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speed—
    —breath burning from being held in, unable to see, water dimming even the brightest lights, or perhaps there were no lights anymore…
    Tobimar felt darkness greater than that surrounding him starting to close in on his consciousness, a red-tinged blackness that meant death; once he gave in, he would try to breathe, and the vile water would fill his lungs. But he couldn’t hold on much longer. Poplock…Kyri…
    Abruptly he struck stone, rough but symmetrical, cut and ordered, and the headlong flight had slowed, the water was becoming sluggish, hesitating, going backward. With the last of his strength he reached out, grabbed hold of the stone beneath, and held on as the water streamed by, first slowly, then faster and faster, as knives seemed to be impaling his lungs and his grip weakened. He felt his fingers starting to slip—
    —and a massive hand closed around his and yanked him up.
    The gasp of pure air was the most wonderful thing he had ever felt. For a moment he simply hung there, letting the air force back the reddish-black haze that had nearly taken him. Then he managed to open his eyes again.
    Tanvol was holding him half-suspended in air, the huge Light gasping for breath himself, draped across a brace that was jammed diagonally in the stairway that ascended to the Valatar Throneroom.
    “Thanks,” Tobimar managed.
    “Think…nothing of it…Prince of Skysand,” Tanvol replied slowly. His grip slackened. “Glad to…have been able…to provide a last…service.”
    A sliver of ice pierced Tobimar’s heart. The massive, boisterous, inexhaustible Light seemed to be…fading. “Last…what do you mean?”
    “It appears,” Tanvol said, with his brilliant grin wan and regretful, “that one of the few capsules…we failed to retrieve…was my own.” His eyes were clouded. “I…see two places at once…here, and…a dark place, with vague shimmering against glass before my eyes, and it is cold.”
    “T-Tanvol? No, no, no !” Miri was stumbling up the steps. “No, I won’t let—”
    The rumbling chuckle was a ghost of its former self, but the humor was there. “Alas, my one-time demonic comrade, I fear you…cannot forbid…death.” The black eyes blinked, glazed, the head was drooping, even as Lady Shae and Phoenix staggered up. “I see…cracks forming. Slow enough…to allow a farewell…swift enough to not draw out the pain. It…was a good life…Lady Shae…Miri…do not mourn, but…sing for me. The Light…awaits me. I see it now…Light beyond here…beyond the glass…that drips water upon…my unmoving face.”
    Tanvol’s eyes closed, but he was smiling, and the lips parted once more. “…and with…such glory ahead…who wants…to live…forever?”
    The massive Light’s body sagged, and Tobimar caught it as it slid, now lifeless, to the ground.

Chapter 3
    Poplock gave his own little salute from atop Danrall’s shoulder as Tanvol’s body, clad in a pure white robe with the pattern of the Seven and One embroidered on it in gems and gold thread, was borne towards the shores of Enneisolaten by seven people: Lady Shae, Miri, Anora, Herminta Gantil and another Color whose name Poplock didn’t quite remember, Hiriista…and Tobimar. Tobimar had insisted he be the Seventh, and none had argued with him.
    The Unity Guard had been silent as the body was prepared and the seven had stood. But as Tanvol passed the last in line, they began to sing, a solemn and powerful chant, and turned as one to march behind the seven bearers. Looking behind, Poplock saw most of the population of the city, thousands strong. They were following, some grim, some sad, some crying silent tears, but all of them following with proud and measured pace.
    As the procession reached the shore—a shore more broad and low than it had been before the Great Dragon rose from beneath its depths—the Unity Guard began to fan out, spreading towards other white-wrapped bodies waiting on simple rafts at the edge of