He could still see the scene in his mind. It had been less than a year since the Queen of Voliernya had died, leaving no heir. She was the last of her ancient House, the last...save one.

"Bring back my granddaughter."

Though Eliuteth's voice was thin as parchment, her aura of command had not diminished with it. The ruler of the Elven kingdom seemed tiny now, lying in a bed heaped high with silken blankets. Her deathbed.

The Queen's eyes still shone bright with wisdom, defying the death that came to claim her. For two thousand years she had governed her people, and now they wept to see her depart.

She had left no heir. Her only child, a daughter, was disgraced beyond redemption and had soon taken her own life. Eliuteth was the only living member of the House Thoránu, and it would now die with her. Such was the reason for the urgency in her words.

The venerable Elven queen gripped Tarelan's fingers in a hand that seemed fragile as the wings of a butterfly. She held his gaze implacably. "Find my granddaughter, and bring her back."

"But your daughter—" Tarelan protested, unwillingly. He would have died for his queen, but there were the politicians to consider. They would never condone the return of Eliuteth's long-forgotten grandchild.

"My daughter is gone." Eliuteth smiled bitterly. "But her child has done no harm. In my granddaughter flows my own blood. In her, the House Thoránu lives on." Her hand tightened, ever so slightly. "Find her, Tarelan. She must return to Voliernya. Without her..."

The queen's breath shuddered in her throat. A great light seemed to fill her face, and her hand slipped from Tarelan's. Her eyes slowly closed, and her heart was still.

The land itself seemed to mourn, for at that moment, the sky began to weep cold tears of rain.

Tarelan could feel the walls of Power that warded his kingdom yield before him. Then the feeling was gone, and his wings sliced through air devoid of fog. He knew where the queen's granddaughter dwelt, for she was his betrothed, by a law older than Eliuteth herself.

A strange twist of fate, it was. House Thoránu and House Lenís, from whence he came, had always intermarried. One daughter to one son, every generation. But there had been no daughters of Thoránu in Tarelan's generation, for Eliuteth's child was cast out. And so the ancient bond had been passed to the daughter's daughter.

If he had not been in eagle form, a sardonic smile would have graced Tarelan's features. He was betrothed to a young Elven maiden not half his age, who had never even seen Voliernya. And now he was bound by a deathbed oath to seek her out.

Sunlight warmed his sleek dark plumage as he folded his wings and dropped from the sky, the rays gleaming briefly on the deep golden feathers of his head. Below him was a tiny village, nestled in the foothills. There lived the one he sought. Tarelan wondered what she would think of him abruptly appearing on the doorstep.

She lived with a human woman, he knew, and believed the woman to be her own grandmother. At her child's birth, the exiled daughter of Eliuteth had brought the infant to this settlement. She had entrusted the babe to the village healer, a compassionate old woman who had promised to raise the child as her own.

Tarelan landed gently on the ground, awkwardly hopping a few steps before leaping up into his Elven form. He stood silent for a moment, then stepped up to the door and knocked softly. The ceiling overhang just missed the top of his head.

The door was opened by a young girl, who looked up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Tarelan stared. It was none other than Eliuteth's granddaughter. She was undeniably an Elv; and though she was not particularly lovely by Elven standards, her face had a kind of solemn earnest beauty.

She was also so young that Tarelan felt like an old man beside her.

But he managed to hide all of his feelings in a serene, smiling mask. "Greetings. May I speak to your grandmother?"

The girl nodded quickly and dashed back into the house. Tarelan could hear her excited voice. He rubbed at his eyes. This...child was the hope of Voliernya? And his betrothed? By the Goddess. The nobles of his people would never accept her, raised among Men as it was. Add that to her startling youth, and it was all but hopeless.

Still. He had sworn his oath to Eliuteth, the Goddess rest her soul. Tarelan clenched his jaw. If he had to personally stare down every Elv in Voliernya to bring the queen's granddaughter—what was her name? Kylire?—back, then he would, by gods. He would.

"My grandmother says to bid you farewell. She said you'd understand." The child pulled on one of her braids, obviously irritated.

Tarelan smiled wryly. "I should have expected." He murmured, looking at her thoughtfully. "Did your grandmother tell you why she will not speak to me?"

Kylire shook her head and looked at her feet. "She said it was better for me not to know."

So the old woman had not told her the truth of her heritage. Tarelan pursed his lips. He could simply turn away now. He could return to Voliernya and say he could not find the girl. He could leave her in peace.

But he could not break his word.

"Perhaps it is." Tarelan said musingly, not realizing how long it had taken for him to reply. "Well, give my good wishes to your grandmother. Tholinályë menyéra-di!" He bowed courteously and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Kylire burst out, behind him. "How did I know what you just said?"

The Elv looked over his shoulder. He hesitated. It was now or never—

"Because you are a child of the Elves, Kylire." There. It was said. There was no turning back now. Tarelan quickly assumed his eagle's form and soared up into the firmament. He would return in a few years. He knew it was futile to bring her back now. She had to accept the truth of her Elvenhood, and that would take time.

"Lord Tarelan, I forbid you to go. I forbid you to bring back this—this child! She is not even a true Elv! The people will never accept her!" High Chancellor Celénte looked down her aquiline nose at the Elv standing before her.

Tarelan's mouth was set in a hard, uncompromising line. "I swore an oath," he answered in a low, harsh voice, "and I will not break it, Goddess help me! Queen Eliuteth charged me to bring back her granddaughter, and I will do it no matter what you may say...my lady."

"Gods witness this! Tarelan, be rational! Eliuteth was the greatest queen Voliernya has ever seen, but that does not mean she was infallible! Even she cannot mean to throw the kingdom into turmoil over a long-lost grandchild!"

"High Chancellor Celénte." Tarelan's voice was gentle, but there was steel behind the velvet. "I know you mean only good for our people. But I believe in my heart that the queen knew what would happen. She knew, and she also knew that the kingdom cannot live on forever without a daughter of her House on the throne."

He could hear Celénte's protests as he strode out of the receiving room, but he did not heed them.

Tarelan circled above the cluster of human dwellings, watching. Kylire was working in her garden.

He would have smiled if he had had a human mouth. The House Thoránu had always had the special blessing of Lady Earth. It seemed Kylire was not exempt from it, no matter what her upbringing was. Tarelan dove down toward her, shift-forming even as he went. It was with his own Elven feet that he reached the ground.

Kylire looked at him and dropped the weeds she had been pulling. "So you're back." She hissed, through clenched teeth. "Come to bring another unwelcome surprise?"

Apparently she hadn't taken too well to his last visit. Tarelan sighed inwardly. This was not going to be any easier than it had to be.

The Elv smiled faintly. "I didn't tell you my name before, did I? It's Tarelan. Tarelan of the House Lenís."

"Pleased to meet you." Kylire muttered sarcastically.

"And you," Tarelan continued, maintaining a completely nonplussed air as he pointed a slender finger at her, "Are Kylire of the House Thoránu." She should know her family name, after all. It was her birthright.

Kylire rolled her eyes. "Look, Tarry Lamb or whatever your name is—" Tarelan winced, but she ignored it. "—I don't give a tinker's toot what your house is called, or what mine supposedly is. Why in the Goddess's name are you here bothering me?"

Tarelan controlled his features very stiffly as he spoke. He chose his words with care—he had to convey the urgency of his message, but not enough to make her any more angry than she already was. "You're twenty years old now, Kylire. It's time you came home to Voliernya. You're the last of your bloodline, you know. You have duties in the kingdom."

It didn't have quite the effect he had anticipated.

"My home," Kylire told him emphatically, "is where I am right now. Duty can go to the Deeplord for all I care. You've managed fine without me so far. You can keep doing so." And she went back to weeding.

Tarelan laughed softly. Oh, she wasn't afraid to speak her mind; that was clear enough. Headstrong, she was, but not stupid. It would confound the nobles. "Voliernya can surely use that sharp-edged tongue, if nothing else." His tone sobered. "However, we only 'managed fine without you' because there were others of the House Thoránu until now."

Kylire slammed her shovel into the ground. Not a good sign, Tarelan decided silently. Had he said something wrong?

"If they care so much about duty, why didn't THEY raise me, instead of ignoring me for twenty years?" Her eyes flashed with anger.

Tarelan shook his head and held up a placating hand. She did have a point, but apparently the old woman had not told her the circumstances of her birth. "They would have, believe me. But certain...hidebound factions of the court," and here his expression hardened for a moment, "argued against bringing you back. They believed no Elv raised by the race of Men could be a true Elv."

Kylire crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, and now they've suddenly changed their minds, have they?"

Tarelan nodded. He couldn't tell her that they hadn't, in fact, changed their minds at all.

Kylire flung up her hands. "I don't believe this! You expect me to believe this?" She made a strangled sound of frustration, grinding her teeth.

Tarelan smiled sardonically. He sympathized with her plight, but he could not help her. It was her life. It was her decision. He was confident she would make the right one. "I will return in a week. Make your decision by then."

She was gone.

Kylire was gone.

Tarelan stood in front of the empty cottage, frowning. She had not been gone long; that much he could tell. But where had she departed to? And why?

The Elv sighed deeply and closed his eyes. In a moment, the Power hummed through him and he held his hands outstretched like a blind man in search of something. He followed the most recent path of Kylire's essence from her doorway to the stone-lined trail leading toward the main village.

There his betrothed's spirit-path stopped abruptly, as if she had simply vanished off the face of the earth. Tarelan opened his eyes again and lowered both hands. He tapped his fingers together thoughtfully, then turned and walked the short distance back to the cottage.

Ducking through the unlocked door, the Elv surveyed the interior of the house. He noticed that a good deal of Kylire's belongings were gone—obviously, she had not been taken by force or surprise.

Tarelan searched each room, looking for something he might be able to use as a focus. He stopped in her bedroom. Sharp Elven eyes caught sight of the tiny blood spot that speckled the edge of one corner-table. Tarelan put two fingers against the dark blotch and concentrated.

He could feel her spirit now, but the touch was very faint—as if the young woman were indeed not on this world at all. Tarelan gathered and focused the Power into a channel between himself and Kylire. He did not spare time for wondering how the girl had gotten off-planet; time enough for that when he had found her.

With a final burst of energy, Tarelan fortified the channel of Power and used it as a path to find his way to Kylire.

But there was Kylire. She was wearing a simple robe of white. She was also glaring furiously at him with a mixture of rage and surprise. Tarelan stepped toward her, ready to demand just what she was doing here. In the process, he realized that the ground was a field of burning sand. Which would explain why it was so hot throughout the cavern.

However, before either of them could say a word, the humming escalated to an ear-piercing note. A loud cracking sound signaled its abrupt end.

That was when Tarelan saw the eggs. And above them, the dragons.