Why did the marks of the Chosen exist at all?
The Arkon’s voice lapsed, but hers continued for several syllables; it was softer than the Dragon’s voice, and it was no longer deliberate. She realized as she caught the sound of her voice that she wasn’t speaking out loud; it was a deliberation of syllables that never made it to anyone else’s ears. Like thought, but without intent.
And yes, the words were, or felt, connected somehow; she slid into syllables, and then away. All of Barrani, Leontine or Aerian were ways to describe things. There were no words in Barrani for certain mortal concepts; no words in Elantran for some of the Barrani concepts. But they could be circumscribed, they could be described—it took more effort. The communication wasn’t exact.
These words were like those individual words: the concepts didn’t exist in the same way in any language she’d laboriously learned. But...they could almost be described.
She realized, as she thought this, that she had continued to speak, or not-speak, and as she finished, one word rose. It didn’t rise from her arms; it rose from the back of her neck, almost electrifying strands of hair, because no matter how careful she was, hair always fell out of its bindings in bits and pieces.
It was glowing. She could see it, even though in theory it was behind her, behind where her eyes were. It was a deceptively simply rune, two slashes, two dots beneath them; it was not as complicated as the one that shed light for them in this space.
She opened her eyes.
The Arkon was seated in front of where she remained crouched, palm flat against the floor. His eyes were a shade of gold that had no orange in it. And he was looking past her, above her head. She lifted her hand and turned. The rune was there; it was bright gold—a gold that was the color of the Dragon’s eyes, as if it reflected him, or the parts of him that were not simple flesh or organ.
Kaylin looked away almost instantly when she realized that the Arkon’s inner eye membranes had fallen, and that he was crying. Not sobbing and not in any obvious pain—but there were tears glistening on his cheeks.
“Yes,” he said in Elantran. The word was quiet, almost absent force. He rose. The word that Kaylin had spoken floated until it hovered above the shoulder that didn’t contain Hope. He swatted it with his tail.
She didn’t feel it as a weight; she did feel the light. In theory, she’d chosen both words, but the weight of the first was physical. She could carry a torch or a lantern for a long time; it was similar—once lifted—to that. But the golden rune above her shoulder weighed nothing; it was very much like any other time the words lifted themselves from her skin—words that she could see rising, but that others, watching, couldn’t. It was frustrating, this sense that they both looked at the same thing while simultaneously not seeing it the same way.
But that was witness testimony everywhere. One witness—without the intervention of the Tha’alani—could be really dodgy. So many factors went into memory. There were lies, of course—those happened a lot as well, especially in murder cases—but for the most part witnesses who disagreed with each other, sometimes vehemently, believed they were telling the truth.
And they were, but it was a different truth.
If people could speak these words, the words on her skin, the words that marked the beginning of the Leontines, the words that empowered and caged the Hallionne and other sentient buildings, there would be one truth.
Maybe.
But this word was a True Word, and it hovered above her shoulder and it appeared to be meant, not for Kaylin, but for the Arkon, and she had no idea what it offered him, what it meant to him or what she had meant it to say.
“Come,” he said when she was slow to follow.
Bellusdeo raised brows in her direction, a silent, wordless query. Kaylin shrugged. She had no idea where the Arkon was going, but he now walked with purpose, his back straight, one arm by his side. The other held the book; he hadn’t set it down once since he had picked it up. Kaylin suspected he wouldn’t.
We’re out of the endless hall, Severn said.
Is Killian there?
No, but the door opened to stairs, not more hall. Emmerian has picked up a few inconsistencies in the rooms in the endless hall; minor differences or distortions that weren’t immediately obvious.
Why would there be distortions?
He shrugged, although in theory she couldn’t see it. “Bellusdeo, question.”
The gold Dragon, who had fallen in beside Kaylin, nodded.
“Severn says Emmerian found subtle differences in the rooms in the endless halls. Distortions, maybe. Do you remember anything? I mean, beside the damage we caused.”
Since the stone halls appeared to be as endless as the halls that had repeating rooms, Bellusdeo was willing to put serious thought into the answer. She had almost perfect memory; the lapses were lapses of convenience—at least for Bellusdeo.
“No,” she finally said, frowning.
“They’re out, now—Severn said the door opened to stairs. Do you think that’s good or bad?”
“I’m still thinking about distortions. This hall seems endless; there’s no reason that we couldn’t be in the same loop, but without a door of any kind to break the monotony. I believe it’s similar to what the Hallionne do if they wish to stop intruders. They fail to reach their destination. Or any destination.”
“I don’t think Killian intended that for us.”
“But?”
The Arkon rumbled and picked up the pace, which seemed pointless to both of the people following him, but Bellusdeo could think while she walked. “He recognized Lannagaros, but not immediately. He did see you. He saw you the first time, as well. What do you think Candallar is up to here?”
“He’s Barrani.”
“Not all Barrani are as fractious as some have proved to be.”
“Probably because we haven’t met them yet.”
“That’s remarkably cynical of you, Corporal.”
“Clearly Sedarias hasn’t been lecturing you about the evils of her people.”
Bellusdeo chuckled. “No. Mandoran might, if he thought the way she did. She is both grateful to me and uncomfortable around me.”
“Sometimes with the Barrani, it’s the gratitude that causes the discomfort.” But not this time, as Kaylin knew. Bellusdeo was a Dragon. Neither Mandoran nor Annarion cared now, although they had when they’d first taken shelter in Helen. The history of the two races, their wars and their immortal memories made peaceful coexistence difficult on a gut level.
Sedarias had a reason to fear Dragons. All of her known history was pushing her away from Bellusdeo. But Sedarias was pragmatic at heart. When she’d spent enough time with the gold Dragon, Kaylin was certain she’d arrive in roughly the same place Mandoran now occupied. Nothing Kaylin said was going to change that; nothing was going to make it happen faster.
She didn’t try. “I want to know how Candallar knew to look for this place. I can’t imagine that he stumbled across it by accident.”
“Why not? We did.”
“Because I don’t think Killian gouged out his eye on his own, and I think the location of that portal eye isn’t coincidental. Also: Arcanists. And human lords. And Candallar’s possible involvement in the breach of Ravellon’s border. He said he wants to be reinstated. He wants to return to the High Halls. It’s something that even Sedarias believed. The Barrani of the High Court would believe it. Those who never took the Test of Name would believe it.”
“And you would not?”
“I hate the High Halls, and I hate the High Court. I could believe that someone else wouldn’t hate them—but I could also believe that someone else wouldn’t care. Nightshade doesn’t care.” Before the fieflord could interrupt her on the inside of her head, she added, “I don’t think he’d say no if somehow he was reinstated, don’t get me wrong.
“But I
don’t think he’d go out of his way to be reinstated. He’s a fieflord. Even as an outcaste it’s always been clear that the Consort likes him. The death that awaits outcastes is purely theoretical; they won’t kill him while he’s a fieflord because they understand that the Towers are necessary. So, hmmm, maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way.”
“We?” the Arkon said.
“If you have something constructive to add,” Kaylin began.
“I do not fault your provisional conclusions, but neither Bellusdeo nor I are members of the High Court. I understand that motive is frequently necessary when determining murderers. But murders without motives that you would understand also exist. It is the murder, not the motive, that is of interest now. Figuratively speaking. You have asked one good question: How did he find Killian? I invite you to consider the possibilities.”
“You know, you could help out here. You know more about sentient buildings than either of the two of us. Sure, Bellusdeo understands Shadow better than anyone else in the Empire, but I don’t think this is about Shadow.”
“He allowed someone to retrieve a Shadow from Ravellon,” Bellusdeo pointed out.
“Yes, but I think that was about tools, not about Shadow domination. He let it happen because he believed that it would help his cause.”
“Which we are not discussing, according to Lannagaros.”
“I did not say we are not discussing it,” the older Dragon replied. “Merely that it is separate from action. Our understanding of what was done, of how it was done, would suffice here.”
“But we don’t know what was done.”
“Indeed.”
“I don’t think the outcomes in the High Halls were either planned or intended,” Kaylin continued. “And I’m not sure they’re even stable. Spike is there, along with the will and intent of the building itself—but if the Shadow it once caged decides to leave, we’re all in big trouble.”
“But you didn’t counsel that it be destroyed?” This was not the first time Bellusdeo had asked.
“Let’s focus on the fact that we’re walking down an endless hall in a damaged building.” She exhaled, still thinking. “Do you understand how the outlands function?”
Bellusdeo immediately punted the question toward the Arkon’s back.
“No.”
Not promising, not really. “When we first decided to use the portal paths, the Hallionne set us down in a forest. I believe we were meant to follow the forest path to the next Hallionne. That’s not what happened—but that was what was intended. There were more dangers in that forest than we’d face in the forest above. And fewer bugs.
“The Hallionne could shape a form out of the outlands by desire or will or command or even instinct. They didn’t maintain control over what was shaped. So the outlands responded to their request because no other request overrode it. The Hallionne weren’t the only people who could influence the shape the outlands took.” She stopped walking.
“You lost the shape of that path.”
“Pretty damn quickly, yes. But there were no Hallionne fighting for control of it. There were just Arcanists and transformed Barrani.”
“Which would heavily imply that in the outlands—outside of the personal boundaries inscribed by their names and functions—the will of the Hallionne is no stronger than any other will. You have assumed that the border zone is, somehow, like the outlands; you feel there is a similarity.”
“I do now—but only because the cohort couldn’t see what the rest of us could. The rest of us saw the streets and buildings that conformed to the fief; we saw what we expected to see. The cohort, with the exception of Teela, didn’t. It was fog, and it was dense enough that they had to be led—but the fog cleared as they approached the central circle that also contained Killian. Or the building Killian is trapped in.
“If this is true—and if Candallar or one of the Arcanists somehow understood it, it wouldn’t be hard to force the streets to conform to a shape that better pleased them. Say a squat building with a giant eyeball embedded in its backside.”
“I don’t believe that the border zone is like the outlands,” the Arkon then said.
“Why?”
“Because the border zone did not exist until the Towers rose. I will, however, grant that there must be elements in common with the outlands as you perceived them. It is almost a pity that you did not retain Spike.”
“Not for the High Halls.”
“No—but for Killianas. What Spike saw, or could not see, would be useful, and it might better help you to solve this mystery. I will, however, grant that Candallar seems to have some element of control of his border zone. The building that we found seemed to be a fixed point—and from what’s been said by those who have dared to explore the border zones, the buildings are not fixed; they are solid and traversable, but they are not reliably located.
“The squat building seemed to be of newer construction and it seemed solid; you found it easily. And the eyeball, as you call it, in the back of the building is almost certainly Killian’s. Candallar, or someone with whom he has chosen to ally himself, was aware of Killian, or perhaps aware that Killian’s existence was not entirely extinguished.
“If this is the case, the only question I have is: How did they remove Killian’s eye? The eye is figurative. It is metaphorical. If you chose to gouge out one of your Helen’s eyes, she would nonetheless still have two eyes, should she retain the ability to manifest an Avatar at all.”
“Not all of the sentient buildings are awake. They can perform their functions while sleeping—many of the Hallionne do.”
“Tell me, does Killian appear to be awake to you?”
“...No.”
“Hallionne exist, as you’ve said, regardless of their state of wakefulness. But a wakeful Hallionne is something that even the Barrani who might reside there in safety are reluctant to trust. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
“From what you have said—and your memory is a tangled, jumbled mess—the Consort woke the Hallionne as you traveled to the West March. The Hallionne had been in use before she woke them; they had served their primary function. Some of the Barrani did not choose to avail themselves of the hospitality of the Hallionne thus wakened by the Consort.”
“Right.”
“Killianas is not awake. But he is not the Hallionne, and he is not Helen.”
“I don’t think the Consort could wake Killian.”
“No more do I, Corporal. But I believe if Killian could be woken, he would be in a better position to defend himself.” The Arkon had also stopped, his expression troubled.
“Do you think Larrantin’s book—or whatever it is—could wake him?”
“I think it highly possible.”
“Then...why didn’t he take the book?”
“That is the question we are attempting to answer. He sent us here, a space lacking rooms, doors, people or students, if you prefer. But if Killian believed Larrantin’s message might begin the process by which he wakes, he also considered waking now to be a threat. That expression implies you are thinking.”
Kaylin turned to Bellusdeo. “When we explored the border zones,” she said, “we could always see the Towers. But...we could only see one. We could see one in the direction we were heading. If we entered Candallar’s border from Candallar’s fief, we could see Tiamaris or Durant. We could see the Tower we were approaching, not the Tower that controlled the fief we were leaving. That was true of all the Towers. Did you look back?”
Bellusdeo’s frown was as expressive as Kaylin’s but was immune from criticism. Or at least the Arkon’s. “Kaylin is correct. The direction in which we were moving defined what we could see. But...we could always see the Towers.”
“We could always see one Tower,” Kaylin said. She frowned. “The Towers were clear. They looked like they normally look. The rest
of the street was the same washed-out, grayish color, but the Towers were clear.”
The Arkon’s eyes were an orange-gold as he watched her.
“You could blink,” she told him.
“He forces himself not to when he wants a student to come up with the answer to a problem on their own. It’s his method of dealing with laziness.”
The Arkon snorted. He did not, however, blink.
“I’m wondering,” Kaylin said, under that unblinking not-quite-glare, “if Killian’s existence—what remains of it—is anchored by the Towers themselves.”
Chapter 20
It was Bellusdeo who broke the long silence that followed Kaylin’s comment. “That would make sense, although I confess I don’t understand the mechanics involved. If the Towers somehow anchored what remained of Killian, or built anchors of some kind as they rose, their influence might be very like the influence the Hallionne exert on the outlands. The border zones,” she added, “look nothing like the outlands to me. But they did to the cohort.”
“It would also explain how Candallar discovered Killian at all. But if Candallar could discover Killian, I’m really surprised that Nightshade hadn’t. He spent some of his early life exploring the fiefs and looking for ancient ruins before he settled into Nightshade as the fieflord.”
Bellusdeo was frowning. “It’s possible,” she finally said, “that the discovery of Killian and the breach of the defenses within Candallar itself are interconnected somehow. I do not imagine that someone entering Ravellon from Farlonne could emerge carrying the entity you call Spike.”
Nightshade?
I concur. She felt a hint of frustration and realized he was annoyed by Kaylin’s surprise. Or rather, he was annoyed that he hadn’t discovered Killian first. It was a frustration that Kaylin normally couldn’t sense.
No. The word was curt. It is not...easy...to speak with you, even as we now speak. To do so requires more reach, more intent. There is more of me present in this discussion than would generally be either wise or normal.
This also surprised Kaylin, but Nightshade had never had problems discerning her surprise.
Cast in Wisdom Page 31
