Thomas was so sure that he was about to die that he fell to the ground and curled into a ball, squeezing his eyes shut and putting his arms over his head. There was a thunderous crash and a deafening squeal of pain, followed by rumbling and crashing noises like huge blocks of stone being thrown around, and as the wizard slowly became aware that he was still alive, he looked up to see what was going on.

     He gave a cry of genuine astonishment at what he saw. A long, broad swath of undergrowth was ablaze where the dragon's breath had gone wide, missing Matthew by no more than a few feet, and something that looked like a huge sheet of canvas lay draped over the battlements beyond. Staring at it in confusion, Thomas slowly realised that it was one of the dragon's wings, sliced neatly off near where it had joined onto the body. Behind them, a large section of castle wall lay in ruins where some massive object, presumably the dragon, had crashed into it at great speed. Rubble lay everywhere, scattered in all directions, but the dragon itself was nowhere in sight. It must have rolled halfway down the hill, he thought, but how? What happened? He looked at Drake, half expecting to see him standing triumphantly with his great broadsword covered in dragon's blood, but the priest was as puzzled as he was.

     There was no time to ponder the puzzle, however, and Drake ushered them all back inside the keep before the dragon could return. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, the great reptile reappeared, climbing through the rubble strewn hole in the wall, black blood spurting out of the stump where its wing had been. Its face had a look of hurt bewilderment, as if it, too, had no idea what had happened to it, but this was replaced by the more familiar raging fury as it became convinced that the questers were somehow responsible. It breathed a huge cloud of flame that totally engulfed the keep, entering through the arrow slits to sterilise every room except the central storage room, where the eight travellers were sheltering.

     It was weak from pain, shock and loss of blood, however, and that last blast of flame had exhausted most of its remaining strength. Its legs trembled and its massive head drooped as its own weight became too much for it, and with a sigh of frustration and exhaustion it sank down onto its belly in a giant puddle of its own blood. It knew it was finished, that it only had minutes before bleeding to death, but its hatred of the eight questers flared greater than ever and it became determined to kill them before it died itself. They were safe so long as they were in the keep, so the only way was to lure them out. It lowered its huge head down onto the ground, closed its eyes, and pretended to be dead.

     Sure enough, a few minutes later, one of them popped his head around the flame blasted, partially melted door and looked around timidly. "I think it's dead," said Petronax, stepping warily out into the courtyard. "I think it's safe to come out now."

     Thomas and Drake cautiously followed him out. "I wish I had a bottle," said the wizard. "What a perfect opportunity to get some dragon's blood. The stuff's literally worth its weight in gold, and there're wizards who'd pay much higher prices. I might even need some myself one day."

     Drake ignored the prattling wizard, examining the dragon's body for any remaining signs of life. He failed to see one of its eyes open a slit and watch him as he walked along the length of its body. It was very weak now, and a great darkness was beginning to settle over its thoughts. Only three of the hated bipeds had emerged so far, but it would have to make its move now and be satisfied with them, while it still had the strength to act at all. It tensed itself as two of them walked back towards its head and prepared to strike.

     The questers heard a thunk, a sound Thomas recognised from his time on the Prince Fennerel as the sound of a giant crossbow being discharged, and they all spun around in alarm to see the dragon spasming in convulsions, a giant feathered shaft protruding from its head where it must have penetrated its skull and entered its brain. The three humans scattered in terror as the massive body twisted in a grotesque dance of death. Its wildly thrashing tail smashing another section of wall and its claws tore great holes in the courtyard. It gave a final shudder, its legs shaking and trembling, its claws clenched tight as if trying to hold onto life by sheer force of willpower, and then it collapsed, its neck and tail flopping down to lie half hidden in the long undergrowth. This time it really was dead. There was no mistaking the way the colour drained from its eyes and jaw tendrils, and the questers marveled that they could possibly have thought it was dead before.

     The three humans, and the others still sheltering in the doorway, looked around in confusion for the source of the ballista bolt that had saved their lives, and gave gasps of awed wonder and astonishment as it slowly and gracefully floated into view in front of them. It was a flying ship, similar to the ones spoken of in tales and legends of the Agglemonian Empire in its days of glory, when the whole continent had been patrolled and protected by the ships of the aerial navy. The vessel before them now, however, was far more graceful and beautiful than anything the Agglemonians had ever built, surpassing even the elite cloud destroyers, supposedly been the most powerful and technically advanced vessels ever to have taken to the skies.

     The vessel had been designed and built in the style of an eighty foot long bird of paradise. Its struts and timbers were painted in brilliant reds, blues and greens, and the great sails that extended out on either side of its hull and out behind it were shaped and coloured to form its wings and tail. Its prow had been shaped into the bird's head, with ribbons and small steering sails extending out behind it to form its crest, and its eyes were windows, indicating that there was a room inside, probably the captain's cabin. The beak was open, and inside they could see a large ballista, tastefully hidden when the beak was closed so that it wouldn't spoil the appearance of the vessel.

     They saw figures moving around on the open deck of the flying ship. Slender, graceful, golden haired figures whose nature couldn't be doubted for a moment. "Shae folk!" exclaimed Lirenna in delight. Diana hadn't been able to keep her from joining the others when she’d become aware of the danger. She moved to stand next to Thomas, who helped support her, while Diana hovered close behind, watching the demi shae anxiously. "From Lourell, they must be! Only they have flying ships like that!"

     "You know of them?" asked Thomas in fascination.

     "A little,” said Lirenna, holding her shirt closed with one hand. She was looking pale, and she winced as she shifted her weight. The power of Caroli must be wearing off, Thomas thought, and the pain was returning.

     “We northern shae folk used to have a lot more contact with our southern kinfolk than we do now,” Lirenna continued, “and the stories of their beautiful bird of paradise ships are still told, although few believe them these days. To see one, though, to actually see one...!" She fell silent, lost for words.

     Thomas could only agree. It was an awesome sight as the bird of paradise approached, losing height as it came in for a landing. They watched as the shae folk, dressed in gaudy blue and yellow uniforms to match the bird's plumage, pulled out locking pins and pulled ropes and pulleys to fold the sails in. They were supported by thin but strong wooden struts with a joint halfway along their length, so that they folded neatly against the sides of the hull like a bird's wings. Other shae folk folded up the ‘tail' in a similar manner. When they'd finished, the vessel was compact enough to fit into the courtyard, and landed gently next to the dead dragon.

     The travellers stood uncertainly in the keep's doorway, unsure what to do, as a gangplank was lowered and half a dozen shae folk disembarked to examine the dragon's corpse and make sure it was really dead. Then two more disembarked. They were dressed differently from the others and walked with a confident authority that told the questers that they were officers. Their uniforms were more elaborate, with more frills and decorations that made them even more impressive, and they wore crowns of red and yellow feathers that rose high above their heads. They were unbelievably graceful. Perfect in every smallest movement, and awesomely beautiful to look upon.

     The humans stared at them in sheerest wonder, awed that such perfection could exist, but they also made them feel self conscious of their own shortcomings, made them feel that they were clumsy and graceless in comparison, and that in turn caused the first stirrings of envy and jealousy which Drake and the wizards tried hard to control. They knew how the feelings of inadequacy the shae folk could cause humans to feel had been one of the seeds of the shae wars, one of the darkest episodes of human history. When the first human colonists, crossing the sea from their ancestral home on the island continent of Garon, had met the shae folk for the first time, they had been unable to stand the comparison and had driven the peace loving shae folk out from the lands they'd lovingly tended for centuries. It had created a matching resentment from the smaller, longer lived humanoids that, even today, thousands of years later, had not entirely been forgotten.

     "Don't stare at them," Thomas whispered to Drake. "They consider it very rude. We have to make a good impression..."

     "Yes, I know," interrupted the priest irritably. "I've attended several diplomatic missions from the northern shae kingdoms. Resalintas considered it an essential part of my education. You should worry more about your friends."

     He nodded towards Shaun and Matthew, who were gaping at the shae folk as if they had three heads each and who had no idea what they were revealing about their provincial, sheltered upbringing. Thomas edged over to give them some hasty advice.

     The shae folk stood chest high to the humans, and the two officers looked tiny beside the huge priest as they walked over towards them. Not that they were really officers, Thomas knew. Shayen society was organised differently from human society, with more emphasis on co-operation and the sharing of responsibility. On warships, though, even shayen warships, decisions sometimes had to be made quickly, with no time for the interminable discussions and consultations that took place in civilian life, and so someone had to be in charge. Few outsiders had any idea how they chose their officers, though. For all the questers knew, he might simply be the best harp player or something.

     "I greet you, worthy travellers," said the first shae in a soft, musical voice, a voice that lifted the hearts of everyone who heard it. "I beg leave to introduce myself. I am First Crewman Talandil of the Muellin, and this is Second Crewman Lauros. I greet you on behalf of our ship and our crew."

     Petronax, Diana and her two brothers began grinning in delight, glad that they had been greeted in such a friendly and polite manner and sure that this meant that the Captain wanted to be friends with them, but the others knew better and remained wary and alert. The shae folk did everything politely, and a polite greeting was merely a necessary formality. They even killed politely, and Drake kept a wary eye on the slender but deadly swords they wore while the ship's wizards and bowmen lined up along the ship's railing facing them. Still, a polite greeting deserved a polite reply.

     Lirenna was the obvious spokesman, and as she stepped forward, she became uncomfortably conscious of her partly human ancestry. She had spent almost all her time among humans lately and had grown used to being the most beautiful person present, drawing admiring gazes from every man who saw her. Now, though, she was in the presence of people even better looking than she was, and she found herself acutely conscious of every aspect of her appearance that betrayed her human grandmother. Her raven dark hair, flowing around her shoulders like a spill of coal dust and falling down her back like a black flame. Her ears, that weren't quite as pointed as they should be. Her arms and legs with their light covering of short, downy hair, and her fingernails that were just a little bit too wide.

     The worst thing, however, even worse than her hair, which she could have dyed or hidden in a large hat, was her height. She was short and lightly built compared to her friends, but a full three inches taller than either of the two pureblooded shae folk, forcing them to look up at her. It marked her out as one who could never be entirely at home in either human or shayen society, who would always be a hybrid, or worse, a half breed, and she could almost hear those words going through the minds of the two shae men standing in front of her.

     She tried to put these thoughts out of her mind and concentrated on being as polite and friendly as possible. She had spent her whole life learning to deal with being a half breed, but she would only have one chance to make a good impression on these two men and an awful lot depended on her making a good job of it.