Part 38 (2/2)
Kaylin nodded. The sword, however, snickered. Easy for the sword; as far as Kaylin could tell, the sword itself was never the one at risk. But in all the stories about magical weapons-magical intelligent weapons-that Kaylin had ever heard, none of the weapons had been reported to display an ounce of humor. She'd never really noticed before. Now probably wasn't the time to start, either, but as she'd pretty much given up on anything but not falling flat on her face, she had the time.
Maggaron kept pace with her, flanking her on the right. Severn remained on her left, his gaze continuing to dart from street to windows and back. The streets widened as they approached the border. They approached it at an angle; the Norannir encampment, such as it was, was farther to the right. But the watchtowers that were the first thing Tiamaris had insisted on reconstructing, given the fall of the previous ones, were mostly manned by the Norannir. The Norannir didn't like them-they clearly didn't like being that far off solid ground-but they knew how to sound alarms when necessary, and even if they hadn't, they could make themselves heard for miles. They all had voices like seasoned Swords.
Chosen, the sword said. Kaylin nearly jumped out of her own skin.
Have you been listening to everything?
I have. We are close. Will you risk giving me to Maggaron once again?
Kaylin hesitated. We're going to have to play that by ear, she finally said.
What does that mean?
I'll decide when we get there.
We are almost there. Can you see or feel it? the sword asked, sounding almost hopeful.
It? Do you mean her? Kaylin looked up as the sword's pull on her hand-h.e.l.ls, her whole arm-eased.
No.
Kaylin swore. The Dragons, who had been following at a safe distance, did what she a.s.sumed was the Dragon equivalent of the same thing; it was certainly louder.
Yes, Kaylin told the sword. I can see it.
In the street of the fief-Collande, if she remembered the name correctly-a miniature cloud had formed. Sadly, that description was literal.
CHAPTER 20.
”Tara!” Kaylin pivoted, sword in hand, in the direction of the Avatar. Like something emerging from a coc.o.o.n, familiar wings erupted from the Avatar's back, moving at a speed that implied danger for even the air around them. They were wide and high, but Tara remained on the ground for the moment.
”It is not,” she said, her voice resonating as if it were a Dragon's, ”a Shadowstorm.”
Given that she was now wearing armor that was every bit as dark as her wings and her eyes, Kaylin inferred that Shadowstorm or no, Tara didn't a.s.sume it was safe.
”It is not safe,” Tara said, as if she could-this far from the base of her power-still read Kaylin's thoughts. ”Storms-ancient storms-bring change, transformation, and often, death.”
But Kaylin, sword in hand, stepped toward the cloud. ”They also,” she said quietly as she pa.s.sed the Avatar, ”brought me to you when you first woke. And brought me back.”
”You are not afraid?”
Kaylin lifted her arms; the runes on them were glowing brightly. But the blue had taken on shades of the roiling grays and silvers that comprised the cloud itself. The buildings beyond the barrier of ground-level clouds were dim and hazy.
”Where do you think it will take you?” Tara asked. Both the Arkon and Sanabalis had fallen completely silent. Kaylin was grateful for the silence, although she thought it was probably a bad sign.
”Not me,” Kaylin replied softly. ”I don't think this storm is for me.” She called Maggaron forward, and silent, he came. He was shaking. On the other hand, so was the ground.
”Private,” the Arkon said, his voice as deep and rumbling as the movement of stones. ”Does the sword speak to you now?”
”Not in so many words.”
”What are you being instructed to do?”
”Stand my ground.”
”And wait?”
Kaylin glanced at Severn. ”And wait,” she said in exactly the wrong tone of voice. Severn immediately began to unwind the weapon chain from around his waist.
”Where is the danger coming from?” he asked.
She glanced up, past Maggaron's shoulders, toward a sky that was becoming shades of gray. Severn, to his credit, didn't wince; instead, he became grim and remote. He understood what she feared.
”It is good to know,” the Arkon said in a loud and brittle voice, ”that the mortals who serve the Emperor's Law with such dedication are so optimistic. That that level of optimism implies insanity is less of a boon. Lord Sanabalis?”
Sanabalis turned not to the Arkon but to the Avatar. ”Lady,” he said gravely. ”I request that you inform your Lord of our situation.”
”He is now aware,” was the remote reply. ”And he has left the evening defense of the fief in the hands of Morse. He will join us shortly.”
”Will he grant us his permission to a.s.sume our native forms?”
”Given the gravity of the circ.u.mstances, yes. He asks me to remind you both,” she added, her voice sliding into the quieter, normal range, ”that the Emperor himself has granted dispensation for the breaking of the prohibition where the Outcaste is involved.”
Sanabalis stood back from the group. He grimaced, raised a brow in Kaylin's direction, and then turned his back on her. She understood why when he began to disrobe.
”The clothing doesn't survive the transformation,” the Arkon told her. ”And we have some time. That is generally not the case when we are required, by circ.u.mstance, to a.s.sume the stronger form.”
”Doesn't the Imperial Court cover the costs of lost robes?”
”Of course it does-but the money has to come from somewhere. And at the moment,” he added, his eyes narrowing, ”the exact amount of money left for such trivial affairs is in question. I a.s.sume the Hawks have made no forward progress?”
Kaylin tried not to bristle. ”I don't know, Arkon. I'm not part of that investigation, and the information concerning it is given out strictly on a need-to-know basis.”
”How surprising.”
Before he could say any more, Kaylin took the career risk of cutting him off. ”Can I point out-with all due respect-that this is perhaps not the time for this discussion?”
”The day you are even capable of all respect that is due is the day that Lord Diarmat decides you are ready to graduate. I do not,” he added, in case it was necessary, ”think that will happen any time soon.” His eyes were a pale shade of orange-red, which was odd, given the color of Sanabalis's. ”It is my attempt at gallows humor, Private. I hear that mortals are fascinated with humor in difficult situations.
”Sanabalis, are you finished?”
The answer was a roar. Sanabalis stood dead center in the street, his wings folded across his long, long back. He was gray, perhaps a shade darker than he had been the last time she'd seen him take this form-but something in the ambient light made that gray glitter like silver.
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