She felt Ynpharion almost freeze in place. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to answer.
Kaylin exhaled, turned, and caught Ynpharion’s arm, dragging him out of his momentary paralysis.
They spoke very little as they walked toward the Hallionne Alsanis. The green of grass and trees gave way to something that might have been stone or ash; it was roughly circular in shape, and the Hallionne stood at its heart. Nightshade, Iberrienne, and the Consort stood at its edge, waiting; the shadow cast by the enormous dragon in the sky above darkened the ground as he flew.
The Consort looked back as her brother approached; they exchanged brief, almost silent words—or at least almost silent to Kaylin. She then turned to Kaylin. “Lord Kaylin.”
Kaylin offered the Consort a perfect bow. She’d had enough sleep that she wasn’t tripping over her own feet. When she rose, the Lord of the West March had stepped aside to make room for her; it was a less than subtle hint. Kaylin took the vacated position by the Consort’s side.
“Can you hear him?”
“Yes.” The Consort glanced at Ynpharion as she spoke. She did not otherwise acknowledge him.
“Can he hear you?”
“I do not know, Lord Kaylin. I have never spoken to Alsanis as Consort.” She glanced at Iberrienne, and then said, her voice gentling, “Are you ready?” It occurred to Kaylin that Iberrienne was theoretically Outcaste, and unlike Nightshade, he didn’t have the protection of the Teller’s crown. Nor did it matter.
Iberrienne nodded. “Eddorian is calling.”
The dragon roared. Kaylin wanted to roar back. Instead, she began to walk.
Ten yards from the edge of the gray circle, she found the first of the fallen nightmares. It retained its shape, but the darkness of shadow had left it; it now seemed like an artist’s impression of a bird—a shape that implied flight, without any of its form. She glanced at the Consort for permission; the Consort nodded.
“None of us now understand what we will face. You are Chosen.” Kaylin opened her mouth; the Consort held out one graceful—and imperious—hand. “What you choose to risk, risk. We will accept it.”
Kaylin glanced at the Warden. Lord Barian’s gaze was fixed on the fallen nightmare. Kaylin had no cause to love those nightmares—but the eagles had emerged from them. Then again, she had no reason to love the eagles, either; they spoke more clearly, but they had taken the Consort from the Lord’s Hall into the heart of the green.
She felt the marks on her arm begin to warm. She touched the fallen nightmare; it felt like stone beneath her palm, rough and porous. At her back, Severn unwound his chain.
“Don’t,” she told him.
“It’s still a weapon,” he replied. “It doesn’t break spells, but it’s effective in every other way.”
“You can’t use it here—”
“But he can, Lord Kaylin,” Barian said. “If it is to become what it was, he must.”
Kaylin bit her lip as she attempted to lift what felt like stone. To her surprise, it was much lighter than it appeared. She turned to say something to Barian and stopped at the expression on the Warden’s face.
The nightmare rose. Its solid wings labored in the air a yard above Kaylin’s hands. The eagles that rested on Barian watched in silence. Kaylin held out both hands as the not-quite-stone, not-quite-bird failed to fly. It landed in her palms.
And then it spoke. Kaylin didn’t understand a word.
The eagles, however, did; they replied, in the same tongue. The creature in her hands shook at the sound of their voices. It had no mouth; it had a crevice that implied beak and emitted syllables. After a sentence or two —judging only by intonation and pauses, it shivered again, and this time, it pulled a head out of the porous mass of its body. It was an eagle’s head. Nothing about its body changed, but Kaylin’s eyes rounded.
“Lord Kaylin?”
“This is—I think this is—”
The eagles leaped from Barian’s arms to Kaylin’s shoulders. Their claws didn’t pierce skin, but it was close.
“What are you?” the creature transforming itself in her hands asked. He asked in Elantran, or what passed for Elantran; Kaylin’s suspicions hardened.
“I’m mortal,” she replied. “Human, even.”
“What is that?”
“I’m not Barrani.”
“You are not one of the children, then.”
“No.”
“Why are you here?”
“Apparently,” she replied softly, “I’m here to wake you. You are Alasanis’s brother, aren’t you?”
“Alsanis is here? Where?”
The eagles answered, screeching. Kaylin couldn’t understand a word they were saying. She glanced at the Consort, who was frowning.
“You could understand it?”
“It sounds like it’s speaking Elantran to me,” Kaylin replied. “And I guess that means it’s not.”
The gray eagle face was joined by wings, and legs. The legs were a little off, possibly because they were of uneven lengths. She watched as he adjusted them. “I don’t like this shape. It is too small.”
“If you’re going to get bigger, don’t do it in my hands.”
“Oh?” He looked at her hands, and she noted, as he did, that his eyes were like black opals. “Will it harm them?”
She set him on the ground. “He’s like Wilson,” she told the Consort. To the bird that was slowly changing and expanding his shape, she added, “How many of you are there?”
He blinked. It was disturbing because he had grown a third eye. “How many?” He turned to the eagles and asked them a question she couldn’t understand; the eagles replied, and whatever they said caused the creature to laugh. “How
Kaylin started to count, and one of the eagles tightened his claws. “There is only one of you.”
“Don’t tell me that—tell him.”
“We have. He does not understand the concept. We will fly,” the eagle added. “We will search.”
The dragon roared, and the stone eagle, which was doing a good job of becoming a standing puddle, froze. It looked up—well, the head did; the wings had kind of dispersed into something disturbingly liquid—and its face changed shape. It roared back.
Kaylin was once again reminded of Bellusdeo and Diarmat, minus the outrage on either side. She covered her ears with her hands and rose. But she looked up at the dragon, and felt momentarily happy. Yes, he was larger, and yes, he had changed. But the gift he had given Bertolle, he had attempted to give to Alsanis.
“It is not safe,” the stone said, its shape at last settling into an almost-familiar one. No, not almost. She heard Nightshade’s breath stop—funny, that that was a sound. She recognized the Barrani who now stood before her with his opal eyes, although she had only seen him once. He was Allaron.
But the statue that now began to take on the texture—and color—of flesh shook his head; black hair gleamed in a drape down his back. “We are not. We are the brothers of Alsanis.”
“Why do you look like Allaron?”
“Do I?” He frowned. “Is it upsetting?”
“No,” Kaylin said quickly. “We’re fine with it. You don’t have to change your shape again.”
“It is small and confining, but—small and confined as you are, it is appropriate.” He frowned. “Alsanis is waking. The children are crying. Come.” He paused, and then bowed to the Consort. He appeared content to ignore everyone else. “Lady.”
The Consort inclined her head; her eyes were an odd shade of blue. “Will he hear me?”
“Yes, Lady—but they will hear you, as well. They are troublesome. They occupy us, they exhort us, they demand. Alsanis is...” He frowned. It was not a Barrani expression; it was too quick and too open. Turning, he
