Cast in Conflict

by Michelle Sagara

  If it weren’t for his eyes—obsidian, as Tara’s and Helen’s were when things were tense—he would have reminded her strongly of the Arkon. The Arkon had never been friendly to Kaylin, but there were degrees of unfriendliness; this would have been a good Arkon day, not a bad one.

  And she had to stop calling him that.

  “You really do,” the old man said, rising as they approached, his voice enclosed by an actual throat and mouth. “Arkon is a title; it is a function. I believe the former Arkon has chosen to undertake an entirely different responsibility.”

  “Did you know him?” she asked softly.

  The old man smiled. It was the whole of his answer. “Come,” he said. “Be seated wherever you feel comfortable. Ah, no,” he added, swiveling his head to look at Mandoran. “Be seated wherever I can comfortably speak with you.”

  “You can speak with me anywhere, clearly,” Mandoran replied.

  “Yes, but your companions can’t.”

  “For my part, I speak with him more than enough in daily life, so you needn’t be bothered on my account,” Bellusdeo said.

  The Dragon—the Tower—smiled. “It is entirely, as you all suspect, on my own account. I apologize,” he added, his voice grave, “for the manner of my first greeting. But I had to know.”

  He gestured. Kaylin, not Mandoran and not a Dragon, took a seat, as did Severn. Hope hopped down off her shoulder to sit beside her plate. Apparently he recognized some of the foods that had been laid out for them, and expected to be able to pick at some of them. As far as she knew, he didn’t really need to eat, so it was a waste.

  On the other hand, a cranky, loud familiar complaining in her ear was its own misery, so maybe it wasn’t.

  “What did you have to know?” Bellusdeo asked, voice pleasant, eyes the color of blood. She’d raised her inner membranes to mute the color, but it wasn’t going well. “That I failed? That all but a bare handful of my people were lost to Shadow and death? You might have asked. I would have told you.”

  “It is not a question one asks in polite company.”

  This caused Bellusdeo’s lips to quirk up in what might have been a smile, if smiles were dark and edged. “Were you perhaps under the impression that you were in polite company?”

  “At the moment, that is my hope. You must forgive me; I am very seldom host to guests who arrive here. Usually that is both the prerogative and the responsibility of my captain, or lord if you prefer.” His eyes didn’t darken, but they were obsidian.

  “Who is dead,” Bellusdeo replied, not giving a conversational inch, although she did take a seat. Emmerian, as Severn and Kaylin, had taken a seat immediately. Mandoran grimaced and pulled up a chair—scraping it across stones—beside the gold Dragon. It was where he often sat at breakfast.

  “Yes. You did not kill him.”

  “No. And I resent it.”

  The older Dragon nodded almost sagely. “You have questions.”

  “I do.”

  “I may not tender answers you like, or answers at all, but I will make the attempt.”

  “Why did you choose Candallar as lord?”

  “What you saw of him at his end was not all that he was,” the Tower replied, after a long pause. “What he was when he first arrived is not what he became. We—or perhaps, you and Lord Emmerian—are creatures of solitude except in the crèche and in times of war. It is effort to live with too many in one space, and it does not always bring out the best in us. I am amazed that you have managed.”

  Kaylin knew why.

  And Kaylin knew Karriamis knew it as well. She almost rose.

  “It is difficult to have contested hoards; I am certain you will have been taught these lessons.”

  She nodded.

  “Barrani are not driven by the same imperative, the same biological frenzy. They are social creatures by nature. Candallar was. He was driven out of his home, and he came in desperation to my Tower at a time when it was convenient for me.”

  “Is it true,” Kaylin asked, before Bellusdeo could, “that you allowed a guest of Candallar’s to pass through the Ravellon barrier and bring a Shadow back with him?”

  14

  The very clear, blue skies above this artificial garden darkened.

  “You are correct,” Karriamis said, to Bellusdeo. “My assumption about polite company was clearly an overabundance of optimism.”

  Bellusdeo’s face would have cracked had she smiled; the question Kaylin had asked was the heart of her concern. Kaylin realized, watching her, that although the gold Dragon had seriously considered captaining a Tower—this one—the reason she’d come here was to ascertain that the Tower itself hadn’t been dangerously corrupted.

  This world wasn’t the world she’d ruled at the end, but she’d been born here, and if she had a home—if she could make herself a home—it was here. What had happened to her people on their world must never happen here.

  The Avatar of the Tower met and held Bellusdeo’s gaze. “I did allow it.”

  “Why?” It was Kaylin who spoke; Bellusdeo said nothing.

  “Candallar had done, for me, a great favor, and my thoughts were turned towards that favor, and the possible outcomes of it.”

  “You were willing to risk Shadow infiltration for those outcomes? Why did you volunteer for these responsibilities in the first place?”

  “I understood the danger Shadow presents.”

  “And yet you allowed this? We don’t know enough to—” Kaylin stopped, snapping her mouth shut over words she might be unable to easily retract.

  “I would tell you not to interrupt me, but you are deliberately choosing to keep the words to yourself. You think, however, very loudly.

  “We do not know enough, yes. But in our ignorance, in the risks we take, we have changed the constitution of the High Halls, and returned to that building the capacity for defense that was thought to be lost at the dawn of the long wars between our people and yours.” This last, he directed to Mandoran.

  “It is often considered crucial in times of war not to see one’s enemies as people. But I will note that, according to Kaylin, those who were combatants in time of war greet former enemies as if they are comrades. Your Teela, your Nightshade, your former Arkon. Death lies between them all, but those deaths no longer define them. Causing death is no longer their reason for interaction.

  “You are at war,” he continued, watching Bellusdeo. “And I understand, now, the reason for its continuation. But Spike—that is the name you gave them, yes?” When Kaylin nodded, he once again turned his focus to Bellusdeo. “Spike, in the end, was freed. I believe it was through the efforts of your Terrano,” he added, obviously to Mandoran, although he didn’t look away from Bellusdeo. “But it may well have been through the combination of Terrano’s effort and the effort of your Chosen.

  “Regardless, the outcome was positive.”

  “That wasn’t your intent.” Kaylin’s eyes narrowed.

  “My intent, as you must suspect, was to save the Academia. And Candallar’s work to bring students to the Academia gave Killianas just enough power that the Academia could, finally, leave the stasis in which it’s been trapped. Much of my power, and much of my thought, has turned to the Academia of late.”

  “Candallar’s effort was to kidnap people and toss them into what was basically a prison,” Kaylin snapped.

  “And yet there are students there who considered it a blessing. As you yourself thought you once might.”

  Leave, Nightshade said quietly. This Tower is far more of a danger than your Helen. What Helen wanted was the patina of domesticity—

  That is not what Helen wanted. It’s not what she wants now.

  —but Karriamis is not Helen. He knows far, far too much; you have not consciously been thinking of all of these things during your visit. What he has read is deeper than even what the
Hallionne would read. He is dangerous, Kaylin. Do not remain.

  Kaylin didn’t reply. No answer she could give wouldn’t cause a deepening of the argument; she wasn’t leaving without Bellusdeo, and Bellusdeo wasn’t leaving.

  “The Academia is awake, and it grows stronger as the chancellor finds those students from whom the very institution draws life and power. And no, Corporal, the Academia is not feeding on them. As the Academia grows stronger, much less of my power is required to stabilize it. I am content.”

  “Is that your way of saying that you’re not going to let the next fieflord fish Shadows out of Ravellon?”

  His eyes were now orange-red, rather than the obsidian they had originally been; it was a Dragon warning.

  But...Kaylin felt she had to ask, because Bellusdeo couldn’t. And in the end, Bellusdeo lived with her. They were friends.

  “In a fashion, yes. But consider this, and consider it carefully. Spike did not choose his captivity or his enslavement. No more did Bellusdeo, hers.”

  Silence.

  Bellusdeo had come out of Ravellon. Just as Spike had.

  “They are both free, and I cannot imagine that their freedom is not more preferable—for all of us—than their enslavement was. You think of all Shadow as one will. Even if experience has now taught you more, you are still wed to that mode of considering a war. You will take no risks, or rather, would counsel that none of us do.”

  Kaylin hesitated. She was now in territory that Bellusdeo herself would barely acknowledge and would not consider; she couldn’t speak for the Dragon here, couldn’t speak in her stead. “The cost of a mistake...”

  “Yes. That is fear speaking. Fear is, with the correct mix of experience and knowledge, the foundation of caution, and caution is admirable. But tell me, Chosen, did you not have this very argument with the Consort of the Barrani?”

  “No?”

  “Ah, perhaps the term Shadow is confusing you. Let me say, instead, the Devourer.”

  Kaylin looked down at her food as all appetite deserted her. “Oh. That.”

  Karriamis’s eyes had shaded toward gold as he chuckled. “I see them as fundamentally the same. Bellusdeo does not. It was the remnants of her people that you saved. But the risk was as large as the risk of unknown Shadow: the loss of an entire world.”

  He then turned to Bellusdeo. “Or is it different for you because you have, and have had, a vested interest in the outcome?”

  “I wasn’t aware of the struggle at the time.”

  “Ah, no, forgive me. Bellusdeo does not and would not fault the Consort for her decision or her anger. Had you been mistaken, this world would be gone. I personally believe the Consort was correct; the risk was too high. And yet, again, the outcome is desirable. It is certainly desirable for my people. It is not a risk I would have taken. It is not a risk the Consort could take. And I believe that it is not a risk Bellusdeo herself would condone.

  “Would you change what you did?”

  Kaylin shook her head.

  “It is a combination of risk and belief that allows such changes to happen. When they do not work well, it’s considered an act of dangerous idealism, dangerous naivete after the fact. But without it, I feel that too little would change, and whole new avenues of existence would never be explored or brought to light.”

  “That’s not why you let him leave the border zone with a Shadow in his hands.”

  “They were not in his hands. Perhaps, however, you do not understand the function of your Spike prior to the fall of worlds. Spike would have been at home as an Arbiter in the Academia. They would have been at home—more than at home—as one of the experts and scholars who dwelled there. In the fullness of time, I believe they may apply to do just that. I believe your Robin would be delighted.”

  Nightshade was right. This Tower was dangerous in a way the other sentient buildings were not. His advice—to leave immediately—was going to be difficult to follow without the building’s permission.

  Karriamis chose not to comment on that. “Spike was a historian. A recorder of truths and events.”

  “Wait—how do you know this?”

  Karriamis said nothing.

  Bellusdeo, however, said, “Did you know Spike?”

  “I knew of Spike’s people—they were, like Starrante’s, few.”

  But the gold Dragon shook her head. “You thought you recognized him.”

  “Enslaved as he was? How would that be possible?”

  “You tell us. I will concede your points: Spike was enslaved. When freed from that enslavement, that control, he was helpful.” She exhaled. “He was more than helpful. And I, too, was enslaved for years beyond count. But I was not of the Shadow, and I believe Spike was.”

  “Both Spike and Starrante’s people require certain environments in which to thrive, yes. But you speak of Shadow as if it is one thing.” He held up a hand before she could breathe flame. “And those who are enslaved by it become part of it. It drives their thoughts, their desires, their intent. Do you understand, you who spent so much time in its thrall, what Shadow is?”

  “No.”

  “A pity. And a further pity that I cannot visit the High Halls in person to ask the question of those who might have a broader perspective. But Spike—honestly, I am trying not to find the name offensively dismissive—was, if I am not mistaken, instrumental in your escape from the West March. You have seen what Spike is capable of, and you have seen it put to a use of which you must approve.”

  “The most dangerous incursions are always the subtle ones.”

  “Indeed. But if, as a people, we assume that nothing changes—”

  “The very nature of Shadow is change.”

  “—then we make assumptions that can be harmful to both our own development and our defenses. If you demand, of a Tower, that rigidity, you have failed to understand the nature of Towers.”

  “She has not,” Kaylin snapped.

  “Oh?”

  “Tara would never, ever take that risk. And Tiamaris wouldn’t ask it.”

  “Ah. Perhaps you think all sentient buildings are somehow the same? That the beings who agreed to become their heart or part of their core become so uniform you cannot tell one apart from the other?” He snorted smoke, exactly the way the former Arkon would have.

  “Candallar did not command me.” He rose and turned to Bellusdeo. “Had he tried, he would have been reduced to less than ash. I understand my own duties, my own responsibilities. But it has long been my belief that knowledge is essential, that new knowledge sheds light on the incomplete knowledge it replaces.

  “It is the reason I wished to preserve the Academia in whatever small fashion I could. It is in the Academia that the library can be reached.”

  “Candallar was your captain, but he did not command you.”

  “Yes. Does Kaylin command Helen?”

  “Yes, in her own particular fashion.” Bellusdeo exhaled. “And no, as it is clear you must know. Kaylin is her tenant. If Kaylin commanded Helen, I believe Helen would be forced to obey—but that is inferred. It is not a proven or known fact.”

  “I don’t think she would be forced to obey,” Mandoran said.

  “Helen has implied that she would.”

  “She’s just being polite. Look—she damaged herself enough that she doesn’t even have all of her memories. She did this because she wanted the freedom of choice. And apparently the freedom of choice means she chooses mortals as lords, and offers them a home until age kills them. But she doesn’t need a tenant; there was a long gap, in mortal time, between her prior tenant and Kaylin.

  “She wouldn’t take a tenant who would command her to do things against her will. And Kaylin’s garbage at hiding her thoughts, so she’d absolutely know.”

  “You are not much better, young man,” Karriamis said, voice stern, eyes far less orang
e.

  Mandoran shrugged. “I don’t care. You can’t keep me trapped here if I want to leave. You can possibly kill me—” He winced, no doubt at something Sedarias was saying. Or shouting.

  “Let us not talk of killing. You are not interested in becoming a Tower’s partner.”

  “So you only attempt to kill or injure those who are?”

  “Any injuries you have suffered since you entered my domain were not caused by me.”

  Mandoran’s eyes went indigo. Kaylin opened her mouth, but Bellusdeo reached out and placed a hand very gently on Mandoran’s arm. “My biggest regret is not that I didn’t injure you,” she said, head tilted slightly, “but that I will never be allowed to forget or live it down.”

  Mandoran’s eyes lightened almost instantly as he laughed. So did Bellusdeo’s.

  “I’ll let you take this from here,” Mandoran told her.

  She raised one brow.

  “I’ll do my best to let you take this from here?”

  “More accurate, unfortunately.”

  Karriamis gestured at the food on the table—food that Kaylin and Severn had been eating. “While I will not say that the food will be wasted when the starving might appreciate it, it would be a pity if you failed to avail yourself of my hospitality.”

  Kaylin was severely underimpressed by the Tower’s hospitality, but struggled not to put it into words. Yes, the Tower would know—but Mandoran and Bellusdeo wouldn’t.

  Karriamis snorted in her direction before turning, once again, to Bellusdeo. “Your rage and pain are dangerous. Were that rage and pain aimed only at Shadow, this would be a survivable flaw, at least among our kin. But strands of that anger threaten to overwhelm what would otherwise be pragmatism or common sense.”

  “That’s not true,” Kaylin snapped. Mandoran got his arm patted; Kaylin got a warning glare. Sometimes life sucked. “No, I’m not going to stop talking.”

  “Talking isn’t a requirement.”

  “It is if he’s making statements like that.”

  “My rage and pain are dangerous.”

  “You can control it—you’ve done it before. You did it with Gilbert. You did it with Spike. You weren’t happy about it, but you didn’t blast the rest of us into ash and you didn’t try to hurt either of them.” Her eyes narrowed as she turned to Karriamis, who was watching with interest. And amusement.