Cast in Peril

by Michelle Sagara

  * * *

  Trees had been partially uprooted by the time the attackers had been dispatched, and the ground in which the roots were sunk had been transformed into something vaguely metallic. The bodies of the creatures lay in an uneven circle, blocking the road; Evarrim and Iberrienne hadn’t yet emerged to dispose of them. The sound of fighting drifted up the road as Kaylin walked toward Teela.

  Teela stood in the curve of the circle of corpses, standing on one of them; she faced the road beyond the bodies. Her hair was caught by night breeze in strands. Her arms were by her sides; in her right hand, she still gripped her sword. She had chosen—they’d all chosen, with the exception of Kaylin—to forgo Court dress for light armor, but she fought without helm.

  The Consort cut Kaylin off before she could reach Teela. “Lord Kaylin.”

  Kaylin did have clothing more suitable for an out-and-out fight in the dark, but the Consort had deemed the dress better protection. In this fight, she thought it better than the full armor Swords wore when wading into riot territory. “The heart of the green,” she said, “is proof against simple Shadow.”

  There was, as far as Kaylin was concerned, nothing simple about these Shadows. Ferals? Yes. Ferals now seemed simple. And she hated that, because for citizens of Nightshade, they weren’t. They were nightmare and, in the worst case, inevitable, painful death. They just weren’t her death anymore.

  “What is Teela doing?” Kaylin asked the Consort.

  * * *

  “Teela.” There was no way to mistake the voice for anything Barrani or mortal; it was as if a dragon had chosen to speak Barrani in its native form. But he’d used a name the Barrani never used.

  “Terrano,” Teela replied. She lifted her chin. “I thought it must be you.”

  “Oh? What gave it away?” Out of the darkness something approached. Kaylin expected a creature; she knew they could talk.

  It wasn’t. It was…a man. Barrani, by looks and the arrogance of his posture. The Consort’s eyes were so dark a blue they were indistinguishable from black; she was rigid, although the rigidity was reminiscent of a perfect sculpture.

  “You always liked dogs,” she replied. Her stance didn’t change at all, but Kaylin thought her knuckles were white. It was hard to tell from this distance, and the Consort didn’t allow her to get any closer. “Most of yours, that I recall, didn’t speak much.”

  “No. It was a failing of their physique, not their will.” As he approached, he glanced at the bodies beneath her feet. “Did you kill them?”

  “Not all of them,” she replied. “They were trying to

  kill me.”

  “How unfortunate. I didn’t realize that you were traveling with the Court. They are here in number, this year.” He looked past Teela to the Consort. “Lady?”

  The Consort failed to reply.

  “It must be significant. A significant telling. The Hallionne are waking, and they have not woken since the end of the wars with the Dragon flights.”

  “Terrano…”

  He smiled. It was a Barrani smile in shape and form, but it was not a mask; it was lit, almost incandescent. “I am. I was. Terrano. It is not all that I am, Teela. You were not happy; I remember. I remember your father—”

  Teela lifted a hand. In a cool voice, she said, “He is dead.”

  Terrano clapped. “I am pleased for you. But if you are done, you should leave all this behind. You heard the words, Teela. I am certain you can still hear them.”

  Teela said nothing.

  “If you will leave the Lady, I will grant the rest of the Court passage.”

  “Why?”

  “I am not concerned with the rest of the Court at this time.”

  “Terrano.”

  “…And I am not interested in seeing the Hallionne fully awakened; they are troublesome.”

  Kaylin took a step forward; the Consort grabbed her left arm.

  “As you are,” he continued, “you can’t stop me. I offer you the compromise because you are—you should be—one of us, one with us. You are lost. But she, at least, must be silenced.”

  “She is the guardian of the Lake,” Teela said evenly.

  “Yes. That is unfortunate. But they will call others to take the test, and one will be found eventually who can fulfill her role. The children will not die; they will simply fail to wake. You, Teela, have failed to wake. Do you remember what the Court intended for us?”

  “They intended,” Teela said stiffly, “to empower us.”

  “Then they succeeded admirably. But I believe they thought we would be under their control, bound as they are bound. They would have killed us all before we had fully been reborn; you saw that.”

  She said nothing.

  “I do not desire your death, Teela; do not—” He frowned as a third entity entered their conversation.

  It was the small dragon.

  “What is this?”

  The dragon hissed, flapping in place some three yards from the Barrani that Teela had called Terrano.

  “Let me go,” Kaylin told the Consort.

  “Do not engage him,” the Consort replied, not noticeably easing her grip. “You do not understand what he is.”

  “He’s not Barrani.”

  “No, not now. But he remembers.”

  “He wants to kill you.” Kaylin stopped trying to free her arm. “You intend to stay here and let the others go.”

  “We cannot spend more than a day in a fight of this nature,” the Consort spoke. “And it will be more than a day. We will perish on this road. If that is the case, I will perish, regardless.”

  “You’re the only person—”

  Her finger’s tightened. “No, Lord Kaylin, I am not.”

  Kaylin’s eyes widened.

  “Yes,” the Consort said evenly—and coldly. “What I have seen, you have seen, and, Lord Kaylin, what I do for the newly born, you have done.”

  The small dragon squawked; the Consort and Kaylin both turned. He was glowing. He was glowing the way a lamp does when someone’s lit the wick; there was a bright light that radiated from his center, through all the contours and ridges of his body. Terrano’s eyes widened as the small dragon did its pathetic imitation of a roar—and exhaled.

  “Kitling,” Teela said, the word sharp and fast.

  “I’m not in control of him,” Kaylin replied. “You know that.” The Consort let her go then, and she walked over to Teela’s side.

  The stranger glanced, briefly, at this second interloper, and his eyes rounded again. He had a much broader range of expression than the Barrani with whom Kaylin worked. “Teela!” he said, sounding shocked. “What is this, what is this?”

  Teela’s face had the usual range of expression: almost none.

  “Look at her arms, Teela! They’re marked!”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she— But she looks mortal. She can’t be Chosen, can she?”

  “I wouldn’t be the first mortal to be Chosen,” Kaylin informed him. “I am also a Lord of the High Court.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Impossible.”

  “Tell the High Lord that; I don’t argue with his rules.”

  “You’re mortal.”

  She nodded.

  “A Lord of the High Court is one who has taken—and

  survived—the test of name.”

  “Rules haven’t changed much.”

  He frowned, and she realized he didn’t understand the Elantran that was her automatic fallback. In High Barrani, she said more or less the same thing; it had more words.

  He folded his arms across his chest. His face, which was like a Barrani face in shape with its higher cheekbones, finer chin, and perfect skin, was nonetheless far more expressive than the norm. He was annoyed. If it weren’t for the obvious marks on her arms, he wouldn’t have believed her. “Go away.”

  She felt her mouth open as her jaw dropped. Go away? What the hells kind of Barrani comment was that? Was he ten?

  “Kitling,” Teela sai
d almost under her breath. “Please, leave us.”

  Kaylin, Nightshade said at almost the same moment.

  She took a step back; it wasn’t a large one. Kind of busy right now.

  Yes, I understand that. I cannot see where you are without effort, and the effort at this time would be costly. What are you doing? No, that was the wrong question. What are you facing?

  Something that looks a lot like a Barrani male. Same hair color, same skin, same height.

  You do not think he’s Barrani.

  I don’t know what to think—but he knows Teela and the Consort, and the Consort doesn’t believe he’s Barrani anymore.

  The silence that followed was not good. How many are dead?

  None. There are a half-dozen Barrani Lords who would happily see me dead because they aren’t.

  More silence of the same quality; it was like punctuation. I am almost moved to regret my offer to the Halls of Law at this point.

  Stand in line. I think Teela would kill you herself if you were actually present.

  She would not make the attempt. Remove yourself from your current situation if at all possible.

  I can’t. Terrano has offered to let everyone but the Consort leave. The Consort’s willing to stay, and I’m not ready to leave her.

  Did you say Terrano?

  Since it was impossible to mishear the internal voice—although misinterpretation of the words happened frequently, at least on her part—Kaylin knew Nightshade was shocked. Yes. You know him.

  Kaylin—leave. Leave now.

  The small dragon belched.

  This did interrupt all conversation, not that there was much of it, given Teela’s tense silence. Terrano’s eyes widened. He was facing the small flying lamp, so he could see first the stream of smoke that the little creature started to exhale.

  In the light he cast—because otherwise, there wasn’t enough light in the body-strewn clearing—his breath looked the same as it had before: murky and cloudlike. Terrano threw his arms up in front of his face.

  The small dragon followed him as Teela shifted her grip on her sword. “Kitling, I’m not certain your pet will survive.”

  “He’s not my pet, and you’ll notice it’s Terrano who’s running.”

  “I do, but when cornered, we have always been dangerous, and that has never been more true of one born Barrani than of Terrano. Call him back, if you can. Lady,” she continued without looking back, “assemble the Court, retrieve the carriages. We will not have time to purify the roads if we are to have any hope of survival.”

  The Consort hesitated for one long moment and then turned to do as Teela had all but commanded.

  Chapter 22

  The small dragon pursued Terrano for some distance. Kaylin attempted to call him back—to shout him back, really, which caused Severn to draw a breath so sharp it should have cut his tongue. She stopped.

  “We don’t know how many more of those creatures are in the woods,” he said by way of explanation. “You’re not a Hawk here. If the small dragon won’t come back, we’re going to have to leave him.”

  “And Teela?”

  “Teela is not a fool.”

  Kaylin nodded, stopped, stared at the side of his face. She couldn’t quite decide if he meant to imply that Kaylin was one.

  “Terrano clearly had no intention of harming Teela; I believe he made the offer to spare the Court because of her presence. She may intend to threaten him; she may not. Neither you nor I are Teela.” Severn caught her arm.

  Be very still, he told her.

  She obeyed. She obeyed as if she were once again living in the fiefs and it was night in the streets of Nightshade. Because she was now squinting to make out details, she closed her eyes and listened.

  She could hear Severn’s breathing as if it were her own; they were breathing in time, as one person. She could hear no other signs of movement, no cracking of small, dry branches, no squawking of small dragon.

  No, wait; she could hear squawking. It was attenuated, soft, and it was followed by, accompanied by, a wild keening that she thought was meant to be song or speech. It wasn’t the usual strangely familiar but utterly foreign language; it was simply foreign. She didn’t recognize the voice at all, but the pain and the rage and desolation in it were unmistakable. It wasn’t until Severn once again grabbed her arm that she realized she’d been unconsciously moving toward it.

  He pulled her back, toward where the caravan was now assembling.

  “Teela—”

  “She’ll follow. Trust her.”

  “It’s not her I don’t trust. It’s Terrano, or whatever he is.”

  “Kaylin, your small dragon took down one of the creatures by breathing. Between the two of them, Teela will survive. If Terrano summons more of his Shadows, we won’t, and that is not going to help Teela.”

  Because he was right, she followed.

  * * *

  Moving the carriages proved difficult because large patches of the road weren’t packed dirt anymore, and no one liked the idea of attempting to cross them. In the end, the Consort chose to take the horses and abandon the carriages for the time being, for later retrieval. They therefore walked down the road. The various bags, packs, and outdoor gear that were strapped to the carriages were transferred to the horses, but the Barrani moved. Gone was the indolent look of arrogant tolerance that usually adorned their faces; they were alert, here, and on edge.

  Gone, too, was the subtle bickering that posed as Court etiquette. They weren’t concerned with their position in regard to the Consort—although they were all aware of where the Consort was. They watched her not as a ladder up the invisible ranks that divided the High Court but as the only woman who could currently approach the waters of the Lake of Life.

  She wondered if this was what the Barrani had been like during the wars, and then wondered why it was that threat of death by external enemies was the only thing that seemed to draw them together. Then again, most mortals were like that, as well.

  The walk was brisk. Given their greater stride, it should have been hard to keep up—but they were cautious, and they often signaled a halt while a small party of armed Lords, accompanied by Evarrim, went ahead. This stop-and-start continued until the forest suddenly stopped.

  What was left as the Court emerged from beneath the darkened bowers of tall-standing trees was the bright, silver light cast by the two moons across an open expanse of grass—or at least what appeared to be grass. It looked, to Kaylin’s eye, like slightly overgrown lawn, absent fences and slightly run-down homes in its center.

  The Consort exhaled about three inches of height.

  There were no creatures in the field, and creatures of that size couldn’t hunker down in this grass; it was far too short.

  “There,” the Consort told Kaylin, lifting a slender arm and pointing at nothing.

  Kaylin squinted harder. She also slapped her arm when she felt something bite it—what, at this point, she couldn’t tell. She tried not to care. The city streets on whose patrol her job depended had insects; flies, mosquitoes at the wrong time of year, the occasional wasp. She promised she would never complain about them again.

  “I’m sorry,” she told the Consort, rubbing her arm, “I can’t see anything. What are you looking at?”

  “The Hallionne Bertolle,” she replied.

  * * *

  Kaylin didn’t understand what the Ancients had against normal buildings. There was enough variation in size, design, and architectural execution that they should have been able to achieve what they wanted without making it so difficult to find the damn door. Castle Nightshade and the Tower of Tiamaris at least presented themselves as residences and occupied street space.

  Hallionne Bertolle appeared to be dirt with a bit of grass thrown on top. Hallionne Kariastos had been the river. Hallionne-whatever-it-was-named had been a tree.

  The horses, however, were more sensitive than Kaylin, because they started to whicker as they approached the center of the v
ery large, empty plain.

  Evarrim stopped the party three times; Iberrienne joined him twice. Every time Iberrienne moved, she tensed, looking for Severn. Severn, however, stayed close to the Consort. They appeared to be looking for evidence of Shadow or its contaminants. Kaylin had, until this journey, subconsciously equated Shadow with civilization. In the light of the two moons, no trace of obvious Shadow was found; Evarrim remained unconvinced of the safety of this ground.

  Kaylin remained unconvinced for better reasons but chose not to share them. She didn’t need to remind the Court—three of whom had already tried to kill Nightshade—of her connection with the fieflord.

  The Consort had reached the center of the field. The Lady lifted her arms; they were pale and silver in the moonlight, and as the minutes passed, they began to glow softly, as if she were a vessel into which that moonlight was being slowly poured. As she had done by the riverside, she began to sing.

  Nightshade did not arrive to take the harmony to her melody; no one did.

  But Kaylin felt the marks on her arms begin their slow, itchy tingle as the syllables passed by. Kaylin’s voice was only remarkable for what it lacked. She liked singing but tended to avoid it as a kindness to anyone around her who had functional ears. She walked toward the Consort’s side anyway, because in the moonlight, the dress—dyed in the blood of the green—also began to glow.

  No one stopped her or barred her way; Evarrim and Iberrienne retreated. This was not a vote of confidence. The Consort didn’t appear to notice Kaylin; she didn’t appear to notice anything except the words of her song. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, but in the soft glow that surrounded her, they were a pale, pale blue. It wasn’t the blue of anger; it was untouched entirely by the green of happiness. But it suited the silver cast of her face and skin.

  As she sang, the earth at her feet began to tremble. It didn’t break; it wasn’t an earthquake. But it moved almost in time to the beats of the strange melody the Consort carried alone. And carry was the right word; she seemed to be straining under the sheer weight of the words that left her. It made no sense, but magic made no sense, either.