Mishtali woke with a start. He gasped for breath as if he hadn’t been breathing. “Easy, you’re safe now,” An elf told him. “I haven’t healed you all the way. Much is going to have to wait until we get to Torthoc.” Torthoc? Yes, if he needed healing, Nor’than would have to take him back. But, this elf wasn’t the healer Nor’than used. Then, bits and pieces came back to him. The building Nor’than held him in was attacked. His granddaughter had brought help. He looked around. He was outside. He was free. Had they been successful? “… Trying to get you healed enough so you can change.” The elf had continued speaking, unaware of Mishtali’s distraction. “Ann?” He asked. “Inside, sleeping. I had to put her to sleep to heal her wing. She tore it.” “Her wing?” A torn wing meant the possibility of a crippled wing, no more flight. “It’s fine. There’s a slight scar. It won’t affect her flying. If she wants, I’ll heal it when we get back.” The elf reminded him of Thailyn. He was probably the healer Ann had brought instead of Thailyn. Chances are he was quite strong too. “Nor’than?”Mishtali didn’t dare hope. “Dead. Humans say don’t mess with dragons. Immortals will say don’t mess with white dragons.” The elf grinned. “White dragons?” The idea struck fear in Mishtali’s heart. The immortals were after white dragons. The elf nodded. “Ann’s a white dragon, and this is the second immortal she’s killed.” “Lyra?” Mishtali guessed. He’d heard she was dead. “Lyra,” the elf confirmed. “I need to re-break your collar bone and then do emergency healing on it. This is going to hurt. Don’t go mad-dragon on me,” the elf warned. “You read me. Do you think emergency healing is going to cause that?” “It’s because I read you that I worry.” “I haven’t gone mad-dragon since the fifties.” “The fifties?” The elf looked confused. “Sorry. It’s a local way of expressing years. It’s been decades since Nor’than could make me go mad-dragon. Pain doesn’t do it to me anymore.” “Good, because this is going to hurt. A lot.” “Just get it done,” Mishtali growled. The elf started the healing. Mishtali resisted screaming or roaring. The humans on this world had been blissfully ignorant of his existence for five hundred years. He wasn’t going to change that now. Then, the pain and the healing stopped. He lay panting. “You did very well.” The elf nodded. “You did the hard part.” “My hard part is yet to come. Nor’than did a lot of damage. I’m Shunati, by the way,” the elf finally introduced himself. “Pleased to meet you. Thank you for your help.” Shunati smiled. “I’ve been at the palace since before Ann was born. She’s practically family, and that makes you practically family too.” “Palace? What palace?” “I think it was called the summer palace when you were there. But it’s a long story, and I have other patients.” Just then, Nim approached. Nim hands were dragon talons. There were enough cuts he wouldn’t want to change until he was healed. The woman Nor’than had prisoner held one talon. In his other, he held Mishtali’s vial. “Ann’s awake?” Shunati asked. Nim nodded. “She’s helping Andy.” “I should check on them. He’s healed enough to change.” “Shall I bring him in when he’s done?” “Please.” Shunati nodded. Then he headed in. Mishtali turned his attention to Nim. “She sold you my vial?” “She had me do a stick figure,” Nim growled. Mishtali couldn’t help but laugh. “There are worse things she could’ve asked for. What do you want?” “An answer.” He squat down close to Mishtali’s head. “To what?” Mishtali asked, concerned. “When was Nor’than called Carishu?” “He wasn’t. He just claimed he was. He was trying to confuse you. I told Ann that because I could only defy him so far.” Nim nodded and placed the vial in Mishtali’s hand. He took human form. He noticed the woman looked away as he did. Interesting, he’d never met someone who was bothered to watch that before. He tried to sit up, but Nim lifted him. He was reminded that Nim was strong even for a dragon. True, any dragon could lift a man, but Nim could do it with one hand. Given something to carry them in, Nim could carry four men. “Sorry, Shunati doesn’t think you should be walking so soon after being dead,” Nim explained as he took him in the house. “Dead? What do you mean dead?” “Sorry, we had to kill you in order to store you in a vial to get you out. Without your own vial, there was no other way.” “What about my bond? What about Shaw? How will I find her now?” “I’m sorry. It was the only way. We’ll find her. We have immortal spellbooks now. There’s got to be something.” “Immortal spells? Is your old mentor back?” He hoped that was all it was. If Ann was a white dragon, she could have attracted dozens of immortals. Nim shook his head. “I haven’t seen her in a thousand years. We found some books.” “You think you’ll cast them with my help.” Mishtali guessed. “I’m not sure how good my magic will be any more.” “Some, I can cast without your help. I was thinking of Ann, though. She lives up to the legend.” “The White Wyrm?” Nim nodded. “Does she understand the implications?” “No. I haven’t told her. She’s had enough worry dealing with these immortals.” He laid Mishtali on a bed. “Why are you training her? Where’s Thailyn?” Nim handed him a glass. “Shunati wants you to stay hydrated. Drink this.” Mishtali took the glass. “What is it?” “Something called root beer.” Mishtali drank it. “And sleeping potion. You need rest. You can ask your questions later.” Mishtali growled. He hated being dosed. Nim growled right back. “Nim.” The woman put a hand on his arm. “Sorry,” he said. “Meet my chosen, Joanne. Joanne, this stubborn old goat is Ann’s grandfather, Mishtali.” “Who’s a goat?” Mishtali frowned. Although Nim was more than a thousand years younger than he was, they often referred to each other as old goats. “You, until you sleep.” “Boys!” Jo said sharply. “Boys?” Mishtali laughed. “Go to sleep.” She commanded. The potion was starting to take effect. He couldn’t keep his eyes open.