This roar, unlike the attenuated and oddly distant roars of the other Dragons, reverberated. Kaylin shook with it; the ground beneath her feet shook with it.
The familiar, in his winged and almost human form, roared back in response. It was, note for note, the same sound as the outcaste’s, as if sound could be mirrored exactly. She felt it the same way.
But the Shadow that loosely bound her to Mandoran responded differently.
The outcaste’s eyes rounded; they lost some of the midnight blue that was characteristic of Barrani. No normal Dragon color replaced it. Here, in a world that was very like the real one, but sapped of color and almost transparent, he began to change shape.
Kaylin had watched Dragons shift from their mortal to their Draconic forms. It was interesting in a way that destroyed appetite the first time; it was almost natural to her now. Watching the outcaste reminded her of the first time.
Here, the mechanics of the shift in form were far less fluid, far less natural—if that kind of change could ever feel natural to someone who was stuck in a single body. He did not transition in one flowing movement, flesh becoming small scales, small scales gaining both color and size. The scales did come, but everything about their appearance was jerky; it wasn’t so much transition as...building.
But his scales here were black. They were black like dark opals; they were glimmering and iridescent, scattered through with oddly bright colors. Those colors moved from scale to scale, as if the body was landscape or canvas.
“Kaylin,” Mandoran whispered.
She turned, mouth half-open, toward him, and froze. Again.
The Shadow whose incursion she had all but halted had spread up through his arms to his shoulders, and across them. To get into Kaylin, the Shadow had to work. To invade Mandoran in a similar way, it clearly didn’t.
She reached out to touch him; realized her hands were still webbed with Shadow. It was thinner now; the bulk of it had traveled to Mandoran.
The familiar roared again, and this time, when the outcaste used his Dragon voice, the rest of his body matched it. She assumed. She was staring at Mandoran, at the Shadow.
It had no name. It had no will that was not the outcaste Dragon’s will. She had no way of calling it back, no way of diverting its attention; she would have, if it were fire. Fire’s name, she knew.
Shadow had no name. No single word to define it.
Annarion appeared by her side, sword in hand; he tried to cut through the strands that bound Kaylin to Mandoran. The familiar roared at him, and his blade stopped an inch above the webbing. Kaylin didn’t understand what the familiar said; Annarion clearly did.
He was afraid.
Mandoran was afraid.
It was why she couldn’t really think of either of them as Barrani: they were too open, too honest with their emotions and reactions. Teela would have been impassive. Tain would have been the same.
Ynpharion, she shouted.
I am here.
Ask the Consort what I should do—how do I stop this? How do I save him?
Silence. A beat. Two. Kaylin stopped herself from repeating the question at greater volume only with effort. She had no intention of giving in to panic.
Of giving in any more than you already have.Even his condescension was better than silence.The Consort says she does not understand what, exactly, you face. She does not understand your compatriot. She would like to meet him in future, he added, in a tone that implied he strongly disapproved,but for now, she has no advice to give you.
Kaylin wilted.
She says, however, that in your position, she would plead her case—very quickly—before thepraevolo.
What?
Veryquickly.
* * *
The familiar and the outcaste—both in Draconic form, and neither actually Dragons—clashed. Scales sparked, scraped; the air moved as they roared. Kaylin turned to Annarion, who was ashen.
“I can’t touch him,” she whispered. “And you shouldn’t. We need to find Moran.”