Caelum nodded, and let his eyes drift back to the sea. “I wish I had been able to be his friend.”
Something in Caelum’s voice made tears jerk to DragonStar’s eyes. Only a few hours ago he’d been
consumed with a fierce and hateful envy for Caelum, and yet here Caelum was expressing, if not envy,
then regret, at something DragonStar enjoyed and not he.
“Did father tell you what happened when I tried one of the Songs?”
“You felled a Hawkchild, but were so consumed with hate and rage that you almost…”
“Almost became a Demon myself.”
DragonStar could not help the cold shudder ripple through him. Gods, what was it the Book
contained?
“And when you danced before Qeteb?” he said.
Caelum laughed, low and cynical. “I would have done more damage if I’d offered him a flower.”
Something danced at the very edge of DragonStar’s consciousness, but his mind could not
catch hold of the thought.
“And what did happen when you met Qeteb in the Maze?” he asked, so softly his voice
could hardly be heard above the roar of the surf.
Caelum took a very long time to answer. “I made him laugh,” he finally said. “I made the entire world
laugh.”
DragonStar lifted a hand and placed it on Caelum’s shoulder, and the two brothers sat there for a
long time, only love, the scent of the flowers, and the bellow of the ocean between them.
DareWing had brought the Strike Force to the northern coast for a particular reason: here the Demons’
influence was likely to be least. Although the demonic hours would affect none of them, DareWing
wanted to keep the Strike Force as safe as was possible for as long as possible. The Icebear
Coast would also have the least concentration of crazed animals. What DareWing wanted more than
anything else was to find a small pack of something that the Strike Force could whet their teeth on. And
then a larger pack of something, and one day DareWing wanted to launch the Strike Force at the entire
mass of lunacy that milled about the Maze.
First, they would start with the mountains themselves.
“See here?” Caelum said, thumbing through the Book, “this one is of fear, and this one of despair.”
DragonStar studied the Song of Despair, absently converting it to symbol in his mind. “This book is
full of everything the Demons have ever projected,” he said, “and I must be the one to let these ’emotions’
consume me so I may project them back at the Demons.”
“Is that so?” Caelum said, and his voice sounded more than mildly puzzled. Again
DragonStar had the feeling that something of immense importance hovered at the very edges of his mind.
“Well, I suppose it must be you,” Caelum continued, “for you are the true StarSon and the wielder of
Acharite magic, without which no-one can use this Book.”
DragonStar closed the Song Book and put it to one side. “Caelum, what happened when Qeteb
caught up with you?”
Caelum frowned, then his brow cleared. “I cannot remember,” he said, and laughed with
relief. “I remember only that the Dance of Death was such an abysmal failure the Demons ridiculed me.
Then I remember fleeing through the Maze, and then something happened … I … I fell over, and
despaired, thinking that this must have been how RiverStar felt when I killed her. I begged her
forgiveness, and then suddenly I was in the Field of Flowers, and I knew no more of Qeteb.”
“Ah,” DragonStar said.
They sat in silence for another while longer, and then DragonStar stirred. “Where is
DareWing? He should be here somewhere with the Strike Force.”
“Oh, he grew impatient,” Caelum said, “and thought to save Tencendor all by himself.”
“What!”
“He took the Strike Force,” Caelum said, “and went back into the wasteland.
Contentedness is not yet their lot.”
“Gods!” DragonStar wondered what he should do: go rescue Dare Wing from a situation he might
well be able to control on his own, or go see the one person who might truly tell him the secret of the
book?
Finally DragonStar got to his feet and whistled Belaguez over, tucked the Enchanted Song Book
under his arm and leapt on the stallion’s bare back. Best to make sure about DareWing first.
The Alaunt jumped up, milling about the horse’s legs.
“Come back,” Caelum said, wistfully, and DragonStar nodded, and drew the doorway of
light with his sword.
DareWing wheeled above the ruins of Star Finger, the ghostly apparitions of his force dipping and
swaying about him. He was lost in his memories of his early years spent in and about the mountain. Now
it was broken and destroyed, and would never prove a safe haven for the Icarii race again.
Nothing in Tencendor would, come to that.
“Strike Leader.”
A soft voice above his right wing snapped DareWing out of his reverie.
“What is it?”
There was a silence, and DareWing regretted his sharp tone. “I am sorry. What do you need to tell
me, Mirror Wing?”
MirrorWing — or the being that had once been MirrorWing — pointed to a canyon below.
“I think someone down there is trying to attract our attention.”
DareWing looked down, and could not stop his exclamation of surprise.
WolfStar thought they’d never see him. Curses! What was wrong with their star-damned eyes?
But then, what were they to start with? The creatures were Icarii-shaped, but their bodies were
indistinct, almost transparent.
And their wings … WolfStar knew that Enchanters would have committed murder to understand the
spells that made these wings glow with such incandescent colour.
Wolf Star waved an arm slowly, trying to get them to hurry up. Stars, but every movement was
agony! He’d only fallen some twenty or thirty paces — bouncing from rock wall to rock wall —
down the chasm before he’d tumbled onto a rock ledge that sloped backwards under an
overhang. By the time StarLaughter had sent her merriment — her mad, mad merriment —
chasing down the chasm after him, he’d been hidden from view.
And from there WolfStar had painfully, drop by drop, handhold by handhold, clambered to
the bottom of the chasm, and then hauled himself along its rock-littered floor until he’d emerged into
what passed for sunlight in this northern devastation.
And there he’d lain, thinking over StarLaughter’s words: Caelum not the StarSon? Well, it
made sense. The idiot had been useless against Qeteb. WolfStar’s mouth curled in a small smile. The
true StarSon was still out there somewhere, still controlling power. And WolfStar knew there
was not a man alive he could not manipulate and eventually control. He would regain power again, but
first he needed to know who the true StarSon was.
“Who?” he whispered. “Who?” That bitch StarLaughter had distracted him before he could force an
answer from her …
He looked up again at the soft sound of wings. Perhaps a score of the Icarii-creatures
were now only some fifty paces above him, and dropping fast.
With them was a more conventional Icarii birdman — at least he had a solid enough body,
although he was incongruously dressed in a white linen tunic and sandals.
“Well,” WolfStar said, as the group landed about him, “at least you do not seem demon-mad, even if
the majority of you look a trifle vitreous. What has happened? Has the loss of the Star Dance bled you of
your solidness?”
“Loss of life,” said one, a female by the lightness of her voice, “has made us less fleshy than what we
were wont to be.”
“Who are you?” said WolfStar, wondering if he was going to spend the rest of his life asking: Who?
“Who are you?” said the one flesh-solid Icarii among them.
WolfStar rolled slightly so he could stare the birdman in the face. “I am WolfStar SunSoar and I
demand you take me to the StarSon.”
The birdman laughed, and, raising his eyes to a spot somewhere behind Wolf Star, said, “I
think he comes to greet you, renegade.”
And WolfStar rolled over, groaning, and stared to the east.
A man and a white horse had emerged from a canyon, and the horse’s mane and tail dripped with
stars.
“Gods,” WolfStar whispered as he finally recognised the man’s face.
“Well met, WolfStar,” DragonStar said, and grinned. “I should have known that you would somehow
survive the Demons’ attentions.”
WolfStar could barely manage to keep his face bland as the man dismounted from his horse
and walked towards him. Drago? The StarSon? And, ye gods, feel the power that radiated from
him!
“And I should have known,” WolfStar responded softly, “that you’d always find a way to realise
your ambition, Drago.”
“DragonStar,” he corrected, and squatted by WolfStar’s side, running a gentle hand over the
Enchanter’s body. “You are hurt. Badly.”
“I have been out and about,” WolfStar said, “while others donned pretty clothes.” He flicked his eyes