The Outworlder

capable of dealing with the constant barrage of sunlight and allergens. In worlds like Maurir, with the merges surrounded by fields, orchards, gardens, and pastures, her allergies flared up. Her body itched in places she shouldn’t have the necessary nerves to even feel.
And there was not a damn thing she could do except to pop pill after pill and hope for the best.
Dyah La sighed, then pushed away from the cart, stretching her stiff limbs. They were in the middle of the main yard of the Montak Mansion, the largest construction in Maurir. A few paces away, shadowed by suspended walkways, Talelouhani chattered with locals—a group of burly men and women of Tarvissian origin, so tall they made Dyah La feel like a child. It might have seemed like a friendly chat, but she knew it was calculated to discretely investigate the condition of the colony. Not that there was a need; there was never any trouble in Maurir.
Tax collectors, like Talelouhani, arrived twice a cycle to collect one-twelfth of the produce—or whatever locals said was one-twelfth. A token more than anything; Maurir produced nothing Dahlsi cared for. The food collected as tribute was either sold or distributed to other colonies. Still, Dahlsian officials came in regularly to assert their presence and check if the colonists needed any help. Mespanians, like Dyah La, were there to protect them.
Seeing Talelouhani’s chat was not coming to an end, she decided to go for a walk. The yard was rather large, surrounded by tall, whitewashed walls with only two gates, one leading outside and the other to a second yard. Wooden galleries ran along the walls above their heads, and in their shadow rested large, reptilian daereleigs, the primary livestock of local people. Flower wreaths and moss-green ribbons decorated the wide windows.
“To celebrate the end of Edira,” one of the locals had explained earlier. “The twenty-seventh month, the last of a cycle.”
It was only the middle of a cycle for Dahlsi, despite the fact that both nations counted time starting from the same event. Dyah La found Tarvissian traditions charming, even if they made her itch.
A shouting came from the second yard. It was built around the exact spot where Maurir merged with Kooine, allowing free passage between the two worlds. But Dyah La wasn’t aware of any scheduled visitors to Maurir—and frankly, she didn’t think there were ever any visitors, other than tax collectors.
She walked back around the cart, just in time to see a group of men entering the main yard. They could almost pass for locals—tall, burly, and bearded. Even their clothing was similar, except their jackets were identical green color. And they had weapons.
Dyah La’s hand automatically fell to her wand. There were at least two dozen intruders—with more coming—and her heart sank. She was not a sorceress to fend them off, and so far her role had been mostly for show. Oh, she was trained to fight, and Mespana armed her with the most advanced equipment known to man. But she had never actually had to use her skills. Certainly not against an armed mob.
One thing she could do, though, was sense the danger. And the men flooding the yard radiated it.
“People of Maurir!” exclaimed a young man she’d barely noticed against the group of warriors. He was short for a Tarvissi, with unruly hair, more brown than black but no beard. “Rejoice, for we come to liberate you from the oppression of the Dahlsian Empire.”
Dyah La’s eyebrow arched up. Oppression? Dahlsian rule was the exact opposite. Although, her perspective might have been skewed given that she was Dahlsi.
“We come to restore the natural order of things,” the man lowered his voice, trailing his gaze over the crowd, visibly thrown off by the quiet welcome from the locals. “Restore the way of Tarviss!”
A cold shiver ran down Dyah La’s spine. So far, the colonists in Maurir seemed more than happy to leave their old ways behind. They had no reason to join his cause, but…
They were just farmers. The men like the speaker—especially surrounded by guards—must have been daunting. Could he bully them to stand against her country?
The invaders were filling the yard now, pushing locals aside. Even more stood on the walkways above with crossbows at the ready. There were at least a dozen yards in the mansion—were they all similarly filled?
“There must be some misunderstanding.” Talelouhani stepped out, and Dyah La’s heart clenched. He stopped right in front of the Tarvissian leader. He was taller but more slender, with a delicate, almost feminine face. A pacifist, like all Varpulians, whose faith in humanity was stronger than any Dahlsi’s.
Dyah La wanted to scream at him to shut up and walk back, run, hide, flee; but her throat was tight, and she could not make a sound.
“The Dahlsian Empire never imposed any oppression,” he continued with his soft, soothing voice. “People are free to live how they want. If you wish to follow the Tarvissian ways, no one will stop you.”
“We’d rather pay our dues to the Dahlsi than parasites like you, lordling,” came a voice from the crowd. The young leader’s eyes darted to the side, searching for the one who had spoken, his lips twisting into an ugly snarl.
Dyah La expected him to say something, to snap at the bold farmer. Instead, almost too fast for her to register, he pulled out a knife and thrust it into Talelouhani’s chest.
A scream tore from her throat, but a heavy hand clasped her mouth. The wand was wrestled from her hand and tossed aside like a twig.

Chapter 1
Less than an hour passed after my return to Sfal when the unmistakable tingling of a telepathic message at the back of my head summoned me to the vessár’s office.
The door slid open as soon as I approached, enchanted, like everything else here. I entered the office—a small, white, and sterile room with most of the furniture neatly folded into the walls. Over a large desk, Laik Var