“Terrano, you said you ducked into Hallionne Orbaranne’s space because something was chasing you?”
He nodded, his own expression uncharacteristically grim. “There are often things that will hurt you, off the pathways in the outlands. But most of them will hurt you unintentionally. They’re just not equipped to interact with people like you. Winston—I’m going to assume you came up with that name—is a good example. He’s flexible, and he can exist in a bunch of different states. He’s more aware of the dangers out there because he can.”
“Was the thing you were hiding from the same thing Winston’s worried about?”
“It shouldn’t be.” Terrano frowned.
“Is it possible that you attracted attention while you were exploring? And now that you have, something that wasn’t aware of us is now searching?”
The hesitation before the answer was longer than it needed to be. Kaylin chalked it down as maybe. She was therefore surprised when Winston said, “No. It is possible that he did attract attention; he is not like the others here. But what is hunting now is far more like him than we are. Something is waking,” he said again.
“What? What is waking?”
Winston ignored this. “We believe that Spike should remain here.”
“I think we need to have him at the Halls of Law when I report in.”
Squawk. Squawk.
“If you want to risk it,” Winston replied.
* * *
When Kaylin stepped through the arch, every mark on her body felt as if it had been slapped. Her eyes watered. But she took three steps and the pain faded, just as the pain of an actual slap did. She stared out into a vast expanse of nothing. No, not quite nothing; everything ahead of their group was a sprawl of gray. There were no trees, no sky, nothing that really resembled horizon. Beneath her feet, the gray was soft; there was a give to it that implied sand. Or flesh.
She went with sand.
She began to trudge across it; Winston was in the lead. In deference to Kaylin and the rest of the cohort, he chose to remain in his Barrani state. His brother, however, did not. Kaylin wouldn’t have found the transformation so uncomfortable if, at the end of it, he actually looked like an animal. She’d seen Bellusdeo go Dragon enough times that the sight of shifting—and expanding—flesh seemed almost natural. In the case of Winston and his brothers, however, things like fur or obvious animal musculature were missing. He simply changed the shape and orientation of his limbs to better move ahead.
He ran off, and Winston turned to the group. “He will scout. I will lead.”
“There’s no path?”
“There is. You are walking on it. But it is almost in its base state. It will be far more difficult to shift or upset its construction.”
“But not impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible.” Winston’s eyes narrowed. “We can see the path. I believe that one or two of your friends are also sensitive enough to follow it without the visual cues that usually accompany it. What is important now is that you follow me. If you are falling behind, make certain that we know.”
Walking on soft sand was far more taxing than walking on actual dirt or cobbled stone. Winston and his brother didn’t tire at all; neither did Bellusdeo. But the cohort, with the exception of Terrano, appeared to find it as difficult as Kaylin did after the first hour.
If it had even been an hour. Without sun or light, it was much harder to mark the passage of time. There was little to break the monotony of the trek.
“Do you want to ride?” Bellusdeo asked.
“No. It’s not hard, it’s just...” Kaylin shrugged. “There’s something about this place I don’t like.”
“I can’t imagine what.”
Kaylin continued, in spite of the obvious sarcasm. “It reminds me of the stuff between worlds.”
“Between worlds?”
Kaylin nodded. “I think this is what exists when there are no words.” She frowned.
Spike said, “Yes.”
“Did you mean words or worlds?” the Dragon asked.
“Words. At their heart, even worlds have words. Big, complicated, messy words. I don’t think you could know the True Name of a world—I don’t think you could see it all at one time. Even the Barrani, with perfect memory, would probably be stuck just staring for centuries in an attempt to grasp it all.”
“And in the absence of words, this is what remains?”
Kaylin shrugged. “You can ask the Arkon. He has old records. And opinions. Lots of opinions.”
“Kitling, you are really going to have to do something about that memory of yours.”
“It comes with the race.”
“No, it does not. It comes with ‘what Kaylin thinks is practical to know’ or ‘what Kaylin finds immediately useful.’” She eyed Spike. “Are you saying that this is similar to the space one would travel to arrive in a different world?”
“Yes.”
“But the Hallionne can affect the space.”
“Yes.”
“Can you?”
“I do not understand the question.”
“Can you affect the paths the same way the Hallionne can? No, forget that question. Winston looks as if he’s about to turn green.”
He really did. Kaylin would have asked, but his brother came racing back to the group before she could frame a question, and his expression drove all other thoughts away.
“We’re in trouble,” Kaylin said.
The cohort now bunched together as Winston’s brother raced toward them. He came to an immediate and abrupt halt, as if momentum was irrelevant to him. He then spoke to Winston in a language that none of the cohort could understand. Kaylin glanced at Bellusdeo, who shook her head, her own brow furrowing. The brother was clearly agitated.
The familiar squawked loudly. He then lifted his wing and draped it across Kaylin’s eyes.
* * *
The view behind the small dragon’s wing was very different, and Kaylin almost pushed it away; what was gray and formless in her own vision was formless when seen through the familiar’s wing—but that was the only thing the two had in common. Instead of gray, the landscape was an almost lurid splash of color, some harmonizing and some clashing badly. She had never seen blues so bright, reds so vivid, and had they not been moving, it might not have been so bad. But they were shifting constantly, as if seeking either position or dominance, and although there were no obvious objects—or people—in the mix, it made the landscape seem as if it was alive, and not entirely happy to be so.
A vortex appeared in that swirl of color; she could see it by the ways the colors began to move. As if they were liquid, they swirled in toward a point, elongating as they blended and vanished. What remained was Winston’s brother.
No, Kaylin thought. Winston’s brother had been invisible until that moment. Whatever had drained the colors of this land was not Winston’s brother. She remembered, then, that he had been certain he would not be seen, and wondered if this was why. Behind Winston’s brother was something defined by the lack of color that occurred as it walked.
“The good news is,” Kaylin told her companions, “it’s not yet another member of the Barrani High Court.”
“Give us the bad news. Good news isn’t likely to be a problem,” Sedarias replied, in Elantran.
“I was afraid you’d say that. Something is following Winston’s brother.”
“Something?”
“Sorry. I can’t see it clearly, so I have no idea what it is. Spike—do you recognize the thing that’s following Winston’s brother?”
Spike had already begun to spin, but he’d done so silently. Only when he began to emit a series of clicks that really did sound insectoid did Kaylin turn toward him, the familiar’s wings fitted to her face like a second skin. He no longer looked like a spiky, floating ball. But she
understood, looking at him, why Winston had been worried. Where Spike spun, colors were attenuated, stretched, absorbed; the landscape beneath the feet of the cohort was almost gray. It was a much larger patch of gray than the patch being created by whatever was chasing Winston’s brother.
“Lord Kaylin,” Winston said. “I believe we will be in danger if we do not move.”
“Can you see the path? Because I can’t.”
“Yes,” Winston said, grimacing. “I really hate this.” He shouted something at his brother, whose breakneck pace had brought him much closer to the group than the thing that appeared to be pursuing him. It wasn’t; Kaylin realized that now. It was heading in a straight path toward Spike.
She kicked herself.
You were not wrong, Nightshade said. You will require what...Spike...sees, if it can be trusted.
I trust it.
That goes without saying. I believe your Spike now apprehends the danger.
Did you recognize what he was, when you first saw him? You’ve crossed the border to Ravellon before.
No. But I would not have recognized your Gilbert, either. Shadow is thought of as if it were fire; one does not need to place one’s hand within it to know that it will burn. Some revision to that thought is underway, but...
But?
Castle Nightshade, as you call my Tower, is extremely reluctant to allow any exploration.
And Candallar’s Tower isn’t?
If what you saw was correct, it was not Candallar who entered Ravellon. But Kaylin, be cautious. It is clear, from your first meeting with that fieflord, that he understands Imperial Law. I believe that what he wants is mundane.
And that?
To be repatriated, of course. He is, as I am, outcaste.
There’s something you’re not telling me. I mean, something relevant. A thought occurred to her on the heels of that one. Someone asked you for the same permission they got from Candallar.
Silence.
It’s not the first time you’ve had dealings with people of power in Elantra. It’s not the first time you’ve done favors.
This time the silence was weighted—slightly—with approval.
We’re not done with this, Kaylin told Nightshade, as Winston’s brother arrived. He did not change shape, but he did speak to Winston, his syllables thinner, higher and faster than they usually were.
Understand, Kaylin, that were I to be repatriated, I would not be the Tower’s lord. I could not, and do what must be done.
Is it because of the Emperor?
No. Lord Tiamaris retains his position in the Dragon Court. But he also retains and enforces the Imperial Laws within his fief. Not one of the rest of us do that. The Tower must have its lord. You have seen the Avatar of my Tower. Unlike the Tower of Tiamaris, it has a will that is ancient and not inclined toward mortals. It only barely accepts me—and I am not without power. There are, of course, those disinclined to have me return to Court. They would like Meliannos returned to the line; I have invited them to attempt to retrieve it.
If you came back, Annarion wouldn’t have to take the Test of Name. The cohort wouldn’t have to descend on Elantra. Things would be safer for everyone.
Is that what you believe of my brother? This time, there was both bitterness and amusement in the tone. It is too late, regardless. The cohort, as you call them, are on the move. Even if they retreat now, Alsanis will only be besieged by those who wish to ensure that they do not move in future. Or did you imagine that the attempt came about only because of their decision? The attempt occurred now because of their decision. But it would have occurred, regardless. And Kaylin? Be careful. I cannot reach you. Lirienne cannot reach you; you have left your partner behind.
I have a Dragon, and I’m not afraid to use her.
I am uncertain that a Dragon—even this one—will have much idea of how to deal with that.
26
Kaylin let Nightshade’s voice fade away; it was hard to listen to any thought that didn’t concern their immediate survival. She had assumed that whatever was chasing Winston’s brother was roughly his brother’s size; she revised that. It wasn’t; it had simply been much farther behind. Because the landscape was what it was, she couldn’t correctly gauge anything about the creature; it seemed, aside from literally eating up the ground, more like an empty space whose clashing colors didn’t hurt her eyes.
Terrano cursed. Loudly. He caught hold of Allaron. “Stick together!” he shouted, as if they needed to be told. Then again, given Allaron’s position—ahead of, and in front of, the main body of the group, at least one of them did.
Winston, however, shook his head, grabbing Terrano’s shoulder. “Let Spike act. Retain your current form.”
“But—”
“The only thing the creature can see is Spike. If Spike is willing to hold its attention, the rest of you can move out of its way.” He glanced at his brother.
“Spike’s not really made for fighting,” Kaylin pointed out.
“Why do you believe this?”
“He’s kind of like portable Records.”
This clearly made no sense to Winston, who glanced at his equally confused brother. In turn, they both looked at Spike. Or at least that’s what she thought they were looking at; they were craning their necks—one attached to the body of a hairless animal—up, and up again.
The familiar squawked, but Kaylin had already turned toward Spike. She understood why the two brothers were now gazing upward. Spike—at least seen through the familiar’s wing—was no longer all that small, nor was he particularly self-contained.
He was taller than most of the buildings in Elantra, and he didn’t appear to be slowing down. Everything around him, including the ground beneath his feet, was now a uniform gray, which is what she’d first seen. In the absence of color, she could almost make out a form. It was not particularly pleasant; it was like Shadow—flexible, shifting and decidedly not mortal. Nor was it draconic, although something that trailed around its back implied the presence of wings.
And when it spoke—and it did—its voice sounded like a swarm of locusts, except gigantic and not particularly focused on agriculture.
“He’s angry,” Winston said, almost conversationally. He turned to Terrano and added, “Stay in that form, and follow us.”
“But—”
“We’ve had to maneuver in the portal lands in these forms just to bring you safely to the Consort.”
“And if you have to suffer, I have to suffer?”
“Yes.”
Winston’s brother grimaced and turned to Kaylin. “Can you ask Spike to move off the path?”
“But we don’t want to lose him!”
Everyone stared at Kaylin as if she’d just grown two extra heads, both absent any actual brains.
“Spike—can you find us again? Can you find me?”
Is that what you desire? The voice shook the firmament, but sounded less insect-like.
“Yes!”
Something Kaylin could only perceive as absence lashed out. She felt a sharp pain down the length of her left arm, and realized that her shirt had been slashed open. And it wasn’t just her shirt.
Terrano shouted, and Winston turned toward Spike, but Spike had already started to move.
“Do not bleed here,” Winston told Kaylin.
Kaylin bit her tongue on the Leontine that often followed condescending and unhelpful advice. Winston didn’t know any better. Probably. It was Sedarias who tore a strip off the bottom of her gown; she brought it to Kaylin and bound that arm. “Teela is not impressed,” she said, as she worked.
“I’ve done worse.”
Sedarias pursed lips and said, “I’d appreciate if the two of you had this argument in person, rather than through me.” She finished binding the arm.
Spike began to move. Given his size,
Kaylin had expected his movement to be lumbering; it wasn’t. She could track his movement by the dimming of color, but didn’t watch it for long. Winston retained Barrani form; his brother did not. The brother began to move as Winston marshaled the rest of the group. Winston watched the distant predator before nodding a hundred times. It was as if he’d set his head in motion and forgotten about it.
“Now,” he said. “Run.”
* * *
Running was part of beat training. The city streets were an obstacle course that generally impeded momentum. Stopping and starting, however, gave a person a chance to catch their breath; the current landscape didn’t provide that. Even if it had, Kaylin was certain Winston wouldn’t. But he appeared to be right: whatever it was that had caused Winston’s brother to flee back to the group in a panic moved toward Spike.
“Are there always predators like that here?”
“No. That was highly unusual, this close to the Hallionne spheres,” Winston said. He seemed to have dispensed with a need to breathe, and his syllables sounded exactly the same as they usually did. Kaylin’s were more labored, their beat uneven.
“You think they’re looking for us?”
“No. For your friends. Or for that one,” he added, nodding in Terrano’s direction. “Alsanis said you are aware that when your friends are careless they are easily heard, and easily found.”
Kaylin cringed. She hadn’t had this conversation with Alsanis, but was well aware that conversation—or volition—was not required. And it was true. She assumed, or had assumed, that Sedarias and the rest of the cohort had been learning the same lessons Annarion currently struggled with; that some of the cohort would be like Mandoran, and take them to heart more readily. And some would not.
“We were very lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“You brought Spike. You were right,” he added, without a trace of self-consciousness. “If we had left him with Alsanis, I’m not sure all of us would have escaped. They weren’t expecting Spike.”
“What is Spike, exactly?”
“You don’t know?”
Cast in Deception Page 41
