a low voice in the dark room.

"Where are they?"

The pillowstone was in Scharr ben Fray's hands, broken in two to expose a cavity in the center.

"You boasted that House Jenta kept its promise to Tammos Raak and guarded his casket. But I knew you were lying. You took the keys to Inius Throan from the casket a long time ago, didn't you? I came to fetch them while you watched my dragon put on a show, just in case you'd been keeping them under your head." He held up the empty stone shells. "But you've removed them. Are you so afraid I'll find them that you're carrying them in your pocket?"

Ryp recoiled as if slapped.

"You say that everything is meaningless. But you are so concerned with protecting Tammos Raak's secrets that you've conspired to keep the truth from me. You've learned something that you'd rather the rest of us never discover."

The chamber shuddered as the dragon roared.

Scharr leaned toward his brother, baring his teeth. "And more than that, you've been there, haven't you? You've unlocked Inius Throan and walked inside. How many years ago? Fifty? A hundred? You learned something that dragged you to despair." His eyes were wild as he threw the halves of pillowstone to the floor. "You're hiding the truth from the world."

"Yes, I've been there. I've seen the stories painted on its walls. I learned that there is nothing worth seeking in Inius Throan. I learned that the four houses have been built upon a lie. We are all more lost than we knew."

"I'm taking Cal-raven and the remnant of Abascar to Inius Throan," said Scharr ben Fray, "where Deathweed cannot reach us. We will wait until it runs out of things to consume. It will die."

"Deathweed replaced the beastmen," said Ryp. "Something worse will replace Deathweed. The Aerial is departing, Scharr. One by one. We're going on to something better. Freedom from the body. Relief."

"You've never known any pleasure that wasn't bodily, Ryp. The sweetness of nectar. The recognition of truth through the senses. This world and the truth are inseparable. I mean to enjoy it as long as I can. Give me the keys, Ryp. Or better yet, come with me."

"Be quiet before I change my mind," said the head of the Aerial.

For a fleeting moment, Ryp saw something on his younger brother's face that he had never seen before. Surprise.

Then he handed over a rolled scroll of cloth.

Scharr unfurled it across the bed and laughed in amazement at the intricate map drawn across its snowy span. At the end of the roll lay a ring with three large keys.

Ryp stepped forward and laid a withered hand on his brother's arm. "I give them to you, Scharr, because to keep them from you would be to say something there is worth protecting. But Inius Throan is as worthless as a tomb. Go find just how much fuss the four houses have made over a lie."

"What lie?"

"See for yourself."

Taking the keys, Scharr ben Fray touched the chamber wall and widened the window into a doorway. Then he stepped through onto a stone balcony that spread before his feet.

"How did you find the dragon?" Ryp whispered, hating his own curiosity.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Scharr spread his arms as if the dragon were his own invention. "Her name is Reveler. Her kind have grown fat and lazy in the Eastern Heatlands. But a cleverjay I know-Ruffleskreigh-told me Reveler was feasting on creatures as they fled from Deathweed near the Forbidding Wall's easternmost end. So I persuaded Ruffleskreigh to deliver messages and strike my bargain with the dragon. I'll arrange to have herds of muskgrazers led to her doorstep so she needn't go out hunting anymore. In return, I'll have Raak's Casket."

"It's worthless. Dusty old scrolls. That's all. Now send your new pet away. And slip out quietly, or the mages will cut you to pieces for what you've done."

"Why would they care? Haven't you taught them that nothing matters?" Scharr shrugged. "Ah, but they won't catch me. You didn't just provide me with keys. You provided me with a means of escape." He reached down and thrust his arms through the straps of Ryp's unfeathered wings.

Ryp barely had time to cry out.

Scharr leapt off the ledge. The wings snapped open, and he glided across the chaotic courtyard.

"They're not finished yet, you fool!" Even as Ryp shouted, the wings sputtered wildly and dove.

Then another shape left the edge of the wall. The great dust-owl screeched, plunging through the air toward the glider. It caught Scharr's shoulders and carried him back up in a sweeping arc, then alighted on the stairs of the Epiphany Tower just beneath the dragon.

A moment later Scharr ben Fray was climbing onto the dragon's back as if it were a giant vawn. And then they were gone-the dragon, the man, the casket, and the keys to Inius Throan.

As silence settled in the room, Ryp felt something slip away from him. He could not name it, and his thoughts berated him for his weakness in wondering what it might be. He saw Tenderly running across the sand, waving her arms madly and calling out as if the dragon rider had promised he'd take her along. He trembled.

15.

VISCORCLAW.

hen Warney emerged from the back of Myrton's greenhouse and opened the trash bin, Cesylle sprang up with a pile of reeking weeds hanging off his head and a rag pressed to his face. "I've been in here all day. Thought you'd left me to rot."

"I told you I'd come back," Warney whispered. "You unlocked my cage, member?"

Fog around the Seers' Keep had erased all visibility. There was only the sound of disgruntled archers marching around the Keep to ensure no Seers were seeking to escape. Gossip buzzed in the alleys, where anxious guards locked all possible exits. Cracks were spreading through the Keep's walls. A strange clamor, like shattering mirrors, clashed within.

The Seers have already escaped, Cesylle thought. Who will believe me if I describe it? He clutched his prize-the Seers' marrowwood box-to his chest. "This box ... it rattles," he muttered. "Even when it's still."

Warney pushed him back down as a line of guards hurried past. One glanced at him but showed no further interest. "Prob'ly figures I'm just a crumb-picker," he laughed. "They're off to the glassworks. The queen's procession is back, and they're sayin' somebody stole the queen's goblet."

"Good. Keeps the guards distracted. Did you talk to Myrton?"

"Myrton'll take a look at the box. He's a good fellow. Trust my eye." He tapped his glass orb. "Got a head full of bees and a cloak full of moths, but no need to fear him."

Cesylle wiped the weeds from his hair.

"Gonna follow me?" asked Warney. "Or rot in the trash?"

"What's in here, they say it's worse than beastmen." Cesylle handed him the wooden, wirebound box. "Don't drop it."

Warney shut the greenhouse door behind him, and at once the bandit and the wanted man found themselves in a jungle.

"Could almost call this the Cragavar," said Warney, " 'cept that the trees are planted in pots and all."

When nobody answered, he looked around. Cesylle was shifting from tree-pot to tree-pot like a gorrel in a fangbear's lair. "Don't go hidin'," whispered Warney. "Myrton's not a Seer."

"You don't understand." Cesylle peered out from behind a tree, shaking like a child who expects a whipping-a feeling Warney remembered well from childhood. "The kindest child in Abascar would put an arrow through my head. There's no way out of the hole I've dug."

Warney advanced from the tree room into the daylit, high-ceilinged workspace.

In front of a blazing brick stove with a towering chimney, Myrton was scratching his head's wild spray of grey hair, shelling seeds, and fussing over a table. Without greeting Warney, he took a twig from a handful he had cast across the tabletop and held it in the fire. From the smoke came a high-pitched whine.