Bellusdeo, uncertain that the argument would ever end, left first. “I do not find Lannagaros’s company taxing,” she said on the way out. “Given recent events, I find it exactly the opposite.”
Since Annarion and Mandoran were now part of the visit to the Arkon, Teela also accompanied them, and wasn’t entirely pleased about it. Or quiet.
“...And I’m warning you now that if the two of you touch anything in his collection, we’ll all be smoldering ash. Just—if you could be quiet and still, it would be helpful to my continued employment. And existence. And when I say ‘you,’ I mean Mandoran.” Teela could have said this silently; she had their True Names. She didn’t need to speak out loud.
“Plausible deniability,” Teela said, correctly guessing Kaylin’s thoughts. “Honestly, the primary reason I’d never give you my True Name is because it wouldn’t be advantageous to me—what you think is so plainly written across your face I don’t need you to speak out loud to catch it.”
Mandoran pulled a face. “I swear, once we’ve gotten your brother, I’m going back to the green.”
Annarion winced, but said nothing.
Kaylin didn’t believe him, because she wasn’t that lucky. She kept this to herself, with effort. Gilbert. Kattea. Evanton’s concern about ancient, mysterious ruins. The bodies that disappeared when she looked at them the wrong way. There were too many things that were strange and wrong, and Kaylin was attempting to juggle them all.
She was a crap juggler. Eventually they were going to come raining down on her head.
She’d appreciate it if that didn’t happen while the Arkon was present.
* * *
The Arkon met them at the library doors, although the library was well-staffed during daylight hours. Said staff were watching the visitors with barely concealed interest; they appeared to be tending to their various jobs. Kaylin had no doubt they would all be talking in muted whispers the minute the visitors were out of earshot.
The Arkon’s eyes were a shade of orange that immediately set Kaylin’s teeth on edge. “You said you wanted to meet them,” she began.
“You will be silent for at least the next fifteen minutes.” He paused. “My apologies, Lord Teela, but I must insist that you, and your companions, also comply with my request.”
It certainly wasn’t phrased like a request.
“Morgrim, please call the librarians to the desk. The interruption to their regular duties should be minimal.”
* * *
“This should cause no discomfort.”
“What should cause no discomfort?” Kaylin asked.
The Arkon’s answer was typical: it had nothing to do with the question she’d asked. “You have brought two visitors.”
“You wanted to meet them.”
“Yes, I did. I am delighted to have the opportunity to do so.” Delight was clearly the same as suspicion, at least for Dragons. “But they have—to use your colloquial phrase—tripped a number of protective wards on their passage through the gallery. I wish to ascertain that their presence here will not harm the more susceptible parts of my archive.”
She glanced at the library’s front desk. The librarians were gathered behind it. Actually, they were huddling behind it. This did nothing to ease her worry. But her arms didn’t ache; her skin didn’t feel as if it was being peeled off. If there was magic in use, it was not the type of magic to which she was apparently allergic.
The Arkon began to speak. His lips moved in slow motion, and he raised his hands, turning his palms slowly toward the ceiling.
Kaylin felt the air crackle. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see lightning strike, but had the suspicion that it wasn’t the floor it would hit first. Teela’s eyes were very blue.
Mandoran’s and Annarion’s were almost black. They didn’t arm themselves; they didn’t run. They didn’t try to stop the Arkon. But their mouths, unlike the Arkon’s, were compressed, tight lines and white around the edges.
Words began to form in the air around the Arkon. Literally.
* * *
If true words had irrevocable meaning, they clearly also conveyed tone. Or perhaps it was just the choice of words. These were a deeper blue than any previous words the Arkon had chosen, laboriously, to speak, and although they were glowing, they felt...dark. And cold. She had walked around the visible representation of ancient and unknowable words such as this before; she had even touched them.
She did not want to touch these. Ever.
The air grew colder.
Squawk.
The Arkon frowned. His eyes were a steady, pale orange. If the words were as dangerous as they felt to Kaylin, they were not spoken in anger, if they were even being spoken at all. When Sanabalis spoke ancient, true words, Kaylin could hear them. She could hear the timbre of his voice, the rumbling native to Dragons, even in human form; she could hear the stretch of syllables. The language itself felt familiar, every time, but she could not understand a word of it. Nor could she easily memorize any of the spoken component.
This time, she didn’t even want to try.
Squawk. Squawk.
The Arkon’s hands stilled. His eyes narrowed. His expression fell into much more familiar lines, although the color of his eyes didn’t shift to gold. He closed his mouth. When he opened it again, it moved naturally, because he spoke normally.
Squawk.
“Yes, the Emperor advised me of your current state.”
Squawk. Kaylin had been holding her breath. She needed to breathe, but had almost forgotten how. In all of the reports she had written about the attack on the High Halls in the heart of the city, she had failed to mention Annarion’s visit to Castle Nightshade. Deliberately.
The Emperor would, of course, be enraged. He would demand Annarion and Mandoran be subject to confinement—in the best possible case. People had died. Hawks had died. Homes had been melted or burned to the ground. The fact that Annarion had had no intention of waking ancient, hostile demigods wouldn’t bring any of the dead back to life.
But as the small and invisible familiar continued to squawk, the true words faded, losing solidity and finally disappearing from view. It wasn’t those words she was now worried about, but she couldn’t make that clear without damning herself—or Annarion.
She was surprised when Severn touched her shoulder. He said nothing. But she found she could breathe again.
“Kaylin,” the Arkon said, as if her breathing was displeasing, “do you understand what your familiar is saying?”
“No more than usual.”
“He claims that it is not your companions who tripped my wards.”
Kaylin grimaced. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I wasn’t aware of any wards on the walk here.”
The Arkon frowned. “You are aware of wards in general.”
She nodded. “They make my skin itch. Door wards actually hurt. But silencing wards or privacy wards don’t, unless I trip them.”
“These wards are different. They are not meant to stop idle chatter. No wards of any significant power would stop that in these halls.”
“What are they meant to do, then?”
“They are a very rudimentary set of Shadow wards. They provide warning and detection of things that are not immediately visible to the naked eye.”
“They do more than that,” Mandoran said. Kaylin wanted to kick him. Given the way his jaw snapped shut, Teela probably had, and more effectively. This did not, however, shut him up. “What were you trying to do, there?”
“The wards are, as I said, rudimentary. The words I was attempting to speak are less so. They prevent unwanted intrusion. You wish to add something, Private?”
She didn’t. The Arkon, however, was glaring at her. “I wouldn’t walk past them if I had any choice.”
He raised a
brow.
“They were true words.”
“Indeed.”
“They weren’t friendly.”
“They are not inflected. They serve a very specific purpose and they are seldom spoken.”
“I couldn’t hear you speak them at all.”
He frowned. To Mandoran, he asked, “Could you?”
“I can still hear the echoes.”
“And your friend?”
Annarion was tight-lipped and blue-eyed. He did not respond.
Mandoran answered for him. “Yes.”
Teela cleared her throat. “The man with whom you are conversing is Mandoran of Casarre.”
“And his companion?”
Teela exhaled. “Annarion.”
“Annarion.”
“Of Solanace,” Annarion added.
Teela’s breath cut the air.
“Interesting.” The Arkon clearly understood the significance of what had just been said. “I was under the impression that that line had come to an end.”
“You were mistaken.”
It was Mandoran’s turn to look queasy.
“I am a Dragon. I am not Barrani. The information that comes to us is, of necessity, incomplete. I apologize if I have been misinformed.” He turned to Kaylin. “Your familiar has claimed full responsibility for the safety of my archive.”
Meaning it would be her fault if anything unexpected happened. She exhaled a few inches of height. “Yes, sir.”
“Bellusdeo is waiting. She has been keeping an old man company.”
“Did she mention our latest investigation?”
“Yes. She also extended an invitation to dinner. Do not stand in the library gawking. If you have something to say, say it while we walk. Ah. My apologies,” he said, turning once again to the two Barrani visitors. “I am the Arkon of the Emperor’s flight. This library and the contents of its archives is my hoard.”
* * *
Kaylin’s biggest question, as she followed the Arkon’s impatient lead, was Yes, but are you going to accept?
Squawk.
She missed a step, her eyes narrowing in the rough direction of the small dragon voice. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Several, if history is our guide.”
“Why are you willing to trust my familiar?”
“That question is even intelligent.”
Squawk.
“Yes, intelligent enough that I will answer it.”
If he’d been sitting on her shoulder, she’d have clamped a hand over his tiny mouth.
“I am willing to trust him because he is yours.”
“But—but—”
“Yes?”
“You don’t trust me that much!”
“Ah. I don’t trust your competence, no. You are far too impulsive—too young—but I see that you have that in common with the two visitors you have brought.” Mandoran, who had started to look smug, frowned. “Your familiar’s competence, I trust. He is not young. I am not certain he has ever been young.”
“But he was just born—”
“—during the chaos spell, yes. But born is inexact in this case. He emerged. If you think that his existence began with an eggshell, you are wrong. His competence is wed to your intent. Your intent, Private Neya, only a fool would distrust.” When Kaylin failed to reply, he continued, “You do not understand the forces with which you now interact. That is to be expected; even I do not understand them fully.
“Your familiar understands them far better than either of us. But he is your familiar. He has chosen you. Until you perish—and given your history, that is likely to be sooner than later—he serves you. You can command him, but you do not; you will not learn how. Nor,” he added, lifting a hand to still her protest, “can I teach you. What your familiar would be in my hands, he cannot be in yours—but I do not think, in the end, he would have consented to serve me. He came to you.”
“He wasn’t born to me,” she pointed out.
“Was he not?” He gestured at a patch of blank wall, and the wall faded. As far as doors went, this was preferable—the wall had no wards that Kaylin was expected to touch. Bellusdeo was, as the Arkon had said, waiting. She was seated in a room that was almost shockingly bare.
Usually, there was so much stuff everywhere that it wasn’t even safe to walk.
Bellusdeo rose to greet them. “Lannagaros and I have been discussing the investigation to which you are currently assigned.”
“Can he make any more sense of it than we can?”
“Almost certainly,” the Arkon replied before Bellusdeo could. “But regrettably, more sense and enough sense are not the same. I am concerned,” he added. “I have been told that the Keeper is also concerned. And anything that concerns the Keeper...” He walked into the room. It housed not a desk, but a table, much like a dining room table. The centerpiece of that table was a stone pyramid. The Arkon took a seat at the head of the table.
Teela’s eyes had not gotten any greener, but she took the chair beside Bellusdeo. Severn took the chair to the Arkon’s immediate left, and Kaylin sat beside him; Mandoran and Annarion sat beside her.
Kaylin turned to Bellusdeo. “Did you mention Kattea?”
“And Gilbert, yes,” the Arkon again replied on her behalf. “Understand that Bellusdeo has lost more to Shadow than you have ever owned. Her fears are rational; they are based in experience. Her knowledge is invaluable.
“You came to ask me about the bodies?”
She’d come because he’d pretty much demanded her presence, but she was politic enough not to say this out loud. “I came to ask about the bodies, but also ancient ruins and their entry points.”
“Records,” the Arkon said.
Light spread from the apex of the small pyramid, rising in a familiar, oval shape. It was a mirror, of a sort, but it had no back, no silvered front. Anyone seated at the table could see the images it produced. “Records: location.”
The image that everyone could clearly see was a familiar display of Elantran streets. It saw regular use in the Halls of Law. The Arkon then said a word that was not Elantran, but not—given the volume—draconian, either.
It caused all Barrani eyes in the room to widen.
“Personal Records: historical map, variant 22B. Overlay current map location.”
The lines of the current map faded until they could only barely be seen. Other lines, however, joined them. The Arkon snorted smoke. “Historical map variant 2A.” As the historical map faded and reappeared, the Arkon’s eyes narrowed. “Historical event map, by location. Significant nexus disturbances.”
This time, the map lit up areas that Kaylin recognized. One was a big, glowing blue blotch over what would otherwise be Elani Street. She started to pay attention then. She could guess what that event was; she’d witnessed it.
She hadn’t witnessed any of the others, but there were others. The map didn’t give event dates, just locations. Without thinking, she said, “Records, enlarge map.” Nothing, of course, happened.
Bellusdeo then repeated Kaylin’s command, and this time—naturally—the map grew. So did the oval that contained it. At the heart of the city, bounded by rivers and walls, lay the fiefs. No streets could be seen; there was a blur of glowing gray, gray and more gray, that grew darker as it reached the center of the fiefs themselves.
“Ravellon.”
“It should come as no surprise to you that disturbances of any significance once occurred there. Look at the Winding Path.” As he spoke, the map once again moved; Ravellon fell off the edge of the image.
Gray covered the whole of the midsection of the long Winding Path. At its center was the house in which the bodies had been discovered.
Chapter 12
“Gray is
bad, right?” Mandoran asked. When Teela glared at the side of his face, he laughed. “I’m joking, Teela. Joking. You remember what jokes are, right?”
“Gray,” the Arkon said, in a voice so dry it should have caught fire, and might well yet, “is, as you put it, bad.”
“I’m wondering why the Hawks don’t have a similar map,” Teela added.
“You have a good working knowledge of current events; you could place those events and re-create a large portion of the relevant, modern map.” The implied if you weren’t so lazy and shortsighted hung in the air without the actual need to be said. “The reason the gray is so dark in Elani is because—”
“That’s where the Keeper is,” Kaylin finished.
“Indeed. We do not distrust the Keeper, precisely. But his abode is in the heart of the Emperor’s hoard.”
“How long ago was the previous difficulty on the Winding Path?” Teela asked, as Kaylin simultaneously demanded to know what, exactly, the difficulty was.
“Centuries ago,” the Arkon replied, answering Teela’s question. Kaylin’s he left hanging, like bad laundry. “I believe you have had access to the archives of the Arcanum.”
“I do not have access to those archives at present.”
“No, of course not. You’re a Hawk.” He stared at her.
“I’ll ask,” Teela grudgingly offered. “But I’ll be expected to offer some information in return.”
“We have no information at present, and Arcanists are famously difficult when they decide to investigate on their own. Perhaps it is wise to contain that request for the time being.”
Teela nodded.
“You entered the subbasement. Did you note anything of significance aside from the magical detritus on the walls?”
“No. The Halls would welcome your investigation, should you decide to visit the site in person.” This was exaggeration, if not an outright lie.
“Given my last excursion, I do not plan to leave my library for at least a decade.”
“Not even for dinner?” Bellusdeo asked.
She could have stabbed him in the leg and caused less obvious pain, in Kaylin’s opinion. “I will, of course, be delighted to accept your offer of hospitality.”
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