I have lost track of what day it is, and I don't seem to care. I am waiting to deal with old enemies, enemies so formidable that I know not if I, nay, if any of us will survive the task. Old Turlough has three red dragons for us to deal with. The Mayor, Welby, seems to believe that they are too young to fly, but I have seen them gliding off of the mountain where their lair is, leathern wings outstretched, graceful arching forms. I would have thought them beautiful if I didn't know how deadly they can be. I was far enough away from them that I could not judge their age with assurance, but I know in my heart that it is not too soon to consider them a threat. I feel the burden of guilt once again leading my friends, my family, into the jaws of death. They are strong, though, and valiant, and would not have me try to deal with them alone. I offered. Now I wait, as Stephen finishes his Dwarvish lessons. I have learned the spell "reduce" in order to be able to teleport the entire group to the island at once. Now it is the interminable waiting, my mind swirling with every grim possibility. Would that I could shut it off.

Carlotta's one word to me, "Max," confuses me. Was she answering my question? Was she simply saying my name, in the way women do when you're being a dunderhead and don't realize it? Her kiss haunts me. Through time and death, I felt her lips touch mine, felt the warmth of her hands on my face. How could this be? How can any of this be?

I wonder as I write these lines, will they be the last my hand ever pens? What legacy do I leave to this world? I am not done.