02 #3
“I don’t have a Tower. I could ask Tiamaris to shelter him while we try to figure out what’s wrong. Tara might have some idea.” Before Andellen could reply, she said, “Or I could take him to my home. Helen used to be the home of a sorcerer. She might be able to give us information.”
The Consort would prefer that, Ynpharion said.
Andellen carried Nightshade across the border. Tiamaris was, as Kaylin had said, waiting—and he hadn’t bothered to transform
again. He was a large red Dragon whose scales reflected the day’s light. His eyes were orange, but red flecks—far more visible
in eyes of this size—were moving in.
“I need you to carry us to Helen,” Kaylin told him, without preamble.
“I cannot legally do so in this form.”
“I don’t think the city streets will be safe,” she said, ignoring the question of legality, although technically she was on
duty. “Can you pick him up in your claws?”
“By unsafe, what do you mean? Corpses seldom pose a problem, except in that they must be removed.”
“Fourteen Barrani are dead by my count. Does that mean much to you?”
“War band, perhaps.” Tiamaris’s voice was a rumble. He knew flying in draconic form was illegal but knew as well that exceptions
were often made in emergencies. In what the Emperor deemed an emergency.
Severn nodded. “There may be Barrani in the houses or streets who are waiting to confirm Nightshade’s death. If another gathering
of Barrani soldiers is waiting, they’ll be waiting within the city itself.”
“You believe they would be foolish enough to attack in the Emperor’s streets?”
“They were foolish enough to attack Nightshade in his own fief.”
Tiamaris rumbled. “Your request does not appear to be entirely foolish, given Lord Nightshade’s condition. Fine,” he said,
dropping High Barrani for Elantran for the single word.
“Andellen is coming with us.” Kaylin let the statement tail into a question by tone alone.
“He will not be an encumbrance. But Kaylin, I do suggest we move.”
Severn hadn’t sheathed his weapon. He turned. In the distance, Barrani, armed and armored, could be seen. None were carrying
bows.
Ynpharion cursed. To Kaylin’s surprise, he chose Leontine. In any other circumstance, she might have been amused.
“Two war bands’ worth of Barrani,” Kaylin murmured. She leaped onto Tiamaris’s back. Severn sheathed his weapons in a single
gesture. He joined her. Andellen did the same. If he had reservations about riding a Dragon’s back, the obvious danger overwhelmed
them. He trusted Tiamaris more than he trusted the Barrani.
Fool. It’s you he trusts.
It didn’t matter. Tiamaris pushed himself off the ground. Any thoughts Kaylin might have shared with Ynpharion were lost;
she needed to hold on tightly, his ascent was so steeply angled.
Nightshade, he dangled in his forepaws.
Kaylin had no easy way of communicating with Helen at a distance. None of her namebound lived in her house. Severn was directly
behind her. Nightshade was unconscious. Lirienne was in the West March. Distance didn’t destroy the bond—it couldn’t.
That left only Ynpharion, and in this particular case, he couldn’t be of much use either.
“You’re going to have to land on the lawn!” she shouted. Tiamaris was flying quickly; he kicked up enough wind to make shouting
necessary.
He roared a yes.
It didn’t take long to reach Helen from the fiefs; the Dragon’s speed and the lack of any aerial traffic made the distance seem trivial.
He did land on the lawn, as Kaylin had suggested. Helen had a tower large enough to contain a landing Dragon—it was what she opened when Bellusdeo came to visit, because Bellusdeo didn’t
particularly care about petty Imperial laws that made being an actual Dragon illegal without the Emperor’s permission.
Kaylin suspected that blanket permission had been granted. The Emperor was pragmatic at heart. Bellusdeo would continue to
be Bellusdeo. She was not his liege, and she was necessary, absolutely necessary, for the future of the race.
Tiamaris was necessary as a fieflord. But Tiamaris retained his position on the Dragon Court, and some of the funding—she’d
heard this through Tara—for the reconstruction of the fief had come from Imperial coffers and taxes. Tiamaris was going to
be called up on the figurative carpet to justify his draconic form—and his flight across the city proper.
Kaylin wasn’t too worried. The fiefs were important to the continued existence of the city, and Nightshade was a fieflord.
Towers that lost their captains declined over time; the denizens of Ravellon could find larger and larger cracks through which to pass. None of that was good for the Emperor’s citizens.
Andellen dismounted first and moved immediately toward his lord; Tiamaris had taken care to set him down as gently as he could,
given his form. Severn followed, although he turned to offer Kaylin a hand, should she need it.
She accepted it. Tiamaris’s flight to Helen had been far faster—and far less careful—than his flight toward Nightshade. She
found her footing and took two steps toward her house.
The door flew open long before she could reach it. Helen was standing in its frame, eyes obsidian. Kaylin shouted, “We need
a room!”
Before Helen could answer—not that it was necessary—the Avatar of Kaylin’s home was pushed to one side. Annarion, Mandoran following close behind, ran out to the lawn. He didn’t appear to notice Tiamaris at all.
Tiamaris turned his enormous head to Helen. He nodded, the nod deep with genuine respect. Her eyes remained obsidian, but
she returned the Dragon’s nod with a nod of her own before her gaze fell to Annarion’s back.
Tiamaris then pushed up, gaining height without the encumbrance of passengers, and headed straight toward the Imperial Palace.
The moment Annarion appeared in the open door, Andellen rose and stepped back from Nightshade. He stood at a distance as his
lord’s younger—and only—brother ran to his side. Annarion knelt there, as if months of argument and bitterness had been a
lie. He checked for a pulse, for breath, and for the sword that Andellen had carefully resheathed. He then lifted his brother’s
limp body. Mandoran would have helped, but Annarion had turned to Helen.
He didn’t speak—or didn’t speak out loud. The cohort, like Kaylin, mostly avoided masking their thoughts. It was so natural
for them to speak through their namebonds that they often didn’t speak aloud at all.
Helen stared at Nightshade as Annarion carried him through the open door. Andellen, after a long pause, turned to Helen. “My
apologies for our abrupt arrival. The situation was grave. We did not have time to offer advance notice.”
Annarion was often so thrown by his brother’s presence, Helen had asked that Nightshade make an appointment to visit, to better
prepare herself for the possibility of conflict.
Nightshade had clearly respected what was only barely a request.
“Emergencies have their own imperatives,” Helen replied, voice gentle. “Lord Nightshade arrived with Kaylin; it is clear she meant to carry him here. She is the master of the house; what she desires is paramount. Do you wish to share the rooms your lord will convalesce in?”
“If it will not trouble you, yes. I do not believe he will find my presence encumbering.”
“Not in his current state, no.” Helen frowned. “You might consider convalescing yourself. I will have food prepared. You will
eat.”
Andellen stared at the Avatar of Kaylin’s home as if she were losing her mind.
“Don’t argue with her,” Kaylin told him. “I do it all the time and it doesn’t do any good.”
Andellen’s gaze clearly said then what does she mean by master? But he didn’t say the words aloud. Then again, Helen didn’t give him much time.
“An’Teela will be joining us shortly. I should warn you that the cohort is very loud at the moment. Would you like me to examine
Lord Nightshade?”
“If possible. I tried to do it—but my healing magic has been thoroughly blocked. Andellen thought Nightshade’s state might
be due to poison.” Poison, Kaylin was certain, she could deal with. But something had prevented any attempt at healing.
“Lord Andellen?” Helen asked, adding the requisite title she felt the guest deserved—and that Kaylin in particular should
be using.
“There was no obvious wound that would have caused the collapse. Kaylin has suggested, however, that she found no dart wound,
no way poison could be delivered. She believes that the poison, such as it is, is entirely magical in nature.”
Helen smiled. “Kaylin does not feel she has to mask or obscure her thoughts when she is in her own home. Or on its property. Come, enter. I can provide clothing, but it will not last when you step beyond my gates. The cohort, however, has physical clothing, and I am certain that they would be willing to gift it for your use in the current emergency.”
Severn didn’t accompany them into the house.
“You’re not coming in?”
“I have some research to do,” he replied. “The Halls of Law will almost certainly demand information about what occurred.”
“The Halls don’t interfere in the fiefs.”
“The Hawks don’t interfere in the fiefs. The fiefs don’t fall under legal jurisdiction—but the fiefs are an Imperial concern. News of
Nightshade’s possible assassination would be of great interest.”
“You want to talk to the Wolflord.”
“No. But I want access to information about the High Court. It might be a waste of time.” His tone implied the opposite.
Kaylin nodded. “Let me know if you find anything relevant.”
Severn turned and walked—quickly—away.
Helen had created rooms for Nightshade’s use. She’d probably had them ready to go before Annarion had crossed the threshold,
carrying the brother he both loved and hated. She didn’t insist that Andellen eat the moment he entered the house; he was,
given blood and damaged clothing, not yet fit for the dinner table.
She did ask him questions as they walked toward the new guest quarters, which were down the hall from the regular guest rooms.
Andellen answered her.
Kaylin, however, frowned. Or frowned differently; not much had happened today that didn’t deserve a frown. “You said you notify
Helen before you visit.”
Andellen nodded.
“Which means Nightshade wasn’t coming here.”
Andellen fell silent.
“Who were you meant to meet? Clearly whoever that person is—or was—information about that meeting was leaked to someone who
didn’t have your best interests at heart. You were the only person to attend Nightshade.”
Andellen nodded again, but the nod was stiffer.
One guard. One meeting, not held in the fiefs. Whoever Nightshade intended to meet couldn’t enter the fiefs openly. But the
intended meeting must have involved Barrani; there was no other way the Barrani war bands would be so ready for action. Only
one guard. Someone Nightshade had trusted, inasmuch as he ever trusted Barrani.
He didn’t usually bring Andellen on his visits to Helen.
Ynpharion showed surprising approval. Kaylin could feel it; it annoyed her, it was so condescending.
Anything I say is annoying, Chosen. Praise is condescending. Criticism is condescending.
“Helen?”
“Yes, dear. Are you certain you don’t wish to keep that channel open while you’re here? He is your only immediate conduit
to the Consort.”
Kaylin exhaled. “You’re right. Fine.”
Andellen had been silent throughout; Kaylin wasn’t certain he’d heard the conversation.
“He did. I believe his possible opinions to be of value. I understand that you expect my own expertise to be more critical,
but I am uncertain.”
“You don’t think it’s magical?”
“I do think it’s magical. But you must understand, Kaylin. When I reached the stage where I could choose my own tenants, how many
do you believe were sorcerers, mages, or Arcanists?”
“Zero.”
Helen nodded. “Magic is not like the study of history. It evolves. Arcanists constantly create new spells by combining old spells, by adding something to historical spells to shift and change the base nature of the magic they attempt to cast. The knowledge I have might prove valuable if you wish to untangle what was cast. But it is ancient, now. It may well be impossible without modern input, modern understanding.”
“Do you think we have the time to study and develop something new?”
“No,” Helen replied. “I do not.”