The Book of Air: Volume Four of the Dragon Quartet by Marjorie B. Kellogg Page A

She sees only dispassionate concern, that of a commander sending his man off on a mission.
    “What?” he demands, for she is staring back at him intently.
    Erde blinks, looks away. How can she explain what she’s just understood? How can she admit to it? She’s interpreted all of Köthen’s actions as meant specifically to thwart her personally, to make her miserable—revenge for having been brought away against his will. Now, as a larger vision opens up to her, she sees the entire folly of this assumption. Certainly he is not above rubbing a bit of salt into her wounds, but she is not his target. She’s hardly within range of his aim at all. And if she catches an arrow, it’s because he sees no need to be careful. Like a leaf to the sun, he turns toward what he knows best, what he’s trained to do, what makes him feel worthy. And that is to get things moving, men and things, to maximize the use of slim resources, both personal and physical, in order to accomplish the task at hand. Whatever the task might be. Even though the dragons’ Quest is not his own, and despite a foolish girl often putting herself in his way.
    No. Not child’s play. Not child’s play at all. Rather, he’s assigned her the danger she is best equipped to cope with and live through. A blush warms Erde’s cheeks. Had she really thought that leadership only meant waving a sword about more skillfully than anyone else?
    “What is it, girl?” Köthen asks, more forcefully.
    Erde stares down at her sandaled feet. “I’m sorry. So very sorry.”
    “Pardon?” He takes a step toward her. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
    “I said, I’m sorry, my lord.”
    “For what?”
    “For all the trouble I’ve caused you.”
    “An apology?” He’s actually at a loss for words. He glances back at the intent faces around Gerrasch’s swiftlymoving fingers. The glow from the many rows of little buttons lights his profile, and Erde’s heart turns over yet again. She can’t say which part of his face is most beautiful to her, or why, but she knows she could stare at him forever, and be happy. She cannot deny the truth of the sigh that wells up, as if from the very bottom of her soul.
    When Köthen’s gaze returns, it is milder than she’s ever seen it. He grips her shoulder to shake it lightly. “On your way, then. Grab up my lady Paia and that kidnapping young whelp, then do what you can for the witchy women on your way back. Be quick about it!”
    “Aye, my lord.”
    “Luther!”
    “Yeah!” The Tinker hefts the heavy sack.
    “Bring them back safe!”
    “Betcha!”
    Erde readies the image of Deep Moor in her mind.
    WE ARE GOING TO . . .?
    Yes, Dragon. To Deep Moor first. Fearful imaginings or not, it seems only right. Will Lady Water agree?
    IF WE DO IT QUICKLY, I’LL AGREE TO ANYTHING.
    Erde grasps Luther’s arm. “Hang on tight!”

C HAPTER F OUR

    W hen it’s clear she’s off-balance and falling, Paia gives in and lets the momentum take her. The instant the sun-bright image came up on the screen, she’d known what it was. The portal had opened again. So she is not surprised to find herself thrown flat on burning sand with the breath knocked out of her. Nor is she surprised to find the tall young African’s limbs entangled with her own. Serves her good and right. She shouldn’t have hung onto him. She looks for the soldier, but sees he’s been left behind. When panic wells up, she fights it down easily enough. He’ll be worried about her, but maybe it’s all right to be without him for a while. A good thing, to be on her own. For the first time ever. In her life.
    Catching her breath, Paia contemplates this sudden urge toward solitude. The air is heavy, as if it would take less of it than usual to fill up her lungs. It leaves the oddest taste of salt on her tongue. She’s aware of a certain inner numbness. Her brain is a slow-turning maelstrom. Better just to concentrate on what to do for the next few seconds.