Cast in Peril. Michelle Sagara

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