Slanya dug into her backpack, removed one of the vials of elixir that Gregor had provided, and quaffed the entire contents. The oily liquid slid down her throat, and the strong taste of anise made her wince.
Duvan led her right on through the veil, and as she stepped willfully across the border behind him, part of her mind broke, her iron lock on an organized world cracked just a little, aching to dance with the forces of chaos ahead.
Duvan felt an electric prickle pass over his skin as he passed through the border veil and carefully picked his way down the incline. The slope here was steep, but at least it was passable without using rope.
In front of him, the land splayed out like an open, festering wounda scar gushing otherworldly light and motion. The very bedrock was unstable, a dangerous undulation of earth and light.
Duvan couldn’t help but be impressed every time he saw this awesome sight. The changelands were the most raw and widespread wild magic infection in all Faerun. No wonder people made the pilgrimage here.
Duvan checked to make sure Slanya was close behind him. He derived no pleasure from arguing with her. And perhaps he was projecting his own hardships on her, but the way she told of her aunt and the firerelaying the story as if by roteand her lack of details, gave him the impression that she had told this story over and over until it had become her truth. It seemed too pat, too clean and ordered to be the whole truth.
What had she really gone through? he wondered. What had she really endured?
“We will need to stay close together for the rest of the journey,” he said. “The instability of this place can uproot the earth anywhere, and we don’t want to be separated.”
Slanya nodded solemnly, clearly stunned by her first sight of the changelands.
Duvan considered saying something, but he refrained. He’d give her some time to adjust. He had visited the border numerous times, and the sight always brought him to his knees in awe. She should be allowed some adjustment time.
“I’m a little dizzy,” she said.
“Don’t look into the distance,” Duvan suggested. “Too disorienting. Nobody is used to the solid ground in flux like this.”
Slanya nodded.
“Pick a spot on the ground just ahead and focus on that,” he said. “Glance up frequently to make sure there’s nothing dangerous approaching, but always come back to the spot just ahead. That should help with the vertigo.”
Slanya took a slow deep breath, her face waxy and sallow. I’ll try that.”
The ground moved, started dropping ever so slowly. Abruptly, Slanya fell to her knees behind him. Clutching her gut, she vomited on the shifting ground.
This was going to be a long trip.
Climbing back up to her, the shale surface slipping under his feet, Duvan put a hand on her back. “You all right?”
“I’d say the answer to that is pretty obvious,” she said, but her tone was wry.
“I hate to say this, but we have to keep moving. And this is just the beginning of this sort of thing. You can do this.”
Slanya stared at him for a moment, focused her attention on him. Then she gave the barest hint of a nod. “Give me just a moment,” she said. The ground shifted again, and Duvan found that he was already starting to get used to it.
A high-pitched screech pierced the air off to his right, and he glanced over to see a wave of spellplague ripping up the landscape. It seemed like the sound of the universe tearing. Gusts of foul wind laced with fume and needle-sharp rocks blew over them.
“I hope your moment is up,” he said, yelling to be heard over the din. “We need to keep moving!”
He tugged Slanya to her feet, and she rose at his insistence. She followed him as he plunged down the slope, choosing a path perpendicular to the approaching wave. Her eyes were locked on the ground just ahead, and she’d gotten control of her breathing. Quite remarkable.
The blue shimmer passed by them like a ripple in the fabric of the world, a few body-lengths away. And in its wake, the ground lurched and buckled. The air crystallized and swirled in the vortex created by its passing.
Duvan gripped tightly onto Slanya’s hand, determined not to let go. He brought his other arm up to protect his eyes. Tossed into the air by the heaving ground, they flew airborne.
He did not let go, and when the two of them came crashing down, landing hard and skidding down the slope, he still hung on. He was determined not to lose her. Tyrangal liked her, and despite her previous isolation from real-world issues, Duvan found himself concerned about her. He would do his best to protect her until their mission was fulfilled. He’d given his word.
They rolled down the slope and skidded to a stop next to a small patch of spellscarred bushes. How anything could grow in here always amazed him. And as he watched, the bushes doubled in size, then dried up, withered, and died.
The silence that followed left his ears ringing with the screech of the passing wave. And for the moment, they were in a small pocket of calm.
For the moment.
“You all right?” he asked, getting to his feet and brushing the rocks and debris from his hair.
“I think so,” she replied. Her voice quavered at first as she stood next to him and took stock of herself. “Yes, I seem to be all here.”
He laughed. “Corporeal unityalways better than the alternative.”
She gave an amused snort. “Agreed.”
“Let me see if you’ve got any splinters,” he said. “The shards are so sharp they can be difficult to feel, and if left they’ll work into the skin. You don’t want that. Believe me, I know from experience.”
“Good to know,” she said.
And as he examined the exposed skin on her face, he discovered that he was touched somewhat by her story about being orphaned when her aunt had died in the house fire. Despite his dubiousness about the telling, Duvan felt sure there was a good deal of truth behind her story. Perhaps he understood her; he too had been orphaned.
Perhaps she could understand him.
He removed three shards from her face and neck. “Please check me,” he said.
Her head was close, her measured and even breath on his face. She smelled of lilac soap.
She pulled a shard out then looked into his eyes. “II think that’s all of them.”
Duvan looked away, but the look of concern or connection or whatever it was that passed-between them stayed with him. He’d only ever felt that kind of connection for one other personhis twin sister, Talfani.
This look was fleeting and perhaps only imagined after all. We’ll wear gloves and goggles and face scarves from here on in,” he said, and he heard traces of anger in his voice. Anger at what? he wondered, but now that he was aware of it, he recognized that he was truly angry.
“Done,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“I owe you my life,” she said. “I should thank you.” At her gesture of appreciation, he felt the anger Well inside. Why did she have to be so kind? Why did he care so much? It was infuriating.
In the privacy of his office, Gregor scratched absently at the white hair over his spellscar and stared at Vraith. “You seriously believe this young man could be… what did you say? ‘A threat to your entire order’?”
Vraith gave a tight smile. She had sent her entourage into the courtyard while she and Gregor spoke of more sensitive matters. Kaylinn had excused herself. “I said he could be a threat to our operationour plans for the ritual. It depends on what we discover about his powers.”
“He seemed to me to be unconcerned with the affairs of the Order,” Gregor said. “More interested in relatively petty activities, really. I wouldn’t concern myself with him.” Gregor didn’t despise small-time thinkers, but he certainly had no deep respect for them either. He was going to make an impact on this world; he would achieve greatness. Of that he was certain, and those who had no aspiration for deep impact on the worldfor greatness deserved little respect.
