Cast in Oblivion

by Michelle Sagara

  I can’t be made outcaste, Ynpharion.

  No, of course not. You are not part of our race. You can, however, be forbidden the High Halls if you choose not to divest yourself of the creature on your shoulder. Grudgingly, he added, But it was well done.

  What was?

  Calling him back. It implies that control, however incomplete, remains with you. When Kaylin did not reply immediately, he added, It means you have power. The familiar’s existence—if that is, in fact, what he is, and there has been some debate—implies it heavily. To see it exercised is not entirely detrimental to your status.

  I don’t give a rat’s ass—

  The Consort favors you. She cannot be seen to favor the weak.

  Right. Of course not.

  She has taken the risk of showing inordinate favor to the cohort, given the politics that surround their reappearance. If they fail—if Terrano had somehow transformed—that would be considered disastrous for her. And that would, of course, reflect poorly on the High Lord.

  “Lord Kaylin?” The Consort interrupted the flow of Ynpharion’s lecture; Kaylin didn’t consider their interchange to be a conversation.

  “Sorry. I was thinking.”

  The Consort had led them to the fountain behind the thrones. Kaylin had seen it before, but the cohort clearly hadn’t; there was almost a marked hesitance in their movements.

  It is very, very seldom that the Consort entertains guests here. She has rooms that are far more stately—and far more secure—than this.

  I doubt they’re more secure.

  They are more secure for the Consort. Yes, this is the heart of her power, but the power that she has over the Lake—and, by extension, our people—is not destructive in nature.

  The cohort seemed to understand this. Sedarias was almost awkward in her hesitation.

  “Forgive me,” the Consort said. She gestured. “Please. Be seated. I seldom entertain so many people here; this small courtyard is not ideally situated for guests of note.” There were benches here, but no chairs, and a table that looked distinctly out of place had been both prepared and provisioned. “I retreat here when I wish to think without interruptions.” Her eyes narrowed as she turned to Terrano. “What occurred there?”

  Kaylin was almost certain she already knew the answer—or as much of the answer as Kaylin herself did.

  Terrano said nothing until Sedarias turned to glare at him. He shrugged, which did nothing to soften the glare. “Coravante tried to force me to disengage.”

  “Disengage implies that he engaged you.” Sedarias took control of the discussion instantly.

  “He tried.”

  “How?”

  “He tried to cast the equivalent of a spell.”

  “Tried or succeeded?”

  “Tried.”

  “Succeeded,” Kaylin said at almost the same time.

  “That’s when your familiar stepped in?”

  “No—he stepped in after.” Kaylin exhaled. “He used some sort of Shadow tendrils, and they entered Terrano through—as far as I could see—the ground. They traveled through his boots, and followed the trail of what passes for muscle.”

  “What was their intent?”

  “I don’t know. They were doing a fair amount of damage as they traveled. Terrano thought he could shake them,” she added, lifting a hand as Sedarias opened her mouth, “but to do that, he’d have to physically alter his body.”

  The Consort was silent. They were all silent. Almost by unspoken assent, the cohort waited until the Lady broke that silence.

  “Do you believe those tendrils would have done the same damage to any other member of the cohort?”

  Did she? She looked at Terrano. She had expected, if an attack happened, that the victim would be Sedarias. It demonstrably hadn’t been. She both understood and failed to understand. Taking out Sedarias would destroy the cohort, because Sedarias was their natural leader. Coravante would, because he was Mellarionne, assume that.

  If he attacked Sedarias, it would look bad for the line. Fights—and assassinations—were to be done behind figurative closed doors. But...would it have done the same damage?

  “I’m not certain.”

  “You don’t believe it would have.”

  There was one significant difference between Terrano and the cohort. Or rather, one that might make the difference. Terrano had no name. He was capable of blending in with the formless, shapeless miasma that was Shadow. What Shadow could do to him, and what he might do to escape it, was not what the cohort itself could do.

  Coravante couldn’t assume that the cohort had each other’s names. Or rather, that all of the cohort knew all of the other names.

  “When you approached Iberrienne,” she asked, turning to face Terrano, “did you make it clear—in any way—that you...?” And here, she paused.

  If you are concerned that you will reveal something that should remain hidden, be at ease, Ynpharion said. The Consort is well aware that the entire cohort is name-bound.

  You told her?

  Yes.

  She really needed to have a word or two with Helen.

  You are not always within Helen’s domain, Ynpharion countered. If you wish to retain the polite fiction that this is unknown, may I suggest that this is not the time?

  Kaylin agreed, with some anxiety. She started again. “Did you make clear in any way that the cohort is entirely name-bound to each other? Or that you’re name-bound?”

  He stared at her.

  It was Mandoran who answered, his voice devoid of his usual teasing humor. “Yes. He had to speak to us—to Sedarias—when negotiating. He didn’t make clear who he was speaking with, but...yes. Understand that it’s part of how we think, part of who we are. Hiding it—when we could hide nothing—didn’t seem either adaptive or relevant for almost the entirety of our lives. It didn’t matter that someone knew. Escape, for us, didn’t mean coming back. Some people,” he added, deliberately not glancing at Ynpharion, “consider being name-bound humiliating. It wasn’t, for us. It was wed to survival.”

  Terrano nodded.

  To the Consort, Kaylin now said, “Would Alsanis speak of this to anyone else, if asked?”

  “He might speak to me if I asked,” she replied. “But the Hallionne are created to protect and succor their guests. To the Barrani of his acquaintance, exposing such a secret would be a betrayal.”

  Kaylin nodded, frowning. “If it’s Coravante, if it’s Iberrienne, the natural assumption would be that Sedarias, at least, held Terrano’s name.” She hesitated again. “But that would be irrelevant if he wanted to cause the cohort to become instantly suspicious in a way that couldn’t be ignored.

  “The only difference I know of between Terrano and any other member of the cohort is his name. He no longer has one.”

  * * *

  The Consort did not react. No one did. The trickle of falling water was the only sound in this tightly packed clearing for three long breaths.

  “You suspect that An’Mellarionne knows this.”

  “I think the Shadows have a different effect on Terrano than they would on any other Barrani present—and I include the cohort in their number. If he didn’t know, Terrano as the target would make no sense. Terrano was the only one of the cohort to be able to leave Alsanis before the last regalia. He could be assumed to have greater understanding of Shadow, and greater control of it because of that fact.

  “It wouldn’t make sense to attack him. If An’Mellarionne fears Sedarias—”

  “If?”

  “Fine. He fears Sedarias, and assumes she’s the power behind the cohort. Or the commander behind it. He might assume that she bullied a name out of Terrano. But... Terrano as a target makes little sense. Any other member of the cohort would do. But if he could sense the lack of name—or if something advising him could—it would m
ake more sense.”

  “Why do you assume Shadow would harm the nameless, if such a being truly exists?” the Consort asked.

  Hope squawked.

  “I see.” The Consort bowed her head. When she lifted it, her eyes were blue. “We must assume, then, that An’Mellarionne can see the nameless. Perhaps even see the named.”

  Kaylin shook her head. “I don’t think he could do it on his own. Even Terrano can’t. But something within these halls—or beneath them—can.”

  Chapter 18

  “Are you accusing my brother of being a pawn to the Adversary?”

  “Pawn? An’Mellarionne? Not intentionally. But I’m no longer certain intent matters.”

  “Then I concur with your assessment,” Sedarias told Kaylin. “My brother can see names. He cannot—clearly—take them. Could he, none of this would be necessary. I would be his. In all likelihood, all of us would, and I make no exception for either the Consort or the High Lord.”

  Ynpharion was up in arms instantly, but he was also uneasy.

  “You can see names. It is neither natural nor simple. We know—now—that you can take the name, but the taking requires touch, and touch is not a guarantee.

  “Terrano doesn’t currently have a name, which is why he’s here. He has no interest in Court, in family or in the rest of the Barrani—but his lack of name might be his truest protection against the Adversary. The Adversary won’t care what he looks like; the Adversary won’t be able to make the rest of us outcaste if Terrano chooses to disincorporate.”

  * * *

  For the next three hours, the cohort sat—or lounged—in the Consort’s private garden. Teela, however, sat apart from the general group huddle. Terrano would have, but Sedarias caught him by the arm, and the looming shadow of Allaron added gravity to her not-very-subtle command.

  Because Terrano wasn’t part of their group mind, they had to speak out loud more often than they would have otherwise. But they didn’t speak as much in a way that Kaylin could hear; she got the impression that the big discussion—or debate, or argument—was happening behind closed lips, and Terrano was offered the eventual consensus. Spike asked her if she desired to listen, and Kaylin gave him a very hurried no. But she gave him permission to extract information—his words—because he was vibrating with concern.

  Or fear.

  She wanted to accompany the cohort. Spike certainly wanted her to. But he couldn’t go with them on his own. Kaylin pointed out—quietly—that he’d come to the West March as a flying insect; he hadn’t remained attached to the person who had carried him out of Ravellon. Spike agreed.

  “I was anchored,” he then explained in a buzzing voice that made Kaylin’s jaw ache. Given the sudden attention of the gathering, he’d spoken in a way that everyone else could hear, as well. “I could not leave Ravellon. I had to be carried out, and even then, there was some resistance. The Towers are strong.

  “When I was free of the barrier, I could act on the orders of my master. I did not require the anchor.”

  “And you require it now?” Sedarias demanded.

  “If your Adversary is what I suspect he must be, yes.” There was marked hesitation. “My form is contained by identification of Kaylin’s blood. The blood-binding is voluntary.”

  “Have you done it before?” Kaylin asked, surprised.

  “Yes. Once.”

  “With who?”

  “Once,” he repeated. “It is a binding that lasts while the binder lives. It is...a form of servitude. One might choose it if one’s existence might otherwise cease. I chose for different reasons this time. I could, and can, find you anywhere that I am permitted, by form and the rules of the plane, to travel. While I am with you, I cannot be commanded by any other force. But you are a creature who resides almost entirely in the space you now occupy. The threads that bind us bind us most strongly here.

  “Helen is fully capable of separating us, although it would take effort and will on her part. I am not sure, were I physically welded to you, that it would not destroy me. She trusts you. But this building, this place—it is not like Helen. And the...cavern, as you call it, is secured using similar paradigms to the power that keeps Ravellon separate from your lands. Were I to venture into the cavern without you, I would have no way of leaving it. The Tower here is not entirely unlike Helen; can you not hear its voice?”

  “No.”

  “Any of you?”

  Terrano exhaled. “I can.”

  * * *

  Kaylin had a thousand questions and opened her mouth to ask the first one. Teela’s raised hand, however, cut off the flow of words before they’d started.

  “We’ll be here all day, kitling. And most of tomorrow, as well.” She then turned to Sedarias, whose eyes were drilling the side of Terrano’s face.

  “What,” she demanded, and it was clearly a demand, given the color of her eyes, “do you hear? What is it saying?”

  Terrano’s expression said, See, this is why I never mentioned it. Kaylin saw an echo of herself—her younger self—in his expression, and came to his rescue.

  “You don’t know.”

  He didn’t like to be called stupid, either. Or be seen as stupid or helpless. “I can’t describe it. It’s not—it’s not like our words. Not even like our languages. It’s not the difference between Dragon and Barrani speech.” He frowned. “Spike, can you hear it?”

  “Yes.” Spike’s buzzing voice tailed up at the end, as if the agreement were actually a question.

  “Can you explain it?”

  Spike clicked and buzzed while everyone else held their breath. Kaylin could sense both frustration and surprise in the sound, as if he were having to explain how to breathe. Or they wouldn’t.

  “It is a warning,” he finally said.

  “Like the Towers in the fiefs?”

  “No, unlike the Towers. This Tower is more broken than Helen.” Since he wasn’t visible, it took Kaylin half a second to understand that he was talking about the High Halls—a building that was not, to her knowledge, sentient. The High Halls did not magically alter themselves to make visitors comfortable; the geography of the hallways and rooms didn’t change.

  But the Tower of Test did. And she’d seen the Arkon’s replay. She knew that the Tower had. At one point, in the very dim and distant past, the High Halls had been either a Tower or something similar to the Hallionne. Here, in what was not yet Elantra, where the presence of Dragons meant death.

  “Is it a new warning?” Teela asked, her voice much quieter than Sedarias’s. Quieter and colder. “Is it recent?”

  “I am not certain. It is a warning. It is...” he rumbled; Kaylin’s arm shook with the force of his thought. Her hand began to warm, until Spike was almost uncomfortably hot. “A lighthouse.”

  “Beacon?” Kaylin asked.

  He whirred more frenetically. “Beacon. But...a beacon is supposed to draw people to it, no?”

  “Not necessarily,” Teela replied.

  “I believe that the compromise of the Tower was not complete—but this warning is the type that would persist in the absence of architectural aid. It is possible that it is not new—but that you are incapable of hearing its cries. You are not architects.”

  “That’s the best-case scenario,” Terrano muttered.

  “If you have an opinion, share it.”

  “It’s either something that went off on contingency during the first war, or it’s something that is more recent. It would be best for us if it was recent, but... I wasn’t here, and we have no way of confirming it, one way or the other. Unless Spike does?”

  Spike whirred. A lot. “I do not believe this test your companions intend to undertake will be safe.”

  “Of course it’s not safe,” Kaylin began.

  “It will be less safe than it was. I do not believe the Tower believes that it can continue
to contain the threat.”

  Silence.

  * * *

  Kaylin’s marks began to glow. They were a gold, but blue-edged, the combination unusual. “So...all we have to do is destroy whatever the Tower’s trapped.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Terrano said in Elantran.

  “Our agreement with the Consort—” Sedarias began.

  “Was to free the names. Not destroy the Adversary under our feet. You’ve spent all your time in either Alsanis—for centuries—or here, with Kaylin and Helen. The only time you’ve seen any of the possibilities of being in neither place, we were on the run in the outlands. But you saw what Spike was capable of there. You saw what was chasing us. Do you honestly think you could just stand and fight?

  “I’ve been out there since Alsanis let us leave. I’ve seen things you can’t imagine. I’ve fought things you can’t imagine—and I survived. But barely. There are things you won’t understand how to fight. You won’t know how to stand your ground—because this,” he said, stomping the nearest flat stone for emphasis, “will not help you. It’s barely real.

  “If Spike is right, you’re going to be facing something that mostly lives elsewhere, or several other elsewheres, at the same time he lives here. It’s like Helen’s example with Spike—you’re looking through a window. Or an arrow slit. You think that what you see is all there is to see. And frankly,” he added, attempting to lower his voice, “you haven’t even approached the arrow slit yet. None of us have. I don’t want to be discouraging, but...it’s like taking a dinner fork to a battlefield.”

  Mandoran grimaced. “I think we’re about to see more than any of the rest of our kin can.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can fight it.”

  “If not us, then who?” Mandoran massaged the back of his neck as he bent his head; he didn’t like to be serious. But he was closest, in personality, to Terrano. “We know what you taught them. Sedarias is Mellarionne. She has some idea of how that teaching might have been extended. We all believe—even the Consort—that the Test of Name has been compromised somehow. If we don’t do this, it’s going to get worse. That’s it. That’s the future.