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the Mistress would fail them, that she would need their
aid.
    “I
will go for help,” said Melisande. “The rest of you wait with her, do what you
can for the Mistress while I am gone.”
    Placing
her hands on the altar, she used it to support her weight and pulled herself
up. She paused a moment to gather her strength, then, bracing herself, she
walked toward the door. Dazed and ill, the others watched her. They could not
help her. They could barely help themselves. Melisande concentrated on her
destination. Slowly, slowly, the doorway drew near. She couldn’t even think
about the long walk through the corridor, back to the bronze doors. She managed
to reach the entrance, before her strength gave way. She leaned against the
wall, clutched at it to support herself. Her one thought, that she could not
let herself fall.
    “I’ll
rest... a moment. . .”
    Strong
arms caught her, lowered her gently to the floor. Bellona’s voice, giving
orders, echoed through the Sanctuary. Warriors surged past her into the
chamber. They carried litters with them, blankets, water, and brandy wine.
    Melisande
looked into Bellona’s dark, anxious eyes. “I am all right,” she said. “Don’t
worry. It is just the weakness of the blood bane. You must tend to the
Mistress.”
    “She
is being cared for,” said Bellona. “I will take her to her chamber, then send
for the healers. Rest now, Melis, and leave all to me.”
    “The
Sanctuary is sacred. You should not be here,” Melisande said, trying to sit up.
    “You
can clean the chamber of our defilement later,” returned Bellona, pressing her
back down.
    Melisande
gave up the struggle. “How did you know there was trouble?”
    “When
the magic failed, I knew something had gone wrong.”
    The
warriors placed the Mistress on a litter and bore her to her chamber. Other
warriors helped the sisters, aiding their faltering steps, carrying those who
were too weak to walk.
    “You
see?” Bellona told her. “All is in hand. The dragon fled. It was a glorious
battle, even if we did not kill the beast. You should rest now, Melis. You are
exhausted. I will take you to your chamber.”
    “No,
my love,” said Melisande, as sleep, strong and warm as Bellona’s arms, enfolded
her. “Take me to yours.”
     

3
    MANY
YEARS HAD PASSED SINCE HE HAD RECEIVED A summons. Their silence had not
surprised him, for the world was lurching along fairly well—as well as could be
expected with humans running it—and his services had not been needed. He’d
spent the years roaming the world, moving from place to place, watching,
observing, reporting back if circumstances warranted.
    His
reports were reassuring. The humans were doing as they had always done down
through the centuries—making a mess of their own lives, yet somehow managing
not only to survive as a species but even to progress. Thus he wondered about
the summons. Nothing was amiss, so far as he knew. And they never summoned him
unless something was amiss.
    His
was, by necessity, a stoic nature, and he felt nothing more than mild curiosity
as he walked the dark, subterranean corridors that led to the Hall of
Parliament. He carried no lamp or torch. He did not need light. He had the
ability to magnify ambient light and so the darkness was light to him, albeit a
gray-silver, hazy sort of light, as on a night when the light of a full moon
can be seen through low-lying ground fog.
    He
was strong, well-muscled, bronze-skinned from his years of sojourning. He had
gray-streaked black hair that he wore clubbed and tied at the back of his neck
with a leather thong. He wore leather breeches and a leather vest and leather
boots. He bore no sword. He carried a knife, which he used for hunting and
eating, and a walking staff, which served to settle any difficulties he might
encounter. He had brown eyes hooded by low, dark brows. In some light his eyes
glinted red, but he tended to keep out of that sort of light. He had a mouth
that was tight-lipped, rarely