Time was running out. Shaiandral could feel it. Lightning flashed in the stormy sky above, sending iridescent sparks coruscating off the dragon-scale exterior of the palace. Her side ached as she came closer, and her breath came in low pants. She'd been walking too far, too fast, for too long. Hurry, damn it. It isn't far now. You're nearly there.

Shaiandral's knees and legs screamed in pain as she drew closer to the rain-slickened onyx stairs that led to the palace entrance. She leaned on her carved wooden staff, trying not to slip as she limped up the steps, gasping for breath. At the top, she stared at the great palace doors that stretched three times her height. A pristine white dragon's skull lay embedded in the center of the doors, contrasting with the stark blackness of the remainder of the palace. Shaiandral drew in her breath and banged the ivory hoop lanced through the dragon's mouth against the door.

"Who is it?" A cautious female voice passed through the sable doors as if they weren't there to block sound.

The Dragonlord's palace has powerful magic. I should have assumed. Shaiandral swallowed, pushing away her trepidation. "It is the Healer Shaiandral of Clan Sharteka, coming as summoned."

The woman on the other side did not answer. Shaiandral pursed her lips. All this way, and I'm not even welcomed? I won't be taken for granted by my people's sworn enemies. Hell, she wouldn't even be here if not for her Healer's Oath.

A human-sized door to the left swung open, and a wide-eyed blonde woman poked her head out. "Thank the Goddess. Come in." She beckoned at Shaiandral.

The door slammed behind Shaiandral as she entered into the main hall of the palace. She couldn't help gaping. None of her people had ever seen the Dragonlord's palace, and certainly not her. Torchlight shone off the ebony walls, providing the only source of light in the hall. The ceiling stretched high above her head, and the perimeter was larger than her whole cottage. It could easily fit a dragon--or more than one.

"Goddess! You're soaking wet!" The woman's voice drew Shaiandral's attention away from the hall. She didn't sound concerned, but angry that Shaiandral had dared to drip on the precious stone floors.

"It doesn't matter. I was summoned to heal the dying Dragonlord. Now, we can stand here and screw around over my wet clothes, if that's what you want. Or you can take me to the Dragonlord, and I can do my best to heal him. It may be too late." A prickle at the back of Shaiandral's neck and a cold taste in her throat told her there wasn't much time left--if any.

The woman tightened her jaw, and her blue eyes went ice cold, but she nodded curtly. "You're right. This way." She took a torch from the wall and began walking down the hall.

Shaiandral followed, her sopping leather sandals squishing against dark stone. She couldn't help but gawk at the stark decoration. Black marble columns rose to the ceiling, and animal heads stared down from the walls between them. Rather than bronzed, they were set in ebony. That's impossible ... but then, the Dragons wield different magics than us. Sets of black eyes gazed down at her, almost as if they followed her movements. She shivered.

"That's what happens to the Dragonlord's enemies." The blonde's low voice cut through Shaiandral's thoughts, and she snapped her head around to look at her.

"What?"

"You heard me." She nodded at the heads. "They're war trophies. And warnings to any that might dare oppose him."

"Animals?" Shaiandral shook her head, and frowned, realization dawning. Goosebumps rose, chilling her body. "They're not animals, are they? They're shape shifters."

"They are," she said coldly, without looking at Shaiandral.

She stopped for a moment, startled, and stared at a jaguar head. Even in his jaguar form, she knew that face. Prince Caztli of Clan Sharteka. Her clan. Mindless rage pulsed through her mind, and her fingernails itched. Claws rumbled from beneath the surface of her skin.

Prince Caztli had disappeared on hunt one night. No one had found his body. He wasn't a war trophy. He was a victim. Of what, Shaiandral didn't know.

Her claws poked out. She shoved them back into their sheaths, reversing the shift. Calm. Balance. You're here as Healer. Control yourself, damn it. No matter what he may have done, you're a Healer, and you have your duty to perform. You can arrange his murder later, when you aren't forced by your Oath.

Shaiandral's mouth tightened as she followed the woman out of the hallway, through a short arched doorway into a corridor so narrow they had to go single file. Torchlight flickered, shining off sparkling garnets set in the ebony wall. The air felt heavy. It weighed down on her like a spectral force pressing from above. Dark tendrils floated in the air like whirlpools, sucking at the energy around them, pulling it within. Shaiandral tightened her shields and avoided the maelstrom energies.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and goosebumps rose on her skin. The deeper she went into the palace, the more she felt that something was wrong beyond anything she could sense. She hesitated to name it, but ... evil tainted the palace. It swathed around her, trying to gain a hold on her aura as she followed the blonde woman through the corridor. Shaiandral stiffened and sent out a flash of white fire, surrounding her aura. The tendrils shrank back. They weren't dangerous. Not yet.

"Here it is." The woman's voice startled her, and her othersight concentration broke. Her shields held; they didn't need that level of focus to function.

The door opened, and dark light poured into the corridor. The blonde waved Shaiandral into the room. "These are the Dragonlord's chambers. I leave you here with him to work your healing."

Before Shaiandral could say anything, she shut the door behind her.

"Hey!" Shaiandral grabbed at the doorknob. A latch clicked on the other end. She snarled as she tried to open the door without success. "Bitch."

No matter. You're here for healing. Do the job. Then deal with the bitch. She spun around into the room. Crimson orbs of glowing fire levitated, shining eerie light onto a dark four-poster bed on a raised platform. A small ebony end table sat beside it, a wilting burgundy rose in a dark glass vase set on it. The rest of the room didn't matter. Shaiandral lifted her small but strong hand to release the clasp at her throat. Her soaked cloak fell to the floor with a squish. Shaiandral's right hand fell to her leather satchel with her medicines.

Drawing in her breath, Shaiandral stepped up the platform. Her knees wobbled with exhaustion, but she ignored that. She was a Healer. Sable silk curtains hung from the four-poster bed, shielding the Dragonlord from view. She pulled them back. Darkness reigned within the bed. Not only a lack of light, but an energy darkness, as well. Shaiandral glared at the crimson orbs.

"Why couldn't you be white? That way I could see." She growled under her breath.

The orbs flashed, showering crimson flecks, and radiated brilliant silver fire. They flew past Shaiandral to shine down onto the Dragonlord. She gaped, then shook her head. Magic. I really should get used to this ...

She looked down at the Dragonlord. He lay under a black rabbit skin coverlet. Tezca, they really like their black, don't they? Golden hair tumbled past his shoulders in waves of luxurious curls. He looked peacefully at rest.

At rest? Shaiandral frowned and reached for his throat to check his pulse. As her fingers brushed against the high silk collar of his pajama top, the Dragonlord jerked away, a snore choking in his throat. He coughed, his breath wheezing, and settled back into the thick feather pillows.

Pursing her lips, Shaiandral slowly drew back the coverlet, revealing his body, clad in ebon silk pajamas with onyx, jet, obsidian, and garnet stones embroidered into elaborate sigils. He looked completely healthy. His body wasn't shrunken from any sort of disease, and his face and hands were unmarked. Unless it's an internal illness?

Shaiandral chanted softly under her breath. Energy swirled around his body, and his aura glowed brilliant crimson--but plagued by sick yellow-green pustules. She narrowed her eyes, watching as the taint spread, eating away at the healthy aural tissue. This is a magical disease. But how...?

There wasn't time for that. He was fading fast. If she didn't act quickly, there would be no saving him. At the rate the disease was spreading, there'd be no way for her to counteract it with the magic she had immediately at hand. She would have to raise more. I might not be able to save him, even then.

But I haven't come this far to give in now. I have to try. Shaiandral edged onto the bed and straddled his body, as necessary for the magic. She reached into her satchel and gripped her ceremonial dagger. Bringing the knife across the palm of her hand, she recited the proper chant to sanctify her blood for healing purposes.

A crimson drop fell onto the Dragonlord's chest. Flame exploded as it soaked through and touched his skin. Shaiandral fell back against the soft featherbed with a yelp, her ceremonial knife flying out of her hand. "Gods!"

Time slowed. She tensed. A dark force prowled the room. She felt like she was being stalked. Or ... Shaiandral yanked herself back to a sitting position. The blood drained from her face, and she gasped. Shadow energy, blacker than black, foamed from the Dragonlord's body, gathering itself into a semi-corporeal form as it swirled above the body. Like smoke. Shaiandral's eyes widened, and she scrambled backwards, trying to get away from whatever it was.

Slits appeared in the fog creature. Crimson eyes with onyx pupils narrow like a snake's opened. The creature hovered over the Dragonlord's body, now detached from him. Lips darker than jet formed, and smiled.

Shaiandral shook. She knew what it was now. A demon. What the hell am I going to do?

The demon's mouth moved, forming words in a deep voice that echoed off the ebon walls of the Dragonlord's chamber and reverberated within her soul. "Healer. You have come."

Shit. "Yes--I...” She stammered, fear constricting around her heart. A demon had killed her teacher, the Priestess Alza, one of the most gifted Healers in the Clans. How can I fight it? Tezca, my patron, give me strength...

"You're barely in time." The demon frowned, making a tsk-ing sound in the back of his throat. "My host is dying."

"Do you think I can't feel it?" Shaiandral wracked her brain, trying to remember anything Alza had ever mentioned about demons. Unfortunately, it hadn't been much. Damn. "I'm here to heal him."

The demon began to swirl and change form again, growing arms and legs. Turning into some weird cloud adaptation of the human body. "Do your work." Crimson eyes narrowed, and his voice brooked no argument.

She bit her lip and turned back to the Dragonlord, trying not to think about whom the demon was and why he was here--and how she'd get away afterwards. But that wasn't important--she had a dying man to heal. Biting her lip, she took hold of the power rippling through her body and focused on using it to cleanse the tainted sickness from the Dragonlord's body.

But her efforts were in vain. As hard as she tried, he still continued to fade. The disease fought back against her power. It isn't enough. Deep down, she knew that no matter how much of her power she threw at it--it wouldn't help. Whoever did this had far more power at his disposal than she. Sweat broke out along her face as he grew weaker, despite the massive amounts of energy she directed at the taint.

Swaths of blackness swarmed out from the demon in anger, stretching towards her. "Veren is dying."

"I know!" Shaiandral snarled. "I don't know what's wrong! I've dealt with all manner of sicknesses before, but I've never encountered a magical toxin of this magnitude before! Yes, I'm losing him, and I don't know how to stop it!"

The demon levitated over the Dragonlord's--Veren's?--body and stepped forward. A tendril of dark energy shot out from it, grasping for her. Shaiandral threw herself to the side, rolling towards the edge of the bed--but a strong, slimy tendril wrapped around her wrist and yanked her back. She cried out as she flew into the center of the bed.

Phantom weight crushed against her abdomen, and Shaiandral gagged as energy filthy as sewage piled on top of her. The demon glared down into her face. "You will heal him."

"I can't do it! I don't have the power to fight it. Whoever did this wanted him dead."

The demon looked even more displeased, and her skin crawled. There's nothing more I can do for the Dragonlord. I have to get away from here. Or I'm going to become his next victim. Roaring, she spat in his face and fumbled for the defense knife at her hip. She yanked it from its sheath and brought it up into the demon's back.

It passed through like it would a ghost. Her eyes widened, and the demon laughed. "You think you can harm me that way, shifter? I'm impervious to physical harm. Your puny weapons can't touch me." He closed his hand around her dagger and yanked it away with a grin, baring jagged obsidian teeth. "I can make my form corporeal at will."

Shaiandral's blood chilled. Shit. What the hell am I going to do? She didn't know anything about dealing with demons. They were so rare, it wasn't thought necessary to teach.

"Now." He clutched her shirt collar, leaning forward, menace tendrils washing over her. "You will heal him. Or you will die."