“My Corporal wasn’t—”
“He has clearly traveled to the West March before. If he arrived—and left—in safety, as he obviously did, he traveled in the company of a Lord.” She fell silent in the blue-eyed way that signaled an end to the conversation.
* * *
The ground was not ground in any meaningful way, except one: it lay beneath their feet. It did not, however, lie still, which was unsettling. Patches of the path resembled dirt, patches resembled sand. Puddles of something that wasn’t quite water occasionally exposed themselves to the sky and the passing Barrani. Kaylin had seen similar landscapes only on the edge of the border of Tiamaris, and there, they’d been cause for panic.
Walking across a cause for panic was distinctly uncomfortable. Continuing to walk across it made everything else distinctly uncomfortable; her legs, arms, and back were aching, and every movement of the very fine, very soft dress felt as if it were sandpaper against burned skin. The small dragon’s claws didn’t help.
Wilson spoke a few times, but not in words that Kaylin—or apparently most of the Barrani Lords—could understand; he made them nervous. Given the casual way he’d demolished whole trees, that was understandable. She glanced at her feet and wondered which one of his brothers—or which two—she was walking across now. It did not help morale when the ground a yard ahead shifted to eject half a face. The front half.
“It’s me,” the face said. It was, of course, one of Wilson’s brothers. Kaylin found it hard to fear them. In the Foundling Halls, any of the children who could transform themselves into a nightmare path would have done the same thing.
“That’s only one of you,” she pointed out.
“Yes, sorry. He’s busy.”
That was so not what Kaylin wanted to hear. “And the other three?”
“Fighting.”
“Are they hurt?”
“Yes.”
She almost stumbled.
“We are not you,” he added. “If you lose a leg, you cannot walk. If you lose an arm, you cannot fight. If you lose your eyes, you cannot see. This does not apply to us; we are not constrained.”
“But you can die?”
“We do not die. We are. We sleep,” he added as his face once again melted into the ground, leaving only his lips behind. “It is like death, maybe. It is like the lakes and the harbors of Life, the words of Life?”
“That’s not death.”
“Even when the words return to the Lake?”
She was silent, then, and the lips disappeared—which was good, because she didn’t relish stepping on them. To the fire, she said, “Do you understand what he is?”
Yes.
“I don’t suppose you could explain it?”
How? You might. You explain me to myself. Not the heart of me, not the essence of what I am—but all of the ways in which what I am can touch what you are. It is only in those ways that I exist, for you, at all. They are the same. They exist to you only in the ways you perceive. Perhaps you could explain them to yourself? You understood the Devourer.
“He’s not what you are.”
No.
“And I didn’t understand him. I understood one of the things that he wanted. It’s not the same.”
Is it not?
“No.”
She looked down the length of the path; it continued on for as far as the eye could see. Unfortunately, that wasn’t as far as it had been. When the forest had opened up, the trees had fallen in line to either side of this uneven mishmash of colors and textures. Trees had girded it as if it were a natural road. They were gone.
“Wilson?”
Wilson nodded without turning back. Nightshade had slowed, an effect that rippled slowly backward and left the Court more tightly bunched together than it had been. As Kaylin caught up with them, the fog roared, and the path beneath their feet buckled.
Chapter 27
Barrani were far better at regaining their balance than most people, Kaylin among them. She’d stiffened at the sound of the roar, had started to turn in what felt like the right direction, and had been knocked off her feet by the sudden appearance of a swell in the ground beneath them. It was Wilson who caught her before she stumbled off the narrow path. She tried not to notice the elongation of his arms as he…pulled them back in, still attached to her.
“I do not think you will be in the same danger your companions face,” he said softly. “But I urge you to be as cautious as they are.”
She didn’t bother to point out that her nearly falling had been entirely due to the fact that the road wasn’t standing still, because none of the Barrani had done more than stumble. The buckling had calmed to an even rumble, which was not a comfort. “What happened to the forest?”
“Bertolle’s hold on the outlands was broken. We must assume Orbaranne’s was likewise severed. It is why I told you that you must stay on this path.”
Kaylin froze as a single word pierced the rest of the worry and strangeness. “Wilson, you called these the outlands?”
“Yes.”
Kaylin turned to stare at Teela’s back. Teela, if she heard—and given her hearing, she must have—didn’t turn to meet her gaze. “Teela.” She spoke in sharp Aerian.
Teela turned then. “Yes,” she replied in the same tongue. “The portal paths exist in the outlands.”
“And this is where—”
“It is an Imperial matter,” Teela told her before Kaylin could finish the sentence. “Not a matter for the High Court.”
Kaylin swallowed words and bile. She couldn’t see Iberrienne. “This is where he sent them.”
Voice low, Teela said, “The outlands are not one place. They’re not fixed. It’s possible—”
Kaylin lifted a hand, cutting off the words. It was a rare day when the gesture worked; here it did. She knew she now had the attention of the Lords of the Court—as much of it as they could spare. “Where is Iberrienne?”
When Teela failed to answer, when the Lord himself failed to step forward, she wheeled, hands in fists, toward the Consort. Even the fact that the Lady had become both still and pale didn’t dim her sudden fury. “Lady, where is Iberrienne?” It was a totally inappropriate way to address the Consort. She knew it, but she couldn’t hold on to her tone. These lands were trying to kill the Barrani High Court. Wilson and his brothers had somehow kept them safe. If normal people had been brought here, what chance did they stand?
“Lord Kaylin.” It was Nightshade who spoke. The mark on her cheek flared to life; she could see it by the blur at the edge of her vision. It burned. The small dragon rose, elongating his neck and opening his delicate jaws. “Now is not the time.”
“Now is exactly the time,” was her grim reply. “Lord Iberrienne had some way of reaching the outlands from the fiefs, and it’s too much of a coincidence that we’re here, everything has gone to hells, and he’s nowhere in sight.”
“You cannot possibly imagine,” Nightshade replied, his voice pure ice, “that Lord Iberrienne intends the Lady any harm. It is therefore highly unlikely that Lord Iberrienne is involved.”
“Where is he?”
“The nature of the portal paths often causes unexplained absences. Not all those who set out upon those paths will reach the destination they intended.”
“So I’ve heard.” She turned to Wilson. “Where is Lord Iberrienne?”
Wilson’s brows gathered. They bunched. “Lord Iberrienne. He is your kin?”
“He’s Barrani. In appearance—to my eyes—he’s very similar to Lord Evarrim.”
Wilson’s gaze immediately went to Evarrim, which meant he understood the use of names. “Do you know who Lord Nightshade is?”
Wilson nodded. “Calarnenne.”
“And Teela?”
He frowned this time, but his glance went instantly to where Teela stood. “Severn.”
“Yes. Should I name all your companions?”
“No; I wanted to make a point. Wilson, do you know Iberrienne?”
> “Yes.”
“Was he here with us?”
“He did not leave Hallionne Bertolle with the Court.”
* * *
“You are mistaken,” Lord Evarrim said into the silence that followed. He spoke with certainty, but the fact he spoke at all said much.
“Lord Iberrienne was with us,” a man she did not recognize added, speaking in support of Lord Evarrim.
Wilson frowned. “He was not.”
“Wilson, is everyone who set foot upon the portal path to Hallionne Orbaranne present now?”
“No.”
“How many are missing?”
He frowned. “One. Or two. Two?”
Part of the path grew lips again and said, “Two.”
“Two. But they were not Barrani,” the brother’s mostly disembodied voice added. “They had no names.”
* * *
The ground bucked twice, breaking all conversation and shifting the tension. But when it was stable again—or as stable as it was likely to get—the Consort turned to Evarrim. “Lord Evarrim, where is Lord Iberrienne?”
“It is a question that is now much on my mind,” was the cool reply. “He was at my side until we broke through the last of the forest.”
“What game is he playing?” The question was far too direct for Court conversation.
It is, Nightshade said. His momentary anger had already vanished. She now reminds Lord Evarrim—and the rest of her audience—that she has no equals, here. She is angry, he added. But so, too, Evarrim.
And you? Kaylin asked, the sharpness in the question impossible to hide. Did you know this would happen?
No. I would never endanger the Lady.
He was lying. Barrani did; she didn’t expect better. But this time, she pushed him. She spoke his name with force. To her surprise, he smiled; there was no strain in the expression. Very good, Kaylin. It is not enough to force me to surrender information. Will you go that far now?
The answer, given the circumstance, was no.
I would never, he said, deliberately endanger the Lady. Whatever my status at Court may be, I have no wish to see the slow annihilation of my kind.
Did you know—
Did I know all of Iberrienne’s intent? No, of course not; nor would I expect it. We each play our own games, for our own purposes.
What did you think he would do?
That information, Kaylin, comes at a cost to both of us. What I will offer freely is this: I did not expect what now occurs. I did not expect to be driven to the outlands to gain access to the West March, and I now fear what we will find there, if we arrive at all.
* * *
“Lord Kaylin,” the Consort said in a softer tone than she’d reserved for Evarrim.
Kaylin blinked.
“Lord Iberrienne is not to be found on the stretch of road now deemed safe. Lord Evarrim?” Her tone chilled instantly.
Evarrim avoided meeting Kaylin’s gaze by ignoring her presence. “I cannot discern his presence in the outlands through which the path is carved. It is possible the Outcaste—”
“Is it?” the Consort said in a voice that made ice seem warm. “I am not an Arcanist of any note. I would appreciate plausible explanations for how Lord Calarnenne might be responsible for Iberrienne’s disappearance.”
Evarrim bowed instantly. When he rose, he was pale. What he might have said next was lost to the roar of something too throaty to be wind; the ground once again dipped and buckled. Wilson steadied Kaylin.
“What did you know of Iberrienne’s intentions?”
“I would discuss the matter in private, Lady.”
“You will not waste your power and effort on such a containment at this time.” After a more pointed silence, she said, “Very well. We will speak of this in a less contested venue.”
He bowed again, aware of the whispers that passed among the courtiers. When he rose, he said, “The portal paths seem less fortuitous now.”
“I do not think the normal roads would have been to your advantage,” Wilson interjected. “The forces assembled there are greater in number, and the forest barrier is altered in shape. What exists on the portal paths is a fraction of that gathered force. Lady, we must move. The path will not remain stable for long.”
The Consort gave brief orders, and the Barrani, some now watching Evarrim at least as intently as the loud geography to either side of the road, once again formed up around her.
Kaylin began to walk as Wilson did; Severn walked to her left. As loud, low growling once again filled the air, she asked, “Are they like you?”
“What do you mean?”
She glanced toward the gray space that contained the loudest of the growls.
He was silent for a few yards. “The answer is no, they are not like us, or of us. But I am not certain that answers the question you thought you were asking. They can exist in your world as readily as they can the portal paths.”
“How did they reach these paths?”
“From the Hallionne of the West March.”
“But—”
“The Hallionne of the West March has long been lost to us,” Wilson said, gazing into the gray.
* * *
The path narrowed until it was the width of two men, but only barely and only if they were careful. It also jogged to the left in a wide arc, for no reason at all that Kaylin could see; there was nothing immediately visible to explain the deviation—just gray, formless fog. The roaring seemed to come from the left, as well; it was almost as if the path was heading toward it.
Teela ran behind Kaylin; Severn ran by her side. Nightshade and Wilson were still at the front of the loose pack until Wilson called a halt—in a voice as loud and fully textured as the ominous, invisible roars but with comprehensible syllables thrown in. The entire line staggered, because even as Wilson roared, the ground buckled and tilted. Kaylin, given Wilson’s tone, was prepared for this shift, and this time, she managed to more or less keep her feet directly beneath the rest of her. She did not manage this with any notable grace.
The small dragon bit her ear, and she wheeled instinctively in his direction—which didn’t have the effect of bringing her any closer to the dragon, given he was attached, but did give her enough time to reach out and grab Severn’s forearm to steady him. It took a second, maybe two. Since the rest of the group were Barrani, she didn’t worry about their footing; they wouldn’t lose it here. Teela could drink the contents of an entire keg without threatening her balance.
“Kaylin,” Wilson said as she approached. His face was white. Not pale—pale skin was a Barrani racial characteristic and, as such, not noteworthy—but white. His eyes were black, flecked with color, and moving independently of each other, which almost made her look away. She didn’t.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked, voice low.
“Hold them.”
The answer didn’t make sense, and given the tremors beneath her feet, they didn’t have time for confusion. “Hold who? Your brothers?”
He frowned. “No, of course not. Your own people. There is a grave danger that my brothers will be unable to maintain their current form, and if they cannot, you will be scattered.”
“How do I hold them? I can’t turn myself into a long, flat road.”
“Nonetheless, I leave them in your hands. If we can meet you on the other side, we will.” He began to lose the texture and consistency of flesh. “This is not your war,” he said, his body fading and lengthening at the same time. “It is not a war that any of your people have fought or faced; not even your Barrani Lords.
“I did not expect to see even the echoes of it. Do not let the Hallionne sleep until it is done. If they sleep, wake them.”
He was taller by half and now resembled white Shadow. “I will fight. You will flee. Go.” As he spoke the last word, he stepped out of her way and into the looming gray. She wanted to help, to watch, to do something, but Severn caught her arm.
She ran.
* * *
/> The path beneath their feet continued into the distance; it didn’t narrow any further, but it was now in motion half the time, and those movements became more extreme. Twice, the ground tilted sharply, as if someone had grabbed its edge and attempted to upend it.
They lost the first of the Barrani Lords to this. They almost lost Kaylin, and would have, had it not been for Teela. Kaylin waited until the ground—a patch of green-gray metal, at least where she was standing—had settled before turning to the Consort.
“Lady,” she said, dropping into Elantran, “we’re going to lose each other. Even if the path remains solid.”
“What would you have us do?”
“Use ropes.”
“Ropes?”
“Yes. We can either hold them or loop them around a wrist, but we need something solid as mooring if this happens again.” She tried very hard not to think of the foundlings on a day trip. “I brought rope; Severn brought rope. I don’t know if anyone else did, but we’re going to use them.”
* * *
If the Barrani Lords had problems being treated like five-year-olds on a day trip, they kept it to themselves. The loss, without bloodshed or visible assailants, of one of their own made it clear the threat was real. That, and the Consort commanded acquiescence. The ropes available weren’t long enough to allow for any knots; they were long enough to extend from the front of the group to the back, on either side. The people in front and back did get terminating knots, and the group was compressed.
This meant an end to running.
If something physical attacked them here, it wasn’t going to be pretty—but it wasn’t going to be pretty, regardless. Kaylin and Severn had both had training; they could fight in enclosed spaces, and the path wasn’t that much narrower than the average City hallway. But the City halls had the advantage of walls to either side; here, without walls, misstepping into nothing while in combat wasn’t just easy; it was practically inevitable.
When the road was once again almost yanked—to the side—from under their feet, the rope held; Kaylin lost her footing, but not her handhold. For half a minute, her feet slid off the shining, slightly liquid surface of the patch over which she’d been walking. She expected the ground beyond it to have the gray, formless give of the space between worlds; it didn’t. It was so hard beneath the soles of her supple boots that she thought it was stone—natural stone. She pushed off and leapt back onto the path, letting the rope bear some part of her weight as she regained her footing.
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