The Outworlder

Dahls? Most of them don’t even speak Dahlsi-é. Shit, I’m sure you don’t speak Dahlsi-é.”
“I speak perfect Dahlsi-é,” I responded proudly in his native tongue.
Dahlsi-é and Tarvissi-é were practically my mother tongues, but I actually spoke five languages. I enjoyed learning, and at some point, I focused on them, imagining they would help with my communicative difficulties. But in the end, nothing could help me if I had nothing to say.
“Yes, if one can overlook that terrible accent,” he laughed.
That was the best irony of it all: I spoke Dahlsi-é with the melodic accent of Tarviss, never quite able to master the hard r the real Dahlsi use, just as I spoke Tarvissi-é with the hard accent of Dahls, sometimes skipping consonants or even switching sh to s.
Linguistic divagations aside, did he have a point?
Did I care about Dahls?
Definitely not for the almost mythical world that linked Meon Cluster with the rest of the universe. But Meon itself was my home, and it was inextricably connected with Dahls. At the same time, it was so much more—a mosaic of species and cultures coexisting in near-perfect harmony only possible thanks to the advanced status of Dahlsian society. No one else could organize it like that. Dahlsi knew their way of life was too specific to impose on other people, so they mostly left the colonists to our own devices. They were merely standing guard, checking out everyone who wanted to enter, shielding us all from crime, wars, exploitation, and other calamities that plagued other worlds.
So yes, I did care about Meon. And I knew whatever change would come, it would only be for the worse.
Pain flared in my fingers and I opened my hand, dropping the butt of my tchalka to the ground. Most of the smoke escaped, and Tayrel Kan was looking at me with reproach.
“You just wasted it,” he scolded.
“Well, I’m surprised you even have that; I’ve heard you prefer stronger things,” I retorted, realizing too late that he could take offense. But he only snorted.
“Myar Mal insists I stay away from the strong stuff for a while. Which is rich coming from someone who pops vaka like candy. He must be hallucinating half the time with the amount of proper sleep he’s getting. Anyway, that’s the only thing I’m allowed now. The only thing that keeps me sane.” He was already lighting another tchalka. “That reminds me,” he let out a puff of smoke, “did you even try my wand?”
Only then did I remember his gift. A brand new one, courtesy of Kanven Sandeyron. That’s where I heard the name.
“I didn’t have time,” I murmured apologetically.
He arched an eyebrow. “You know, most Dahlsi would piss themselves in glee if they could put their hands on it.”
I hummed, not sure what to say. It was an impressive feat of Dahlsian technomagic, no doubt, but so were kites, bikes, tents, and dozens of other things. If I got excited about every one of them, I wouldn’t have time for anything else.
He shook his head slowly. “You are incredible.”
Well, I was not Dahlsi. But now that he mentioned it, another thing occurred to me.
“Why did you even give it to me?”
He chuckled. “I just wanted to help you out a little.” He paused to take another whiff before continuing. “I knew they weren’t going to let you bring it into the mansion.”
“I didn’t notice,” I murmured, embarrassed. How could I not notice? When the Tarvissi took my old wand, I was so preoccupied by their sheer presence, I didn’t even think about how I gave it to Laik Var earlier.
“Yeah, I know.” There was no judgment in his voice, only a small sardonic smirk dancing on his lips. I started suspecting his face was permanently contorted; it was his neutral expression. Still, I was feeling stupid, and I scrambled for something to defend myself.
“I think I had more pressing things on my mind. I was almost killed.”
“It’s all right,” he assured me, looking at me seriously. For the first time, I think. “The spell was meant to keep you focused on the task. Not questioning anything.”
If anyone asked, I’d say they didn’t need a spell. I could focus pretty well, and when I did, the whole world might stop existing.
“Besides,” he continued, “no offense, but you never struck me as perceptive.”
I scoffed. “Thanks.”
“That’s not an insult. I don’t mean you’re stupid. You just seem like more of a… reflective type.”
He was probably right. Except—
“What do you even know about me?” I asked. We met less than a Dahlsian day ago. Was he watching me? Had they all been spying on me before that little mission, trying to figure out if I was the right man for the job? But it was only a few days since the revolution started, and I spent most of them in Sorox.
Did they have spies there?
Tayrel Kan looked at me and his smirk widened. “Apart from your thoughts I overhear?”
I bit back the curse. “I thought that’s considered rude.”
He spread his arms, and his smile took on an almost disarming look. “Let no one accuse me of being polite.”
I didn’t know what to say. My face was hot with embarrassment, but at the same time, I felt a growing annoyance. And then I realized my defenses had slipped again, and he was probably perfectly aware of everything I had been thinking.
His smile faltered a little, and he added, “But you know, that works both ways. You can be straight with me, and I won’t hold it against you.”
I paused to consider his proposal. There was one thing…
“Can I ask you an awkward question?”
His face almost split in half by the wideness of his grin.
“You want the names of the vessár-ai?”
I grit my teeth, my face burning like a bonfire. “Is there any chance to convince you not to tell anyone?”
“I won’t. But you know, I wasn’t the only sorcerer in the room.”
I cursed mentally, and he laughed.
“That may actually be to our advantage,” he added thoughtfully