Cast in Oblivion

by Michelle Sagara

  The Arcanist’s tiara was a glow of white fire across his brow; she couldn’t see the color of his eyes. Even had the image been larger, they would have been hard to see: he was blurring as she watched, his form both distinct and hard to pin down.

  “Arkon,” the Consort said, her voice far sharper than usual. Sharper, harder, tinged with something that might have been fear.

  He didn’t appear to hear her. Brennaire’s Arcanist turned toward the High Lord in the center of the formation; he lifted both hands and his arms seemed to shimmer as fire sprang instantly from his fingertips.

  * * *

  There was an outer barrier. Kaylin understood, as that fire traveled—instantly obliterating a line of soldiers that stood between Brennaire’s banner and the High Lord—that the shield was immobile; the High Lord had placed it above the bulk of the army. He had not expected fire from within. Not now. Even if politics among the Barrani were death games, no Barrani would play those games at this time; the cost would be incalculable.

  It was, Ynpharion said. His interior voice was quiet, leached of its usual condescension.

  The fire did not immediately destroy the High Lord. But the barrier above the army faltered, and Dragon fire rained down upon those who had sheltered beneath it. In ones and twos across that field she could see pockets of resistance spring up, places the Dragon fire couldn’t reach.

  But the Dragons didn’t contain their attack to aerial maneuvers. She could see that the Arkon—and the Flight he was part of—was rapidly approaching the ground. Not all of the Flights descended—some remained above. The constant rain of fire didn’t hurt the Dragons, and never had. The same couldn’t be said for the Barrani.

  The High Lord staggered; his cape was ash, and some good part of his hair; his face was ruddy, reddened, and he’d lost his eyebrows. He had not lost his bearing. He understood that the blow that had crippled his defenses—ah, no, their defenses—had come from within. Kaylin could see the expression and the certainty clearly. He gestured, lifted his horn, blew it; Kaylin couldn’t hear the notes, but didn’t need to hear them.

  The Brennaire banner flapped wildly in a wind that moved nothing else; it whitened suddenly, becoming a flare so bright Kaylin had to squint. That white light spread in a burst of something that nonetheless resembled flame. The flame rose, and at its heart, Kaylin could see Shadow.

  * * *

  Spike said, “Yes.”

  Kaylin gave herself a mental shake, and tried to remember the reason the Arkon was offering this information. Her familiar squawked—quietly, for him, which implied that he wasn’t angry—and Spike’s conversation devolved into something not quite designed for human ears. Judging from the expressions on Bellusdeo’s and the Consort’s faces, it wasn’t meant for Immortal ears, either.

  As usual, Helen was the bridge. “Spike says that the Arcanist in question was, in whole or in part, in the thrall of the Shadow. He believes, given the casual use of magic—”

  “Casual?”

  “—that the Shadow was present in person, if that is an adequate description. If, however, he was, there would be more evidence, more magic, involved.” She hesitated, and then said, “He does not believe the Dragons were enspelled. They are fundamentally different in the ways they come of age, and it is more difficult to alter them. Perhaps corrupt is a better word. He does believe, however, that were the Dragons to be in close and steady contact with this particular Shadow, it would be possible.”

  Kaylin thought of Makkuron, the Dragon outcaste.

  The Arkon folded his hands together, and as he did, the large magical image folded into nothing.

  Ynpharion wasn’t happy. From the looks of it, neither were the Consort or the cohort.

  “My apologies,” he said, as if any of them had spoken out loud. “But it is taxing, and I am old.”

  Bellusdeo snorted. No one else did.

  “I wished to have Spike’s opinion. And now I do. Your history will tell you that in that battle, the palace was almost destroyed. By us,” he added, as if it were necessary—and given what they’d witnessed, it probably was. “But I believe that not to be the case. The building itself retreated into its core, where its roots and power were strongest. In that retreat, it captured the creature that had been controlling Brennaire.

  “I am less certain of how, but I believe the High Lord was instrumental in the defeat and containment. I wasn’t as familiar with the modes of Barrani magic as I now am.”

  The Consort’s eyes narrowed. “And you will claim that you had nothing to do with that entrapment?”

  The Arkon’s eyes shaded toward their more natural gold; there was a tinge of orange in them. “No, I will make no such claim. Our people are not at war, and I would offer no pretext for war where none is needed.”

  “Might I remind you,” Bellusdeo said, voice dry enough to catch fire with just the tiniest of sparks, “that the Barrani have all but declared war?”

  “A small band of rabble-rousers who have never seen war have attempted to make noise, yes,” the Arkon replied. “But the weight of the High Lord—and his Consort—are not behind those noises, and the Emperor does not consider the war band to be a delegation from the High Court.”

  “And for that, you have our gratitude,” the Consort said gravely. Her eyes, unlike the Arkon’s, had not shaded back to green. “You believe that the creature contained beneath—and by—the Tower was responsible for the war.”

  “Yes. But that is conjecture. Our information sources, for reasons that must be clear, are scant; while we have our spies, they are not necessarily numerous, and they are not always reliable. Your spies have more flexibility within the Imperial Palace.” He lifted a hand and added, “The conjecture is all but irrelevant. The war is in the past; it is done. We cannot return to the past to change its outcome. Nor can we change the facts of the second and third wars. We cannot take back the harm that was done on both sides.

  “We have the future, and it has not yet been fixed or decided. I apologize if my recollections have caused you—any of you—pain or discomfort. They were meant for Spike, and Spike’s assessment. They are neither a declaration of innocence or an accusation. Not all of those who died on the field died at the hands of Shadow. In fact, I would say that most did not.” He then turned toward Kaylin.

  No, she thought, toward Spike. “You have spoken of Ravellon and its lord. And you believe you have recognized the Shadow that I showed you—the Shadow that is now contained beneath the High Halls.”

  Spike whirred for a long moment. “Yes,” he finally said. “From the evidence presented, I believe I can identify what you now face. More information is required for certainty, but the probability is high.”

  “Then tell us—or have Helen translate if you cannot—what we, or what Lord Kaylin’s friends, will face.”

  He whirred and clicked in response, and Helen’s eyes—still obsidian—widened. They widened enough that they no longer looked human or mortal.

  “Spike understands why the Tower withdrew from the rest of the palace; he is surprised and uneasy because in his estimation, containment of this Shadow is...never certain. And yet, he has existed beneath the High Halls for centuries. The containment occurred after the first war?” she asked the Arkon.

  “To our knowledge, yes. The Consort would likely have better and more accurate information.”

  “The loss of the palace shown in the Arkon’s visual reenactment occurred after the first war. The current High Halls was built over a number of decades in the aftermath of that loss. The Tower, and its test, have existed since that time.”

  Ynpharion was not happy.

  “Were the historical reasons for that alteration preserved?”

  “No. Very few who survived that war frequent the Court—but as you must suspect, it is not the Barrani way to share secrets or information. Not when they pose a threat to us. And
as you said, many of the greatest harms done to either Dragon or Barrani were done by Dragon and Barrani. We are both peoples with long memories and an ability to bring a plan to fruition over the passage of centuries.”

  The Consort glanced at the Arkon, and then turned fully to face Sedarias. It was why she had come, after all.

  “Alsanis said that you are—all of you, with the exception of An’Teela—much altered by the green and captivity within the Hallionne.” Kaylin expected Sedarias to interrupt her, and was slightly surprised when Sedarias waited, as if knowing more would come. “He does not fully understand what lies beneath the High Halls—but his understanding is at least equal to the Arkon’s in this regard.

  “He understands what happens to those of us who face the creature and falter: we die, but we continue; our names do not return to the Lake. He does not know if that would happen to you; he believes your reliance on the True Names that woke you as infants is now vanishingly small. He implied that only one of your number chose to shed his name—to leave it behind. He is not certain what you could or would become should the creature at the base of the High Halls overwhelm you—but he fears the possible consequences.”

  “Then why are you here?” It was Terrano who asked. Terrano who had shed his name and reached for a much wider universe than Kaylin could—or would ever be able to—perceive.

  “Because he also believed that you might have the resilience to face, fight and destroy that Shadow.” She hesitated for the first time. “He is fond of you. All of you, but especially Terrano, who he called the most troublesome, difficult, truculent—Ah, apologies, Terrano. I forget myself.”

  Like hells.

  Teela’s gaze had sharpened to a knife’s edge; her eyes were midnight-blue slits. “Lady,” she said, the address loaded with courtly respect. Kaylin couldn’t quite understand how that level of formality could be considered far worse than cursing, but apparently it was, at least to the Barrani.

  “An’Teela,” the Consort replied, returning formality for formality.

  “Alsanis suggested that the timing for a possible attempt of such a dangerous mission was fortuitous.”

  “Indeed.”

  Tain had tensed. Bellusdeo, accustomed to Teela, was now sitting in a way that implied “at attention” was the new informal posture.

  “Did he perhaps suggest that the timing was critical because the Chosen was taken, by the water, to the West March?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 12

  For one long moment there was nowhere else Kaylin would not rather be. She knew that Teela’s argument with the cohort involved her; knew that Teela had almost demanded that they wait the pathetic handful of decades allotted to the merely mortal, because Kaylin was mortal, and Teela didn’t want Kaylin put at risk.

  No one spoke; the Consort’s reply seemed to echo in the stillness.

  Kaylin cleared her throat. As host, she knew it was her responsibility to smooth over difficulties between guests. Why it was her responsibility remained a mystery; her current guests were so far above her pay grade it made etiquette seem like suicide.

  “I’ve already taken the Tower’s test,” she now said. “I can’t go with the cohort.”

  “You cannot take their test, no,” the Consort agreed. “But you must have seen for yourself that those who have passed the test can find their way to the heart of the prison. I have been there. Lord Evarrim met you there, as did my father.” She hesitated, and then exhaled. “Lord Andellen found you, when you came to attend An’Teela—and with him was a man who had not taken, or passed, that test. The Tower will allow you to pass through to its depths without exacting any further measures to determine your fitness.

  “You could not accompany the cohort, no. But you could be where the danger is greatest when they arrived to face it. I am certain An’Teela has every intention of doing the same.”

  So much for breaking the tension. And since that had failed, she surrendered. “Why does Alsanis think I’ll make a difference?”

  “Because you are Chosen.”

  “Does he even understand what that means?”

  The Consort smiled. “No. To Alsanis, to the Hallionne and possibly even to Helen, the marks of the Chosen have a weight, a possibility, a suggestion of power, that is almost miraculous. Alsanis understands that you do not believe this; he has hope that as you grow in wisdom, you will grow into the power granted you. He believes that that power was granted for a reason.”

  “Did he happen to share what the reason is?”

  “No. And although it might surprise you, I did press him for an answer I could understand. It is possible Helen could hear what I could not hear, that she could somehow translate his response in a fashion that would make sense to us.”

  Kaylin turned to Helen, whose eyes still took up way too much of her facial real estate.

  “The marks of the Chosen exist,” Helen finally said, “across many states. Kaylin is unaware of most of those states—but I believe she has moved between them before. The transition—for Kaylin—is painless; she is only barely aware that a transition has been made. I believe she sees and experiences these changes as if there had been no shift at all.

  “The cohort is less unaware—with the possible exception of Teela. But Kaylin’s marks are an anchor, and the cohort does not have that anchor.”

  “They have their names,” Kaylin pointed out.

  “Yes. But you are aware that their attachment to name—and form—remains tenuous. They have come home, in a fashion—but, Kaylin, if you returned to your childhood home, do you think you would immediately be comfortable there?”

  “That’s different.”

  “Oh?”

  “My home was in the fiefs.”

  “You would not see your home in the same way,” Helen continued. “You could live there; I am not denying it. You would have a far greater chance of survival as you are now. But in some fashion what was home is no longer home. The cohort, with the exception of Teela and Terrano, have chosen to come home. But they are still in the process of attempting to acclimatize themselves to the reality, rather than the memory.

  “Very well,” she added, although no one had spoken but Kaylin. The whole of her demeanor changed; her eyes once again became almost normal eyes, at least in shape. “As you must have suspected, the cohort—”

  “We’ll speak for ourselves,” Sedarias said in Elantran. “But to be honest, Helen, no one has much of an appetite, and I think the surroundings should reflect what this dinner actually is.”

  Before Sedarias had finished speaking, the surroundings did shift. Gone was the evening sky; above them now was a roof of carved Barrani stone. It was high, and it was detailed, although Kaylin had to squint to see some of it.

  This was a war room.

  They were still seated at a table, but it was not a dining table; it was a large, long oval, and across its surface was a map. Or maps. One was of Elantra as a whole. The other, Kaylin didn’t recognize immediately. She didn’t like maps much, and had learned to read them because everyone else referred to them when bringing up Records.

  It’s the High Halls, Severn said quietly.

  “You wish us to enter the Tower; you wish us to confront—and possibly destroy—the creature for which the Tower serves as prison.”

  The Consort nodded.

  “We will accept your request. We desire to take the Test of Name—and in order to achieve your goals, we must be allowed to take it.”

  Since the Consort had said this wasn’t factually true, Kaylin hesitated. But she realized as she shut her mouth that this was the opening of negotiations.

  “You are no doubt aware that there are members of your Court—some highly placed—that do not wish us to be given that opportunity.” As a nod to the Consort’s previous information, she added, “And while you have said it is possible that we c
ould venture into the prison without taking and passing the test, it is highly unlikely that we could do so as outcastes.

  “If we are to do as you ask—if we are to attempt what no other member of your Court has attempted—we will do so as Barrani. Not as outcastes or fugitives. We will not avail ourselves of entrances that are secret and known to few; we will enter the Tower as any supplicant enters it.”

  “Can you guarantee that you will make that attempt?” the Consort countered. “Once you are there, once you have embarked upon that test, can you guarantee that you will confront and attempt to destroy the Shadow? As you have pointed out, many of our kin have taken that test, and none have directly succeeded in harming the Shadow—or freeing the trapped.”

  Annarion stood. “Yes.”

  Kaylin didn’t doubt it. Sedarias might be political, but Annarion, while perfectly mannered when he wasn’t talking to his brother, was not. Not in the same way. She could easily imagine that he’d try—but he’d try, regardless. It was probably why she liked him.

  “Will you swear binding oaths?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you?” Sedarias countered.

  Ynpharion was, predictably, outraged. Kaylin thought it unfair—the Consort had asked first, after all. She is the Consort. She is the heart of our future. They are—He stopped himself, mostly because Kaylin wasn’t as good at controlling her expression as he was.

  The Consort said, “If you demanded it, I would. But I would swear only to do my utmost to make certain that none of you could be made outcaste.”

  “And what does that amount to?”

  Ynpharion, on the other hand, didn’t have as much facial control as he thought he did.

  “A fair question,” the Consort replied. Her eyes were blue. The question might have been fair, but it didn’t make her any happier. “I am Consort. I occupy one of the two High Seats. How much weight do you think my word carries?

  “I have come to dinner. I have spoken with you all. I can return to the High Court and confirm that you are, indeed, Barrani, not something monstrous or dangerous; that you are like An’Teela, who has—in terms of martial prowess—almost no equal.