Cast in Peril

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.

“Kaylin!” Tara said, raising her voice. It wasn’t shouting, not in the strict sense of the word. Her voice sounded normal, if worried, but much, much louder.

She heard a curt, sharp curse—in a normal voice, if Dragon voices could be said to be normal. A shadow crossed the ground as Lord Tiamaris of the Dragon Court left his demesne. He landed to the left of where Severn now wielded his weapon, his wings folding as he lifted his neck toward the building that contained the unknown Barrani.

The ground didn’t shake at the force of his landing; it gave, as if it were soft sand and not cracked stone. Or as if it were flesh. It reminded Kaylin strongly of the gray stretch of nothingness that existed between worlds, although it in theory had shape, form, texture.

The unmistakable sound of a Dragon inhaling was surprisingly loud when it happened right beside your ear. Purple fire broke against Severn’s chain and sizzled where it touched Tiamaris; Kaylin could no longer be certain that the blasts were aimed at her, they were so broad. Tiamaris was angry enough that he didn’t appear to notice them.

The Dragon fieflord exhaled fire. Had the building been a regular fief hovel, it would have been glowing. This one, although it had the shape leeched of color, wavered in the wake of the flame, undulating as it slowly lost coherence. If the Barrani Lord was caught in the Dragon’s fire, he made no sign, but in the distance, Kaylin could hear weeping. It was soft, attenuated, and clear somehow over the roar of flame.

She reached out and rapped Tiamaris; he didn’t appear to notice.

The building continued to waver, melting at last into a gray smoke or fog. She would have panicked, but the crying didn’t get any louder; it was almost as if it were entirely unrelated to the demise of the building itself. Only when that building was gone did Tiamaris acknowledge Kaylin.

“You should not be here,” he told her in his deep, bass rumble.

“You’re here,” she pointed out, perhaps unwisely given the color of his eyes. “Severn, can you hear that?”

Tiamaris hadn’t looked away, but the question caught Severn’s attention. “Hear what?”

“I’ll take that as a no. I can hear someone…crying.”

“No.”

“Tiamaris?”

The Dragon snorted smoke. “No,” he said after a pause. “I hear nothing. I do not wish to remain here,” he added. “Which direction is the crying coming from?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “I think—I think it’s coming from Nightshade’s side of the border.”

“Then you may visit Nightshade,” he replied. “But do it the regular way.”

“Meaning?”

“Cross the bridge, Private. Both of them. Come. We will speak with Yvander now.”

* * *

Yvander was already speaking when they returned to the color and solidity of the fief of Tiamaris. He was gesturing, hands moving as if he thought they were wings; Tara’s head was tilted in a familiar way, and she was once again wearing her gardening clothes. Her wings, however, remained.

His hands froze as Tiamaris approached. It was almost impossible to maintain unreasoning fear when confronted with the Tower’s avatar; it was almost impossible not to be terrified when confronted with Tiamaris.

Tara, however, turned nonchalantly to the great Dragon who crowded the street simply by standing still. “Yvander thought he was with his friend Michael.”

Tiamaris nodded.

“The intruder?”

“Gone.”

Tara turned to Kaylin. “He was Barrani?”

“He looked Barrani to me—but if Yvander saw him as Michael, there’s no guarantee that he was.” She hesitated and then added, “He was using magical fire.”

“It was not fire,” Tiamaris said.

“It looked like fire. But purple.”

“Fire is not generally purple,” Tara told her. “Yvander, where did you meet Michael?”

“I met him on the way to the Town Hall. I’m due to start work in—” He glanced at the sky, and in particular at the sun’s position, and blanched.

Tara, however, touched his shoulder gently. “You will not be removed from your position. Please. Where did you meet Michael?”

“On the way to the site,” he replied, his panic receding in the face of her reassurance.

“Please, show us.”

* * *

An escort of the Lord and Lady of the fief was perhaps not what Yvander would have wished for at the start of the day, but by the time he stopped on a street whose name escaped Kaylin, he was relatively calm. “Here.”

Kaylin looked at the building to the left of the street. “He lives here?”

Yvander frowned. “No. He was visiting a friend, he said.”

“Good enough.” The building was, as far as the fiefs went, in poor repair; the door that in theory kept people out was listing on its hinges. Severn glanced at Tiamaris, who nodded in silence. Kaylin followed as Severn went to investigate. A fief building—especially in Tiamaris, given the damage done by the weakening of the borders—would have to be literally falling down before it remained empty, and this building was no exception; there were two families, at best guess, living on the first floor. The second floor, however, appeared to be empty.

They took the stairs cautiously; Severn gave Kaylin the lead because frankly, these stairs didn’t look as though they would support a lot of weight. When she reached the second story, she froze. “Severn? Come up the stairs slowly.”

The stairs creaked as he climbed them. The halls were narrow, the ceiling, which looked dangerously warped, low. Neither of these were remarkable, or at least they wouldn’t have been in Nightshade, the fief with which they were both most familiar.

“What is it? What did you see?” was the soft question asked when Severn joined her.

“A mage was here,” was her flat reply.

“Is he here now?”

“If he is, he’s not casting. My arms don’t ache. But—there was magic here. I guess whatever it took to disguise himself as Michael involved a decent amount of power.”

“Which would make some sense, but a spell of that nature would generally be cast on either Yvander or the impersonator, not a hall in the middle of a run-down building.”

“It’s not the hall,” she replied. She didn’t argue with anything else, because all of it was true. “It’s the door.” Lifting her arm, she pointed toward the room at the hall’s end. There, against its closed door, was a sigil, an echo of the identity of the mage who had cast the spell. She frowned as she drew closer. There was an obvious sigil, but around it, or beneath it, lay a far less distinct mark.

She recognized them both. She’d seen them before, in her apartment, just after her home had been destroyed by an Arcane bomb.

* * *

The door looked ordinary, for the fiefs; it was old and slightly warped. The hinges were, of course, on the other side, but Kaylin didn’t expect them to be in perfect repair, either. She approached the door with care, noting how utterly silent the rooms to either side were. It was possible they were entirely empty—it was the right time of the day for that—but she felt her heart sink a yard, regardless.

Severn nodded as if she’d spoken, and opened a door to their right. Kaylin paused and watched him enter. The door wasn’t locked, but frequently, doors in buildings of this nature weren’t. A lock guaranteed violence if someone actually wanted to enter; it didn’t keep them out. People in the fiefs understood squatters’ rights: the stronger person had them. Kaylin and Severn had moved several times, with very little warning, in their early years in Nightshade, but they’d moved unharmed. They’d put up no fight, because the result of a fight was a given; in return, the people who’d kicked them out simply waited for them to walk through the door.

Maybe that had happened here.

Severn returned. “It’s empty.”

“No sign of who’s occupying it now?”

“None.” He walked straight across the hall and opened the opposite door, entering more quickly. He left more quickly, as well. “Empty.”

He then backtracked down the hall. Kaylin turned to look at the door at the end of the hall, and at the familiar sigils that sat in its center. When Severn returned, she said, “They’re all empty.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. The downstairs wasn’t. Whatever happened upstairs didn’t make a lot of noise.”

Kaylin nodded. “Or it happened more than a week ago.”

“Strong magic?”

She shook her head. “Weak now. Whatever it was meant to do, it did—but the mages left signatures.”

“Michael wasn’t working alone, then?”

She frowned. “One of the sigils is almost illegible, it’s buried so far beneath the other.” The frown deepened. “I’ve seen a lot of sigils. The stronger one looks normal, to me. The weaker one…” She shook her head.

“You recognize them.”

“I’m not likely to forget them; they’re what the Arcane bomb splashed across what was left of my home.”

His jaw tensed; he didn’t. “Don’t touch the door.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Tiamaris is an Imperial Order–trained mage. He might see something here I don’t.”

* * *

The good thing about an enspelled door was it forced Tiamaris to let go of his Dragon form; he couldn’t fit through the entrance to the building otherwise, unless he planned to make a much larger hole in the supporting wall. His eyes had shaded to orange, but it was an orange that was very close to red. Tara, in gardening clothes, still sported obsidian eyes. They entered the building with Kaylin; Severn chose to scout the ground floor while Tara listened in. She could do that and move.

The stairs creaked ominously under Tiamaris’s weight; expecting it, Kaylin waited until he’d cleared them before stepping onto them herself. A fall like this wasn’t likely to cause a Dragon trouble, but it wouldn’t do much good for her.

Tiamaris strode straight down the hall and paused a yard from the closed door. “You didn’t open it?” he asked without looking back.

“No.”

“Is magic now active?”

As Kaylin had magic detectors built into her skin by default, she shook her head. Her skin didn’t hurt. When Tiamaris repeated the question, she said, “Not that I can sense.”

He did something that was definitely magical in response.

“That’s you?”

“It is.” He reached out and opened the door.

Kaylin cried out in shock and pain, half expecting the door to explode outward at the sudden force of magic she felt. It didn’t. It was still in one piece, still attached to its hinges. It didn’t appear to have harmed Tiamaris at all.

But it hadn’t opened into a normal room, either, even by fief standards. It opened into fog and gray, dark shadows. Or smoke without the obvious fire to cause it.

Tara said something sharp and harsh in a language Kaylin didn’t understand. The door flew shut before Tiamaris could take a step into the room itself.

“Lady?” he said, turning toward her, as Kaylin said, “Tara?” They spoke with the same inflection.

Her eyes were obsidian; wings had once again sprouted from between her shoulder blades. “Do not open the door,” she told her Lord softly. “It does not lead to any residence within the fief of Tiamaris.”

“Where does it lead, Lady?”

“To the outlands,” was her soft reply.

“To the Shadows?” Kaylin asked. “Outlands” was not a word she’d heard Tara use before. “To the heart of the fiefs?”

“No. No, Kaylin. If there was such a place in my domain, I would know.”

“But—”

“This is not the same,” she continued. “Not for the purpose for which I was created. It is, however, as much a danger to my Lord’s people.” She didn’t mean the Dragons.

Tiamaris’s eyes had shaded to a cooler orange; Kaylin was willing to bet that was as calm as they’d get today.

“Do you know what she means by ‘outlands’?” Kaylin asked.

“No.”

“Tara, do you think it’s likely that the missing people walked through that door?”

“I think it very likely,” Tara replied.

“Where did it take them?”

“I do not know.”

“Is there some way to determine that?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Enter the room. It is clear the spell is still active.” To Tiamaris, she added, “I do not think they will return that way, but while the entrance exists, there is some possibility. Would you have me destroy it, Lord?”

Yes warred with hope, and hope won, although it was close. “Can you place a guard upon this door, and this building, to ensure that it is not used again without your knowledge?”

“Now that I am aware of it, yes. I cannot guarantee that there are not other points of exit—or entrance—within the fief.”

“Why?” Kaylin asked.

“Because such doorways did exist when I was first created; they were not, in and of themselves, a danger; they were a path between specific locations. Once, before the fall of Ravellon, such doors existed between the great cities.”

“Great cities?”

Tara shook her head; her wings settled into a comfortable fold. “They are gone now. Ruins remain, if that. They were not mortal cities, and against their height, Elantra counts as little. But I did not think to see such a thing again,” she added.

“I am not averse to the study of the ancient,” Tiamaris finally said. “I spent much of my youth in that endeavor, and it was not always considered either safe or wise. It is possible that Sanabalis may cede some of his mages to the study of this door, should I request it.”

“Would you?”

“I would not have you stand guard in this…building…indefinitely; if the Imperial Order assigns its mages here—”

“Do you trust them?” Kaylin cut in.

“They are not Arcanists,” he replied. “They are beholden to the Emperor.”

“They are, but the fief doesn’t operate under Imperial Law.”

“True. But I believe it can be argued that the mages chosen will be…ambassadors for the Empire. Diplomats.” He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “It will prevent me from destroying them if they are overweening in their arrogance, but it will likewise diminish their self-importance.”

“I don’t frankly see how.”

“Many of the mages are interested in the ancient and the unknown; the choice of those who are allowed to study here, of course, will be mine. If they anger, annoy, or bore me, I will send them home; if they attempt to remain, I will send them home in pieces.”

“Why let them come here at all, then?”

“Because there is some small chance they will discover what the purpose of this room is—and was—and while they are here, they will defend it as if it were their personal belonging. Should the Barrani—any Barrani—attempt to access this room and this door from this side, we will know, and the mages will be better prepared than my own humble citizens.” He turned to Tara and said in a quieter voice, “It would be wisest, I think, to relocate those citizens who remain in the building.”

* * *

“There is a real Michael,” Tara told them as they left the building and headed toward the Tower, which took longer because there was no portal and no angry Dragon to sit on. “He is a citizen of the fief. He did not, however, approach Yvander in any way today.”

“Do you think the would-be kidnapper was someone who knew both Michael and Yvander?”

Tara frowned and shook her head. “I think Yvander supplied both the image and the words he thought he heard. What I do not understand,” she said, “is why Yvander was being led across the border, rather than to the building itself. If the room there serves as portal, why was it not used instead?”

“I’m going to guess that the disappearances in Tiamaris aren’t unique. It’s possible they’ve also occurred outside the fief.”

Tara hesitated, and Kaylin marked it. The Avatar’s eyes once again lost the semblance of normal eyes, becoming black stone instead. “My Lord gives me permission to discuss this. He gives you permission to discuss it as well, but asks that any official discussion—with your Sergeant or with the Lord of Hawks—be referred to him.

“I believe the building I was studying in the hall of perception might somehow be involved, but if the Arcanists attempted to create a portal that is similar to the one you discovered, they would find it much, much more difficult beyond the bounds of the fiefs.”

“Why?”

“There is a reason that the Towers were built and a reason they were built here. Beyond the borders of the fiefs, the type of power required would be much, much more significant. If they were very lucky, planned well, and made use of the magical storms that engulfed a large part of the City itself, yes, there is every possibility such a gateway exists in the City proper. The magical storms, however, were not predictable, and I consider their use in this case unlikely. It is not just a matter of power—although power is necessary—but also a matter of precision.”

“But they could build gateways like this in the other fiefs?”

Tara nodded. “They are most likely to be found near the border zones; a singularly powerful but unwise mage might attempt their construction within the zone itself.”

“What is it about the fiefs that make it easier or simpler here?”

Tara shrugged, a gesture that looked, in all details, as if it could have come from Morse. It probably had. “The same thing that allows Ferals to hunt in the streets. The Ferals don’t cross the bridge.”

“You don’t think they can.”

“No.”

“If ‘Michael’ were leading Yvander across the border to Nightshade, it’s likely that a portal exists in Nightshade.”

Tara nodded. “We have been far more vigilant than Barren was capable of being. Given the recent difficulty with the borders, the ongoing threat posed by Shadows that managed to enter the fief during the period of instability, and the necessity of reconstruction, it is more difficult to conduct large-scale and illegal magics without the possibility of detection.”

“You didn’t detect this door.”

“Not immediately.”

They reached the Tower. “Our apologies to the Halls of Law,” Tara said softly. “I do not think the missing boy will be found.”

The doors rolled open; Kaylin remained on the outside. “If people are disappearing, there has to be some reason. The people Tiamaris listed as missing are all human, but they span age and gender. I’ve seen many ways humans can be bought and sold, but their value is entirely dependent on age, gender, and appearance. None of those require something as complicated as the portal. None of them require any level of magic. But magic clearly was used.

“The victims aren’t, as far as you know, in the city anymore. They had to be sent somewhere.”

“They were sent to the outlands,” Tara replied.

“Tara, where are the outlands? Are they even in the Empire?”

“Not in the sense Elantra is, no. But if you mean to ask me why those victims came from the fief, I believe it to be because such a portal could be opened here.”

“Could it be opened in Ravellon?”

“Perhaps—but there is little chance, in my opinion, that the ones who opened the portal would survive the opening.”

“So it had to be here. What purpose would random victims serve?”

“There was once a theory,” Tara replied, “that mortals were malleable because they had no True Names and therefore no confinement. They are not fixed in shape.”

“They are,” Kaylin replied sharply. “If you attempt to break their shape, you generally damage—or kill—them.” But as she spoke, she thought of the Leontines and their story of origin and fell silent.

“The Ancients did not perceive life the way you do,” Tara finally said. “I have not heard the voices of the Ancients for so long, Kaylin. Nor do I hear them now, in this; it is too small, too precise, and too secretive. My Lord will speak with the Imperial Order, but I think it unlikely that the Imperial Order will offer enlightenment. It is possible that the Arkon may have information that is relevant.”

“Yvander was being led to Nightshade,” Kaylin said. The words were sharp and heavy. “In Nightshade, no one’s likely to care.”