Part Eleven

“My Lady, I – “

“No,” Willow interrupted, in no mood for conciliatory words.  “Not listening.  Angry here.  Thought you'd get it.  You being all – warrior woman and stuff.  Well … “  She tried to find a suitably pithy comment, but her mind was too tangled up with annoyance to launch a real zinger.  “ … there's more to the world than the length of your sword!” 

Cullie clearly didn't know how to react to that; her expression wavered between bewilderment, awe, and an odd hint of amusement.  One that she was desperately trying to suppress.  In the silence that fell between them, Willow took a moment to review what she'd just said.

“That was – a little … lame, wasn't it.”

Cullie nodded, trying to look both respectful and apologetic, and still suppressing that bubble of laughter, deep within her eyes.

“And I just said something horrendously insulting, didn't I.”

The laughter started to surface, despite best effort, and Cullie's lips twisted in a gallant effort not to be a smile.  “Only if I were a man,” she qualified.

… the length of your …

Willow's hands flew to her mouth and she blushed.  “Oh gosh,” she realised.  “That would have been so scathing a put down … if you had one to put down, that is …”

Now the smile escaped – along with a snort of laughter, and a blush that matched her own.

“I've never felt the need …”  Cullie started to say, then blushed even brighter.  “That is, I – I …”

“Oh, you have to feel it once .” Willow spoke before she could stop herself, the dissipation of her anger leaving her dizzy with mischief.  “So you know you know what it is you're not missing.”

Cullie stared at her for a moment, as if she couldn't quite believe her ears.  And then the laughter resurfaced in a bubbling, glorious cascade of sound.  Delicate sensibilities or not, she clearly both understood and appreciated the joke.  “I – suspect,” she giggled, “it depends entirely on the sword.  And who it belongs to.”

“Yeah.”    The laugh was infectious – and Willow joined in with relief; she hadn't offended, Cullie really, really got the joke and … oh, wow, it was kinda weird, bonding over a dirty joke, but that was what they were doing, the two of them, standing there and giggling at each other.  They had to fight for breath after a moment, and try not catch each other's eye; as soon as one of them did, they simply set the other off again.

“I'm sorry …”  Cullie offered after managing to catch her breath again, “that I offended you.  I didn't mean …”

“Yeah, I know.”  Willow tilted her head and they walked on together, side by side.  “I'm sorry I got mad.  It's just that …”

“You can kick evil's – butt?  As well as I can?”

“Yeah.”  Willow's response was a little sheepish.  It didn't sound as convincing when Cullie said it.  Because – what with her sword, and her armour, and all her training and local experience and stuff – it probably wasn't true.  “Only – not really.  Not yet.  With the – not having of the spells, and being kinda weapon short, and not having had the Slayer training or anything …  Giles'll teach me, though.  He's good at that sort of thing.  Training, and weapons, and being knowledge guy and things …  best Watcher in the world.”

Cullie glanced back, her expression dropping into thoughtful lines.  “The only one, in ours.”

That gave Willow a moment's pause.  She hadn't thought of it that way, but - it was true .  Not only in the ‘they don't have slayers and watchers here, so duh,' way, but in a much more fundamental, ‘this is the way this world works ,' way …  No one had seen a Dragon here before the Fall – and that was so capital letter stuff it gave her goosebumps.  The gods of Summerset hadn't just saved the two of them because they liked them – even if she had a vague and undefined impression of that being the case and then some – but because they were expecting them to play a major role in the whole world save-age thing.  Guardians of the summers dawn , Cullie had pronounced when they'd met.  Made to guard the Summerset.

But guard it from what?  Or whom?

Hobs and gobs and giant slugs?  She didn't think so. 

She really, really had to start learning some sensible spells …

“Did you see that?” Cullie asked, pointing at a building a little further up the street.  A still-fairly-intact place compared with a lot of the architecture they'd been passing; three stories - albeit lacking in a roof - and all four walls standing, with decorative carving and hints of colour lingering on the stone.  It looked like some sort of expensive shop, or perhaps a covered market place.  Its lower ground frontage was open to the street, with a series of pillared arches giving access to the space within.  Nothing moved in front, or inside of it as far as Willow could see, but clearly something had caught Cullie's eye.  She whistled - some kind of signal for the rest of the party – and began to stalk forward, slowly drawing her sword.

Willow followed her, stepping as warily as she could – which was pretty warily in her new boots – and wondered what the signal had meant.  Stay back until I call?  I'm going in, rescue me if I yell?  Danger ahead, I'm checking it out?

Probably all three, if she read the situation right …

There were letters painted along the shop frontage – faded and damaged in places, but still good enough for her sharpened eyesight to make out.  Spellstuff and Holesalers.   Willow blinked and read it again.  It definitely said ‘Holesalers.'  She threw a glance at Cullie, then surreptitiously muttered the ‘ see mojo' spell that Ashley had shown her the night before.  The flicker of her fingers activated the magic, and the figure ahead of her lit up with a shimmering glow, just like before.  So did the shop – in patches of fitful colour and power, most little more than sparkling residue.  But there were a couple of places that flared with a much deeper, much more persistent glow. 

Her pleased grin at her success quickly slipped into a wary frown.  One glow was pretty much like a concentrated dose of the stuff that Cullie – and for that matter, her boots – came wrapped in.  But the other looked - different somehow.  And that was a problem, since she had no way of knowing what that meant. 

One colour for enchanted items?   Another for … active spells?  Magical devices?  Traps?  Portals ..?

That was a scary thought.  It wasn't just the magic she was going to have to relearn.  It was the meaning of the magic – how to interpret what it told her, what it meant .  Preferably before she touched, or tasted, or even walked into something she thought might be one thing and which turned out to be something else entirely.

“I can't see anything moving,” she reported softly, “but I've got two magical hotspots.  One through that arch.  The other somewhere near the back …”

Cullie nodded, acknowledging the warning with thanks.   She half raised her hand to gesture, then quirked a wry smile and changed the direction of her directions – not a stay back , but a circle round. Carefully.   Willow had never seen ‘carefully' conveyed in a hand gesture before, but Cullie managed it with remarkable clarity.  She nodded and moved to obey, unable to help her own quick grin at being trusted to take care of herself.  She just hoped she could live up to her angry declarations – because if she got herself into trouble now , she'd never live it down.

And Giles would probably have apoplexy …

The interior of the shop was in much better repair than the previous building they'd taken shelter in.  There were red and gold marble tiles patterning the floor, and an ornate design painted along the top of the interior wall.  Marble counters marched down either side and along the back, broken only where what looked like an interior door led further into the building.  Staggered glass shelves decorated the walls – at least, they looked like glass; they were semi-transparent, and tinted with a swirl of smoke, which might have been deliberate, or just evidence of age.  Most of them were empty, although a few still held clusters of vials and the odd ornate box - and all of them were draped with cobwebs and dust.  Several ornate displays occupied pride of place on the shop floor; a cabinet of some sort, made of wood inlay with gilded knobs and hinges, one door hanging loose, and what looked like a nest of straw spilling out of it; a rusting astrolabe on top of a narrow plinth; a delicate, life sized statue of woman, all black grained marble and bird droppings; and an even more delicate one of a dragon – not life sized, but a miniature creature coiled around a pillar and holding up one taloned foot as if designed to support something.  A light, or a crystal ball perhaps, although neither one was anywhere in sight.  Scattered over and around all of this was a detritus of rubbish that sparkled with the remnants of magic; shreds of cloth, shards of wood, broken glass, crumpled paper – and bones.  Several skulls stared up at her from the floor, perched amidst a tumble of skeletal limbs and a scattering of what appeared to be crushed ribcages. 

Cullie reached out with her sword and poked at one cautiously – then leapt back as something small and furry skittered out of the underlying pile and fled towards the back of the shop.

Willow had reacted with equal alarm; the two of them held a frozen pose for a moment, then relaxed with a matched release of breath and a chagrined smile.  “Rats,” Cullie muttered, rolling her eyes.  “Plain, ordinary rats .   Guess the gobs don't hunt around here much.  Although …” she frowned, taking another half step back to get a better look at the remains the rat had been hiding in.  “they must have done once, because these are –“

Her words broke off with a gasp.  Her retreat had placed her next to the half naked statue – which had promptly reached out and wrapped its arms around her, dragging her backwards in a crushing grip.

“ Cullie ! ”

Willow charged forward, realising – belatedly – that the statue was the source of that other kind of magic.  An object – not just enchanted, but magically animated … and still obeying what was probably a very old and single minded order.  Capture intruders , probably.  A sophisticated kind of seurity guard-come-alarm system entirely suitable for a magic shop – except that, over time, its programming had obviously deteriorated …and it no longer knew how to judge its strength. 

Because Cullie wasn't just fighting to be free.  She was fighting for her life .

Part Twelve

Flux had broken into a run as soon as he'd heard Cullie's whistle; if she had spotted signs of a ghoul colony, she was entirely likely to go charging in without waiting for the backup she'd just signalled to stand by.  And it looked as if she was taking the Firechild in with her, which was either because she knew something he didn't, or else the most tactically foolish thing he'd seen her do in ages.  Willow was too precious to risk in a fight that could be avoided.  The incident with the slug had been bad enough …

The Dragon that had been walking beside him clearly thought so too; Giles muttered something probably not fit for their goddess' ears, and joined the forward charge.  His long legs quickly took him to the front of the race, allowing him to hurdle the obstacles that Flux had to run round, and effortlessly carrying him past Meldew and Ashley as they too hastened forward.  In other circumstances the dwarf might well have halted there and then, caught by the sight of the man in motion, by the sudden swirl of bronzed leather and that fluid, athletic stride – but he had other concerns on his mind, and no time to admire artistry; he put his head down and picked up his pace, determined not to arrive last on the scene.

He wasn't –although not by much; Ashley stepped aside to let him pass, and Meldew stepped back , allowing him to skid to a halt at Giles' side, one hand curled firmly around the haft of his hammer, and the other groping for the bronze and silver amulet that hung around his neck.  Neither, as it turned out, were needed, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Events were in full swing inside the ruined shop: Cullie was struggling in the grip of a guardian statue, and Willow was charging to her rescue.  Flux took half a step to do the same, but was instantly blocked by a gentle, but firm hand. Giles had reached out to bar his way.  “Wait,” he murmured softly, so Flux reluctantly stepped back to do just that, throwing a puzzled glance at the figure beside him.  Cullie might be able to escape the statue's grip of her own accord – especially since she was wearing her strength enhancing belt … but he didn't think anyone had mentioned that to Giles, and surely …

Willow ended her forward charge with an open handed blow; there was sharp crack of sound, and the statue's delicate head sheared away from its equally delicate neck to land with a crunch among the scattered bones.

“ Ohhh ,” Flux breathed, suddenly understanding the reason for his restraint.  The Firechild was slapping at the stone with wild strikes, delivering a decidedly uncoordinated attack.  She was clearly unaware of her own strength – and had he gone charging in, he might well be lying in a crumpled heap back the Dragon's feet, victim of one of those flailing blows.

Cullie had been squirming and kicking, held firm within the statue's grip  She'd had to duck as Willow's hand flew past her, folding herself down in a hurry.  Lifting herself back up gave her the leverage she needed; her boot heels struck splinters from the stone plinth, and her shoulders arched as she pushed out with all her considerable might.  There was another crack, and she was tumbling forward, released to land on her knees, gasping and struggling for breath.  Willow took the opportunity to lace both her hands together and slam them straight through the statue's chest, reducing its top half to little more than dust and dicestones.

The conflict had lasted for mere seconds.  Long enough for Flux's heart to leap into his throat and his eyes to go very, very wide.  When the legends said that the dragonkin were almost as strong as the dragons that birthed or fathered them … they were not exaggerating. 

And the Firechild seemed such a delicate thing …

“Are you all right?” Willow was asking, helping Cullie regain her feet.  Her face was creased with both effort and pain and she was still struggling a little to catch her breath, but she nodded, looking both relieved – and decidedly impressed.

“Fine,” she gasped, which suggested that she wasn't, but there were no obvious signs of serious damage, so Flux refrained from making any comment.  It was possible that a few bruised ribs might teach her a little more restraint.  Although he wasn't exactly counting on it.  “That was …  you were … “

“Butt duly kicked.” Willow's grin was smug.  “Well – torso rather than butt, and not exactly evil, but … that was … That was way cool.”  The grin turned into a wary frown. “Kinda scary, though.  You sure you're okay?”

Cullie nodded a second time, this time a little more assured than the last.  “Just bruised.  And embarrassed.  I take it … that was one of the ‘hotspots' you warned me about?”

“Yeah.”  Willow pointed across the room.  “The other one's over there.  But it's different.  Passive, not active.  I think.”

Cullie glanced at Meldew, who took the hint and went to look, tugging one of his precious pots out of his belt pouches.  Flux had to quirk a grin at the sour expression on his face.  He probably wouldn't use more than a pinch of the powder, but he'd still grumble about it.  It meant neither he nor Ashley would need to waste a spell, but the stuff was time consuming to make and the ingredients were – inevitably - expensive.  With luck though, he'd find something that would more than make up for the cost.

Ashley moved away to poke through the rest of the debris; if the place had remained guarded since its abandonment – as it clearly had been – it was possible that other, non-magical treasures might be lying around to be found.  The dragon statue looked pretty impressive, actually.  Flux found himself wondering if it would fit in the hole …

“So?” Willow was asking, leaving Cullie to regain her breath, her dignity and her sword – in that order – and planting herself in front of the thoughtful figure who'd rushed to her rescue – and then stood back to watch her fight.

“Well,” Giles considered slowly.  “Not … bad.  A few more like that, and … we could try you against some opponents that actually fight back.”

“Not too shabby, then … hey! ”  Willow's hand flicked out – and he intercepted it, before it struck the intended admonitory blow. 

“Willow,” he said softly, pulling her forward so that she had to look up to meet his eyes.  “You have the strength, but – like the magic – you lack the skill.”  His hands moved to rest on her shoulders, and he looked down at her with patient consideration.   “If you'd mistimed one of those blows, you could have cracked Cullie's skull – and you need to … control the punch, or you'll end up hurting yourself.”

Wise words.  Willow clearly thought so too, because she nodded, accepting them as advice rather than criticism.  “Teach me?” she asked, and he frowned.

“On one condition.” 

“Just – one?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning down a little further.  It looked a little intimidating from where Flux was standing, but she didn't back away.  “Stop scaring the bloody life out of me!  That's twice today, already.”

“Oh. Yeah.  Right.  Well – this is a dangerous place …”

“So I've heard.”

“And I'm this … shield thing …”

“Yes, I know.”

“And I'm also a lot stronger and tougher than I look and I just had this argument with Cullie, which was why she was okay with me going in with her and if I hadn't she'd probably be dead by now and … are you laughing at me?”

He glared at her for a moment longer, and then sighed.  “I'm trying … very hard not to.”

“You know all that, and … you were just doing the concerny thing, weren't you.”

“I did warn you that I might.”

“Yeah.  You did.  Well, I can't promise I won't do it again …”

“I know.”

“ … but I guess I can … try not to.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then smiled. “I can live with that.  I think.  Of course I'll teach you.  I'll be far more confident of your safety if I know you can use the gifts you've been given.”

“Yeah,” Willow grinned.  “Me too.” She lifted herself up on tiptoe and pressed an impulsive kiss to his cheek.  “Thanks.  For the concerny stuff, not the teaching, although – that's a thanks too – and don't think this gives you a free ‘Scare Willow half to death by doing something heroically stupid' card, because it doesn't, okay?”

“Okay,” he acknowledged, a little bemusedly.  “Um - who's point was that?”

“One each, I think.” She slipped from under his hands and bounded over to help Ashley and Cullie with their poking and sifting.  Flux - who couldn't help overhearing the conversation, since he'd stayed planted in the archway in order to keep watch on the world outside – wondered whether it would be impolite to laugh.

“Don't,” Giles advised, giving him a sideways look that suggested he knew exactly what he was thinking.  “You can take the woman out of California, but I sincerely doubt anything will ever take California out of her .  Not for a very long time, anyway.”  His attention stayed with Willow for a moment, a half smile twisting his lips as she dipped to scoop something up from the floor, and then he sighed.  “Oddly enough,” he continued, turning to give Flux his full consideration, “I think I'd miss it.”

“Aye.”  Smiling was safe enough – and the one Flux offered held a mix of amusement and sympathy.  “She does have – a way – with words.  I should be adding my thanks to hers.  For keeping me back, as you did.  My hammer would have made short work of the thing, but – getting in the Lady's way?  Likely to make shorter work of me – and I don't have much height to spare.”

“You don't have any height to spare.”  Meldew's voice drifted over from the back of the room.  “Although I'm sure the Lord Watcher would lend you some if he could.  Right now , I would benefit from a little of it myself.  This treasure of ours is somewhat beyond my reach …”

Part Thirteen

It was on the top shelf.  Of course it was.   Probably shut up in something that was too big for a bird to push away when it perched, too high for the rats to reach – and too far back for the casual eye to notice, even if a casual eye could have made it that far into the building without attracting the statue's attention.   The shop's ancient guardian was no longer a threat – thanks to Willow, who had more than demonstrated her ability to defend herself – but either the shop keeper had been a giant, or they had used a ladder to hide away their treasures, safe from greedy eyes and unlawful hands.

“Typical,” Cullie sighed – then winced; her bruised ribs demanded slow and careful breaths, not thoughtless exhalations.  “I don't suppose you've got a ladder stowed in one of your pockets?” 

Ashley shook her head.  “I have rope.  Nets … and torches.  But no ladders.  Oh – I may have an extendable pole …”

“If I thought we could knock it down,” Meldew said testily, “I'd have already done so.  I can just about reach it with my staff.  But there might be potions – or crystal balls, or … even spell books, ready to crumble to dust after all these years.  There's some powerful magic up there, and we can't risk losing it because it's fragile and we're clumsy.”

He was right.  And even if his fears of fragility were unfounded, it was always prudent to treat unknown artefacts with care and respect – just in case they turned out to be something other than they seemed.  Cullie managed to resist the temptation to sigh again, and looked around her company instead.  Meldew was frowning up at the shelf, Ashley was frowning down at the meagre hoard of coins and gems they'd found scattered across the floor, and Willow was just frowning.  At Giles by the look of it.  His upward gaze mirrored Meldew's – although his expression held less of a frown and much more pensive consideration.

“Don't look at me,” Flux called from his post by the archway.  “I don't think I could reach the bottom shelf, let alone the top one.”

“Glass shelves, not safe to climb …” Meldew was assessing options – although there didn't seem to be that many of them.  “Counter top rotting – and probably too far away …  I suppose I could summon an unseen servant to fetch it down, but that would waste a spell.”

“Not a waste if it's the only way,” Ashley pointed out.  “I have a portage disk memorised.  Someone could stand on that ...”

“Oh – good lord,” Giles interrupted, glancing down at her in some surprise.  “No need for that .  If it's – um - simply a matter of something to stand on, I have a perfectly good pair of shoulders right here.  And, yes, Willow, I am well aware that I could reach it without assistance were I to change – but I'd prefer not to have to do so in such a small space without some chance of practicing the process first.”

Small space?   Cullie wondered, glancing up at the high shelf and then round, at the width of the shop front and the depth of the room behind it.  It was at least the size of the Guild meeting hall back in Farferry, although the ceiling might be a little lower – maybe fifteen feet away, rather than twenty …

Oh.

A long morning's walk had managed to distance her from memory … and his disguise was so accomplished that, for a moment, she had forgotten - not the truth of the Dragon within the man  - but the reality of it.  At six foot and a breath above it, Giles actually stood taller than most - although he managed to downplay his height with an easy, self effacing grace that drew little attention to it.  He didn't need to.  His true form was a good thirty feet long from nose to tail – and his wingspan was at least that, and more.  Cullie blinked, and reassessed the room from his point of view.  To him this was a small space – not so small as to be impossibly confining, but certainly one in which he'd be slightly … constricted.

And since he – like Willow – had yet to discover all the implications of being what the gods had made him, his reluctance to resume his true shape in such potentially limiting circumstances was perfectly understandable. 

“I wasn't saying anything,” Willow protested innocently.  She leaned in a little closer to Cullie and added, in a half whisper: “Just wondering how many of us he'd squish if he tried it …”

The image that thought conjured up was more alarming than amusing – but she laughed all the same.  Partly because of the way Willow said it … and partly for the look that settled on Giles' face; she knew very few people able to express that particular combination of indignation, exasperation, and affection with such eloquent mastery.

Other than Meldew, of course …

“For that ,” Giles said testily, “you can volunteer.  Save Ashley the strain on her knee, and Meldew the indignity.”

And me from having to mention my aching ribs , Cullie noted gratefully, catching the glance he threw her. She nodded, relieved that he'd noticed, not just her discomfort, but the way she was trying to downplay it.  She really didn't want to make a fuss over a few bruises – but she might have had to, if she'd been asked to make the climb. 

She stepped back instead, giving Willow the space to step into Meldew's cupped hands, and from there onto broad shoulders as easily as if stepping up onto a wall.  Giles didn't even sway under her weight - and within moments she was staring at the contents of the top shelf, her face creasing with disgust. “Oh, yuck.  It's all webs and dead bugs and things … There are two boxes up here – do we want them both?”

“Which one is glittering?”  Meldew's detection powder was attracted to magic the way iron was drawn to a magnet; hopefully he'd tossed most of it in the right direction – or they'd all be brushing the residue off bits of themselves for days.

“They both are.  That's your powder stuff, yeah?   That's cool.  Not as glowy as the mojo spell, but still pretty good … ”  She tugged one box half off the shelf, generating a small avalanche of dust and detritus – most of which fell into Giles's upturned face.  “Oops.  Sorry.”

“Bloody hell ,” he swore, glancing down so he could scrub the worst of the debris from his face.  By then the second half of the box had came free – along with the rest of the encrusted material and several small spiders … all of which scattered across his hair and down the back of his now bent neck.  Cullie had to give him credit; despite the sudden skitter of wildlife in his hair and across his skin, he stayed as steady as a rock.  Far from making an instinctive and completely understandable leap to escape – which would have spilled Willow and her precious burden onto the floor – he merely froze in place, only the barest of shudders betraying his reaction to the assault.  “I suppose,” he croaked from beneath the palm of his hand, “that the words Willow , do be careful are a tad redundant at this point?”

“Said I was sorry.”  She looked it too; her expression was frozen into a wince of contrition.  “You – okay?”

“Just – get on with it, will you?  Pass the bloody box to Ashley and I'll brace myself for a second shower.”  He was speaking through clenched teeth, and Cullie didn't blame him.  Ashley was trying very hard not to laugh – and Meldew had a twist to his lips that could well be mistaken for a smile. 

“Yeah.  Right.  Okay.”  Willow hastened to do as she was told, biting her lip and wincing as her effort to dislodge the second box created an even larger avalanche.  By now even Cullie was smirking – because it wasn't funny, it wasn't – but the inevitability of the dirt's descent, and the need for his stoic restraint as long legged spiders raced over him in alarm, was one of those moments that had to be seen to be believed…

“Are we done?” Giles asked, as Willow handed off the second box to Meldew – who took it to the counter, and carefully laid it down next to the first one.

“We're done.”  She glanced round to work out her best way down.  “Umm …”

“Oh – for heaven's sake. ”  He put up his hand to steady her and dropped - first to one knee and then down again, so that she could step off safely.  Cullie offered a hand to help her and she took it gratefully.  Her expression was painfully forlorn. 

“Balance,” Giles was muttering as he regained his feet, furiously scrubbing dust from his hair.  “And control.  And a little forethought! ”

Not a tall man?  Cullie had to fight the instinct to step back as he turned and loomed over the two of them, his expression thunderous.  She'd faced ogres and bugbears and even giants in her time – and none of them had been as intimidating as he was, right at that moment.  The Dragon was dancing in his eyes; his presence suddenly seemed to fill the entire room - and a shiver of fear ran down her spine. 

“Eep,” Willow said in a very small voice.  She sounded almost as scared as Cullie felt.

Giles froze, his eyes going wide and the fury draining from his face; it was replaced by a look of shock and disconcerted horror.  “Oh, my,” he gulped, closing his eyes for a moment and almost visibly shrinking into himself.  Cullie let out a long slow breath as the impact of the dragonfear swirled away, leaving her trembling.  “I do apologise,” he offered in a pained voice.  “Have to …um … watch that, I think.”

“You think? ” Willow squeaked.  “Giles – I know you have reason to be mad at me, but …  whoa .  What did I do to get the full Ripper treatment all of a sudden?”

“You didn't.”    He sounded as shaken as she was.  “And – you didn't.  Not … fully, anyway.”  He took a deep breath to settle himself, and Cullie frowned, suddenly beginning to understand what she'd just witnessed.  “I think – I suspect … the full version comes complete with teeth and talons …”

Flux would have a saying for it somewhere.  An obscure quote dredged up from some equally obscure pre-Fall scholar.  Some text on the wisdom – or lack of it – in angering a Dragon.  It would mention dire consequences, perhaps, or some depth of experience best avoided by those who knew.

Cullie knew.  Knew that no quote could encompass the moment she had just lived through – and that had just been the edge of it, a moment of foolish ire quickly recognised and just as quickly restrained.  Giles was a very young Dragon, and he was the first to admit that there was much about being one that he still had to learn – but that had been a hard lesson, for all three of them.  Because Willow clearly didn't know, and Giles was only beginning to understand, and Cullie had forgotten, if only for a moment, that Dragons were the true children of the gods. 

Heirs to the elemental forces that shaped the world.

Sulis ruled the waves and the waters.  She blessed the world with summer rain and the gentle touch of healing springs.  She lived in the laughter of the brook and the murmur of waves on the shore – and she dwelt in the depth of the sea, in the roar of the flood and the hammer of the storm.  Her waves could bring a desperate sailor safe to shore, or shatter the haven of his ship into nothing but splintered flotsam,  Her rivers could flow as gently as a lullaby, or swell with rain and swirl with dangerous currents.  She was the bubbling spring and the thundering waterfall – and in her child, her chosen, her power would run deep …

“Okay,” Willow was saying slowly.  “Note to self: don't piss off the dragon.  He's scary.  Way scary.”

“Aye.”  Flux was standing watching them, his hammer resting lightly in his hands and his eyes shadowed beneath his helmet.  His soft growl held a note of disappointment, and his words were tight.  “When he has reason to be …” 

Behind him, Ashley had drawn her wand, and Meldew was busy fingering a long necked flask.  Cullie didn't know whether she should laugh or cry.

They would have defended me.

From the Sword of Sulis?  Against the fury of the Dragon? It would have been like trying to hold back a tidal wave …

Part Fourteen

Willow was shaken , but she knew – from the look on his face, from the way he'd reacted – that Giles was even more distraught than she was.  He'd not been trying to scare them; he just hadn't known what he was doing, letting his irritation manifest like that.  And he'd had every reason to be annoyed – although if that was how a Dragon expressed his pissyness, she really, really didn't want to be around when he got seriously mad.  Neither, it seemed, did Giles.  Flux's words – and the hint of admonition they contained – hit him hard.  His anxious expression deepened into discomfort; he half opened his mouth as if to say something – and then turned and stalked out of the shop without a word, his shoulders tense and his hands angrily dragging through his hair to work out the worst of the cobwebs.

“Oh, great ,” Willow growled, recognising that sudden need to flee, to escape accusing eyes in the midst of overwhelming guilt.  “He scared himself more than he did us, you doofus!”  She threw an angry glare at Flux, who took a startled step backwards.  Maybe she had a touch of this Dragon thing too – or else he knew righteous fury when he saw it.  “He's still getting the hang of all this.  We both are.  You're supposed to be helping .  Not getting all … all prissy and disappointed when we don't live up to your expectations!  I'm sure we can be all those things that your legends say we can.  But right now?  Right now , you've got a guy who wasn't a Dragon two days ago trying to figure out how to be one.  And he doesn't have a handbook, and you're the nearest thing he's got to a guide, and … you - you gotta warn him about this stuff.  He didn't know that would happen.  And he didn't like it when it did.  He just looked into his own personal abyss, and something tells me it's a hell of a lot deeper than the one he had back home.  And that was deep enough.  Power is scary stuff when you're not sure you can handle it.  When you think it might use you to hurt the people you care about.  Believe me, I know.  I've been there.  So just … back off.  Okay?”

She turned before he could speak – before any of them could speak – and ran into the street, looking this way and that in the hopes she could catch up with Giles before he went and did something stupid.  Like get lost.  Run into a hob hunting party.

Or fall over some of those ghouls they were all talking about earlier …

Fortunately, he hadn't gone that far.  Just a little way further up the hill and onto the base of the building that had once stood on top of it.  Just the base.  There was no building left at all; not even a hint of walls.  Just a scattering of rubble and an intricate mosaic floor, left exposed for the world to see. The bit of the world that had wings, that is.  The hill appeared to be one of the highest points this side of the city, and not even the remnants of the buildings lower down overlooked it.  In fact – when she got there and looked back – it was as if someone, or something, had taken a scythe and cut across the whole area, levelling it off, so that anyone standing on the hill could look out and down, in every direction.

Giles was looking down – but at the mosaic, rather than the view.  His shoulders were hunched and he'd pushed back his coat and thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  He looked as if he had the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.  Broad strong shoulders they might be – but he wasn't Atlas, and someone needed to remind him that he didn't need to carry that weight alone.

Oh yeah .

That would be me …

“Hey,” Willow offered, stepping up beside him and looking down to see what he was staring at.  It was an ornate mosaic, damaged in places, but still clear and bright enough to see.  Four dragons paraded around what looked like a huge circular map, each of them occupying a compass point, and holding what were probably elemental symbols.  Gold, silver, copper and bronze; the envoys of the gods on proud display.  In the centre were the images of two more, coiled together like ying and yang; white and red, life and death …

“I don't suppose it looks anything like this now,” Giles said after a long moment, his voice distant and desperate trying to be scholarly.  “The map of the world, I mean.  I imagine I might look – something like the dragon in the corner …”

Willow tilted her head and thoughtfully studied the dragon in question.  The images in the mosaic were highly stylised; their wings were too small and their necks too long to be a true depiction of the creatures they were meant to represent.  Either that, or the gods had upgraded their design when they'd given Giles his makeover.  “Nah,” she decided.  “Well – something like, I suppose, but … not a patch on the real thing.”

He sighed.  A soft, deep sigh that came straight from the heart.  “Makes two of us.”

Willow frowned at him. 

“Don't be like that,” she said.  “You are the real thing.  You just need a bit more practice, that's all.  You've had – what?  Fifty years to learn to be a man?  And almost forty of those practising to be a Watcher, so … you're expecting to master the Dragon thing in half a day?  Reality check, here, Giles.  How long did it take Buffy to get her head round all the Slayer stuff?”

A brief quirk tugged at his lips and he threw her a reluctant sideways glance before raising his eyes to the horizon.  “She never did.  Not entirely.  There's always something else to learn.  Despite what she told me …”

“There ya go!  Takes a lifetime to master what you truly are – and I wish I'd figured that out, before I started going all black eyed and veiny and stuff.”  She gave him an encouraging look, a half smile teasing round her lips.  “Small steps, remember?”

“Yes, thank you.  Throw my words back at me, why don't you?”  The snap in his voice widened her smile.  That was more like it. 

“Because they're wise words.  And because this wise man, this - Dragon – I know, said them.  He said them when he was still a man – and there was this … arrogant little witch who didn't listen to him.  Nearly destroyed the world.  Through grief, but – it was still a stupid thing to do.”

He sighed a second time, this one a little more weary than the first.  “I seem to remember that … arrogant little witch … managing to save the world once or twice since then.  One of them being … only the day before yesterday.”

“Yeah.”  She grinned.  “Your point being?”

“Oh, good lord,” he breathed, all his inner turmoil tumbling out in three little words.  He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened then again, staring out across the ruined city and the world that lay beyond.  In the far, far distance, shining with a hint of the afternoon sun, Willow thought she could see the sea.  “I'm … sorry I frightened you,” he said softly.  “I was angry, but I didn't mean …”

“Giles,” she huffed, “I dropped big fat spiders down your neck.  Twice!  I deserved at least a furious glare.  Maybe two.  It's just that – your glares have kinda got – megawatted.  And if you can figure out how to do that when you mean too, rather than when you … really don't … then that's going to be pretty awesome stuff to point at the bad guys.  I figured out how not to go all black and veiny, you know.  Even though I was – scared I was going to.  Every time – for a long time.  It wasn't about the power I had in me – just how I called it out.  Why I called it out.  I think … I think the magic here … well, I think I've got a little more control of it this time.  And I know you have the wisdom and the strength of will to focus the Ripper stuff – to use your anger, rather than let it use you.  You've been doing it for years.”

“I suppose I have.  Although, sometimes …”

“ Sometimes , it's justified.  Like telling a rank, arrogant amateur not to be proud of bringing her best friend back from the dead.  Or kicking … chaos mages into next week when you have too.  But you can control it.  If you couldn't, Spike would have been dust years ago.  And we wouldn't have found enough of Andrew to make it worth burying him.”

He turned slowly, tearing his attention away from the distant horizon to focus on her face smiling up at him.  His eyes were haunted – but the guilt in them had faded into wry chagrin, and there was a hint of embarrassment lurking behind all the potential angst.  “I'm not sure I deserve you, you know.”

She went back to frowning at him, good naturedly.  “Oh, you so totally do,” she said.  “And I should probably do the whole ‘denying I deserve you ' stuff, and we'd argue round in circles for ages, but – you know what?  We deserve each other.  You and I.  We have more in common than … either of us might like to admit.”

“Mutual friends?”

“A few of those.”

“Love of learning?”

“Mmhuh.”

“Wanting to be the best at whatever we do?”

“Got a tick in that box.”

“Mistakes in our past?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Knowing we can learn from them?”

“Every time.”

“Falling into a new world and … becoming entrusted with its protection?”

She paused at that one, catching his eye and sharing a moment of mutual understanding that would be hard to express in words.

“You Dragon – me dragonkin.  We're family.  Never forget that. Never .  And if I ever do?  You have my full permission to slap me upside my head and give me a full megawatted glare from the big old hairy eyeball.”

“Oh, good lord, ” he said, rolling his eyes and reaching out to snag her into a generous hug.  One she returned with gusto – although it was a good job they had both had the makeover, because even a Slayer would have struggled to breathe in the middle of all that affectionate enthusiasm.

“Do you know you still have spiders in your hair?” Willow asked, after a long moment of just standing there, feeling safe inside the warm curve of his arm.  He'd gone back to watching the horizon and the way that darkness had started to gather on it; the sun was sinking into afternoon somnolence behind them and the shadows were growing long.

“Probably.”

She smiled.  “ Ablu ” she whispered, reaching up to brush away the dirt and the debris with a murmur of magic.  Some of these fingerclick cantrips were turning out to be really useful spells …

Part Fifteen

Flux had to plant himself very firmly in front of Cullie to stop her charging after Willow.  He understood her concerns – Sharshall was not a safe place for anyone to wander about it, no matter who they were – but he had the feeling that chasing after a shaken Dragon and an angry dragonkin was not a very sensible thing to do.  They'd both come back once they'd calmed down – and if they didn't, well … then they'd go out and look for them. 

All together.  Not racing off one at a time, exposing themselves to danger and leaving the rest vulnerable.  “Safety in numbers,” he reminded her with a growl.  A chagrined, annoyed at himself, growl, since Willow's tirade had forced him to stop and think about his behaviour.  Truth was, the Bronze's moment of manifest anger had scared him almost as witless as it had Cullie … and his sense of disappointment – that his hero, the Dragon , was just as capable of thoughtlessness as any of them might be – had been as much about self justification as it had been disillusionment.  Because while many a brave fool might contemplate charging in to intervene between a Dragon and the source of his ire, only a trollish idiot would then compound that foolishness with words intended to attack and shame.  Giles had made an unthinking mistake – realised it, corrected it, and then regretted it – and all he'd managed to do was throw acid into the wound.  

Some friend he was.  It was true that he'd been reacting to the threat against Cullie – and that was a mix of foolish bravery and blind terror – but his heart knew that he should have trusted the Dragon to stop in time, should have spoken, should have questioned , rather than assumed the worst.

Dragonfear unnerved the soul.  He suspected that all of them – the Bronze included – would be shaken by it for days.

In the meantime, they had treasure to investigate.  Not a lot else to do, waiting on the return of their new friends – and goddess , he hoped they still were their friends, after all that …

“Cheer up, Flux,” Meldew scolded warmly, his frown belied by the twinkle in his eye.  “It's not the world coming to an end.  Again.”  Flux growled at him, although his heart wasn't in the mood for their usual banter.  Meldew got the hint and let the moment slide.  “They'll be back . You'll see.”

“Of course they'll be back.”  Ashley had been gently cleaning the dust and dirt off  the two carved boxes; she shook out the soft brush she'd been using and carefully put it back into one of her cavernous pockets.  “Willow has spells she wants to learn,  And the Lord Watcher …”  She paused to smile knowingly, glancing over at Cullie, who had taken up the watch at the door.  “Will be wherever Willow needs to be.  At least until – “

“He knows she'll be safe.  Aye,” Flux nodded, recognising the wisdom in her words. 

“And even then, he won't be far away.”  She ran a wary finger along the join between box lid and box, checking for signs of hidden triggers, or concealed springs.

“Far?”  Flux snorted at the thought.  “Fire and metal, Ashley, he's a Dragon.   Once he fits himself into his wings, nowhere in Summerset will be far.   Not for him.”

She glanced up to offer him a knowing smile.  “Then why are you fretting when he's probably less than a bow shot away?”

It was a good question, and it took him by surprise.  He stared at her for a long moment, earning himself a shrewd look from Meldew, and widening the smile Ashley wore.  “Oh – for water's sake ,” he grumped, realising he was being teased again.  “I don't fret about Dragons.  I do fret about friends.  Who happen to … be Dragons.  Especially the ones that are still learning what that means.  And don't look at me like that, you two. Or you,” he added, raising his voice to include Cullie in the conversation.  “You know perfectly well why the Oracle sent us to meet them.  We have an affinity of soul, the four of us, and they are kindred spirits to our combined heart, so … “

“So they will make us, or they will break us, but whatever comes, we are a part of their destiny and they are a part of ours.”  Ashley opened the box with a flourish.  A shimmer of black fabric – it looked as if it might be a thick, heavy silk – lay inside.  “I've no problem with that.  They are lost souls in need of shelter – but in time, they will shelter us … and gladly, I think.  Besides, I'd much rather be a Dragon's friend than his enemy.  Or his lunch.”

“As would I.”  Meldew pulled the now open box towards him, leaving Ashley to check the second with the same care as she had the first.  He poked warily at the fabric and looked thoughtful when it didn't immediately disintegrate.  “That's … interesting …”

“Packing?  Padding?  Or a magical cloth?”

“Better still.”  Long fingers, blotched and stained by endless experimentation, reached to pluck the folded cloth from the box and shake it out, like a piece of laundry.  Dark silk – it was a very, very deep red, not black – unfurled into a square at least a yard across.  It settled on the dusty counter top as light as feather down, and looking just as delicate.  “It's a hole .  And not one of those common merchant storage holes that we've got.  This is top of the range.  Light and flimsy enough to be carried in a small pocket.”

“A hole?”  Ashley glanced up from her careful examination of the second box.  “You sure?”

“Of course I am.”  Meldew gave her a withering look.  “I've read about these.  They're the ultimate expression of the art.  Anyone can see …”

“Anyone can read ,” Flux snorted with amusement, spotting what must have caught Meldew's eye.  The small line of runes stitched into the silk in one corner was probably the maker's mark – but at the end of it was the unmistakable double-twist and twist back symbol that indicated space-inside .  Their own hole carried the sign, as did almost all the others that he'd seen.

“Ah.  Yes, well …umm …”  Meldew frowned at him.  “That's a confirmation, of course …”

“Of course.”   Ashley grinned and returned her attention to the second box. 

Flux carefully reached out and fingered the soft red cloth.  “Know how to open it?”

“Not yet …”  The alchemist picked up the now empty box and began to examine it carefully, feeling for internal carvings, or hidden compartments.  Flux – somewhat more cautiously – reached for the lid so he could do the same.  Holes – like many a pre-Fall artefact – tended to have complex command words, triggers designed so that they could not be uttered without specific intent.  But that also tended to mean that their users would make a note of them somewhere – since it took a highly accomplished mage, or possibly a Dragon – to remember them.  And if they didn't make a note, then it was probably because the command was one of the more commonly used ones.  Their own hole was opened with the same word and gesture that opened almost every other hole kept as a legacy of the Crossing …

There were no notes, no concealed instructions carved into the box – and nothing scribed anywhere on the wood.  Meldew tried the obvious one first, declaiming it with confidence as he pinched a corner of the cloth in the required way.  Silk rumpled under his fingers, but nothing else happened.  The hole in Flux's pocket trembled a little, but he paid it no attention.  It wasn't possible to open one without unfolding it first –which was either a welcome safety feature, or a sharding nuisance, depending on what was in it, and how much of a hurry they needed it in.  Two more of the common terms tumbled from the alchemist's lips – with no effect – and then a fourth, this one more obscure.

“Old Summers isn't going to do it,” Flux decided, taking a closer look at the maker's mark.  “These are elf runes – and this is probably blood spider silk.”

“Definitely top of the range,” Meldew sighed.  “This might take a while.”

Ashley, who, by now had opened the second box to reveal what looked like a small, leather bound book, rolled her eyes, reached over, and pinched the corner of the cloth closest too her.  Soft, musical syllables fell from her lips – the sort of word only an elf, or their kin, could comfortably pronounce – and the silk rippled, shimmered, and finally opened into a deep, square hole with a silk edged rim. 

“The full Elven name of Bayberrentree – who was, as you know, a legendary opener of doors.”  Ashley wasn't the sort of person capable of a smirk – but the smile that followed her success was probably the closest she ever came to wearing one.  “The owner of the shop was probably a Berrenite.”  She picked up the book that had been hidden in the second box and waved it in evidence.  “This is the first volume of the Journey Chronicles.  And the second,” she added, in some surprise.  Removing the book had revealed another volume lying under it – which hinted at some powerful magic, since the box wasn't actually deep enough to hold even the first.

“The unabridged edition?”  Meldew asked with a hint of awe in his voice.  “With all the rituals and wreakings?”

“I'm not sure …” Ashely lifted out the second book, then looked up to meet her mentor's eyes, sharing a moment of excited joy.  “Yes!  There's a third volume.  It must be a full set.  These are worth a fortune …”

“They are priceless ,” Meldew corrected firmly, reaching to take the first volume from her hands so he could caress the leather spine with reverence.  “The complete Journey.  There are scholars I know who would kill for these.  Most of the Berrenite works that survive are the popular summaries – the teaching tales and the journey chronology … but the complete work includes the meditations and the mysteries … a year or two studying these, and … priceless.  Just priceless. ”

Flux harrumphed softly, amused by his friend's enthusiasm.  The books were precious, and if half of the legends about the Berrenites – the human dedicates of the ancient Elven Journey cult – were true, then studying their teachings would gift a mage with greater focus and enhance their mastery and power.  But for all that, they were just books … and the other treasures they'd found here held much more immediate attractions.  The hole, to start with – a valuable and useful addition to their collection – and then the boxes stacked within it, bound in dark red leather and closed with delicate, golden clasps.  Small boxes, large boxes, and a slew of ones in-between.  At least twenty of the things that he could count, just looking into the hole … and no real way of knowing how deep it was.

Unless they stopped to empty it.

This wasn't the safest of places to linger in, so a full examination would probably have to wait – but since there was no immediate sign of their companions returning, it probably wouldn't hurt to check a box.  Or two. 

Meldew and Ashley were still drooling over their discovery, and Cullie was busy watching the street, so he harrumphed a second time – mostly to himself – and carefully reached into the hole to lift out the topmost box.  The air around it was cold; as sharp as a midwinter's day.  A rime of frost collected on his gloves, and he could feel the chill all the way through their leather.  A good sign.  The magic of the hole had clearly sealed the contents away from the passage of time, keeping them as fresh and new as the day they'd been placed within it.  Top of the line indeed ; their current hole generally held off the hand of Decay, but his brother Stagnation could, and sometimes did, creep in from time to time.  Especially if it lay unopened for a while.  Bread went stale after weeks, not days, but if did grow stale.  And wine laid down a year or two back would still slowly mature within it – as did cheese, and pickles and Mistress Ardeney's chutneys …

But not this hole.  Even after five hundred years, the air that wafted up with the box carried the scent of sweet incense and fresh spices.  There was a hint of fresh flowers and the barest whisper of summer rain.  Fall had come at the Summer solstice; had the owner of the shop carefully put away his day's takings and his most valuable stock for the night … and left them there, never to return?  Had fire and ruin and riot swept by, while these treasures lay undisturbed, out of sight and out of reach, guarded by the faithful statue that never tired, never complained, never questioned ? 

So much time had passed since the contents of the box in his hands had last seen the light of day.  Flux found himself wondering if whatever lay within would simply crumble to dust the moment he lifted the lid.

Not that there would be room for much, inside this particular container: while it was a good two hand-spans square in width, it was less than a thumb's length deep.  Barely enough to warrant hollowing out and splitting in two.  He knew it wouldn't hold the kind of hidden depth that Ashely's find had revealed, as that kind of magic never mixed well with the inner dimensions of a hole; placing one within the other would have risked destroying the contents of both - and the care with which these treasures had been packed away suggested that their previous owner knew better than to make that kind of fundamental mistake.  But there was no indication as to what might lie within it.  He didn't have Ashley's eye for hidden mechanisms, or magically-scribed triggers, but the leather appeared smooth and unmarked, and the clasp, while intricate, didn't seem to conceal any runes, or symbols. Flux laid the box down on the counter top, his gloved fingers reverently caressing the soft leather before they slid down to flip open the delicate clasp – and carefully lift the lid.

The son of Smelter Wireform had been marked for holy service almost since the day of his birth.  He'd worked in the grain fields and the hop rows as a child, labouring by day and reading the holy texts at night.  He'd fretted through his year's prentice at the forges, along with the one in the mines, and the one in the quarries that tradition demanded –  and while he'd served his time in the Phalanxes as a teen and a tween, hunting the edges of Sharshall and learning the skills of combat and war alongside the more esoteric arts of the healer and the storyteller - he'd taken up his calling at the moment of his maturity, swearing the Keeper's oath almost as soon as he was old enough to make his marriage vows. 

He'd kept both faithfully ever since.  His soul was immersed in the endless depths, and his faith was nurtured by rain and storm and sweet spring waters … yet for all that, at his heart, he was still a dwarf.  And a dwarf's heart is rooted in the glories of the earth, in the beauty of its hidden treasures, the glimmer of metal ores and the shine of gemstones, bubbled like frozen droplets of blood deep in the world's veins.

Which is why, when the box opened, and the pale light of the afternoon sun fell on what it had been concealing for over five hundred years, that heart skipped a beat.  Flux's breath caught.  His eyes went very wide – and he slammed the lid shut again, glancing round with guilty furtiveness.  Cullie was still watching the street  - glancing in one direction in case of trouble, and in the other for signs of their new friends.  Meldew was reverently flicking through pages of the Journey , and Ashley was busy counting the coins they'd found.  No-one was paying any attention to him whatsoever.  

He took a deep breath and opened the box again. 

Gemstones shimmered as they were once again exposed to the sun.  They were inset into an intricate twisting of wire; a delicate necklace supporting an equally delicate pendant decorated with the twin curves of life and death.  A diamond the size of his thumb sat on one side, and a matching ruby on the other.  Both of the large gems were – at first glance – high quality and utterly flawless.  The smaller ones – peeking from the necklace's garland of golden leaves and silver stems – seemed just as fine, the artistry of their placement enhancing their beauty rather than making a bold proclamation of their rarity, as so many jewellers try to do.

There was a matching ring, and two pairs of earrings also nestling in the velvet lining of the box – one with ruby teardrops and the other with diamonds … although given the pendant's design, it was possible that the owner would be expected to wear a ruby on one ear, and a diamond on the other. 

It was … beautiful . 

Not just from the perspective of material worth – which was considerable, and Flux would not deny it – but because of the artistry, and the quality of the materials, and the work and the heart and the soul which had been put into its creation.  It was a piece to treasure, not as treasure, even though it was, but as art, pure and simple.  As priceless as Meldew's books, and just as rare a find.

Although not so rare if the other boxes held more of the artist's work – or other pieces, just as fine ...

Flux closed the first box and half reached for a second; there were at least three more of the shallow jewellery boxes at the top of the stack, alongside what appeared to be a much taller and narrower container.  His fingers twitched in anticipation of what he might discover – and then froze, hovering over the red leather as his thoughts caught up with his awe and admiration.

It was possible that some – or maybe even most – of the jewellery he was looking had magical properties.  There might be rings of power, cloaks made of gossamer, jars of spice that never emptied, pictures that moved, or even poetry that spoke itself out loud, hidden in some of these mysterious boxes.  The necklace might be enchanted to ensure its wearer looked as beautiful as their jewellery – or to make them invulnerable to an assassins attack, the desperate knife in the dark.  And that long narrow box might hold a wand – or even a mage's staff.  The hole certainly looked deep enough for it …

When you hunted in Sharshall - even at the edges of it – you always expected to find a trinket or two.  You'd chase a gargoyle to its nest and pick up the shiny things it would have accumulated; you'd rummage through a dead gob's pockets to acquire the things it might have acquired, poking and prying in the ruins; you'd fight the restless dead and claim their grave goods as your just reward.  If you were lucky, you'd find a lump of moonsilver, or starsteel, scattered after the impact of a shard; and if you were really lucky, you might stumble over a hidden cache of coins, or locate the true treasures of the place, written in magic, on scrolls, in books, or forged into armour and weapons and other wondrous artefacts.

One piece alone would be a find.

Two or three could – would – make an adventurer their fortune.  Enough to sell up and settle down, with land and holdings to their name.  But this – this – this was the sort of hoard that Sharshall guarded with jealousy and determination.  A royal treasure, worthy of a noble lord, a prince, a king … or perhaps … a Dragon.

Flux's fingers clenched at empty air over the second box, and he laughed, a soft, rumbling laugh that shook his entire frame.  The treasures of Sharshall are free to those who find them – and if anyone had a right to this discovery, it was the Lady Willow, watching magic dance among the dust, and shattering the statue who had guarded it with mindless loyalty for five hundred years.  That delicate necklace would grace the Firechild's neck and she'd outshine the work a thousand fold - but she, at least, would be worthy of its beauty, and that for beauty's sake, rather than the cold worth of its gold.

He dropped the first box back into the hole and closed it down with a determined pinch.  They would sort this treasure in a safe place – assess its power before its value, and share its value on the worthiness of its purpose rather than the lure of its wealth.  There would be gems and other items that Meldew and Ashley might need for their magic; scrolls to add to their knowledge and which could be shared with Dragon and dragonkin alike.  If that was a staff, then Willow would have need of it  - and if it were a sword, then he would be the first to present its hilt to the Lord Watcher, still smiling at his moment of dwarven idiocy, caught up in the glimmer of gems and entranced by some ancient artist's work.

It would be nice if there were some ring, or other trinket he could send to his wife, though.  A small tithe to offer his Keeperage, which supported the sick and the old among the clan.  And perhaps a few coins worth to spend on his own shrine in Farferry, for medicines and small mercies for the Tower's unfortunate.  Cullie could commission those repairs to the outer walls – and buy Mistress Ardeny some new cooking pots.  Copper ones, for making jam.

It would save her from stealing Meldew's retorts for a start …

“We should go,” he said, carefully tucking the red silk back into its box before sliding that into an empty pouch on his belt.  Meldew sighed, but nodded, doing much the same with his precious books and their box; Ashley swept all the coin and other treasures safely into one of her pockets and the three of them moved across to join Cullie under the outer arch.  She was staring up the hill; Flux followed the line of her gaze and smiled, seeing the pair of figures standing together on the peak, their silhouettes outlined against the sky.

“Gargoyles or griffins could snatch them away in a moment,” Cullie muttered darkly.  “Standing out in the open like that.  How many times do we have to tell them this place is dangerous? ”

“Once more, and then warn the gargoyles,” Flux chuckled, amused by her concerns and knowing exactly why she felt the need for them.  They'd known the Dragon and his kin less than a day – and yet they were fast friends and fast becoming family in a way it would be hard to explain.  “You really think he'd have a problem with an attack from the air?”

She threw him a look – and then smiled and shook her head, as if realising how foolish she was being.  “No,” she said.  “But that doesn't stop me worrying about them.”

“Me neither,” he admitted with a grin.  “Come on – we might get to see the eastern throughway from up there.  The sooner we're out of this place, the better.”

Part Sixteen

‘Throughways' Willow learned, were a set of long, wide roads that snaked through the ruined city much like freeways did in LA; arteries that had once served to support the city's commerce and had probably provided escape routes for its long vanished population.  They were unmistakable once you knew what to look for – the stretches which had survived the earthquakes and the bombardment were as broad as a six-lane highway, delineated by sharply defined edges on either side and marked by a raised central divider that was almost wide enough to count as a road itself.  The nearest one was easy to spot from their vantage point up on the hill, although, while it curved in from the west, it quickly turned south again, where it was swallowed up by a section of the city that had become overgrown by a dense forest.  The angles of ruined buildings shimmered among the crowded tree trunks, their roofs brushed by the thick upper canopy, which was occasionally pierced by a jutting, derelict tower.  The eastern side of the forest thinned out into a jumble of scrub covered mounds that surrounded another impact crater – and on the other side of that was another throughway, this one looking as if it was heading in the right direction.

Willow watched with fascination as Meldew checked their current location by matching the spin of what looked like an ornate compass against the angle of the shadows and the height of the afternoon sun.  Cullie and he then argued directions for a moment or two, with Flux tutting impatiently at the words they were volleying back and forth over his head.  Eventually they all agreed that they should probably avoid entering the forest if they could, and that by heading south and east they could skirt the crater – which looked deep enough to conceal a crack – and pick up the eastern throughway on the other side. 

That was going to take them most of the rest of the afternoon, apparently.  Longer if they ran into anything – hobs, gobs, ghouls, gargoyles, ghasts – Willow made a mental note to remember to ask what they were, later – slugs, slimes, dire wolves, and something called shambling mounds were all mentioned at some point or other.  Flux tutted all the more, and at some point actually coughed Dragon into his hand, earning himself a frown from Meldew, a pained look from Cullie, a hastily smothered snort from Ashley, and a semi-resigned sort of sigh from Giles.

Willow managed not to laugh, since she felt Flux probably had a point, and offered Giles a supportive smile instead; he acknowledged it with a wry half smile of his own before returning his attention to the resumed discussion, which was probably very informative – if you could follow all the stuff about places you'd never heard of, creatures you'd never seen, and local history and legends that no-one had told you about yet.

She did catch some stuff.  She hoped it was the important bits; the ones that reiterated the dangers of the city and the need to be sneaky getting out of it were pretty obvious.  The arguments over what they needed to avoid and why were a little more obscure.  Avoiding cracks sounded like sense; staying out of sight of hob patrols and scavenging gobs was a given, but … arguing about the risks of the buried as opposed to the bereft?  And what on earth – or should that be ‘what in the Fell' – were webspires, thaumazes, and the ravenous green?

She found herself edging closer and closer to Giles as the conversation continued.  She was beginning to realise that when Cullie and her friends said that Sharshall was dangerous, they weren't just talking about the hazards of giant slugs, underground oozy things, wandering hobs and gobs, or even ghouls and malfunctioning magical statues.  From the way they were talking it was the city itself that was the major threat.  Whole sectors of it seemed to be contaminated and corrupted in a variety of unpredictable and unpleasant ways. 

Danger, it seemed, could strike from any direction; Cullie had already told them off for standing about, exposed on the hill.  Giles had apologised – both for that, and for the earlier incident, which he clearly still felt unsettled by.  That had led to Flux making a sincere apology of his own – which Giles assured him wasn't necessary – and to Cullie making a very gracious observation about all of them learning about the true nature of Dragons, and telling the two of them not to worry about it.

Giles, Willow suspected, would – mainly because it was his nature they were uncovering, and he was still coming to terms with what that meant – and she might , if she didn't have more immediate things to be concerned about.

Such as being conscious that stepping to the edge of the hill still meant that they were far too exposed – and discovering that the dangers they might face getting out of the city made walking alone in Sunnydale, at midnight, seem like an afternoon stroll in the park …

“All right,” Cullie declared firmly, pointing down the hill, “south and east it is.  With luck and the Light behind us, we'll reach the throughway before dark.  The sun sinks fast at this time of year,” she added, glancing back over her shoulder.  “So let's get moving before it does.”

She set off at a brisk pace, leaving no more room for argument.  Willow threw a quick glance over her own shoulder, hastily measuring the height of the sun above the horizon.  It was sinking fast – and that meant they would soon be walking in shadows. As the sun sank lower, the rise of the hill was starting to block most of the light from reaching the lower sections of the city; the setting sun might be painting the ruined roofs and shattered spires with a shimmer of pale winter's gold, but the streets below them looked cold, and shadowed, and uninviting.  They would have to look for a place to camp once they reached the throughway – and the thought sent a shiver down her spine.  Spending the night in the Enclave hadn't bothered her all that much.  But spending another one, down there , in the dark …

“All right?”  A gentle hand curled over her shoulder, turning her head up towards its owner; her eyes met his, finding herself being considered with warmth and concern – along with the hint of a smile and, beneath it, something far more profound.  A hint of bronze glinted in hazel green depths, an echo of the truth his current shape concealed.  Yet that was a truth too, the familiar certainly of the man – her friend – who'd always been much more than appearances might suggest.

She relaxed immediately, her lips curving with abashed realisation.  What did she have to be afraid of?  She was kin to Dragons – as strong and as fast as a Slayer, gifted with magic, and much, much tougher than she looked.  And he … He was a true Dragon, a Bronze, which was … what was it had Flux said?   The storm made flesh, the determined tide, the towering tsunami – the soul of the tempest tempered by a wise heart and a stalwart spirit.

Although thirty feet long, with armoured skin, wings, tail, talons like daggers and teeth like knives was an equally impressive description when considering things that might be creeping up on you in the dark.  Which wouldn't exactly be dark , anyway.  Not when you could see as well as he – and she – now could.

“Fine,” she assured him.  “Just – thinking.  You know?”

“I know.”  Giles nodded sagely, sliding his hand down her back so he could give her a little push forward.  “Plenty of time for that when we're somewhere safe.  Safer ,” he corrected, almost immediately.  “From what Cullie was saying, I doubt we'll be safe until we're well out of Sharshall and a good way into Summerset.  And even that's questionable.  If …umm … Flux is to be believed.”

There were shallow steps cut into steeper slope of the hill; they marked the way down through a jumble of ruined walls and something that might have been streets, once upon a time.  It made it easier to descend, despite the occasional jagged crack across the paving stones and the huge chunks of masonry that lay scattered across the hillside.  It looked as if the building that had once stood at the top of the slope now occupied most of the rest of it, with shattered walls lying in all directions, and tumbled slabs and carved half arches propped up against each other like abandoned building blocks.

“I know what he says sounds like tall tales,” Willow considered, making her way round a weather worn block and then ducking under an angled archway.  “But … I don't think all of them are.”

Giles decided to skirt the arch, but was quickly back at her side, the two of them settling into a comfortable pace that matched Meldew and Ashley, walking a little way ahead of them.  Cullie had taken point again, with Flux a few paces behind; the two of them were carefully scouting the route ahead, conversing in hand signals that were hard to follow.

“Neither do I.” Giles was throwing the occasional wary glance over his shoulder, still keeping rearguard, the way Cullie had asked him too.  “Which makes me suspect that … we can look forward to some – interesting times ahead.”

Rupert Giles – Dragon, Watcher and winner of the understatement of the year award.  Not for the first time, either.  Well, okay, so the dragon thing was a first time, but clearly the awesome makeover hadn't changed him that much. 

Not where it really mattered, anyway.

“You think?” Willow asked innocently.  “Would that be ‘I must make a note of that' interesting, ‘this needs more research,' type of interesting, or a ‘good lord, I'm living in a Chinese curse,' interesting?  Because – there's interesting and there's interesting.  You know?”

“I certainly do,” he shot back, well aware that he was being teased.  “A mixture of all three, I expect.  Which reminds me … I wonder if Meldew or Ashley have a notebook or a journal I could make use of?  I have nothing to make a note in , at the moment …”

Giles without a journal?  Unthinkable. 

“I'm sure we can find something.  Maybe we'll find the ruins of a stationery store.  Or a Wal-mart … equivalent.  Do you think they had Wal-marts here? Before the Fall?  They must have had Wal-marts.  Or something like them.”  She grinned at the thought.  “The mass-market version of the Magic Box.  Cheap candles, litre bottles of anointing oil, strings of chicken feet, and pre-packed newt eyes – guaranteed at least 300 per box.”

“Salamander,” Giles interjected thoughtfully.

“Huh?”

“Salamander eyes.  Cheaper than newt.  And just as effective …”

“Oh.  Right.  Yeah.  Salamander eyes … do they have salamanders here, do you think?”

“Probably.  Both the natural and the mythical variety, I suspect.  Watch your step.” 

The slope ended in an abrupt drop, although not a particularly deep one. Willow had seen Meldew carefully sit himself down on the final step before turning round and dropping down.  Ashley had sat and then slid forward.  Giles merely stepped off the edge.  Willow suspected she ought to be able to do the same, but he'd been right about her lack of co-ordination, back at the shop.  She just wasn't familiar enough with her new strength to trust herself with anything too athletic yet.  It wasn't much more than a five foot drop - but if she hit the ground wrong, she could twist a knee or an ankle, and then Flux would have to do his healing hands thing, and it would all be kind of embarrassing …

Except that Giles, as soon as he landed, turned and held out his hands – and she stepped down into those quite happily; he caught her round the waist and swung her round, depositing her safely back on her feet.

“Thanks,” she said.  “ Mythical variety?”

“Somewhat larger, has six legs and makes its home in fires.  Or live volcanoes, but hopefully there aren't too many of those around.  The sort of creature Meldew might keep as a pet.  Source of … constant temperature, you see,”

“Cool.  Well, not cool , but … you know what I mean.  Maybe I ought to get one.  To go with this whole ‘wielder of the white fire' thing.”

He frowned at her – not angrily, but in that really, Willow way he had.  “Only if you promise to feed it … clean up after it – and make sure it doesn't set light to anything it shouldn't.”

She laughed at the thought, picturing some cute, whip tailed, six legged creature, all bright eyed and curious, with red hot skin and little flames flickering at the edges of its lizardy neck frill.  It would always be leaving little scorch marks in the rugs, and Giles would go frantic the day he realised it had got loose in the library …

“Oh,” she said, coming to a sudden stop and staring at him, wide eyed and utterly disconcerted.  “ Wow … ”

“What?”  He was at her side in seconds, anxiously assessing her flustered state and casting wary glances in all directions.   “Something wrong?”

“Yes.  No .  Yes, I mean, no, but … oh, wow …”

Her mind was spinning.  There'd been so much going on since they arrived – meeting Cullie and the others, learning about the city, and the Fall, and the dragon/dragonkin thing – that she'd let it all sweep her up and carry her along, a whole new adventure, filled with magic and excitement, and wonderful people, and strange, dangerous places. 

Only – there was so much more to it than that … 

“Willow?”  Giles' voice – edged with a mixture of concern and challenge – pulled her sharply back into focus.  His hand was on her shoulder and he was looking more than a little alarmed.  “What happened?  Are you alright?”

“We live here,” she said.

Alarm turned into bemusement.  His eyes darted sideways, taking in the ruined landscape before returning to stare at her in confusion.  “I beg your pardon?”

“We live here,” she repeated, confident in her sudden realisation, and certain that he'd understand.  He didn't.  He just went on staring, so she tried to explain.  “Well, not here, here, but here – this world, this dimension, this … reality, it's ours .  The world before – the one that was ours, and isn't anymore … although I guess always will be, in a ‘hey, we used to live there, way'  …  isn't, because – we've been remade to live here .  Now.  In this world.  And all our stuff, and the places we used to be, and the home building, and the having things?  Behind us.  Gone.  All gone.  It's just – you and me.  Here.  Like after Sunnydale, only – not even the things on the bus, and no bank accounts, or credit cards, or passports, or even an overnight bag … and we're all ‘start-again' guys, and – we're going to need a place … for living in and keeping stuff, and having somewhere to go …”  Willow finally paused to take a breath, willing him to understand what she meant, the comprehension she was having such difficulty in articulating.  “And that was – a wow,” she concluded, a little sheepishly.  “Because – here we are, whole new world and whole new us … and I was thinking of us in it.  Living here.  With pet Salamanders and you with a library it had to be kept out of …”

Comprehension dawned; Giles' shoulder's sagged and he closed his eyes in a moment of relief.  “Oh, good lord,” he breathed.  “Willow … I'm still – working out what it means to have wings, and a tail and … lightning breath, and commanding terror … and you're building me a library? ”

“Yeah.”  Maybe she hadn't managed to explain it at all .  “I've already got you a couple of books …”

His hand tightened briefly on her shoulder, and he glanced away, as if unsure of the emotions he wanted to express.  Or not express, given he was who he was.  “I thought …”  He took a measured breath.  “I thought, perhaps, that … all this was getting too much.  That you'd - suddenly decided you were desperate to go home.”

“I am home,” she said, smiling at him.  “That's what I realised.  That's the point.  Sure, I'd like to see Xand, and Buffy again, and maybe have a Mochaccino or two, and I think I'm going to miss stuff like hot chocolate and movie nights – but that's about people, and stuff I like, not about place .  And since you're here with me, that's one of my important people ticked off the list – and I've got new people I'm getting to like, and … you think we will do that?  Get a place, I mean?  A house – or mansion, maybe?  It's gonna have to be a big place, with you being all dragony and stuff … “

“Oh, Willow,” he said a little shakily.  “My dear, dear , Willow …  We will get a – place – if that's what you want.  With room for you and me – and anyone, or anything else you want to adopt.  Salamanders and all.”   He took a moment to compose himself, and then determinedly jerked his head to get them both moving forward again.  Meldew and Ashley were practically out of sight by now.   “Why settle for a mansion, though?  Why not a castle?  Or a tower?  Like Isengard.  I always fancied living in Isengard …”

“A tower would be good.”  She had to skip to keep up with him, at least two steps to each of his long, easy strides.  “Umm … didn't Isengard have caves underneath it?”

“A great many, as I recall.”  He threw her a self-conscious smile.  “More than enough room for my … dragony stuff, as you put it.”

“Oh.  Right.”  She grinned.  “You gonna be all … Smaug like, and sleep on your hoard?”

“I wouldn't think so,” he snorted.   “Sounds bloody uncomfortable to me.  Gold's softer than most metals, I suppose, but … no.  Besides,” he added wryly, “if I'm going to hoard anything, it's far more likely to be books …”

Part Seventeen

Long hours of anxious alertness, spent dodging and darting through haunted, hazardous ruins wears down the mind, the body and the soul, no matter what the reasons for the journey might be.  By the time they reached the edge of the throughway, Cullie was feeling footsore, weary and worn through right down to her bones.  Her mail shirt felt unbearably heavy, her sword was a leaden weight at her shoulder, her mouth was dry and her stomach was convinced she'd cut her throat hours ago.  Meldew was looking equally frazzled, Ashley was starting to flag, and even Flux was at the ‘I'm not complaining, but ,' stage, his temper beginning to shorten and his stalwart energy determinedly focused on finding somewhere to stop.  Somewhere to rest . 

Willow, on the other hand, looked as if she could go for leagues yet; she was still bright eyed and curious, her step still held a hint of bounce, and she was still chattering nineteen to the dozen, which seemed to be her natural inclination whenever it was safe to speak.  Cullie half expected Giles to be worn to a shadow purely from the endless impact of her words, but – while he had a certain air of restless discomfort about him, it wasn't one born of weariness.  Far from it, in fact.  He – like the Firechild – was perfectly alert and aware and studying the world around him with curious and considered concern.  The night before she'd wondered at the title the gods had given him – but not anymore.  Watcher wasn't just a rank, or a simple honorific; it was part of what he was and what he did.  He watched.  He observed, attended, assessed and considered, taking in the depth of history, the patterns of event, the stories written in the stones … and in doing so was constantly weighing up the measure of the soul and the nature of the world.  Meldew was a learned scholar, and given to moment of academic wisdom and deep philosophy – but even he was little more than a student compared to Giles's apparent grasp of intellect and erudition. 

Dragons , Flux had grinned, when she'd remarked on it to him, have hidden depths.  And Bronzes go deeper than most …

They also appeared to have an inexhaustible supply of energy, and an immeasurable amount of patience.  In dealing with copperkin, at least – although that might just be a matter of practice.  He and Willow were certainly not strangers – although Cullie was still trying to work out exactly what they were to each other.  Friends, certainly.  Mentor and student?  At sometime, perhaps, although not recently, and probably not too formally, either; they were far too familiar with each other for that.  They were not parent and child, or brother and sister - and nor did she think they were lovers; yet they seemed close enough - and comfortable enough - to be any of the three …

And she must be truly tired, to be caught standing around contemplating those sorts of puzzles, when she was somewhere and nowhere, in the middle of Sharshall, with night about to fall.

“Stay focused, everyone,” she testily advised the group around her, earning herself a range of looks, from puzzled to sympathetic – along with the glint of amusement in a Dragon's eye … as if he'd been waiting for her to catch herself wool-gathering and wondering how she'd address it.  It turned out to be with chagrin and snappiness, which she immediately regretted – and which only served to turn the glint into a quietly knowing smile.  That made her feel … not worse , exactly, but even more embarrassed about her behaviour – because she realised that, somehow, she'd managed to fulfil his expectations rather than disappoint them.

She shook the puzzle out of her head, knowing that she had about as much chance of understanding what thoughts might be running through a Dragon's head as she did of untangling herself from the Weavers' tapestry, and took her own advice, focusing on their current situation and what she was going to do about it.  Dusk was falling across the city, painting the world in shades of darkening grey and deepening the hints of darkness that lay within its shadows.  They'd been lucky today; you always encountered something in the city, and while stumbling over a blighted slug and having to wrestle with a pre-Fall magical guardian had been somewhat … unsettling … the danger they'd presented had been minor compared to some of the things that lurked in Sharshall, even in the light of the day.

And now night was falling …

Hobs and gobs and even the ghouls and the ghasts sought refuge once the sun went down.  Things oozed up from the darkness of the undercity to hunt in the streets above.  Not just the gelatinous hungers of the old city's sewer cleaners, but other fell creatures that the Shadow and the power of the Shards had long since mutated and changed .  Otyughs the size of wagons, all mouth and flailing tentacles.  Carnivorous worms big enough to swallow a man – or even an ogre – whole.  Skittering things with too many legs, and pincers, and poisonous stings, ready to paralyse you and drag you down into darkened tunnels so they could feast on your still living, silently screaming, body.

In Sharshall, of course, that might be considered a merciful death.

Because if the dead found you, it wouldn't be just your flesh that was torn, or your body left bleeding.  Your very soul would wither.  Be devoured.  And fall into darkness and shadow for all eternity …

Cullie shuddered and hastily used her thumb to mark out the sign of Four and One above her heart; it didn't do to dwell on such thoughts in a place like this.  Thinking of the restless dead tended to draw them to you – along with their whispers of sorrow and despair. 

“He's taking his time,” Meldew murmured, his eyes narrowing with effort as he tried to spot movement further along the edge of the throughway.  Cullie couldn't see much – just a hint of open space on one side, and the remains of what might be pillared arches vanishing into the dusk – so she doubted that Meldew could see anything at all.  Not at that distance, and certainly not in this light …

“Well, he didn't go far,” Willow observed, peering in the same direction.  “Just across the plaza and up the steps at the end … oh, look!  There he is.”

Cullie looked.  She couldn't see Flux anywhere, but a sudden glint of light cut through the twilight, vanished, and then glinted a second time.  Mage light; revealed, covered and revealed again, sending a silent signal that said it was safe to advance.  She nodded, gestured Meldew forward, and then Ashley after him.  They didn't run, but they did step as quickly as the debris strewn stones allowed, making their way down the sheltered edge of the throughway and then striking out across the shadow filled plaza beyond. Willow threw her a small smile and followed them with equal haste, picking up her skirts and letting her borrowed cloak billow out behind her.  Cullie turned to wave Giles forward in his turn – and found him gesturing for her to go ahead, the knowing half smile on his face already denying it as an act of courtesy, even though that was exactly what it was . 

“My Lord,” she started to protest, falling into courtly tongue in a response to courtly gesture, “even if I warranted due deference ahead of you, this is no time …”

“Where I come from,” he interrupted softly, “a lady always warrants due deference – at least, that's what I raised to believe  … but that aside, this is precisely the time.  You're tired, your concentration has begun to lapse, and you've done enough for today.  I, on the other hand, have plenty of energy left, excellent night vision, and … if anything does decide to jump on me in the dark, it'll be in for a surprise.  A very – big surprise.”

Cullie's eyes went wide, and her mouth half opened – and then she shut both, her mouth with a snap and her eyes with a grimace of chagrin as she mentally kicked herself.  What had she been thinking?  No – scratch the question.  She hadn't been thinking, and that was the problem here …  “My pardon,” she begged contritely.  “It's not that I forget , it's just that …”

“I know.”  He sounded as self-conscious as she felt.  “I'm … umm … still trying to come to terms with it myself.  And if I haven't got the hang of it, I certainly don't expect anyone else to have done so.  Not even Flux – who seems to have a better grasp of it than I do at the moment.”

Her smile was a wry one.  “Flux has been waiting to meet you his entire life.  And even that a … hopeful wish, rather than expectation.  You're right.  I'm tired.  But that's no excuse for foolish conceit.  As leader of this expedition, I …”

“Protector.”  His correction was a thoughtful one.  “Warden Protector, I seem to recall.  It's far more than a title, isn't it.”

It was – and it wasn't.  She'd earned her place as Warden of Farferry, and she took the duties that went with it very seriously.  But Protector was meant to be her sacred destiny – her chosen role, almost from the day of her birth.  She'd trained and studied as part of the order, had taken its oaths and had dedicated her sword to Ignis' service, just as she'd been taught - and up until now, she'd never thought of herself as having a calling.  Not the way Flux did.  The fire lay within her – but she'd never called on it, and it had rarely called on her …

But from the way Giles was looking at her – the way he seemed to look through her, as if he could see the flames that marked her soul – she realised that he had known, had recognised her as Chosen, right from the start. 

“You don't even realise you're doing it, do you?”  He didn't sound all that surprised.  “Taking charge, taking the risks, putting yourself in harms way … No,” he said, as her eyes narrowed at the question, “I didn't think so.  Ah, now … don't frown at me.  It's not a criticism.  Far from it, in fact.  You are what you are, and you're obviously very good at it. Much like someone else I could name … but, that can wait.  A tale for another time, perhaps.  This is hardly the place to stand around and reminisce.”

“No,” she agreed, feeling a little shaken by his insight.  “We should … catch up with the others.”

It was hard to read his expression in the gathering dusk, but Cullie didn't really need to.  His second gesture was just as courteous as the first.  “After you,” he said – and his words held a smile.

---------------------------------------- ----------

There were, indeed, steps on the far side of the plaza.  They fronted the remains of what might have been an impressive building once, although it was hard to judge in the dark.  Only part of it remained; the remnants of two, maybe three floors, lifted high above the sweep of the plaza by a jumble of underpinning arches and the echoing, shadowed space they defined.  The steps were wide and shallow; they led up to an open, tiled forecourt, and behind that, a sprawling atrium big enough to camp an entire Phalanx in.  The entire front wall of the building was gone, but the second floor formed a partial roof to the first, and there was what looked like a cosy refuge protected beneath the rise of an ornate, curving staircase which dominated the back half of the main room.  Meldew was there, tipping firewood out of the hole while Ashley stacked it ready for their evening fire; their mage light was sitting on a handy shelf, throwing moving shadows onto the underside of the staircase – and Flux was keeping guard, his eyes watching the darkened plaza with determined concentration.

He frowned at Cullie as she made her way across the forecourt, then visibly relaxed as Giles made his way up the steps behind her.  Nothing had tried to jump them in the dark, and she was feeling decidedly relieved because of it; Giles might been far more polite about reminding her of his personal capabilities than Willow had been, but that didn't mean she'd wanted him to have to demonstrate the point.  She hadn't exactly wanted Willow too, either.

“Hey,” the lady in question greeted them both, waving from a spot halfway up the staircase.  “Isn't this cool?  Almost like the Hyperion …”

“A hotel,” Giles explained dryly, correctly interpreting Flux's puzzled frown and Cullie's own bemused one.  The explanation didn't really help much.  Willow grinned.

“Remains of one, anyway.  I think Angel's place was in a little better repair than this – although not by much.  His parking garage was below street level, too … but I like this arragement.  Off the street, straight into the car park – so no waiting on valet parking – up the stairs to reception … and stunning views of the city on all sides.  If you don't mind overlooking the throughway, I suppose …” 

She'd swung out her arm as she spoke, encompassing the whole of the southern wall in a dramatic gesture.  There wasn't much wall to encompass; most of it was window space - rectangles of open air with broken glass crackled around their edges like a frill of deadly lace – and beyond that, the silent span of the throughway, its far side barely visible in the fast growing gloom. 

Somewhere – distant, but unmistakable – signs of fire sparked in among the jagged teeth of ruin that lined the southern side of the road.  Gob fires, probably.  They would need to be careful when they left in the morning.

“Anything below us?” Cullie asked, joining Flux at the foot of the stairs.  He shook his head.

“Nothing to worry about.  A few spiders, I think – but they won't bother us once we get the fire going.”

She nodded.  A few spiders weren't much of a problem – well, not unless you accidently stumbled into a web, or deliberately poked one out of its hiding hole … finding a motherlob and her brood squatting at the heart of a webspire would be another matter entirely, but there was hardly enough webbing draped around the room for her to start worrying about that … and what there was, was mostly fingerling work, anyway.  They could certainly survive having one or two of the larger variety nesting under their feet, providing they didn't stomp about and disturb them too much.  They might even serve to keep some of the more threatening things that roamed the night from investigating their refuge too closely.

Although, if they were nesting, she'd better remind Willow about shaking out her boots before she put them on in the morning …

“Now,” Giles observed, staring pensively out at the distant sparkfires, “if it's this close to the road, does an establishment automatically count as a motel, or is that honour purely reserved for those sordid places with independent cabins and rooms that open straight into the car park?”

Willow thought about it for a moment.  “Strictly the cabins and rooms stuff,” she decided, walking down the stairs and leaning on the end of the remaining banister rail so she could match the direction of his gaze.  “Because – hey – staircase.   Movie star and elegant ballroom type staircase.  This is up market stuff.  Wonder how many stars it had?”

“At least three.”  Giles obviously knew what she was talking about.  “I doubt the restaurant warranted a Michelin, though.  Not unless they had a remarkably good cook ...”

Cullie glanced at Flux, who shrugged.  If they needed evidence that the gods had plucked their new companions from some far and distant place, it surely lay in the strange twists and turns of the way they conversed with each other, their words seeming to dance from sense to nonsense and back again with confident ease. 

“The space under the stairs is wardable,” Flux reported, clearly deciding not to get distracted by things he didn't understand.  “Meldew can set another on the stairs, and I thought – if he were to sleep out here …”

He was the Lord Watcher, who was still pensively observing the gathering night.  He was unsettled, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably, as if he were nursing an itch between his shoulder blades – or no longer felt entirely comfortable inside his human skin.  Cullie frowned.  She hadn't given their sleeping arrangements much thought – beyond needing to find somewhere relatively safe to sleep, that was – but it was embarrassing to realise that, like the matter of their marching order, there were some things she should have been thinking of. 

“Is there room?” she wondering, turning to measure the distance between the end of the stairs and the jagged line of broken stone that had once supported the front of the building.  The upper floor lay a good fifteen feet above them, supported by sturdy pillars on both sides and angled bracing beams that ran in between; the space looked large enough to hold a sleeping Dragon. 

But not a lot else.

And there certainly wasn't room for him to stretch his wings …

“Plenty.” Flux assured her quietly.  “I paced it out.  And there's room in the forecourt if he needs to stretch.  Which he probably will, after trudging about like that most of the day.”

Cullie nodded, a part of her wishing that she could share such luxury – that she could feel safe enough to strip away the weight of her own disguise and relax, if only for a moment or two.  But nowhere was truly safe in Sharshall – and that meant keeping her mail on her back, and her sword within reach until they were all safely back in more civilised lands.  At least they would have a fire for the night and a sheltered place to sleep here.  “The roof doesn't reach that far,” she pointed out, her tired thoughts turning her attention to trivial things.  “What if it rains?”

“He'll get wet,” Flux muttered, looking at her as if she'd gone soft in the head.  “Cullie,” he growled good naturedly, “he's a Bronze.   Water is their second skin.  They're as happy asleep under it, as they are in Adonis' sweet air.  I hardly think a little rainwater is going to bother the Sword of Sulis.”

“No,” she agreed, then frowned again, thinking that it might bother Willow – who, she immediately realised, would be perfectly snug and dry beneath the shelter of a Dragon's wing, if that was where she chose to spend the night …

“Triple watch, I think,” she decided, recalling herself to immediacies with weary effort.  “Fireside will do, if … he's out here.  Meldew had better take first – Ashley has spells to relearn.  I'll take second, if you don't object to the third.”

“Not at all,” he smiled.  “I seriously doubt anything will disturb us, but - better safe than sorry, as they say.”

Part Eighteen

The supper routine was simpler this time round.  Ashley cut thick slices from a pastry wrapped savoury pie and handed them out on carved wooden plates.  Meldew carved equally thick slices of bread from a soft wheat loaf, and Flux offered round a crockery jar of something he called ‘chutney' – which appeared to be a mix of spiced, dried fruit and diced pickled vegetables, all stirred together into something that looked suspiciously like chilli paste.  It smelt delicious, and tasted even better – in moderation, and spread on the bread, at least.  Taken neat, it had fire as well as flavour, and even Willow – who was used to eating jalapeno topped nachos and Andrew's patented slayer chilli – had to take a moment to let her tongue recover after biting into a particularly spicy chunk of it.  Giles had asked for no more than a sliver of pie to taste  – but once he had, and declared it delicious, he stole a chunk of Flux's bread so he could dip it in the chutney jar, and try that too. 

“Our Mistress Ardeny is a rare artist,” Flux said cheerfully, not at all bothered by the theft of his supper.  “Makes the best chutneys north of Midwinter – and that only because the King's chutney cook doesn't do anything else.”  He offered the jar round again and Cullie took another spoonful, spreading it thickly over her second slice of bread.

“This is good,” she agreed, “but her jams are better.”

Willow shook her head at the offer of more, since she still had plenty of the sweet chutney on her plate, and frowned over Cullie's comment – at least until she remembered that jam was jelly , and realised what she was talking about. 

“Uhuh,” Meldew denied.  “ Nothing matches her marmalades.  Or her ginger and apple preserve.”

“Last year's lemon curd,” Ashley interjected, and all four of them sighed.

“That was good.”  Cullie reached down to pick up the wine bottle that she'd put by earlier.  “We must remember to track down some more lemons this year.  Grandmother might part with a few, if I ask nicely.”

Giles did help himself to more – along with another chunk of bread, which Willow and Flux both grinned at.  She would have offered him some of her own, but they were sitting on opposite sides of the fire, and the bread – along with her fingers – might have ended up comitting toasticide.

“She might at that,” Meldew agreed, holding out his goblet so that Cullie could pour him some wine.  “Maybe we should build an Orangery of our own.  The glass would be expensive, but …"

“We have funds,” Flux interrupted, patting one of his belt pouches.  “There were gems in our find today.  A few other things too, I think.  But – that's probably best left until we get home.”

“Mirend, at least.”   Cullie fought down a yawn.  “It's too late to look tonight – and better done in daylight, anyway.”

“Aye.  That's true enough.”  Flux waved away her offer of the wine bottle and tugged out an ornate hipflask instead.  “Here,” he suggested, unscrewing the cap and holding it out.  “Try a taste o'that.”

Giles accepted the offer warily, lifting the flask to take a cautious sniff.  His wariness instantly became hopeful suspicion; the first sip he took was just as cautious as the sniff, but then he smiled and went back for a more determined mouthful, clearly letting it wash around his tongue before the swallow, which was long and savoured and briefly blissful. “Oh yes, that's … smooth ,” he said, the hint of croak in his voice suggesting that – whatever it was – it packed a powerful punch.  Flux laughed.

“Aye,” he agreed, taking back the flask to take a swig of his own.  “ Breath o'life. There's nothing like it.”

“There certainly isn't,” Cullie snorted, pouring Willow a cup of the dark wine.  “And Dwarves may call it the Breath of Life, but sensible folks know it as Dragonsfire.  Burns all the way down,” she explained as an added aside, and Willow grinned.

“I'm with Buffy,” she said, sipping from her winecup and curling her lip a little at the taste.  An acquired one, obviously.  “Drink and me are generally unmixy things.  Although … maybe not so much now,” she considered thoughtfully.  “Must take a lot to get a dragon drunk …”

“ Barrels , ” Flux declared, taking another swallow from his flask and passing it back to Giles, who happily helped himself again.  “Two firkins o' the finest oaksmoked breath, it took, to bring down Argeronaxin and lay him out long enough for Marble Smokerson to carve his horns and guild his talons to match his belly gold.  Stole the White eye of Tammerin too, he did, from right over the wyrm's great heart.”

“That's one way to pay your bar bill,” Meldew noted wryly.  Ashley chuckled.  Cullie sighed.

“There's no glory in anyone drinking themselves into a stupor, dragon or not,” she said.  “I've seen the idiots that stagger out of the taverns and puke their guts up into the gutters.  Now, if we could send a few barrels to slow down the ogres …”

“Ogres drink some vile stuff they brew from heather and honey and … shards - warg piss for all I know.”  Flux scowled at the thought and Giles passed back the flask, so he could settle his disgust with mouthful of dragonfire.  “No point in wasting decent breath on them .  Mind you,” he added, mollified by the warmth of the liquor, ”the stuff they serve in the way-taverns?  That's a blend and a travesty – the dregs of the stilleries, made up quick with mixed grains.  This ,” he waved the flask to make his point, “is the real malt, matured in oak tuns for twelve, fifteen years or more.  A different thing entirely.  You have to treat it – and drink it – with respect.”

“Amen,” Giles agreed, snagging the flask back for another taste.  Willow threw him a warning frown, and he deflected it with a glance that managed to say both I know what I'm doing and indulge me this, at least .   She wasn't so sure about the first one, but the second was hard to deny.  They were a long way from home, separated from everyone and everything they knew; a lot had happened today – crossing the city, fighting the slug, finding out about the hobs, and the whole guardian statue thing  - not to mention her acid proofness, and his lightning breath, and all that looming terror, dragony stuff that had shaken him so badly …

Because that was what he was , of course, under all the familiar Gilesness and his magically constructed coat, shirt and jeans.

She relaxed back against Cullie's bedroll with a smile.  If it took barrels to make a dragon drunk, then she shouldn't have to worry about a few mouthfuls from a dwarf's flask, no matter how potent the drink might be – and if Giles were finding comfort in the flash of its familiarity, in the echo of something he might have sought to calm his concerns or ease his sense of grief had they been home, then she had no right to snatch that momentary comfort away.

This is our world now , she reminded herself, taking a long swallow of her wine and finding it wasn't quite as bad as she'd first thought.  We must find ways to belong in it.

She stared into the depths of the wine for a moment, and then looked up, taking in the scene in front of her.  Giles had been asking something about the ‘oaksmoked' reference that Flux had made earlier, and the Dwarf had clearly launched himself into what was going to be a long and rambling explanation about how the drink was made … something about storing the maturing barrels in the spaces above the wood fired furnaces that powered the stills … Giles was nodding sagely, but Cullie had picked up her sword and started cleaning it, Ashley had returned to studying her spell book and Meldew had pulled out a quill pen and begun scribbling something onto a piece of paper.

Willow relaxed back even further, letting her senses spiral out into the ruins around them.  She'd been afraid to try this the night before, despite the security offered by the drape of dragonwings.  The changes under her own skin had still been unsettling her, and she'd felt exposed and vulnerable, much as she'd been after the coven had stripped the last of the contaminated magic from her and left her to get the measure of what she'd become. She'd managed then, and she'd managed a second time after casting the Slayer spell through the scythe; she could manage this now, even though the difference inside her was deep.  Souls don't change , Giles had said, and he'd said it with eyes the size of dinner plates and a mouth full of teeth that would put a tyrannosaurus to shame – and yet he was still Giles , and she was still Willow, and now she'd had a day to settle into herself again, it was time she spent a moment or two sorting out what that meant.

Magic was running through her veins.  A sweet and eager magic, quite different from the aged and patient power of the Earth she'd learned to connect to and draw on, after her tumble from grace.  She'd hesitated to call on it, earlier in the day, but when she had, it had answered her with eager promise.  It was hers in the way she'd always wanted, but had never truly felt before.  She'd been able to trigger those simple cantrips almost without thought, to shape their intent as easily as opening her hand or taking a step.  The magic pulsed in her heart and it danced in her blood, and touched every part of her from the tips of her toes right up to the very end of each fine copper hair that now sprang from her head.  She could feel it, coiled and waiting, needing the will to be unleashed, the intent to control it, and the patterns to give it shape.  But the patterns were complex and far more difficult to grasp than the simple will-be-done approach she'd mastered in the past - and here she was, starting to learn things all over again.  Step by step, just as Giles said.  The little things first …

Something Flux said made Giles laugh, and she looked up in surprise, startled by the sound, by the warmth and unguardedness of it.  Had he laughed like that, just recently?  Come to think of it, had he laughed like that since Sunnydale?

Or since Buffy made that fateful leap from Glory's tower ..?

We've been remade , she reminded herself.  This is our second chance, our fresh start …

In this world Giles was no longer a man old before his time, weighted down with cruel cares and weary grief.  He had been given gifts to match the towering strength of his soul and the formidable wisdom of his heart; gifts that probably came, as many such gifts do, with bewildering temptations and a challenging price - but they were gifts none the less, and he was worthy of every one of them.  Buffy's fate had been taken from his hands – first by Buffy herself, and then by the events that had brought them here – and while there was a part of him that would always care deeply for his Slayer, there was another cause for him to follow here, another world for him to protect. A world that was likely to be far more grateful for his sacrifices, than the old one ever had.

And as for her … Willow sighed and stretched and felt a little like laughing at herself.  No more ‘White goddess Willow.'  No more awed and fearful looks from Slayers and Watchers who expected her to work miracles at a moment's notice.  No more reaching into the Earth to forcibly claim its power – here she was the power, shaped to wear it, shaped to bear it, and shaped to wield it – although regaining her previous control and confidence was going to take a little concentration and a whole lot of cautious research and practice.  She'd rather not end up with scorched eyebrows , no matter how tempting the thought of flinging fireballs might be.  She'd over-reached and abused her magical abilities once, and she knew better than to risk that again.  On the other hand, she'd never imagined gaining the strength of a Slayer, yet here she was, with a body that was probably almost as strong as Buffy or Faith, was decidedly more durable than human flesh – and gifted with what appeared to be a reservoir of magic that easily matched what she'd stolen from both Rack and Giles on that day she'd tried to destroy the world.

Dragonkin .  She tried the thought against herself like trying out a new outfit in a mirror.  Daughter of the red fire …

Her hair was copper red and there were matching scales patterning her shoulders, painting her back, decorating the curve of her legs.  Her skin could resist the deadly sting of acid and her hands were hard and strong enough to shatter stone.  Her eyes saw deeper into the darkness than they ever had before, and now she had the spell to awaken her mage sight she could see the hints of magic that swirled around her companions, painting them in curious colours, marking them out from the ruined stones and the lingering whispers of power that clung to the city's remains.

But she was still Willow.  Perhaps, in some ways, more Willow than she'd been for a long time.  The darkness, and the heavy sense of duty that had tainted her magic had been peeled away, leaving it bright and fresh and impatient to be found.  Her heart, burdened for so long with the loss of friends, the death of love and the terrors of her own weaknesses, felt lighter, filled with a longing to learn and an eagerness to know .  

“… so the best breaths probably come from the Hammerstands and the house of Barleybrew – but this was good enough for my grand, grandfather, and that makes it good enough for me.  The still at Wirewells has over a thousand yards of copper piping, and we burn peat along with the wood.  Gives it that smoky taste.  You can tell a Wirewells breath right from the first sip.”

“I'll bear that in mind,” Giles said softly.  “Maybe you can show me round, sometime.”

“You'd honour my family.”  Flux was smiling sheepishly, as if just realising how long he'd been babbling on.  “I wouldn't presume -”

“Then don't.”  Giles straightened out his legs and then stretched the rest of himself with a discomforted grimace.  “The last time I visited a distillery it was to deal with an infestation of demons – and I'm quite certain that visiting yours will be a much pleasanter experience …”  He grimaced again, looking even more uncomfortable than he had the first time.  “I – uh – need to stretch my legs.  And my wings.  And the rest of me.”  He rubbed his hand around the back of his neck and gave Cullie and the rest an apologetic look.  “I'm afraid I - don't quite fit in this skin anymore.  Not comfortably enough to sleep in it, anyway.”

“Holding a shape takes practice,” Meldew observed, glancing up from his writing.  “I'd wager you know that one well to keep it as certain as you did today.  But even the most practiced of shifters have to return to their true form from time to time.”

“I've never met one that could manage longer than a halfday,” Ashley said.  “Spells and potions are different, of course, but shifting at will … that's powerful magic.”

“That's Dragons.”  Flux carefully put away his flask and stood up, easing his shoulders and fighting down his own yawn.  “Time for all of us to settle, I think.  It's been a long day.  Probably be a longer one tomorrow.  Stretch as much as you like,” he advised Giles generously, waving at the open space that overlooked the square.  “There's more than enough room.  But be careful, will you?  I'd rather not have the roof come down on me in the middle of the night.  And the rest of you better make the most of having one,” he added, kicking open his bedroll.  “We won't find better until we reach Mirend.  We'll be sleeping in the open once we leave the Fell, and some of that in marsh and the gods know what.  It'll rain too, you wait and see.”

“If it rains,” Giles said mildly, climbing to his feet, “I'm sure there's room beneath my wings for all of you.  Not that I'm planning a career as a camping umbrella … did you want to join me, Willow, or sleep by the fire tonight?”

His shadow was dancing across the length of the outer wall, cast by the glow from the fire.  A dragon's shadow rising from the man's, with hints of unfolding wings and a suggestion of teeth and claws.  Terror and glory, and still Giles, in a way that would be hard to explain.

Willow didn't try.  She smiled instead, taking barely a second to weigh up his offer, making a decision that had very little to do with the likely discomfort of sleeping on a thin bedroll and a cold, hard floor.  “I'll be right there,” she said.  “I'll just – finish my wine, while … you … get all dragony again, okay?”

Part Nineteen

It was an … interesting way to describe it, but Willow's words somehow managed to capture the essence of his transformation in a surprisingly succinct way.  He did, indeed, get ‘all dragony' again – self and self awareness unfolding from the compact certainty of who he'd been as a man, into the comfortable surety of what he was now … a reach of serpentine flesh from nose to tail tip, and out, into the flex of powerful, confident wings.  It was like sliding out of a poorly fitting suit; escaping the restricting confines of hot and heavy tweed, or doffing the cumbersome weight of equally confining combat padding.  Not that donning his old shape had been … unpleasant in any way.  It had felt familiar.  Comforting.  And entirely right for most of the day.  But his awareness of what he was – what he'd become – had stayed coiled inside him the entire time, tensioned and waiting.   Poised, taut and watchful, like a cat, preparing to pounce.  An arrow, notched on a drawn back bow string.  A jack-in-the box, ready to be unleashed …

Weight and height and reach and length and breadth adjusted, muscles and bones shifting and shaping and becoming in a flowing, fluid stretch of relief.  He unfolded up, he unfolded out – and barely managed to halt his impulse to rear back and flex everything in a moment of joyous and impetuous pleasure.  He'd spent years becoming accustomed to the slow and inevitable decline of his body.  He'd abused it as a young man, with too little sleep, too many questionable substances and far more magic than he could sensibly handle.  He'd fought to regain his fitness and had had to go on fighting for it, needing to work hard to keep fit and limber, at first in determination to keep his edge – and later, just to keep up with his slayer.  The demands of an unrelenting and endless campaign – the observance of his oath in the defence of the world – had taken its toll; torture and torment, trouble and toil had worn him down and worn him out.  Too many bangs, bruises, batterings and breakages; knocks on his head, spears in his side, and wounds to his heart.  He'd become wasted and weary before his time, determined not to give in, and yet still forced into retreat, inch by painful inch.  He could barely remember when he'd last been able to wake in the morning without his joints protesting every move, or to settle into sleep at night without having to count every penalty of the day.  Nothing serious, nothing really worth complaining about – but each year he'd been feeling a little older, a little slower, and a little less alive …

Nothing hurt.  Nothing protested.  His limbs were lithe, his muscles fluid, and his body practically sang with energy.  He might have acquired a little extra bulk - along with added reach and equivalent weight - but it had come with matching strength, agile reflexes and a range of fluid motion that laughingly belied words like ponderous or cumbersome .   Given free reign – which would require a far safer place than this probably was – he'd have kept his forefeet off the ground, reared up to his full height and bellowed his delight at the sky.  He'd have shaken his shoulders and shaken out his wings, fast and furiously, in a flurry of muscles and metal and leather … but doing so would stir up a small gale, undoubtedly extinguish the small but vital fire his companions were nurturing, and probably bring down the roof on their heads. 

Which would be a really bad way to repay their kindness and their company – not to mention the look of total reproach Willow would give him for acting so foolishly. 

There would be time, and room, somewhere in this new world, for him to stretch himself the way he really wanted – to skitter and skirl, to play and to pounce, exercising length and limbs, and finding out exactly what he was capable of.  On the ground.  Under water.  In the air …

“Oh good lord,” he murmured to himself, suddenly realising just how different his life had become.  A revelation almost as staggering as the one Willow had faced earlier that afternoon.  We live here, she'd realised, wide eyed and staggered by a dizzying perception of the freedom that came with their new responsibilities.  A whole new world – and here he was, adding his own perspective to that particular recognition. 

Not simply reshaped – but truly remade …

Physically, at least.  Flux had told him he was young for a dragon, and he could believe it, could evidence it in that almost breathless energy and the way it was tempted by the dance of wing and muscle and bone – but inside, he still carried the legacy of the man he'd been, the hard lessons he'd learned, and the understanding he'd gained.  He used those lessons to centre himself now, to calm the eager challenge of what he was and anchor it deep in the heart of who he was. 

And being of a generally dignified mien, Rupert Giles neither skittered, nor skirled, nor pounced, however tempting the thought might be.  He chose to stretch with languid slowness instead, extending his talons and his forelimbs along the ground, dipping his spine and arching his back, like a cat awaking from an afternoon nap – except, of course, that cats don't have wings to unfurl with equally deliberated attention, couldn't curve them up into quivering tension … or settle them back down with a lazy shake, skin and bone and scales moving with a deep and satisfying sound, like the snap and fold of heavy, canvas sails.

“Wow,” Willow said softly; an awed breath, painted with genuine wonder.  Giles ruffled his fins, sat back on his haunches, and turned to smile at her, his nostrils widening to pull in her scent, the taste of her presence settling on his tongue.  She was standing at the edge of the ruined doorway, watching him with wide eyes. 

“I forgot,” she said, staring up at hm.  “Just how … “

“Large, I am?”  He'd forgotten it himself, if only for a moment or two.  The shift of his perspective – his resumption of his true height and the way everything else had changed in relative scale – was going to take some getting used to.    

“I was going to say amazing, but … yeah.  That too.”

“I was the giant great and still, that sits upon the pillow-hill - and sees before him, dale and plain, the pleasant land of counterpane  …”  Giles laughed, feeling the sound of it rumble through his ribcage and down, so that it echoed in soft reverberation through the stone.  Willow blinked, glancing down at the flagstones, and then up again with wide eyes.  “Size is … a matter of relativity, I suppose.  Flux tells me I'm – small.  As Dragons go.”

Her expression spoke volumes – most of which was conveyed with a roll of the eyes and could be summed up in an entirely Californian reaction of riiiiight … “Most of them – kinda went,” she pointed out.  “You're the last.  Or possibly the first.  But not the First, which would be creepy and not at all you – which, by the way, I can totally touch, so not , and anyway, we kicked his ass … if an insubstantial entity can have one of those, which I guess it did, because we did kick it, and … he's here, isn't he.  Or a version of him.  It.  Whatever.”

It was Giles' turn to blink.  That wasn't quite where he'd thought that sentence was going – but he could see why it arrived where it did.  Darkness lay over the ruins of Sharshall like a cobwebbed shroud – and not just because night had fallen.  It was soaked into the stone, tainting everything it touched and turning each gaping door and empty window into a hungry mouth, into menacing eyes and promises of empty, endless despair … 

“I don't know,” he said thoughtfully.  “I don't know enough about the mythology of the … Shadow, or the history of the Fall to be sure of the comparision.  But … there is more to this world than a struggle between good and evil.  There is something … something about balance … sitting at the heart of everything here.”  He looked up, above the wounded weight of the city – and found a sudden, unexpected beauty in the sky.  The night air was turning winter-crisp and the clouds that had smothered the sunlight during the day were slowly dissipating into wisps of  crystal nothingness.  Above them, sweet and certain, the stars were coming out.  “Light and dark,” he murmured, caught in the sweep of majesty above him.  “Life and death, good and evil … order and chaos … all part of an intricate pattern.”  There were faint ribbons of light twisting among the gathering constellations; rivers of celestial glory, dotted with diamonds and strewn across the sky.  “Tensions that inspire growth and change and … purpose.  Even blight and decay have a place in the natural order of things.  But this – shadow – seems to stand in defiance of all of that.  It despises life, defies death, denies change.  It is empty of purpose, devoid of meaning, merely a hunger that cannot be satisfied, lurking at … the edges of … an eternal … feast …”

His voice faded with astonishment, attention and thought caught by the spectacle that was unfolding above him.  The night sky he was familiar with was a spread of black velvet in which the faint glimmer of starlight challenged the eye to connect the dots and so determine the shape of the heavens.  Here , the sky was filled with a bright shimmer of jewels, spilled across the night with almost wild abandon, too many to count, almost too crowded to distinguish one from another.  Rivers of stars and ribbons of light; patterns that danced and twisted and resolved themselves into a stately, celestial pavane.

Then the clouds shifted, and the moon was there , a stately orb much larger than the one he might have expected.  It blazed with brilliant, silver light – and around it, encircling it and trailing in its majestic wake, a drifting drape of glimmering jet and onyx, the shattered remnants of its sister moon …

“ Good Lord …” Tales and testimonies were one thing – but here was the truth of the Fall, painted in stark majesty across a wounded sky.  The silvered moon was marred by deep and disturbing cracks, evidence of forces almost too immense to contemplate.  The ribbon of debris spilled out behind it, caught in a delicate balance of gravity and attraction, a tensioned dance between the silent moon and the living world that held it in thrall.  No wonder shards still fell in echo of that first, terrifying rain of agony.  They would be falling for centuries to come.

“ Ohhhkay ,” Willow breathed from somewhere down by his left shoulder.  “Now I know we're not in Kansas anymore …”

Giles tore his eyes from the heavens with difficulty and looked down at her instead.  “We never were,” he said, avoiding the obvious comment about Dorothy and her return to Oz, since – with Willow, mentioning Oz had somewhat different connotations, and would probably derail the conversation entirely.  “Unless you really think that life in Sunnydale was a rural idyll where nothing exciting or different ever happened.”

Willow grinned.  “Hey,” she protested, balling her fist and giving him an affectionate punch.  One that would probably have knocked Cullie off her feet.  She really didn't know her own strength as yet.  “That's my home town you're talking about, mister.  Good old SunnyD.  Home of truth, justice and the American Hellmouth.  For me that was Kansas.  My normal life.  Then you and Buffy came along and … the rest is history.  As they say.  This is different.  This is … “

“Over the rainbow?” he suggested, since she'd started that particular line of thought.  “Second star to the right and straight on until morning?”  He stood up and paced his way back to the foyer of the hotel, curling himself round and past her with a fluid undulation that made her blink.  “At the back of the north wind, or … just somewhere at the back of a wardrobe?”

She turned as he turned, watching as he curled and coiled and settled down, shifting until he found a comfortable spot on the slightly uneven floor.  The flexibility of his new form was impressive, although it was going to take him a while to get used to having a tail …

“I don't think – you'd fit in a wardrobe,” she said after a moment, recovering her place in the conversation with a little start and a shake.  Her distraction wasn't that surprising.  He suspected it was going to take her a little while to get used to him .  “Not even the walk-in one Buffy has up at the castle … I don't know.  This isn't someone's idea of a fantasy, is it.  This is a very real world.  A post apocolypty one, with mutant monsters and a fallen civilisation, and – politics and power struggles, and gods who actually seem to care.   And it's our world now.”  Her eyes darted skywards, seeking another glimpse of the wounded moon.  “Look at it,” she said, her voice touched with wonder.  “We never had skies like that in California.”

“I sincerely hope not.”  He could still see part of the moon and its attendant drape of debris from where he'd chosen to sit.  He'd have been very worried if he'd ever seen anything like that over Sunnydale.  Or anywhere else on Earth for that matter …  “It is somewhat – spectacular, though.  For a monument to hubris.  Although … maybe it's a memorial for the souls that tried saved this world.  A reminder that they didn't entirely fail …”

“Beats a deep and dusty hole in the desert.”  Willow took one final look and then walked back to join him, a thoughtful look on her face.  “Or the sea filled crater it turned into, after the harbour walls gave way.  At least all we lost was a town.  And it wasn't that much of a loss …”

“Do you miss Sunnydale?” Giles asked, a little warily.  He'd never dared before, only too conscious of the minefield of memories such a question might raise.  But things were different now.  They were different now – and those memories would be precious, things only the two of them could truly share. 

Willow paused to slide Cullie's boots from her feet, freeing copper tinted toes.  “Not really,” she decided, carefully placing both boots on the top of a nearby broken pillar.  “Bits of it, perhaps.  The old library.  Your apartment.  That always felt – safe to me.  Cosy.  More home than home.  The Magic Box, sometimes.  That … spot in the park, where Tara sang to me …  But – no.  Too many bad memories – and not many good ones.  It's the people I miss.  Not the places.  But – hey,” she grinned.  “At least I'm getting to hang out at the Bronze again …”

“Very funny,” Giles growled, folding back the relevant wing so she had room to clamber back onto his shoulder.  She tried to be both careful and gentle, which brought a twist of amusement to his lips.  To him, she felt as light as a child, her upward scramble on hands and feet barely making an imprint on his armoured hide. “I hardly think my sharing a few sips from a flask allow you to equate me with a seedy establishment infested with cockroaches and vampires, and reeking of vomit and alcohol …”

He froze for a moment, fighting down a sudden shiver of reaction as bare feet momentarily found purchase on the spars of his front left fin.  His hide was armoured, solid and tough, and unimpressed by solid contact, but his fins were apparently sensitive to gentle pressures, reacting – not to the weight of Willow's foot – but to the way her toes had briefly brushed across glimmering skin …

  “Well, no ,” Willow admitted, settling into place.  “You're way classier than that.  But you do do the music thing – at least … you could before …  Do dragons sing?”

He let his momentary tension quiver away unseen in a shimmer of dorsal and tail fins that helped qualify that brief and unsettling experience.   His fins were sensitive; sensitive to the shift and swirl pressures in the air – and probably currents in water too, he realised, pausing to catalogue the sensation and realise the advantage it would give him in flight, a creature of air and water, capable of reading the wind and the waters as they swirled around him.

“Giles?”  Willow was waiting for an answer to her question and he had to blink and take a moment before he remembered what it was. 

“Oh – umm … probably.  At least – I would imagine so.  Singing's not that different from speaking, you know …”  He drew in a deep breath, amused at the way she eeped and had to dig her toes in as his flanks rose in response.  “Half the trick is in the breath,” he observed, letting her down again with a gentle expellation.  “And I appear to have an excellent set of lungs.”

She giggled and squirmed herself down into a comfortable knot somewhere between his shoulder and his wing joint.  “Your voice is kinda – reverberry – already,” she said sleepily, tucking her borrowed cloak around herself.  “It's got this – Dragon thing.  All shivers down the spine stuff.  Which is cool because – well, you being a Dragon and everything … and you always did have this … sexy singing voice, so – I'm thinking, put the two together, and …”

“Are you fishing for a lullaby?” he enquired mildly, looming close enough for his breath to puff up the edges of her cloak and set her hair dancing.  Willow stared up at him, biting a little at her lower lip as she did so.  He knew she trusted him – but even so, she'd tensed at his sudden closeness.  Bright gleaming teeth, and eyes the size of dinner plates … He could swallow her up in two quick bites.  Maybe just one if he snatched and gulped fast enough.

“Nah,” she decided a little shakily.  “N-not tonight.  It wouldn't be safe. Would it.”

“Probably not.”  He took pity on her and pulled back a little.  It wasn't fair to tease her like that.  Fun – at least until she'd had time to get used to their new world and accustom herself to his change in countenance – but not fair.  Not fair at all.

“But – some night?” she asked quickly, before she lost all her courage. 

He made a point of thinking it over. “We'll see,” he said.  His words offered no promises – but his mind was busy flicking through his mental song book, looking for something suitable.  He wondered if Flux knew where he could lay his hands on a guitar …  “Good night, Willow.”

“Night, Giles.”  She sighed and closed her eyes, her breath and her body relaxing as she slid into sleep.  He watched her for a while, waiting until he was sure she was deep and dreaming before he returned his attention to the star strewn sky.  He knew the earthly constellations well, of course – he, like many a Watcher before him, had studied their ancient dances, learnt their alignments and their influences, understood their place in the patterns of prediction and prophecy.  But here – here he could amuse himself with a moment of total ignorance, could play connect the dots and construct his own constellations out of the chaos of the unnamed stars.  There was the Slayer stake in hand, and a cloud of stardust haloing its point.  There, the Scythe, forged by ancient powers to reap the harvest of evil and drive the darkness from the sky … and there , a swirl of dragons, bronze and silver, copper and gold …

He dropped his chin to the floor and sighed – a deep expression of breath that set the dust dancing across the floor – taking a moment or two to wonder what the gods had been thinking of, taking a war weary Watcher and offering him an entire world to watch over?   To guard.  To guide.  To protect and defend …  And what had he been thinking of, to say yes to such a preposterous idea?  Because there had been a choice.  He knew that, even if he couldn't exactly remember making it. 

It would have helped , he decided, with the kind of inner irritation that only idle thoughts in the very early hours of the morning can bring, if they'd given me a better instruction manual than a star-struck dwarf and a few time scrambled tales and legends …

He had no idea what he was doing.  It had been almost too easy to retreat back into being a man, because that was what he was used to – but it wasn't what he was anymore.  He was a Dragon – with wings he had no idea how to use, a tail that hadn't got in the way yet , but probably would at some point or other, an aura of personal terror that terrified him – and a slowly growing appetite that he didn't know how to assuage, because the only thing he knew he was supposed to eat was squid .  Which he was hardly going to stumble over in the middle of a land-locked, ruined city, miles from any sea.

He should never have eaten that slice of pie.  All it had done was set his taste buds dancing –although topping it off with that whisper of chutney and a few swallows of dwarven whiskey probably hadn't helped much …

Something scuttled across the forecourt, a sudden flurry of movement that he caught from the corner of his eye.

Something with too many legs and too much sense of purpose. 

Something was hunting, creeping in from out of the dark.  Probably following the scent of smoke and the hint of warmth offered by the softly glowing embers of the fire. 

He swung his eyes briefly in that direction, seeing Cullie sitting with her back to the fire and her sword laid across her knees.  Sensible.  She had the glow behind her, and dark adjusted eyes to scan for any hint of danger, advancing from the dark.

She also had a Dragon, lying between her and whatever it was that was advancing.  It was doing it slowly now, a measured creep on long, angular legs, its body fat, bulbous and low to the ground …

Arachnida Anelosimus ethologus , he assessed, recognising its similiarity to a species of Arachnid demons that could be found lurking in Venezuela, mimicking a less mystical species.  They were social creatures usually, living in colonies that could reach uncomfortable numbers – up to a 1000 or more.  Fortunately, those creatures were never more than two or three inches across.  This one was at least a foot wide – with legs a good yard long. 

Ah , his mind processed, remembering some of the conversations earlier in the day.  Webspires.  Spider colonies …

Flux had mentioned something about the chance of there being a few spiders somewhere underneath them.  Giles hadn't thought anything of it at the time.  Now he understood why Cullie might have been concerned at the idea.  The thing was big enough for its bite to cause serious damage – and en masse, more than capable of overwhelming even a well equipped and well prepared party.  He glanced out into the dark, checking that the thing was hunting alone.  There was no sign of any others, although that didn't mean anything.  There could well be more, lurking in the arches underneath the hotel. 

He lifted his head slowly, measuring the spider's approach.  It was feeling its way, almost as if tasting a trail left on the ground.  Perhaps it was.  Hunting fresh footsteps made in layers of dust that hadn't been disturbed by anything but spiders for days.  Months.  Years.

Centuries …

He glanced at Willow, still safely curled into his warmth, then across to Cullie, alert but unaware in the dark.  The scope of his acquired vision was impressive; it gave him an almost panaromic view of the scene – and allowed him to watch, still as a statue, as the creature crept forward, step by careful step.

Giles breathed in slowly, calculating reach and distance.  If he stood up, he'd tip Willow straight into the thing's path – and she wouldn't be happy about that, for all sorts of reasons.  A breath of lightning might fry the thing – if he wanted to wake everyone up by bringing the roof down on top of them.   But he had teeth now, and the potential to make use of them.  If it crept close enough, he could snatch at one of those long legs with a snap of his jaws.  Snatch and grab and toss – and the thing would go flying, out into the square before anyone knew it was there.

He leaned forward with infinite slowness, steeling himself for the moment, trying not to imagine the wriggle of those long legs scrabbling at his face, or to think of those dripping mandibles snapping close to his eyes.  One snap, and the thing would be gone. Willow and the others would be safe …

The night breeze shifted, sharpening his awareness of the space around him; it painted seductive messages across his slowly unfurling fins, and carried with it a strange scent – musky and rich, like an over-brewed coffee.  Like vertivert and oakmoss and the dark earthy taste of a freshly dug truffle.  He paused, his eyes and nostrils widening as he registered that tantalising, unexpected aroma. 

And the spider crept cautiously forward, getting closer and closer …

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Here ended Chapter Two of the Songs of Summerset and Midwinter.

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