Michelle Sagara - Cast in Peril

She nodded, and Tiamaris turned and stepped back into the hall.

“Kaylin, Severn, follow him. Quickly; we may be too late.”

They ran into the hall in time to see Tiamaris finish a transformation that justified both the unusual width of the halls and the height of the ceiling. His eyes were larger and redder as he swiveled his head.

“Yes.” Tara spoke out loud for Kaylin’s benefit.

“Don’t just stand there gaping.” Tiamaris’s voice shook the ground as he glared at the two Hawks dwarfed by his Dragon form. “Get on.”

Chapter 5

The aperture, as Tiamaris had called it, was actually a wall, and from the interior side, it looked like solid stone. Given Tiamaris was running at it headfirst, Kaylin wasn’t too concerned; if it failed to open, it was unlikely to hurt him. Tara, however, flew ahead. At this height, most Aerians would have run—but her flight was like a loosed arrow; she moved. The wings seemed decorative.

Parts of the rapidly approaching wall, unlike the roof of the Hawklord’s Tower, did not separate and retract. Instead, they faded, turning in an eye’s blink into a very large, very open space with a bit of ceiling over it. Beyond it, instead of the vegetable gardens that pretty much served as the lofty Tower’s grounds, was the length of a street that Kaylin took a few seconds to recognize: it was Capstone.

Capstone at this time of the day wasn’t empty—but it emptied quickly, pedestrians moving to either side of the street in a panicked rush at the unexpected appearance of a large copper-red Dragon. Tiamaris’s color seemed to shift according to either mood or light; Kaylin, having seen so few transformations in any other Dragons, wasn’t certain why. It wasn’t the time to ask.

“Tara, we’re near the border of Nightshade?”

Tara nodded, scanning the people who were now standing in doorways, against walls, or, if they were lucky, in the mouth of an alley.

Tiamaris drew breath, and before Kaylin could stop him—or before she could try—he roared.

Tara lifted her chin. “There,” she said, pointing. “At the edge of the border. Kaylin?”

Kaylin leapt clear of Tiamaris’s back and landed in the street. She took off down Capstone at a run. She hadn’t asked Tara what Yvander looked like, but at this point, it wasn’t necessary: he was near the border, and all but the most hysterical of people who lived on this side of the Ablayne knew damn well to avoid it; there was likely to be only one person near its edge.

Severn caught up with her as she ran, pulling ahead because he had the greater stride. The man in question—dark-haired, slender of build—froze in place as he heard their running footsteps. Given that he’d just heard a Dragon’s roar, this was surprising. He hesitated for one long moment and then turned to look over his shoulder. His eyes widened as Severn barreled into him, knocking him off his feet.

Thank gods, Kaylin thought, that they weren’t in the streets of their city. The two men rolled to a stop as Kaylin approached them.

She blinked. “Pull him back,” she told Severn. “We’re too far in.”

Severn dragged himself—and the young man—to his feet. “Sorry. The Lady wants to speak with you.”

The man blinked. His dark eyes were wide. “The—the Lady?” He didn’t seem likely to bolt, and Severn relaxed his grip on a rumpled brown tunic. “Why?” He blinked again and looked around, his eyes widening farther, which Kaylin would have bet was impossible. He turned quickly to his right. “Get Michael,” he said. “Michael!”

He was clearly looking for someone. “There’s no one else here,” Kaylin told him as Severn began to pull him back toward the safe side of the street.

“He was right beside me,” the man insisted. “We were—” He frowned. “We were heading to Luvarr’s.”

“You were heading in the wrong direction. There was no one else with you.” Kaylin’s hands slid to the tops of her daggers as she gazed down at the street. At the height of day, the boundary that existed between Tiamaris and Nightshade seemed almost invisible. But Kaylin looked toward the fief of her childhood, the street that continued into it, and the buildings that stood at its edge, drained of all color. What was left was gray, black, and white. The border had a width that normal maps didn’t give it.

“Kaylin?”

She shook her head. Something about the shapes of the buildings looked wrong at this distance. “Take him back to Tara.”

“Not without you.”

Yvander was bewildered. “I don’t understand,” he said in a tone of voice that made him sound much younger than he looked. “Why am I here? Where’s Michael?”

“That’s a good question. Go back to the Lady,” Kaylin said gently. “I’ll look for Michael.”

“Kaylin—”

“That will not be necessary.” The fieflord stood yards away, the Tower’s Avatar—and his figurative crown—to his left. “Yvander.”

The young man dropped to his knees with no grace at all; Kaylin suspected fear had caused his legs to collapse. “Lord.”

There was no official title for the fieflord, because if you were very, very lucky, you never had to meet him. Tiamaris, however, accepted this in stride. He turned to Tara. “Lady, this is Yvander?”

She nodded, her eyes obsidian, her wings high. “You were not with Michael,” she said.

“I—I was, Lady— He was just—he was right here.…” Severn caught his arm and helped him to his feet, for a value of help that saw the Hawk doing most of the heavy lifting. He then guided him toward Tara, who hadn’t moved an inch. As Yvander approached, she lowered her wings.

“Private Neya.”

“Lord Tiamaris.”

“Tara does not believe it is wise to remain where you are standing.”

Kaylin turned to look back at the street. “Tara, can you come here?”

“I? No.”

“You’re certain?”

“I am the Tower, Kaylin; in exchange for power within the boundaries ascribed me by my creators, I am left with very little beyond them.”

“This is now beyond your boundaries?”

“Yes.”

“And in theory, that means I’m standing in Nightshade.”

Tara was silent for a long moment. “You are aware that that is not the case.”

Kaylin nodded slowly. “But I don’t understand why.”

“Come back to Tiamaris, Kaylin.”

Kaylin, however, frowned as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone was standing at the window of one of the gray, washed-out buildings. He wasn’t gray in the way the buildings were; he wore loose robes that might have been at home in the High Halls. She recognized the long, black drape of Barrani hair.

His eyes widened as he realized she was looking directly at him.

“Tara, there’s someone here!”

Severn sprinted across the ill-defined border to her side as the hair on the back of her neck began to stand on end. She had enough time—barely—to throw herself to the side before the street where she’d been standing—gray and colorless though it was—erupted in a livid purple fire. She rolled to her feet and leapt again as the fire bloomed a yard away.

The small dragon squawked in her ear; he’d been so still and so quiet she’d almost forgotten he was attached. “Go somewhere safer,” she told him sharply.

Her skin ached as her clothing brushed against it, but she didn’t need the pain to know that magic was being used. Severn stopped in front of the building as he unleashed his weapon’s chain. “Get behind me!”

Kaylin managed to avoid a third volley of ugly purple fire, and the leap carried her more or less to Severn’s side, where she narrowly avoided his spinning chain. The fourth gout of flame broke against the barrier created by the chain’s arc.