what she had begun. A roar came from behind him, and he saw Marrika's face change to absolute terror as a white, wolf-shaped wraith leaped upon her. Both Deveren and Marrika were knocked to the floor. Deveren scrambled up and back, just in time to see the wolf that had been Kastara a few seconds earlier clamp her powerful jaws down on Marrika's throat. The white muzzle disappeared for an instant, buried in Marrika's neck, though to Deveren's eye the Raven's throat appeared utterly whole. Then the spirit-wolf tugged, pulling loose the bright flash that was dying woman's soul, which she swallowed.
'Honored among men are you twice this night,' came a soft voice. Startled, Deveren tore his gaze from the feasting wolf to see Lady Death herself standing beside him. 'First by the touch of my sister, then to bear witness to my spirit-wolves.'
She knelt and stroked his cheek. He was surprised to feel that her hand was warm, not cold, as he had expected. Leaning forward, she brushed his forehead with petal-soft lips.
'It was not your time that night, nor this one. I was the First to come, to stand against the blasphemy and the evil that were loosed; and I shall be the last to leave. Those that have died here were destined to die tonight. You are not among them. But the next time that Death kisses thee,' she whispered, 'thou shalt come with her.'
She straightened, and turned to the phantom pack. 'Come. There are other souls to feast upon ere dawn lightens the skies!'
Howling, the wolves fled, racing out into the madness of the Midsummer Night, their feet leaving no trace of their passage. And their mistress followed, a darker shape against the darkness of the night.
For a long time, Deveren simply sat, leaning against the bloodied altar and trying to comprehend the miracles to which he had been witness. At last, he stumbled to his feet. Absently, he rubbed his injured jaw. The pain disappeared, as he would have expected had he been thinking more clearly.
The candles were burning low now, but somehow it didn't seem quite as dark outside as it had been before. His eyes fixed on the still-open door, Deveren made his shambling way over the dead that littered the floor. He leaned against the door for a moment, letting his eyes adjust.
The fires of last night seemed to have either burned themselves out or had been extinguished. Yet there was definitely a lightness about the night that told him that dawn, while not yet here, was on its way.
The streets were curiously deserted of the living. The dead, though, lay where they had fallen. Indeed, Lady Death's wolves had had a feast tonight…
The clatter of horse's hooves on cobblestone roused him from his trancelike contemplation. He glanced up to see Pedric, perched on Flamedancer, barrelling down on him. The young man pulled on the gelding's reins and Flamedancer slowed to a stop.
'Deveren! Thank the gods you're all right. Come with me-there's something you must see!'
Obligingly, still moving as one in a dream, Deveren mounted behind Pedric. The young man turned the horse's head around and headed back down the street, down Ocean's View toward the port. It was definitely getting lighter. They rounded a bend in the street and suddenly Deveren found himself staring at the open ocean. Hundreds of others were there as well; those who had fought the curse and won to stand, now, shoulder to shoulder, enraptured by what they witnessed.
A tremendous battle was taking place against a gray sky. Deveren couldn't even count the number of ships in the port, though he realized that most of them were Mharian vessels. He knew the lion of Mhar as well as anybody, and nearly every ship in the harbor flew it. The vessels that did not flew a flag that was solid black.
'Good gods,' he whispered softly. 'An invasion?'
'I'm not so sure,' said Pedric. 'They seem to be fighting among themselves. Look.'
And sure enough, just as Deveren watched, the sails of one of the ships went up in a burst of orange flame, providing even more light to see by for the shocked onlookers clustered around the port. 'But how could that happen? A fire just doesn't start that fast!' exclaimed Pedric.
Suddenly Deveren realized who it must be. 'Damir,' he said, his voice trembling with joy. 'Dev… but wasn't Damir…?'
“I t's a long story. Oh, thank gods, he's alive! Don't you see?' Deveren leaned past Pedric and pointed. 'That's His Majesty's own ship, right there. It's got his personal standard. King Castyll himself has come to help save Braedon!'
He would have said more, save that a spectacle that even Deveren was totally unprepared for silenced the cheering throngs. The ocean rippled, and without further warning a huge whale cleared the surface. It thrust itself high in the air, landing with a mighty splash near one of the ships not allied with the king's fleet. A tremendous wave rocked the ship, but it did not capsize. Then, incredibly, a second whale-a third — also leaped into the air. The ship could not stand against that and it overturned.
And was it… could that be sharks who found the flailing seamen and dragged them down? And gulls that dove, shrieking, at those who still lived?
The ocean churned. More whales? wondered Deveren wildly, but the sudden rapid pounding of his heart told him that something far more miraculous was about to occur.
From the depths emerged a creature that Deveren had never seen outside of fanciful paintings. It was enormous, far longer than any five ships put together. As its massive head broke the surface, the creature, long tongue flickering and sharp teeth bared, rose… and rose…
Then it leaped, diving across the ship as easily as a deer might clear a tangle of brush. A length of sinuous, shimmering scales followed it. It emerged to repeat the movement, encompassing the hapless vessel within its crushing coils. The ship didn't have a prayer. Even this far away, Deveren and Pedric could hear the sound it made as the creature cracked the mighty ship to useless spars.
'Dear gods,' breathed Pedric. His eyes were wide with wonder. 'Dear gods.'
Riveted, Deveren leaped off Flamedancer. He scrambled to the top of a tavern for a better view. As he watched, hardly daring to breathe, the remaining enemy vessels ran down their flags. For a long, tense moment, they flew nothing at all. And then, just as the sun cleared the horizon, the enemy ran up another flag. The dawn's light turned the white flag of surrender to a bright, glowing pink. A huge cheer went up among the crowd.
The ocean's creatures, summoned at this hour of need, disappeared as if they had never been. And Deveren, standing alone atop a rundown shanty of a tavern, felt his hands flare with divine heat, one last time, and then, with the tranquillity and inevitability of a sunset at the end of a hot day, softly cool.
He stumbled. The exhaustion and the tension that Health's gift had kept at bay all through the nightmarish ordeal descended now, full force. He was utterly depleted. He was famished. And most of all, he felt achingly empty and alone. Deveren had not realized how Health's gift had bound him to others through the act of Healing. He had been not one man, but many. Every person he had touched had become a part of him for this one brief, miraculous time.
Now he was more alone than he had ever been in his life. Despite himself, a sob of mourning left his lips.
No.
Not alone. Kastara had reminded him. He had been part of a miracle tonight, the only man every permitted Health's glory. He had had a chance that all people long for-to see his departed love a final time, to know beyond a doubt, with a certainty not granted to even the most faithful, that she was at peace. Her words sounded again in his ear, as he suspected they would for the rest of his life: Beloved, there are many who yet need you here — who need the love that fills your heart, as I once did. And as for your child-you have found her already. Go and be with them, Deveren, while life is yet yours to enjoy, to drink of, to savor.
Her words about his 'child' — what did she mean by that? With a suddenness that dizzied him, he realized that it didn't matter. He did know who his child was… if the girl would have him. Whether she was his lost child in another body or merely a little girl whole unto herself, it didn't matter. And he hoped, with an earnestness that hurt, that he was right about who one of the 'others' might be.
He was still tired. He was still ravenous and aching with the trials of the long night that had been. But that night was over, and Deveren's heart was freer than it ever had been.
He leaped down from the roof and found his footing. And then Deveren Larath began to run, his burning muscles protesting but obeying as he raced toward the square, toward Health's temple and toward his future- bound up with that of a little girl, whose name he cried out as he approached:
'Allika!'
