Cast in Honor (The Chronicles of Elantra) (28 page)

Ybelline smiled sadly at the girl. “We have not yet fulfilled our part of the bargain.”

“You won’t. You won’t be able to. He’s out there—he’s in the streets, on the Winding Path, trying to keep people from panicking. That’s what my mother told me. That’s what he did—because
this is when it started
.” She swallowed. “I don’t know anything. I was a baby. I don’t remember.

“But they talked. They told me things. If you—if you can find things in my memories that I can’t—” She swallowed again. “My dad lives. He’s going to live. My mom, too. But he hated that so many people died. He felt like he’d failed. Like they’d
all
failed. The Swords. The Hawks. The people whose job it was to protect everyone.

“Maybe that’s
why
I’m here. Or why Gilbert is here. I don’t know.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I was mad at my dad. When he left. When they left to look for whatever it was they were looking for. I—I didn’t say goodbye. I wouldn’t talk to him. He wouldn’t take me with him. And I knew—he was just
going to die
. I just—” She fought back tears. “I was a terrible daughter. If I could go back—if I could change one thing—I would say goodbye. I would tell him that I loved him. I would tell him.

“...But I can’t. Gilbert wasn’t afraid of you. Kaylin’s not afraid. If—if you can find something in me that can help...do it.”

* * *

Kattea was almost white, and white did not look good on her. Neither did red-eyed terror. But she held her ground, looking back to Gilbert only once, as if she needed his approval. Given that Gilbert wasn’t even passably human, and that Kattea knew this very well, this said something to Kaylin.

Breathe
, Severn told her.

She reddened.

Ybelline knelt. Kneeling, she was shorter than Kattea. She opened her arms, but held them wide, to either side of the girl, and waited.

The Arkon rumbled. Kaylin desperately wanted to give Ybelline as much time, as much space, as she could, because Kaylin understood the effect Kattea’s fear would have on the older, wiser woman. It was a type of poison.

It was a poison Ybelline accepted, because in the end, she had little choice; if she did not do it, another member of her caste would be forced to it.

Kaylin walked over to Gilbert, caught him by the arm and dragged him over to where the Arkon stood. The Arkon’s face, hair and eyes were familiar, but he had chosen to wear the armor available to all of his kin in their mortal form. It was either that or nudity.

“This is Gilbert,” she said. “Gilbert, this is a Dragon known as the Arkon. I’m not sure what that means, since he
has
a name. But—call him the Arkon unless your name is Bellusdeo.”

The Arkon, in golden plate armor, raised a brow at Kaylin. Gilbert looked confused.

“Bellusdeo, as you are aware, filled me in on many of the details of the past few days.”

Kaylin nodded. She had expected rage. The Arkon’s eyes were orange, but he was, unlike Marcus, his usual self otherwise.

“I do not hold you responsible for Bellusdeo’s disappearance. The Emperor may, but he has not—yet—chosen to fly. Sanabalis is vastly more competent and resourceful than you are, in general, as is Bellusdeo. They are together. If they have not been instantly obliterated, it is left to us to find and retrieve them. I believe it is possible your Gilbert may be of assistance.”

Gilbert said, “I must go to the Winding Path.”

“Yes, that was my thought, as well.” He glanced at Ybelline and Kattea; they were now locked in an embrace—but Kattea had stopped trembling and appeared to be leaning
into
the Tha’alani woman. And, from the sound of it, sniveling. Kaylin could only see her back. “Is the child necessary?”

Gilbert said “Yes” at the same time as Kaylin said “No.”

The Arkon, predictably, was annoyed. And just as predictably, he was annoyed at Kaylin. “Do not let sentiment blind you. At this juncture, we cannot afford it.”

“Sentiment? I barely even
know
her!”

The Arkon ignored the comment; he spoke to Gilbert.

Gilbert replied.

Neither used a language she understood. She thought it might be the same language that the Arkon had spoken to Mandoran in the library. “Time is of the essence,” the Dragon told them. “Castelord, I regret to have to interrupt you, but I require the young woman’s presence.”

Ybelline did not appear to hear him.

The Hawklord however, placed a staying hand on the Arkon’s shoulder. “She will require some minutes, yet. Kaylin, please fill the Arkon in on the details of the rest of your day while he waits.”

* * *

The Arkon’s eyes had shifted toward gold as he listened, although the predominant color was still orange.

“You are from a different
time
? And so is the young girl?” He threw a narrow-eyed glance at the Tha’alani castelord as he asked.

Gilbert hesitated. Hesitation was his most frequent conversational tic. “Kattea is.”

“And you are not?”

Gilbert turned to Kaylin, of all people, as if she could somehow answer the question the Arkon had just asked.

The small dragon lifted himself off Kattea’s shoulder, pushed himself gently into the air and then squawked. Loudly. Had he been sitting on Kaylin’s shoulder, he wouldn’t have bothered to put distance between his mouth and her ear.

The Arkon frowned. “That is hardly an answer,” he said to the familiar.

Squawk
.

“Very well. Kattea is from the future as it exists if the present continues. Gilbert is a question mark. What happened with the Keeper?” When Kaylin failed to immediately answer, he said, “You are aware that the Keeper is under surveillance. It is...unusual...for rain to fall only within the Keeper’s storefront.”

“I was getting to that part.”

“My apologies for the interruption,” he replied. Not that there was any chance this would stop him from interrupting her again. She continued, speaking about the rain in the store, the flood and her eventual discussion with the elemental water.

“The water is
aware
of the time shift?”

Kaylin nodded.

“Kaylin—”

“I think it’s only aware because of the
Tha’alaan
.” As she said this, she realized it was fundamentally true. “I’m not sure the fire or earth or air notice—or care. But the
Tha’alaan
exists the way the rest of us do, because it’s part of the way we live. I mean—it’s like organic Records for the race itself, so it’s built of our lives.”

The Arkon seemed surprised, but nodded.

“What I don’t understand is why the water was raining on the inside of the store. The water does lose its temper from time to time, but—it’s usually confined to the Garden.”

The Arkon’s nod was slower to come this time, and his eyes shaded to a much stronger orange by the time it had finished.

“Do you think whatever’s eating the city eats the Keeper’s Garden? I mean, in the future, where the water comes from?”

“Thank you for adding a worry I had not considered to those already on the table.” The Arkon turned to Gilbert again.

Gilbert said, “...Yes. I think that’s likely. I believe I must return to the Winding Path.” He glanced at Kattea. “Will you take care of her?”

“You’re not leaving here without her.”

“Kaylin—”

“I mean it.”

“You do not have much time left.”

“We don’t even know that it started there—has anyone been to the Arcanum?”

“Lord Diarmat and Lord Emmerian are currently at the Arcanum,” the Arkon replied.

That seemed backward to Kaylin. “You’re probably the Dragon with the most knowledge of ancient magic—why didn’t they come here?”

“Because I am, as you state, the most learned. I am going to the Winding Path. I am apparently going to the Winding Path without the benefit of mirrored information.”

“Do you understand
why
the mirrors are so integral to the problem?”

“No. The Imperial mages are now considering the difficulty. Because of the water, you chose to visit the Tha’alani directly.”

Kaylin took the hint, picking up the very interrupted thread of the story. By the time she’d finished, he was no longer glaring at Ybelline. “Please plug your ears,” he told her. He lifted his voice and repeated this request.

Kaylin had a good idea of what he was about to do, but covered her ears anyway. Covering her ears never really stopped Dragon roars from being deafening.

Her instincts were right: the Arkon roared. It was not a
short
roar, either.

He had the grace to wait until the roar had stopped echoing before he spoke again. “I am confirming, for the Dragon Court, that the mirror network’s usage can—or will—be deadly. I have also passed word about the shielding the Tha’alani used to some effect in their last stand. The latter, I feel, will buy us essential time.”

“Any idea what the Arcanum was trying to do?”

“The Arcanum is composed of men and women with great ambition and power. They seldom work in concert. It is highly unlikely that individual members are aware of the full extent of the research of their various colleagues. Those that survived the internal difficulties of the morning claim ignorance; I am inclined to believe them. At the moment, the Arcanum is attempting to preserve the city—which they happen to reside in. They will not sabotage our efforts.”

This was not an answer. “If we understood what they were attempting, we might have some chance—”

“Thank you for stating the completely obvious.”

Kaylin shut up. Gilbert, however, did not. “If possible,” he said, to Kaylin, “I think your Mandoran and Annarion might be of assistance in a way that none of the rest of you can be.”

Kaylin nodded.

Stopped.

Nodded more emphatically. If mirrors were not forbidden, Kaylin would have been on them
instantly
. Severn understood why. If Teela had died, Mandoran and Annarion would
know
. If she hadn’t—and she had been pushed forward or backward or sideways in time, they would only know that she’d disappeared.

Just as Nightshade had disappeared.

“Private,” the Arkon snapped. “Your fidgeting makes me almost motion sick. Be
still
.”

The Hawklord gave her a Look, which implied that she was embarrassing the entire force in public, and she stopped rocking on her heels. “How do you think Annarion and Mandoran will be helpful?” she asked, to distract herself.

“They see in a way that you can’t. They see in a way that I can’t—or rather, they see less, and see it from a different vantage. I do not understand the whole of what is, or is not, inimical to your kind. Kattea has taught me much, but she is not aware of everything I do, and some of what I have done, she considers hostile.”

Kaylin frowned. “The Arcanist visited you, the night before the murders.”

“That is what she maintains.”

“She saw him. You...didn’t.” Kaylin’s frown deepened. “The night after the murders, he came again. That time, you saw him, and she didn’t.”

Gilbert didn’t reply; he was now as silent as Kaylin couldn’t be.

“It’s like the corpses or the stones, isn’t it?”

“It is not,” he finally said, although his frown had deepened. “I could see the corpses in question. I could see the three stones.”

“You could see the words. You—” She turned to the Arkon. “Did Sanabalis manage to get that information to you?”

“No.” He turned to Gilbert. “It is, in part, to speak of these so-called words that I came.”

Squawk.

“Ah. I am not certain that I can duplicate them.”

Squawk
.

“I do not see
how
it is skirting the rules. They have been seen. Their presence was not revealed by you. I am not certain you were aware of them at all.”

SQUAWK.

“He has a bit of an ego,” Kaylin said. “What does he mean by rules?”

“I believe he expects you to understand what he means; it is irrelevant. I am not...as he is. It is difficult for me to manifest the words I see in a way that makes them accessible to your kind,” Gilbert said.

“He means anyone alive in the city,” Kaylin told the Arkon, “not mortals. And frankly, I’m not certain it would be a good idea to have Gilbert attempt to re-create what he saw.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think he’d do anything to harm us deliberately—Kattea’s here, if nothing else. But I don’t think he’s always
aware
of what might cause harm. Kattea seemed to feel there was actual, magical conflict; Gilbert seemed to genuinely feel there wasn’t. He’s not an Arcanist. He’s not trying to live forever or rule the universe or whatever it is that drives the Arcanists.

“I just don’t think he truly understands what life
is
. Our lives, anyway.”

“I will take that under advisement.” The Arkon spoke as if he meant it. “But at this point, I do not feel it is Gilbert who is responsible for the state of our city, and any information is not only relevant, but urgently required. I am therefore willing to have that risk taken.”

Kaylin turned to Lord Grammayre, who nodded. The Arkon was not, in theory, in the chain of command—but theory could be stretched in emergencies.

Gilbert glanced, once again, at Kattea. “Very well.” He lifted his hands slowly, held them in front of his body, at elbow level, and turned them, palms up, as if he was carrying something no one else in the room could see.

His eyes began to glow.

Chapter 23

Kaylin was accustomed to seeing eye colors change; glowing was another thing entirely. When Gilbert’s eyes glowed—as they were glowing now—it looked as if his head had been hollowed out and was being used as a lamp. It was not a comforting sight.

Kattea was still wrapped around Ybelline; if warning needed to be given to—or about—Gilbert, it wouldn’t come from her. Kaylin opened her mouth and closed it again as the familiar came to sit on her shoulder. His claws dug through her tunic. Clearly she wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

“I don’t suppose,” she whispered to the familiar, “you could tell me what he’s doing?”

Squawk
.

The glow of Gilbert’s eyes brightened so much, it was hard to look at his face. The Arkon’s inner membranes rose, and he lifted a hand; Kaylin felt a wash of unpleasant stinging settle across her arms, her legs, the back of her neck—anywhere that was marked. She even approved of it, although she gritted her teeth.

The light seeped out of Gilbert’s eyes, as if it were crawling. This was very disturbing to watch. He was apparently in control of its destination, though; it fell into his cupped palms, curling in and around itself as if it were a dozen small snakes.

Could have been worse, she told herself. Could have been cockroaches.

Squawk.

“I know. Sorry.”

The snakes began to separate, and Kaylin watched as they hardened and shed parts of themselves. She looked up to Gilbert’s face; his eyes were once again obsidian. They did not reflect the glowing light she could clearly see taking shape in the palms of his hands.

The Arkon’s expression stiffened as the runes took form. They were not, to Kaylin’s eye, true words, not the way the marks on over half her skin were—but they seemed similar. She frowned and approached Gilbert. She saw magic’s aftereffects as sigils—usually blue, and usually much larger than these. But she had seen such sigils as dark shadows, dark smoke, before.

These were similar, in the end, to those, although they were much more solid.

“Arkon?”

“They are not,” he said, “a language I recognize.”

“Not true words, then?”

“No.” He replied without obvious disgust, which was unusual. “Do they look like your marks, to you?”

She shook her head. “They look—this is going to sound strange—”

The Arkon coughed.

“Sorry. They’re brighter and more consistent, but—they remind me of the sigils left behind in the Leontine quarter.”

“When?”

“When Marcus was accused of murder.” It felt as if it had been years ago. It hadn’t; objectively, it had been months.
Maybe
a year. “Someone tried to kill us—Severn and I—and a black, smoky sigil rose in the wake of the spell.”

The Arkon’s expression shifted, and not in an entirely natural way. “Does this aperture widen?” he asked the Hawklord.

“It is in its widest configuration at the moment.”

Exhaled smoke was most of the Arkon’s answer. “We will need to exit by the stairs. There is only barely enough space here to land—and I am not young, anymore.”

Which was entirely irrelevant to immortals, as far as Kaylin knew. She kept this to herself. “I’m not saying it’s the same.”

“No—it wouldn’t be. But it implies two things, neither of which is in any way positive.”

“And those are?”

He stared at Ybelline, but answered. “Sigils are representative of the
caster’s
magical power. It is why they are unique.”

She knew that, and tried not to resent his explanation of the obvious. Maybe someone in the Tower didn’t. Like, say, Gilbert. Or Kattea, who couldn’t listen at the moment.

“You will perhaps note—or perhaps not, given your training and education—that the same sigil has different styles of presentation, depending on the school of magic utilized.”

This was less obvious, to Kaylin. In general, she didn’t notice the style of, say, everyday handwriting—only the legibility.

“You feel that these runes are similar to the sigils you found in the Leontine quarter. Sanabalis has seen those sigils—he does not interpret them the way you do, of course, but that is a matter for later. The sigil, at the time, you described as black smoke.”

Kaylin nodded.

“What is the similarity, then?”

Kaylin wasn’t quite certain. The problem with the Arkon’s questions was that he expected good answers, and he was short on patience. Fair enough. They were short on time.

“While you are gathering your thoughts, we will descend.”

“Private Neya,” the Hawklord said, as the Arkon headed toward the Tower doors. “The Arkon is the voice of the Emperor for the duration of this crisis. You will obey his commands as if the Emperor—or the Lord of Hawks—had personally issued them. Before you leave the building, visit the quartermaster.”

The situation was dire enough that Kaylin didn’t even think to flinch.

“Take flares. Also,” he added, “take a portable mirror.”

“We can’t
use
mirrors—”

“At the moment, there are no connections to the mirror network, and it is just possible that it is the network that needs...adjustment.”

“Gilbert, do you think it’s safe to have one on hand?” Gilbert looked up. He didn’t answer; Kaylin wasn’t certain he could hear her.

“Gilbert!” Kattea said, in mild disgust. Kaylin saw that Ybelline had released the girl. The girl, however, had not released Ybelline; she was holding on, tightly, to the Tha’alani’s hand. “He gets like this,” Kattea told the castelord. She let go of the hand she’d gripped so tightly with obvious reluctance, and walked across the room to where Gilbert, a pile of golden, glowing words in his hands, stood.

Reaching out, she caught his wrists in both of her hands. “Gil-bert. Gilbert.”

“Why is he called Gilbert?” the Arkon asked her.

Kattea said, “He needed a name.”

“And he chose that one?”

“No, I chose that one. Is something
wrong
with it?
Gilbert
.” She sighed. She followed that sigh with a single word that was nothing like a name. It was nothing, in the end, like any of the other words Kattea was prone to speak. The air crackled around its syllables. Even the Arkon looked surprised.

Gilbert, however, blinked rapidly. The words in his hands dissolved; he shook them as if they were liquid, and his hands, wet. “Ah, Kattea. Have you finished your discussion with Ybelline?”

“Yes—because no one else could get your attention.”

“I am sorry. I was attempting to read the words.”

“Is that a smart idea?” she demanded. “I mean—doing it
here
?”

He blinked. “It is only reading. I did not attempt to invoke their power in any way. I do not think they have power, independent of their original location.” He looked up at Kaylin. “I am considering your Arkon’s question. I did not see the sigil you speak of. But I understand differences in style and presentation.

“What was the purpose of the spell that caused the sigil to be written as smoke and darkness?”

Kaylin frowned. “At the time? It was meant to kill me. To kill us,” she added, nodding in Severn’s direction. She cursed the lack of immortal memory; it made her job much harder. Teela never had this difficulty. “The sigil didn’t look like a sigil to me, not at first. It really did look like black smoke. But the smoke formed curves, loops—cursive elements of actual writing. They had dimension. Usually sigils don’t. They’re kind of splashed across walls or floors or physical objects that happened to be in the blast radius.”

“And is that the similarity?”

“I don’t know. The smoke never stopped moving. By the time it had stilled enough, Sanabalis had dragged me out of the wreckage. I couldn’t read it, but I didn’t get a better chance to study it.”

The Arkon exhaled. “The street,” he said grimly.

“Did Sanabalis not tell you?”

“I will have words with him when this is over.”

* * *

The quartermaster was grim. Kaylin was not, and had never been, his favorite person; he considered her young, feckless and grossly irresponsible. Giving her a flare was not a problem; giving her a portable mirror
was
. Had she not had the Arkon literally standing over her shoulder, he would have refused; she hadn’t had time to wait for Hanson’s requisition order.

Though he always made a point of following strict procedure when dealing with Kaylin, he was clearly not willing to play that game with a member of the Dragon Court.

He was stickler enough that he demanded the Arkon’s signature, though. Kaylin, given the orange of the Arkon’s eyes, wouldn’t have dared. This was probably why she wasn’t the quartermaster.

The halls, as they walked swiftly through them, were silent—mostly because they were empty. It was likely that the Hawks had joined the Swords on the Winding Path. It had only been three weeks since the ancestors had attacked the High Halls; only three weeks since over a dozen Hawks had been buried. For the Swords, the losses had been higher; the Swords had been trained to deal with panicking crowds.

You didn’t send untrained men into those crowds and expect good results, although you could pray.

* * *

If the Halls of Law felt deserted, the streets surrounding them were not. And the thanks Hawks and Swords would get for putting their lives on the line in an emergency boiled down to invective, resentment and very harried compliance.

Some days, Kaylin hated people.

The Arkon appeared to dislike them even more than she did. If she wanted to kick them or curse them—and sadly, she did—she
didn’t
want them to wind up on the wrong side of angry Dragon breath. They were just as afraid and just as ignorant as she was, on bad days, and she didn’t feel she deserved reduction to ash, either.

People screamed and got out of the way when the Arkon, with no warning, transformed, the plates of his armor opening and falling, on invisible hinges, toward the ground. Kattea was one of those people. Gilbert scooped her up and took one step to the side as the Arkon’s wings exploded from between human-seeming shoulder blades. His neck lengthened. His tail appeared. His head expanded. This last made Kaylin snicker.

“We are going to your abode,” the Arkon said, without looking back. “Now. You can climb up on my back. Sit between the ridges. Or I can carry you in my claws.”

No one took him up on the latter, although Kattea was fearful enough that she might have been forced to, if not for Gilbert. Gilbert, holding her, leaped up. She turned into his chest, threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

Ybelline’s hesitance was purely physical. None of it reached her face. She clearly wanted to go back to the Tha’alani quarter, but she didn’t ask. Anything that needed to be said to the other members of the
Tha’alanari
, she could say from here. Or from anywhere in the city.

Kaylin was only barely seated when the Arkon roared and pushed off the ground. She settled her hands against his back; Severn caught her waist and held it.

The Arkon had been injured three weeks ago. Injured enough that Bellusdeo had been—and still was—very worried. But she knew the Dragon would probably bite her arms off if she tried to heal him. Dragon bodies weren’t like mortal bodies; they were a duality. Kaylin wondered if she could sort of...sneak healing in while he was preoccupied.

“I will drop you,” the Arkon said loudly. “And if you’d deserve it, Kattea doesn’t.”

Which was a no. “Will you land in Helen’s tower?”

“I will land in the street.”

“Our tower’s bigger than the Hawklord’s—and Helen is safer.”

The Arkon growled. But to Kaylin’s surprise, he took her advice.

* * *

She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t exactly been truthful, either; Helen could shift the interior of the house to accommodate any guest. The tower’s aperture opened as the Arkon approached it from on high; it was wide enough that he could—with caution—land. He did, but the landing was heavy, and he was silent while his passengers disembarked.

“Welcome,” Helen said. Or rather, Helen’s voice. Her Avatar had not yet reached the tower. “We’ve been waiting. Mandoran is very upset.”

Kaylin remembered the revelation she’d had back in the Hawklord’s Tower. Movement returned in a frenzied rush as she raced for the door, yanked it open and took the stairs four at a time. Helen would see to the guests.

* * *

For some reason, the dining room had become the gathering spot for Helen’s inhabitants. The parlor was in theory more comfortable and more homey—but it was only used when there were guests. The fact that there were guests didn’t change the venue this time, however.

Mandoran and Annarion were seated at the dining room table.

“Teela?”

Mandoran nodded. “We can hear her. Barely, but we can hear her.”

“Tain?”

“She says he’s alive. More or less. She’s pissed off at him, if that helps.”

“Not really—it just means he’s more injured than she is, probably because he was trying to do something stupid, like protect her.”

“Got it in one.”

Kaylin exhaled. She closed her eyes. Eyes closed, she could more clearly hear Kattea—which meant Gilbert was close. She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes. Small and squawky was seated on her shoulder, wings folded, eyes alert. Ybelline was a yard behind Gilbert and Kattea.

“Does she know what happened?”

“This would be a
lot
easier,” Mandoran said, “if we
had your name
. Or if you had ours. I get that you don’t want to let yours slip—but—” He subsided because Annarion had kicked him. “She says to tell you this is yet another attempt to gain immortality.”

“The Arcanist was
Barrani
. He already
has
immortality!”

Mandoran gave Annarion a
look
. “This,” he said, rising, “is
stupid
.”

Annarion rose as well and stepped in front of him.

“I
mean it
.”

“He gets that,” Kaylin said. “And we don’t—we don’t need to do this. Helen can hear you. Helen can translate.”

Helen’s Avatar appeared in the far door. “I cannot translate well,” she said half-apologetically, “and I confess I do not understand your reluctance; it is your name and should be your choice. Kaylin, however, is hesitant. She considers it dangerous.”