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You just never know what a character is going to do. I thought, when I planned this story, that Niam and Tenni would get along well. Instead, Niam seems to like Lur best. As my friend Tici pointed out, Lur reminds Niam of himself.

Another thing troubled him, on a deeper level – Paka. He wondered how long she would wait behind the butcher's shop for him. He trusted her to take care of herself, but there were so many things, bad things, that could happen to a young girl in their part of the city that he couldn't help worrying. But there was nothing he could do now. Even if this lord did let him go, by the time he got back to the alley, Paka would definitely have given up.

Well, he would just have to find her. After all, he still had her box.

When he was finally taken to Lord Niam's rooms, Niam sent away all the servants, leaving only himself and one other man with Lur. This man was a little younger than the lord, tall and skinny, with blond hair that brushed his shoulders gracefully and a face that seemed formed to express disdain. Niam introduced him as Master Scribe Tenni, and now Lur noticed the ink stains on the man's fingers. So that's what a scribe looks like. Pretty good job, it seems.

He had glanced around nervously when the door had shut behind him, and Niam, with that characteristic faint smile, said, "Tenni, would you mind opening a window, to make our young guest more comfortable?"

"He wants to be cold?" drawled the scribe, but he obeyed.

"He wants an escape route. As we agreed, Lur."

Lur nodded once. "I'll listen."

"First let me tell you that Tenni is like us, marked with the Talon."

"I don't see anything."

The scribe said, "Only the Prime Talon can see them."

"Talon, Prime Talon. What the hell is all this? Tell me quick, so I can get out of here." He almost added I have a friend waiting for me, but bit the words off. He didn't want these men having any kind of hold over him.

"Before I tell you the whole story – would you please sit? You're fidgeting." Lur sat, and Niam continued, "Before I tell you everything, I want to ask you a question. What is it that you want most in the world? If you could have any wish, what would it be?"

Lur sneered. "Gi on the end of a rope."

"I hope your ambitions reach a little higher than the gallows." The man studied Lur for a moment, eyes narrowed and sharp. Then the little smile came back. "Perhaps help with finding your mother?"

The breath left Lur's lungs as if he'd been punched in the belly. Nobody but Paka knew about his mother, about his one memory of her as she had handed him over, a toddler, to the orphanage. He recalled her face, if only vaguely, and even more clearly the way her arms felt around him and the fragrance of her hair. And he remembered that she had cried when she'd let go of his hand at the orphanage door, wept as if her heart was breaking. Ever since he'd been forced to leave the orphanage, he had searched for her, since, once he'd left that place, she would not be able to find him again. He didn't know her name or anything about her, but everywhere he went, he looked at the face of every dark-haired young woman on every street, trying to find the one face he'd recognize. He wasn't sure what he would do when he found her, but at the very least, he wanted to know why she had sobbed as she left him behind. She must have loved him then, and in a small corner of his heart, he had a dream that she still loved him and would welcome him back to her, now that he was able to take care of himself and her, too.

He opened his mouth, forced words out. "Keep guessing."

The scribe laughed. "You'll have to do better than that, boy. Your face went white. He's hit it."

Niam said, "I didn't guess. The dragon told me."

"Dragon? What dragon? You really are crazy."

"The dragon who gave you that mark. Now, do you want to sit and listen to what I have to say? Because if you come with us, we will be helping the dragon in a battle to come, and if he wins, he will lead you to your mother."

"She's probably dead," he growled. He didn't want these men to have any part of his dream.

"Then at least you will know for sure."

He waited, and Lur at last settled back in the chair. "All right. Give me your story, old man."

The scribe muttered, "Oh, this is going to be such a fun trip." He sat at a table near the window, drew writing materials to him, and began to set words to a scroll. "Found the third Talon today," he said aloud as he wrote, "and far from being promising, he's a dirty, scruffy, insolent street brat." He looked up, smiling wickedly at Lur. "Care to add to that?"

Niam said, "Add that he has courage. Now, Lur, I am going to tell you about the Twilight Dragon."

If for no other reason than to confound the scribe, Lur listened without commenting or interrupting. The entire thing sounded crazy to him. But neither Lord Niam or the scribe seemed insane, nor did either of them expect him to believe them unquestioningly. Niam simply told him about the great battle to come, about the two dragons, and about the talons. He told him, too, that Steleduil would treat humanity more kindly than Nathduil, but that Nathduil was prepared to directly reward his individual talons, something Steleduil would not do. As the Dawn Dragon, Nathduil would find his mother for him, whereas Steleduil would do nothing for him at all.