Cast in Peril

by Michelle Sagara

  “Can you not call your familiar back?” the Consort demanded, her gaze once again on the skies.

  “…No.”

  “Are you certain it’s a danger?”

  Given the relative size of the two flying dragons, it was a fair question. “Yes.”

  The Consort raised both her arms; they were trembling. “Lord Nightshade,” she said, voice soft.

  “Lady.” He glanced at Kaylin. “Watch the skies, Lord Kaylin. If there is a moment at which you might intervene, you will know it.” He raised his arms, and he caught the Consort’s right hand in his left; their fingers intertwined as the Consort began to sing.

  * * *

  The Consort’s song wasn’t gentle. What she sang wasn’t meant to soothe or to calm. She didn’t start banging shield with sword, but that was probably because she didn’t have them at hand.

  What shocked Kaylin into stillness—she’d already fallen silent—was Nightshade’s voice when it joined the Consort’s. She had never heard Nightshade sing before; she’d never really considered it a possibility. Most of the singing she’d heard in her life was in taverns and in the dim recesses of her early childhood memories of her mother. Neither were like this. Nightshade’s voice was strong. It was strong, deep—she would have predicted that, had anyone asked. But it blended with the Consort’s, giving her the melody and folding itself around it, supporting and strengthening the tone and texture of her notes. He took nothing from her in her strident challenge; he gave instead.

  Kaylin felt tears start and didn’t know why; she couldn’t understand a word they sang. The song wasn’t any form of Barrani she recognized.

  The small dragon darted around the large one. It had the advantage of size; it could pivot neatly and easily. The large Dragon, however, could almost match it, which was dizzying given the difference in their proportions. The Dragon roared as the song continued, and Kaylin watched as both dragons—water Dragon, glass dragon—slowed their roaring, their turning, and their snapping as the song continued.

  They watched the Consort and Lord Nightshade; they listened.

  What happens now? Kaylin thought, watching, eyes watering, mouth dry.

  In answer, the water Dragon began to glow. In his chest, as if he had swallowed sunlight, a bright, pale gold shone. His wings unfurled, extending far beyond their previous reach; they thinned as they spread. She could see the shape of pinions, the hint of something that would be leather if leather were liquid. No dragon wings she’d seen, not even the small ones, resembled these.

  The Dragon’s neck shrank, dwindling until it no longer looked Draconic. Its jaws receded as well, collapsing into the form and shape of a face that resembled the Barrani. It was not a Barrani face; the flying water creature was too large for that. But its cheekbones, its slender taper, its chin—no, she thought, his chin—were similar. What the neck and jaws had done, the Dragon’s tail now mimicked; it dwindled.

  All that was left of the form were wings that were no longer Dragon wings; his claws had already completed the transformation into long, slender limbs. He looked like a living, moving work of art, even to someone whose whole interaction with art was “I know what I like.” But the light in the center of his chest—which now shone where his heart would be—continued to glow, and as it did, Kaylin understood why: it was a word. It was a living word, a True Word, an immutable rune.

  Even at this distance, the shape of its many lines and scores were distinct and recognizable. But they were also complex, dense; the word began to rotate, turning on an invisible vertical axis as she watched, as if to display the whole of its three-dimensional, complex self. It reminded her, in complexity, of the single glimpse she’d had of the Outcaste Dragon’s True Name. She knew it wasn’t a word she could speak, and if this water were somehow alive—as the name at its heart implied—trying wasn’t an option. She’d be dead before she could get her mind around the first of its syllables, if she could even figure out where to start.

  She had no doubt at all that this was what Nightshade had told her to watch for, but his confidence in her abilities to interfere were hideously unfounded.

  This water being looked down at the gathered Barrani, expression impassive, as the Consort’s song faded on a single attenuated note. She lowered her arms, and as she did, Nightshade’s came with them. Kaylin was shocked to see that the Lady was literally sweating.

  The small dragon alighted daintily on the water Dragon’s—no, the water being’s—exposed shoulder. Whatever animosity he might bear a small dragon, it seemed contained to, confined in, the Draconic form; he didn’t appear to notice the small creature’s presence.

  “Daughter,” this being said as he alighted in the dry riverbed, yards away from the rock on which almost all the Barrani now congregated. “Why have you wakened me?”

  The Consort lifted her chin. “Your dreams had grown wild and dangerous, Hallionne Kariastos.”

  He turned slowly, gazing across the landscape that surrounded the riverbed. “Was I dreaming?” he asked softly. His voice, Kaylin thought, could break hearts, just by being heard. She hated to cry in public but could feel tears sliding down her cheeks, regardless.

  “You were, Hallionne.”

  “A dream of Dragons,” he said after a long pause. Lifting a hand, he removed the small dragon from his shoulders, cupping him in a palm. “Small dragons indeed, and strange, to wake me so completely.”

  The small dragon squawked.

  “Oh?” He turned then to look directly at Kaylin. “Are you certain that I have woken at all?” Still carrying the small dragon, he walked across the riverbed, leaping up to stand on the large, round rock. He held the dragon out to Kaylin, whose arms—and mouth—felt momentarily frozen.

  “He is yours,” the winged man said. “And you are mortal.”

  She managed to nod.

  “Mortal, and yet, you wear the blood of my brother, and you stand at the entrance to the lands under my protection. Do you come seeking my protection?”

  She had no idea what the right answer was. Nor did any of the Barrani, even the ones she knew, rush in to supply it.

  He smiled. The small dragon hopped off his hand and onto Kaylin’s shoulders, where it draped itself like a soggy scarf.

  “If you do not seek protection,” the man said after a long pause spent studying Kaylin’s tears, “accept instead the offer of my hospitality.” He turned toward the riverbed and gestured.

  From out of the dirt and the stones over which the water had run, a large arch now assembled itself. It was not as subtle as the trees or the cliffs had been. Kaylin had, until the moment all the water had deserted the river, expected to somehow walk through it holding her breath to find the way station.

  What surprised her, however, wasn’t the arch—given where the arch had come from, expecting magic made sense. It was the Barrani reaction. The Lords of the High Court were silent, and to a man, their eyes were blue. Glancing at Teela, Kaylin amended that: to a person, their eyes were blue.

  “I really hope that creature is useful in some way,” Teela said in very quiet Elantran. “Answer his question before he decides you’re being rude.”

  Kaylin looked back at the man. “I would greatly appreciate the hospitality.”

  His smile, like his voice, could melt hearts. “Enter, and be welcome.”

  * * *

  Kaylin was the first person through the arch. She was therefore the first person to enter the way station for a good fifteen minutes, during which time she looked around the hall. It was not, like the cliff station, sharply angular in construction, and although there was stone, much of it seemed to be crystalline. The floors were solid, but they were vaguely translucent, and to Kaylin’s eye, something large was moving beneath them.

  The front hall was rounded in the corners, like a worn die; its walls curved up toward the large room’s center. There were mirrors at even intervals around the wall, although when Kaylin approached them, she realized they weren’t reflective.
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br />   “Records,” she said. Nothing happened, which is what she’d expected. She tried calling for Records in each of the languages she knew and got the same blank gray for her trouble. She even lifted a hand to touch one, but the small dragon hissed in her ear until she lowered her palm.

  “Where is everyone?” she finally asked.

  The walls and the inactive mirrors failed to answer. There were no doors that Kaylin could see, either, so further exploration would have to wait—for something. She would have headed back out to see what was happening if the arch had been a two-way convenience. It wasn’t.

  “Next time,” she told the small dragon, “remind me not to enter first.”

  He squawked agreeably.

  “I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

  Squawk.

  “Fine.” Kaylin approached one of the mirrors again. They were large, long ovals, taller than the mirror in the Hawklord’s Tower. Frowning, she tried a few different High Barrani phrases; after all, this was a Barrani way station. When she hit the long, polite phrase that indicated hunger—a simple declarative “I’m hungry” wouldn’t do—the flat, lifeless surface of the mirror in front of her began to move. It moved like dense cloud seen at a distance—except she was standing inches away.

  The roiling folds of mist began to harden. As they did, they took on familiar forms and shapes; she could see a long table, with benches to either side. There were candles on the table, and large, shallow bowls—or plates with funny lips; it was hard to tell. There were goblets and glasses, as well.

  Everything in the mirror was gray, but when the scene had finished asserting its solidity, color appeared in a rush, like the spread of fire over dry brush.

  “Well, then,” Kaylin said to her sole companion. “Shall we?”

  * * *

  Kaylin stepped through what was obviously a portal. She didn’t experience the horrendous sense of dislocation entering Nightshade’s castle always caused, and again wondered if that dislocation was simple, ancient malice. The floors in the dining hall were solid hardwood, in planks with a very light stain; it added a warmth to the room. In all, she liked the interior of this station better than the other two.

  There were no doors leading to, or from, the hall—but there were mirrors, very similar to the one she’d entered, spaced evenly along the walls. Interspersed with mirrors, some of which weren’t dull gray, were odd adornments: what looked like small banners. Kaylin approached them and realized two things: the hall was huge, and the banners were therefore not all that small. Neither were the mirrors. She guessed that there were no physical halls in this building, if you could call it a building at all.

  She glanced with longing at the table.

  The Consort still hadn’t arrived; no one had. Until the Consort arrived, neither end of the table could be designated as the head—there were no visual cues. There were chairs, not benches, at either end of the table, but the chairs were identical. Kaylin’s preference—when she was allowed to sit and eat—would definitely be the foot of the table, as it would be farthest from anyone with clear Barrani political ambition.

  Her stomach complained.

  As there wasn’t anyone in the room with her and the food was just sitting there, Kaylin finally decided that rules of etiquette didn’t count. She grabbed something that looked like sticky bread and carried it to the farthest wall, where the crumbs wouldn’t be immediately visible. The small dragon insisted on biting it a few times as well, although as far as she could see he didn’t actually eat any of it.

  Fortified, Kaylin returned to the table, unable to just choose a chair, but less resentful about it.

  * * *

  The first person to arrive was not, in fact, a person, although she recognized him immediately. It was the water Dragon in his second form. He smiled—the same smile—as Kaylin executed a formal bow and held it long enough to indicate deep respect.

  “The hall is not to your liking?” he asked. His eyes were a shade of gray that was almost black, and they had no pupils. They reminded her very much of Tara’s eyes.

  “It’s my favorite hall so far,” she said quickly. The last thing she wanted was for the hall to be refashioned beneath her feet.

  “The food? Is the food not to your liking?”

  She had the grace to hide her fingers, some of which were still a little on the sticky side. “Are you—are you this station?”

  “Station?”

  “We call—well, I call—these buildings way stations.”

  “I am a Hallionne,” he replied.

  “That wasn’t your name?”

  He smiled. “I am Kariastos. Hallionne Kariastos. These stations of which you speak are called the Hallionne.”

  “They remind me of other buildings,” Kaylin told him. “And you remind me of the Avatar of the Tower of Tiamaris.”

  “I have not heard of this Tower.”

  She started to tell him about it and caught the words before they left her mouth.

  “This Tower’s Lord is a Dragon?”

  Her suspicion about Kariastos hardened into certainty at that point. “The Barrani and the Dragons are no longer at war.”

  “This Avatar of whom you speak—”

  “I didn’t speak, but yes, she’s like the heart—or the soul—of the Tower. Her name is Tara. I don’t know if she’d recognize the word Hallionne. I’ll have to ask the next time I visit her.”

  He glanced around the room. The ceilings here were much taller than they were in the foyer.

  “Will you not sit?”

  “I can’t.”

  He raised a brow.

  “I mean, I can, but it’s frowned on.”

  “Oh? By who?”

  Kaylin blinked. “I’m a Lord of the Barrani High Court,” she told him, speaking softly and scrubbing the words of as much inflection as she could.

  “You are mortal.”

  “Yes. A mortal Lord of the Barrani High Court. I’m the newest member of the High Court, and that means I’m the least significant member.”

  “I fail to see the logic in that statement.”

  “The Consort—the woman who sang to you—is the most important member of the High Court. Until she’s seated, no one sits, unless she gives orders to the contrary. I have no objections to this,” she added as quickly as High Barrani allowed.

  “Very well,” Kariastos replied. “But this is my station, as you call it; I am the host. I have not been fully awake for a very long time. Come, you have accepted my hospitality. Sit. You break no rules.” When she didn’t immediately move, he added, “You wear the blood of the green, mortal or no. The rules that govern the Hallionne in this case are clear. You are welcome here, and your welcome is not dependent on the High Court.”

  She was silent, considering her options.

  “Perhaps the young ones have forgotten,” he continued. “And if it is necessary to remind them, I will wake my brothers from here to the heart of the green, and they will explain our ancient rules more…clearly.”

  “No! That really won’t be necessary.” She headed toward a bench.

  The Avatar cleared his throat loudly.

  Kaylin gritted her teeth and changed course, landing in one of the two formal chairs that bracketed the long table. “Do you even eat?” she asked as the table shifted and plates began to move—on their own, which wasn’t appetizing—toward where she now sat.

  “I require sustenance, yes. If you mean will I join you, the answer is also yes. I would be a poor host otherwise.”

  * * *

  After the first fifteen minutes, in which the hall did not become noticeably more occupied, Kaylin began to relax. Hallionne Kariastos was intimidating in the way Tara was intimidating; he didn’t blink, he watched every movement, listened to every syllable, and answered questions she hadn’t asked. If it weren’t for her long exposure to the Avatar of the Tower of Tiamaris, Kaylin was certain she would have found this creepy—at best.

  But like Tara, the Hallion
ne seemed to expect…nothing. He could read her thoughts with the same ease Tara could and with the same self-consciousness. Being read wasn’t an act of exposure, because there was no judgment behind it. She would have liked to see Severn and Teela, but had to admit that the meal, after the first quarter hour, was the most relaxing she’d had since she’d joined the High Court on their journey to the West March.

  “Your small creature,” he finally said. “Where did you find him?”

  “He was given to me.”

  “He is a very…unusual gift.”

  “He hadn’t hatched at that point, and no one knew what was in the egg.”

  “I…see. He may be of aid to you, in the future. Treat him well—and, Lord Kaylin, name him if you can.”

  “Does it matter? He’s alive without a name.”

  “Your companion is not mortal, Lord Kaylin. He is only half-alive. You understand some of the nature of naming and some of the nature of truth but not the whole of either. You go to the lands called the West March by the Barrani; you go to the heart of the green. Words are spoken there that can shift the nature of those who listen if they are not anchored.”

  She set her fork down. “Is it dangerous?”

  “It is. As you suspect.”

  “Will something happen to him?” She’d considered any number of possible tragedies, and none of her scenarios had involved the small dragon. He squawked.

  “I cannot clearly see,” was his somber reply. “But he is like a vessel that is only partly filled. Handle him with care, if you wish to make use of him. If you cannot name him—if you cannot hold him—do not take him to the recitation. Your part in it, I fear, will be long, and it will be difficult; the tale is forming.”

  She frowned. “You know what the tale will be?”

  “I? No. But I hear the movement of words, and it is a storm. I would not have said a mortal would survive it, but you bear the marks of the Chosen; you may.” The Hallionne rose. “I will return shortly,” he said, “with the rest of my guests.”