Al-Drechar who had let Lyanna die were still alive and living in the habitable areas of their house here on the island. But their explanations about Lyanna’s burgeoning power and her inability to ever control it, given her age and physical frailty, went straight over his head.
All he knew was that the nucleus of the One magic that Lyanna had hosted had been transferred to Erienne even as the little girl had died. And that Erienne hated it - felt it was a disease she couldn’t cure - and that made her hate the surviving Al-Drechar even more. It made her head ache, she said, and though the Al-Drechar, both frail old elven women, said they could train her to control, use and develop it, she wouldn’t as much as acknowledge their presence.
Hirad could understand that reaction. In fact he remained astounded she hadn’t tried to kill the surviving pair. He knew what he’d want for those who murdered any child of his. But he was grateful nonetheless. Because, despite Sha-Kaan’s current light mood, the dragon’s exile in Balaia was slowly killing him; and the Al-Drechar with their understanding and expertise in dimensional theory were the Kaan’s best chance of getting home.
It all added to the bowstring tension they had endured every day for their two seasons on Herendeneth. Hirad found himself needing the very people Erienne hated with a deep and abiding passion. Yet, even within that hatred, there was a part of her that needed the Al-Drechar too. Lyanna had been a child of the One, the ancient magical order that had dominated Balaia before the establishment of the four colleges over two thousand years ago. Erienne and Denser, her husband, still believed in it and the Al-Drechar were its last practitioners. What Erienne carried in her mind was the last hope for the order, but she would have to accept help from the Al-Drechar. That knowledge merely added to her misery.
‘Her mind is clouded,’ said Sha-Kaan, looking down at Erienne.
‘Grief obscures rationality.’ There was no sense of any particular sympathy from the Great Kaan, who had been edging at the extremities of Erienne’s mind with his own.
‘That’s only natural,’ said Hirad.
‘For humans,’ returned Sha-Kaan. ‘It makes her dangerous.’
Hirad sighed. ‘Sha-Kaan, she’s seen all three of her children murdered; Lyanna by the Al-Drechar, her twin sons by the Black Wing witch hunters. I’m surprised she retains any sanity at all. Wouldn’t you feel the same?’
‘In truth, birthings are an increasingly rare event among the Kaan,’ said the dragon after a pause. ‘But when a young Kaan dies, we have to replace the infant. We don’t have time to mourn.’
‘But you must have feelings for the mother and the youngster that dies,’ said Hirad.
‘The Brood mourns and the Brood supports. The mother’s mind is warmed by the Brood psyche and her pain is lessened by sharing. That is the way of dragons. For humans, grief is solitary and so is prolonged.’
Hirad shook his head. ‘It’s not solitary. We’re all here to help Erienne.’
‘But because you can’t get into her mind, you cannot help where she needs it the most.’
A reptilian bark echoed across the island and Nos-Kaan flew around the thirty-foot-high stone needle, gliding in to land close to Sha and Hirad, his golden back scales glittering in the sunlight, the earth vibrating as his hind feet touched the ground. His mighty wings, a hundred feet and more tip to tip, beat once to steady him then swept back to fold along his long body, air whipping across Hirad’s face. Nos-Kaan’s neck half coiled to bring his head next to Sha-Kaan’s and the two dragons touched muzzles briefly. Even now, so many years on, Hirad found the sight awe-inspiring and felt a moment of pure insignificance in the face of such size and grace.
‘Well met, Hirad,’ said Nos-Kaan, his voice pained.
‘How did the flight go?’
‘Do you wish the truth?’ asked the dragon. Hirad nodded. ‘I must have the healing flows of inter-dimensional space or I will die. Before that I will be land-bound.’
Hirad was shaken. He had assumed the rest both Kaan had enjoyed these last two seasons in the warm climate on Herendeneth would cure them of the magical wounds they had suffered fighting the Dordovan mages.
‘How long?’
‘Another season, no more. I am weak, Hirad.’
‘And you, Great Kaan?’
‘I am in better health,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘But death is inevitable if I cannot get home before too long. Where are your Unknown Warrior and his researchers?’