“Agemon!” Karigan wailed, but the heaviness of the white air muted her voice.

Behind her, the vaporous mist, noiseless and suffuse, billowed in again and obscured the funeral slabs. When the cloud wafted away, nothing remained save the endless white plains.

Out of breath, Karigan collapsed to the white ground. She drew her legs up close and rested her head on her knees. She sat like this for a time, resting, willing herself to stave off despair. It could have been minutes she sat there, it could have been hours.

Eventually she stood up and walked. There was nothing else to do but walk across the colorless plain. Short, white grass crunched beneath her feet. Otherwise, nothing fed her senses. She wondered if she simply walked in place for she could not identify any changes in her surroundings.

She recalled the sprig of bayberry she carried tucked away in an inner pocket of her greatcoat and took it out. A gift given to her so she could remember the vast expanses of the northern forest and the green, living things. So she could remember friends.

The sprig of bayberry defied the bleaching effect of the world and Karigan’s eyes feasted on it. She rubbed a smooth leaf between her fingers. Its sweet scent brought back the bright blueberry blue eyes of the Berry sisters, and the green needles of a giant pine tree which had towered over Abram Rust. It brought back the earthy smell of the forest after a rain, and of pine needles baking in the sun.

Karigan rejoiced in the reawakening of her senses, of touching something real in this dull unreality.

As if in response to her rising spirits, a dark blotch appeared on the plain before her. Her pace quickened into a trot. Her strides brought the splotch closer as though she had taken great leaps instead of steps. The splotch turned into two figures who sat hunched over a table.

Karigan slackened her pace, hope turning into dismay. Amilton sat in one chair and the Eletian in another. A third chair was left unoccupied. The table and chairs were made of ordinary wood, or appeared to be. On the table, a game of Intrigue was set up. Like the bayberry sprig, the pieces retained their true colors: blue, green, red.

Amilton leaned over an army of red pieces, his eyes darting here and there over the board. He wrung his hands anxiously, reached out to move a piece, hesitated, and snatched his hand back. He muttered to himself unaware of Karigan’s presence. Shawdell the Eletian, in contrast, leaned casually back in his chair, watching her approach with interest.

“Won’t you join us?” he asked.

Karigan adjusted her grip on the sword. “Why are we here?”

The Eletian smiled his dazzling smile. In this place he was not bloodied or injured from their previous encounter at the Lost Lake, nor was he the ghostly image she had seen overlapping Amilton in the throne room.

“Would you believe anything I told you?” he asked.

“I will judge your words for myself.”

“You will not like what you hear.”

“Just explain,” Karigan said.

“All right.” Shawdell’s voice was quiet. “With your actions, you have released wild magic and it has torn the wall between the worlds. You brought us here.”

‘’What do you mean between the worlds?”

“This is a place of passage, neither here nor there. It is not of the earth, nor of your mortal heavens. You have touched it before when you rode with the ghosts, but only the borders. You did not cross over. Many others touch it with their dreams or in death. Some find their way here with magic, but that is rare. This place is not always of the corporeal, but often of images and symbols.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Shawdell shrugged. “As you wish, though I suspect if you consulted Captain Mapstone’s brooch, you would know the truth of my words. How else would you explain all this?”

The brooch was gone, and it did not speak to her, but it did not matter. All that mattered was leaving this place, getting back to the king. “How do we get back?” she asked.

Shawdell mocked her with his light and musical laughter. “You would trust me with the answer? You who will not believe the truth about where we are?” She glared at him, and he stopped laughing. He leaned forward and drew his eyebrows together in an expression of the utmost gravity. “To leave, we must finish the game. You must sit down and play. Won’t you have a seat?” He gestured at the empty chair.

Karigan ignored the proffered chair but looked the game board over. On her side of the board, green pieces stood in formation. She looked closely, for their features were familiar. One carried a great ax on his shoulder—Abram Rust. Miss Bayberry leaned on a cane. Somial, Softfeather, Arms Master Rendle, the little boy Dusty, and others she knew all had their places. King Zachary sat upon the green throne. Weapons stood behind him with hands on the hilts of their swords. Captain Mapstone and Beryl Spencer faced one another with their swords drawn.

Several pieces lay in the dead position: F’ryan Coblebay, Joy Overway, and numerous other Green Riders, Weapons, and soldiers.

Amilton’s pieces consisted of Mirwellian soldiers and mercenaries. There was one-handed Captain Immerez flanked by Sarge and Thursgad. Mirwell faced the battling Captain Mapstone and Beryl Spencer. Jendara stood just outside the action.

The very image of Amilton sat on the red throne. Likewise, Shawdell sat on the blue throne. The two pieces were close together. A black thread of energy flowed between them. One more piece stood before them, a green piece. Karigan did not need to look at it closely to know who it represented.

Shawdell’s pieces thronged on the borders of the green king’s realm. They were groundmites and other twisted creatures with hideous faces, wings, and claws. Denizens, no doubt, of Kanmorhan Vane.