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He wasn’t wrong: though most of the Aeretollean lords, soldiers, and servants were glad to have the drakes on their side, most were leery of approaching them. Their three tents were set in a semicircle around the fire, the drakes curled between, and the laughter and dense gatherings took place around other fires. A loud burst of song floated along on the wind, and Oliver watched Rune’s face fall in genuine dismay. He’d been poking fun at Náli – and, really, Náli was poking fun in return, in his own snide way – but he seemed genuinely unhappy that he couldn’t share in this with them.

Oliver traded a look with Tessa, who was frowning, a hand resting on Rune’s arm. “Stay,” Oliver said, and Rune’s look of surprise was so innocent and wondering, it reminded Oliver all over again how young he was. Tessa and Náli were as well, but there was a certain childlike innocence in Rune that he hoped never faded…but which he feared would, given their task; given the way the siege, and his injury, and Leif’s transformation had already dimmed some of his inner light.

“Really?”

“Why not?” Oliver said with a shrug. “Really, we ought not to be alone in case something goes wrong.”

Rune’s smile quickly reversed. “What could go wrong?” He glanced between the three of them, lingering lastly on his wife. “Is this dangerous? Like, properly, physically dangerous?”

“Not more dangerous than riding a drake,” Oliver said, and chuckled at the face Rune made.

From the corner of his eye, though, he saw the way Náli’s lips compressed, a subtle display that he wiped smooth when he sensed Oliver watching him.

Oliver made a mental note to ask him about it once they were alone, then stood. “Well. Shall we get started?”

~*~

For this campaign, Erik had chosen to have a central command tent separate from his personal sleeping tent, which was barely big enough for Erik, Oliver, and their belongings. Náli’s tent, therefore, with room for his entire Dead Guard to bed down around him, was the largest of the three, and thus the place where they decamped to work on their magic in relative privacy.

A small, copper brazier burned in the center, and furs were laid out over reed mats all around it. Náli snagged a small, collapsible camp chair of wood slats and leather from the wall, and dragged it over to one side of the brazier. “Rune, you sit here.”

Rune did, dwarfing the chair comically, and Oliver thought the Guard must look ridiculous in the thing as well. “Where will you sit?”

“Here, on the ground.” Nali folded down cross-legged onto the furs, and motioned to either side of him. “Come, you two. We’ll sit in a circle and join hands.” The last he said mockingly, but when he was settled, he offered up both palms, and his expression was serious, brows lifting. “Well?”

Oliver and Tessa sat.

Náli’s hand, Oliver noted, was much warmer than it had felt the last time he’d touched it, before he accessed his full power in the Fault Lands. The skin smooth and hydrated.Healthy. With his other hand, Oliver took hold of Tessa, her fingers small and cool, her new ring so large he had to adjust his grip for fear of mashing it into his palm.

“Now, then,” Náli said, and his voice had gone resonant, his face smooth and removed, chin lifted to a lofty angle and gaze low-lidded. He looked like an illustration of a shaman that Oliver had glimpsed in a book, once: wise and powerful and lazy with it, assured of his skills. It was a commendable performance…but perhaps not merely a performance. Oliver thought Náli’s petulance was the direct result of being forced to grow up far too quickly as a magic-user; he’d borne that mantle of cure for the realm’s hostility his entire life, laden with a responsibility no child should have been saddled with. His childish, bratty behavior was a stab at preserving something like misspent youth. “Close your eyes.”

“What about me?” Rune asked.

Tessa snorted.

Náli sighed. “Youmay sit silently and pick your nose for all I care. As I said before: only interfere if something appears to have gone wrong. If they start screaming, wake them up. Otherwise.” He released Oliver’s hand to mime turning a lock and tossing away a key at his lips.

Hands linked once more, Náli repeated, “Close your eyes.”

Oliver felt more than a little silly. He felt Percy rubbing up against his mind with a purr of inquiry, and thought,We’re going to try to cross over. Do you think you could help us?

Outside the tent, Valgrind bugled an entreaty.

“Quiet, you,” Náli called. Then, at normal volume: “Think of journeying downward, to a private, dark place. Set aside all your worries, all your preoccupying thoughts. Your sore muscles, your saddle chafing, your chapped lips – leave it all. Don’t think of your lovers, or your families. Think of nothing. Empty heads.”

A simple instruction, but one difficult to execute. Sickly since childhood, Oliver had grown up juggling thoughts like the most expert of May Day performers. Thinking of nothing was a challenge.

Náli breathed out a quiet sigh, and when he spoke next, his voice had become more conversational. “That won’t work, will it? What did we do before, with the torq?”

Tessa said, “The torq had this – it was if it had its own magic.”

“It didn’t, though. Not until we enchanted it.”

“It was a focal point,” Oliver guessed. It was strange having a conversation with his eyes shut, but kept them so. “Perhaps we need something to focus on.”

“Yes,” Náli said. “Think of your drakes, then, I suppose.”

Valgrind called again from outside, and Tessa giggled when Náli muttered a curse.