"Apparent physical impossibilities aside," said Satterly, "it sounds like a great trick. What's the catch?"
"The difficulty is crossing the shifting place's border. If you ride through quickly, at a direction perpendicular to the boundary, you may experience nothing more than a brief headache. Take the crossing too slowly, or at too great an angle, and you could be shredded like a cabbage by the shearing forces of the boundary."
"But we can't even see them," said Satterly. "How do we know to make our approach?"
"I will be your eyes," said Silverdun. "The thing can be done; I've seen it before at the Academy. They have great engines there capable of producing such rifts."
Mauritane nodded. "Ordinarily, on a volunteer mission such as this, I would ask anyone who felt uncomfortable risking his life in such a manner to except himself. Here, though, your chances of survival in the Contested Lands alone are small at best. We ride as one, or we give up now and the rest of you make your escape."
"The rest of us?" said Mave. "Why wouldn't you come with us if we chose not to go?"
"I have my responsibilities," said Mauritane, his eyes on Raieve, who pretended not to notice. "I cannot absolve myself of them. You, however, have not taken the vows that I have."
"Well," said Satterly, "I've come this far. It seems dumb to turn back now."
"For once I agree with the human," said Silverdun. "I'm already receiving bruises; I at least want a chance at the prize."
"I have nothing to return to," said Mave quietly.
"And I have no wish to die alone," said Raieve.
Mauritane frowned. "Fine. It's decided. We ride in five minutes. Be ready."
Silverdun rode far ahead of the rest, carrying a bag of river stones in one hand. He moved slowly, at a walk, whistling out to the left, then to the right, then in front of him. Every so often he would take a stone from the bag and toss it sidearm in the direction of his last whistle. He'd carefully monitor the stone's spinning progress until it landed and fell still, then move on.
After an hour, their campsite was still in plain view behind them. Mauritane sensed that the anticipation of danger was beginning to wear thin, and he continually reminded them to remain alert. Every so often a stiff hot wind would burst forth from some unseen source, or a rain of ice crystals. Some of the shifting places produced eerie sounds, howls and keening wails, some sounding almost Fae or human. Overhead, the sun passed back and forth behind the swiftly moving clouds and the land grew dark and light in strange intervals.
Finally, Silverdun brought his mare to a halt. He threw one stone over his right shoulder, then another.
"This is it," he called back to Mauritane.
Mauritane rode up and stood beside him. He watched Silverdun throw a third stone. It left his hand at a leisurely pace, glinted silver for an instant, then seemed to explode toward the ground at an unbelievable speed. It hopped once, with the same unusual rapidity, then fell to the earth.
"May l?" said Mauritane.
"Be my guest." Silverdun dropped a handful of the water-smoothed stones into Mauritane's palm.
Mauritane threw one, watched the effect repeat, and then tossed the entire handful at once. The stones reached the boundary of the shifting place at minute intervals, and a series of bright silver flashes delineated the periphery of the oblong shifting place.
"It seems to be elongated toward the west," said Silverdun. "Just what we're looking for."
"Good," said Mauritane. "Let's get everyone inside. I'll go first, to show them how it's done and you guide the rest of them."
Silverdun nodded. "Watch closely," he said to the others, whom he waved toward him. "I've got Mauritane aimed precisely perpendicular to where the shifting place will be in a few moments. They don't call them shifting places for nothing, so you must be precise. On my signal, you start moving and I start counting. If you're not in contact with the boundary when I get to three, you're dead." Silverdun threw another stone, so Mauritane could see his target. Mauritane noted the location of the silver flash. He looked forward, seeing nothing, finding it difficult to believe that he was about to risk his life.
"Now," said Silverdun.
Mauritane kicked Streak into motion.
"One," said Silverdun.
He increased his speed, trying to gauge the distance just right.
"Two."
Mauritane realized that he was moving too quickly; he was about to overshoot the mark.
Mauritane heard the beginning of Silverdun's count, but as the word was spoken something hit him in the chest and Silverdun's voice stretched out and fell, lower, lower, lower. Streak reared and nearly turned back; it was all Mauritane could do to force the animal to continue moving.
Then, suddenly, he was safely inside the shifting place. Despite the dull ache in his chest and a sharp pain behind his eyes, he was unharmed. He wheeled Streak around to view the others. Gray Mave was moving forward, his motions protracted, almost comically slow. Silverdun's count seemed to last an eternity. From within the shifting place, he could hear everything outside only as a muted basso roar. Silverdun's voice sounded like the glamoured voices given to dragon puppets in children's theater. Mave moved toward Mauritane at a snail's pace, as though he and his mount were swimming rather than walking.
The forelegs of Mave's gelding entered the shifting place first and for an instant it appeared as though the beast were stretched out along its spine, its forelegs many paces ahead of its hind legs. Gray Mave suddenly winced as though he'd been struck, then he flew into the space alongside Mauritane, traveling finally at a normal speed.
"Are you all right?" asked Mauritane, when Gray Mave's wince did not fade.
"I will be," said Mave. "The buggane's cut did not take the trip well." He held his hand out from his chest and there was fresh blood on his fingertips.
"Have Silverdun look at it when he comes through," said Mauritane. He tried to push out of his mind the thought that the buggane's blade might have been poisoned. "He may know some healing magic for it."
Mave nodded, guiding his horse out of the way for the next traveler.
Raieve was next. Mauritane watched her move, and the slowness of her motions only added to her grace. It was all he could do just to keep his eyes on her. He wanted to ride toward her, pull her up in front of him on Streak's back, and run. Far, far away. But it was not possible. There was a boundary between them that could not be crossed.
She made the crossing without incident, riding a few paces away from Mauritane to watch Satterly and Silverdun come through. The motions of those outside had a hypnotic effect on those within.
Satterly almost made it but at the last moment pulled back on his reins. Just barely, but it was enough. His horse turned and Satterly hit the boundary at an angle, pitching forward from the beast's back. The horse stumbled in the strange glinting edge and fell onto its side. Satterly was propelled from the saddle, flying through the boundary and landing hard on the ground.
The horse did not make it. It became stuck in the periphery of the shifting place, and they all watched helplessly as the creature's limbs stretched until they broke, the bones shattering, internal organs bursting and spraying their fluids into the maelstrom of the shifting place's edge. The horse shrieked, a high piercing sound that lowered to a toneless rumble one moment, then lifted to the buzzing of an insect the next as the unknown forces that separated the shifting place from the solid world stretched the animal into an impossible shape, then dropped it to the ground, a shuddering sack of meat. Satterly's folded tent rolled out of the mess, completely unscathed, and stopped at Mauritane's feet.