“Nothing,” Sanabalis said coolly.
“I can’t investigate nothing,” she said, with a lot more heat.
“This is not a matter for the Hawks, the Swords, or the Wolves,” Sanabalis replied curtly.
“It is if—”
“There has been no missing persons report, am I correct?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And there has been no writ issued for any theft?”
“We’re having a bit of difficulty classifying the item, and without classification, we don’t have a specific law to apply to—” Her voice trailed off; his eyes were orange, with just a hint of red at their center.
But she hadn’t finished, although she really, really wanted to be. “Donalan Idis,” she said quietly. Just that.
Tiamaris frowned. “Where did you hear that name?”
“Legal history.”
“Liar.” Elantran was, Kaylin realized, not always a blessing.
“Donalan Idis is under the purview of the Halls of Law. A writ was issued for his retrieval, and he was never found. No countermanding writ was ever issued.”
“The writ was issued to the Wolves, I believe.”
“Who are part of the Halls of Law, and who serve it as the Hawks do.”
“What exactly does Donalan Idis have to do with the matter at hand? Think carefully, Kaylin. I am almost at the end of my patience.”
“I don’t know,” she replied, moving as if she were surrounded by leaping tongues of flame.
“She is telling the truth,” Tiamaris said, his voice soft, the cadences of it wrong.
Sanabalis replied in a language that Kaylin didn’t actually know. But it was loud, each syllable a roar in miniature.
“Stand behind me,” Tiamaris told her quietly.
She moved.
Tiamaris replied to his former master, and his voice was also lost to the sound of thunder, the roar of Dragons. She had seen Tiamaris assume his Dragon form only once, and had no desire to ever see it again.
But a third voice entered their conversation—if it could be called that—a third roar, louder in all ways than theirs.
For a moment, Kaylin thought she was dead—she thought the Emperor himself must have heard the shouting and come from Court to see what it was about.
But the Emperor had not come. Either that, or the Emperor was a compact man with a crown of hair that failed to cover his skull. He had whisper-thin whiskers that trailed from a mustache that was paler than Sanabalis’s beard.
And he commanded instant, and utter, silence.
He looked…He looked a little like Evanton, except three times his size. His skin was wreathed in lines, and those lines were decidedly not smile lines. His eyes were glowing orange, and unlidded.
He turned and looked at Kaylin the way Kaylin looked at mice. But when he spoke again, he spoke in formal Barrani. “The library is not a place for idle conversation. People come here to work in silence, and you are disturbing their studies.”
She instantly bobbed her head up and down. “I expect no better from you,” he added, without bothering to mask his disdain.
Kaylin didn’t even bridle.
“If you gentlemen wish to debate, you will find a different venue for your words. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Arkon,” Tiamaris said, bending so that his head was almost in reach of his knees.
“Good.” He turned and strode off. Stopped, his robed back toward them, and added, “I am aware that Lord Sanabalis is under a great deal of stress, so I will overlook this incident.”
“Thank you, Arkon.”
Sanabalis himself was utterly silent.
A second set of doors came as a relief to Kaylin, even with a door-ward in plain sight. This ward tingled the way normal ones did, and she touched it first, without prompting. There were definitely some things that were worse than magic.
But the doors opened into a rounded room, a squat hall with narrow windows and wide doors between them. Six sets in all, including the one that they had just exited.
Sanabalis surprised her; he bowed to her. “My apologies, Kaylin. The Arkon is of course correct.”
“Who was he? I thought there were only a few Lords and—”
“He is not a Lord. He is the Arkon. These rooms, the libraries and the galleries, are his hoard. He is not young,” Sanabalis added.
“I saw that.”
“And he is not kind. If you needed a reason to disturb nothing without permission, you have now been given it.”
She nodded. Hesitated. “I really did forget about the theft,” she said quietly.
“Of course you did. The girl would drive almost anything sensible out of your very thick, mortal skull.” He frowned. “If we understand the Oracles correctly, however, we have two weeks left.”
“Two weeks left until what?”
“You misunderstand me. We have two weeks left, period. In two weeks there will be no Elantra. And it is highly likely that the loss of Elantra involves a great deal of water moving from one spot—the ocean that happens to front our port—to another. The fact that Everly began to draw you is either a sign of hope or a sign of doom,” he added. “It has been much discussed. I did not consider it worth mentioning until the discussions were resolved. Until you asked me about the nature of water.
“And we are coming to the gallery. I would not leave you in a library here if my hoard depended upon it.”
Gallery was a word, like any other word.
Clearly Dragon translation, even into Barrani, left a lot to be desired. Kaylin had thought Everly’s room huge, and it was. But this? This was larger than the library. And it housed not canvas, but things older—leather hides, chunks of sheared rock, carved statues that were short a limb or three.
“You have labored under the burden of ignorance, and we have allowed it,” Sanabalis told her. He sounded like himself. Like her teacher. The Dragon was gone from his voice. Tiamaris was likewise quiet, but his eyes were a shade too amber.
“We have allowed it because we ourselves are without explanations. The marks you bear,” he added, “would be recognized by the Arkon, and perhaps by one or two others. In the history of our kind, others have borne those marks,” he said. “No, I am not being entirely accurate. Not the marks you now bear. They have changed, with time, and the magic of the outcaste. But the marks as they first appeared.
“You went to the High Court of the Barrani. You were privileged to witness the vulnerability of their Leoswuld. You were privileged to bear witness to the birth of a new High Lord. And you were stupid enough to venture into areas that you should never have seen at all.
“It is something that no Dragon would have done, had one been invited to attend. You speak little of what you witnessed, which is commendably wise on your part, if surprising. And you bear the burden of the High Court, whether you acknowledge it or not.
“But rumor has wings, as they say. You touched the source of their lives, Kaylin, and it marked you. It is a subtle mark. Tiamaris?”
“I…sense no change in her.”
“A very subtle mark,” Sanabalis said drily. “You will never bear witness to a similar ceremony among the Dragons. But Kaylin, what the Barrani possess, we also possess. What gives them life, gives us life.
“None of us are certain how the mortals arrived on our world. We are almost certain about the timing, although we may be off by as much as a century.”
“What do you mean, arrived?”
“I believe that I used the correct word.”
“Um.”
“Yes? It is safe to speak here. It is not, however, safe to touch anything.”
“I thought you were hatched?”
Tiamaris and Sanabalis exchanged a glance.
“To be fair,” Tiamaris said to Sanabalis, “none of the racial classes she failed concerned themselves with reproduction. I don’t believe it’s considered relevant to police work.”
“Having had her as a student for what feels l
ike a long time, I’m disinclined to be fair.”
“So that’s a no, no eggs?”
“That’s a no, no answer,” Tiamaris replied. “And, Kaylin, neither Sanabalis nor I have forgotten the theft you spoke of. What, exactly, was taken?”
“A box. A reliquary, I think.”
The silent exchange of glances was beginning to get on her nerves.
“He said it couldn’t be opened by any key. But he also said—well, implied—that it could be opened by magic. He didn’t say what was in it. I don’t even know if he’s seen the inside of the box.” She paused, and then added, “I’m not really supposed to say this, but there seem to be reliquaries associated with each of the…elements. The one that was stolen—”
“Yes, we could deduce that.”
“And this is bad because whatever threatens the city has something to do with water.”
“Good. We’ll make an excellent student of you yet. But it was not for that reason that I brought you to the galleries.”
“Okay. One more question?”
“One.” It sounded a lot like none.
“You and Tiamaris—you were kind of roaring at each other back there. Should I be ducking behind that statue for a bit?”
Tiamaris laughed. “We were having a discussion, Kaylin. I assure you, if there’s ever cause to duck behind that statue over there, as you so quaintly put it, you’ll know. You won’t make it in time, but you’ll know.”
But Kaylin was now approaching “that statue over there.” It was, as were all the pieces in this gallery, close to one of the walls; there was a plaque in front of it that said something she couldn’t actually read. It was one of the few statues that had not suffered the amputations over time that so many of the others had, although it had been worn in places so that it was almost smooth.
Standing on a pedestal that was definitely not part of its original construction, it towered above her, but had it been flush against the floor, it would only have loomed. It was missing its left ear, and the strands of stylized hair now fell like a pocked blanket down its shoulders—and possibly past them, since she couldn’t really see its back. But the right ear marked the statue as Barrani. Tall and slender, it was almost impossible to tell whether the original had been male or female, and it didn’t seem, to Kaylin’s admittedly untutored eye, to be something made by Barrani. It was too life-size for that.
And all of this was inconsequential; the Hawk saw it, catalogued it, and let it go. Because the Barrani’s arms were exposed, and the robes were cut so low they didn’t have a back.
Because they didn’t, because she could see the Barrani’s arms clearly, she knew why Sanabalis had brought her.
They were marked with curved symbols and dots, familiar lines. They had been carved there, rather than painted or tattooed, or time would have worn them away. Almost unconsciously, she lifted one of her arms—the arm that was unfettered by heavy, pretty gold.
“Yes,” he said softly. “They are—or were—the same as the marks you first received.”
CHAPTER 11
“Tiamaris—”
“I told you that were you to show your arm to someone who could read it, you would probably not remain attached to it,” he said quietly. “There are those among our number who can read some of what is written, but they find it disquieting.” “Why?”
“Because of this statue,” he replied softly. “The Barrani Lord who bore those marks was a legend long before Sanabalis was born. I do not know if the Barrani themselves remember him.”
“They probably don’t—they don’t have the statue.”
“It was not created for the Barrani,” was his quiet reply.
“Then for whom?”
“We are not entirely certain. Nor, before you ask, are we certain by whom.”
“Where was it found?”
“I do not believe the ruins that it was taken from even exist anymore. It is old, Kaylin.”
She nodded.
“But…” He hesitated.
Sanabalis took over. “It is not the only idol of its kind that we are aware of. It is merely the one that was best preserved in the fall.”
“The fall?”
“There were wars,” Sanabalis told her gravely, “which changed the shape of the world. They are in the past, and it is the desire of the Dragon Emperor—and many others who labor in silence in Elantra—that they remain in the past.
“But, Kaylin, mortals have existed for a long time in the world, and you are the first one—the only one to our knowledge—who has been graced by such marks. Had you been Dragon or Barrani, one of two things is likely to have occurred. The first, you would be dead. But I have a suspicion that your death would merely mean that another child would bear those marks in your stead.
“The second, however, is more certain.”
“And that?”
“The Dragon outcaste whom we do not name would never have attempted his magics to take control of the words themselves. To change their shape through arts that are generally considered sympathetic magic—”
She snorted.
“The words would have a weight, and yes, a significant power, were they inscribed upon one of the firstborn. We are, in some sense, a word. These words have power,” he added softly. “You have used them from the moment they first appeared, to heal the injured. You use them in that fashion now. Had you used them differently, I do not think you would have fared so well against your enemies.
“The names that give us life are the language of the Old Ones. And these marks are part of that language. They are both more and less complex. In and of themselves, they cannot create life, or waken it.
“But they add to the name that did waken life.”
“They’re like names—” She stopped.
If he noticed, he didn’t say as much. “But on a mortal? We are not even sure what it means. There are theories about the Old Ones, but mortality eludes them. Theories are always confounded by your kind.”
“What did this Barrani do?” She asked it looking up at the time-worn contours of his face; there was little in the way of expression left, and she could not discern what he might have been like.
“He won wars, Kaylin.”
“That’s all?”
“He won wars that changed the shape of the world, time and again. It is not a small thing.”
“I can’t—”
“We’re not at war.” But his eyes were amber. “And I pray—well, you would if you had religious convictions—for the sake of your kind, that we never are.”
“But, Sanabalis, something doesn’t make sense.”
“Much lacks sense or logic. What in particular do you mean?”
“How did Ma—How did the outcaste know? How could he somehow strip the undead of their names?”
“A name, like a life, can be surrendered,” was the quiet reply. “But your first question has troubled the Court since the deaths began when you were a child. We were not certain, Kaylin, and yes, before you ask, the Oracles were consulted heavily at that time.
“But the time passed, and no new power awakened to challenge the Dragon Emperor. We thought that whoever was responsible for the deaths was trying to somehow mimic history, but on mortal children. That way, if the experiment proved successful, or rather, too successful, the damage might be more easily undone.”
“Undone?”
“It would be easier to kill you.”
“Got it.”
“And then you arrived in the Hawklord’s tower, some time after the deaths had stopped. You, a child—do not make that face, Kaylin—and a mortal, bearing marks out of legend.”
“That’s why Tiamaris wanted me dead?”
“It is why most of the Court wanted you dead,” he replied, as if he were talking about a common sea squall. “But the information came to light slowly—in your terms—and by that time, the Hawklord and his subordinates were attached to you. Why, I can only ponder.”
“But if the Emperor—”
>
“You are mortal, Kaylin. You were watched closely, and some information about your skills as a healer came to light. The Hawklord argued your case, and the lone Leontine to serve the Emperor directly growled it. Some heated words were exchanged between the members of the Court and the Officers of the Law.
“It is my belief that were the Emperor to order your death, the Hawklord would have complied. But not your sergeant, which would have been something of a loss to the Hawks. Lord An’teela also presented herself in Court to argue on your behalf. She argued not as a Hawk, but as a representative of the High Caste Barrani Court.”
“But she couldn’t do that—”
“Very well. I am addled and my memory is clearly wrong.”
“I mean she couldn’t legally do that.”
“I highly doubt that she had permission to do so. I highly doubt that the Castelord was aware of her petition.”
“And it was made in his name,” Kaylin said very quietly.
“Yes. And I must say that she was quite clever in her presentation, which is more than can be said of Sergeant Kassan. She did her best to belittle you, and in so doing, to belittle those who were afraid of a human child.”
“And you argued?”
“I? No. I merely watched. Tiamaris was most vehement.”
“Lord Sanabalis,” Tiamaris said coolly, “that is unnecessary. You know well—”
“I knew well,” Sanabalis said mildly, “that all arguments on either side of the debate had been aired, some with subtlety, and some without. And I knew also that in the end, the Emperor’s word—and not one of ours—would decide the matter. He was impassive,” Sanabalis added. “Even for a Dragon, he was inscrutable. I myself was uncertain which way things would go.
“But in the end, the Hawklord brought memory crystals to the Court, and each of us were allowed to view what they contained. They were trivial, really—I believe one of them involved your misunderstanding of the word bookmaker—but they were of you.
“He summoned the Tha’alani, and the Hawklord submitted to an examination. Lord An’teela professed herself willing to do the same—but that proved unnecessary. And the mind of a Barrani would not be a pleasant place for any Tha’alani, even the strongest, to visit.