Or to Candallar’s, apparently.
Bellusdeo’s hand twitched. “Tell him to turn back,” she said.
Karriamis did not reply.
Bellusdeo turned. The Avatar was no longer in the room. Kaylin had enough warning to clap her hands over her ears as the gold Dragon roared.
There was no answering roar. But the stairs had apparently vanished with the Tower’s Avatar. Kaylin kept her hands firmly in place while Bellusdeo roared in outrage; she thought she could hear Leontine roll over her shaking hands.
* * *
The problem with angry Dragons was their size. While size didn’t necessarily imply strength, in the case of Dragons, it didn’t matter; the subtleties of stronger or weaker were only relevant to other Dragons. Kaylin had no physical way of restraining Bellusdeo if she chose to go full Dragon.
There was enough room in the Tower that she could, and Kaylin suffered no illusion; she moved away as Bellusdeo’s physical form began to shiver in place.
She had words. “Don’t! It’s you he wants! It’s always been you he wants!”
Bellusdeo’s roar was caught between a mortal throat and the expanding depth of a Dragon’s. Kaylin lost voice for a moment as Emmerian’s breath lit the sky with a cone of fire. Most of the Aerians were flexible enough—fast enough—to drop or rise to avoid the flame’s heat; the heart of the fire was met with...fire. The outcaste’s fire.
It was red and purple, to red and orange, but the core of both cones was almost white.
A glint of sword could be seen, but Teela hadn’t summoned the power of the blade, not yet.
From the ground, however, Nightshade did. Lightning leaped up, and up again, clipping the outcaste’s wing before he could withdraw it; he was pinned in place by Emmerian’s fire and his own. Four of the Aerians peeled off instantly.
Kaylin had watched Aerian maneuvers at every opportunity during her tenure at the Halls of Law. She was impressed. They moved as one; even the fold of wings as they dived was synchronized. They were armed, although the Aerians could do a great deal of damage with their wings.
Nightshade’s experience with flying enemies was largely draconic. He backed into an alley made of the buildings the cohort had not yet emptied. She saw a glint of flying blades; Severn had unhooked his weapons and set the chain spinning. Never a good sign.
She turned; the single advantage of Bellusdeo’s almost transition was that she’d been forced to let Kaylin’s shoulder go. Kaylin went immediately in search of the damn stairs. “Karriamis, you son of a—”
“I would not say that, were I you,” the disembodied Dragon said. “I understand that you are not responsible for your thoughts, and I therefore tolerate a certain lack of necessary respect.”
“Respect is earned.”
“Respect is a necessary element of survival.”
“What are you even doing? Where did the damn stairs go?”
“I am waiting,” he replied, in a tone that the Arkon—the former Arkon—might have used.
“For what?”
“She was Empress. Queen, if you will. She ruled. It is hard, watching her reactions, to understand this, or even to believe it; I believe it because I have seen some of her memories.”
If Karriamis were in front of her now, Kaylin wasn’t certain she wouldn’t have tried to stab him.
“Yes. You might. I would not, however, kill you in response. You fail to understand what she was—you see what she is, what’s left in the wake of loss. I wish to see some proof that what she was has not been utterly destroyed by loss.”
“Why?”
“Because she is, regardless, the future of her race. She has just commanded Tiamaris to withdraw.”
As if she could hear Karriamis, Bellusdeo once again resumed her human form; the lines of transformation that blurred body and allowed for the change had once again hardened. Her back was to Kaylin, her gaze on the sky itself.
Tiamaris, however, was now hovering.
“Why does she want him to go away? The outcaste is a danger to all of you.”
“You refers to the Towers?”
Kaylin nodded.
“She understands that his power is in part dependent on the power of his Tower—and he will not have that, here. She is not wrong, in my opinion.”
“She didn’t tell Nightshade to go away.”
“No. Nightshade, however, has been fieflord for centuries; Tiamaris for less than a year. Lord Nightshade understands the limitations of the Tower’s power and his own. And he wields one of The Three. To Bellusdeo—perhaps incorrectly—the weight of The Three is almost mythic; it dwarfs the weight of the Tower.
“She also understands that Lord Nightshade will simply fail to hear her; Tiamaris will not.”
Probably why she hadn’t told the cohort to get lost, as well.
“Ah, no. That is different. She acknowledges Sedarias as the leader of their flight. The analogy is not perfect, but it is surprisingly solid. Sedarias is ally, here, but allies control their own forces; they do not obey. She has not joined her friends,” he added.
“Is that why you kept me here?”
“No. Had you chosen to depart with Emmerian, I would not have stopped you. But I told Bellusdeo—you were there, and mortal memory is not that inefficient—that she had chosen her friends well. You are one of them. But the cohort in concert is another.”
“And Emmerian?”
“He is too young,” Karriamis said, in a familiar—and annoying—tone of voice. “He would not be my choice, were I to be given one—but it is not my choice. It is not, as you discovered, entirely hers, either. The weight he commits to carry, however, he will carry; he sees her clearly.”
“And Bellusdeo?”
“She has made no choices,” he replied. “Since her arrival, she has made no choices. Yes, yes,” he said, as Kaylin opened her mouth. “She chose to come here. But she was drifting, Lord Kaylin. It made sense to her that she become captain of this Tower, her hatred of Shadow is so strong. She was looking for a... I do not have the word for it. She felt that our purpose would match exactly, and there would be no conflict.”
Kaylin snorted.
“Respect, remember. Even coming here was not a choice; she drifted on currents of events. But now? Now, Chosen, she makes a choice.”
She was just standing in the window.
“Yes. She can leave at any moment she desires to leave.”
“Does she fail, if she leaves?”
“Fail?”
“Your stupid test.”
“Mortals are clearly cut from different cloth than they once were. And the answer is, it depends. I can feel her rage and fury from anywhere in the Tower, it is so visceral, so loud. The outcaste betrayed her,” he added, the words softer. “She trusted him, in a long-ago world; that world is gone, and she will never trust again.
“Nor should she. But she ruled. And a ruler cannot be ruled by hatred; it is almost as bad as fear.”
“You’ve said she’s not in command of the cohort. She’s certainly not in command of the Dragons, and if she had any ability to tell you what to do...”
“Yes?”
Respect, she thought. “She’s not the ruler here. She doesn’t exactly have an army; she doesn’t have a squadron. She’s—”
“Tiamaris has withdrawn, at her command. You do not understand our tongue, and that is fair—but it was a command, not a request.”
Bellusdeo roared again. This time, there was less rage in the voice, but more volume. Emmerian veered instantly to the left as spears of shadow skittered off his flank. The outcaste’s fire wouldn’t hurt him.
“You are wrong,” Karriamis said, in an entirely different tone. “And now, you will stop speaking.”
He was gone.
* * *
Bellusdeo once again began to shimmer
in place, but this time, she was silent.
Emmerian was not; the outcaste’s fire clipped his right wing, and the wing burned; the fire seemed to cling to it. The blue Dragon shifted, mobility now impaired; Kaylin could see the flash of light, of blade, of something that might have been lightning if lightning moved in circles.
From the right, the Aerians—the shadows—moved. Teela’s lightning struck all but one from the air; the one did not skitter off Emmerian’s side, but pierced it.
“Kaylin,” Bellusdeo said, voice a rumble of sound, a distant thunder to Teela’s lightning, “climb.”
Outside was where Kaylin wanted to be; she instantly climbed up the gold Dragon’s back. She didn’t know what kind of test Karriamis intended this to be; she had no idea if, by making this decision, Bellusdeo was failing, or had failed. She didn’t much care, because Bellusdeo didn’t.
But as she settled on a back that wasn’t really meant for riding—not that Kaylin had mastered horses, either, although her initial attempts had amused the hell out of the Swords—she heard a very familiar voice. It was raised in a cry of pain or warning, and it guttered in the middle like a doused candle’s flame.
She tightened her legs, head bent to break the wind, and shouted a name as Bellusdeo leaped through a window that served as portal.
“Mandoran!”
* * *
He’s alive, Severn said, before the bulk of the gold Dragon had cleared the window. Sedarias says he’s alive.
What the hell hit him? I didn’t even see him!
The Aerians. Sedarias says they’re phased—what we see isn’t all that’s there. The parts we can’t see are growing. I don’t think they could have left Ravellon had they been what they are now. But now is what we’re facing.
If she’d remained in the Tower, she was certain she would strangle the damn Avatar, she was so angry. “Hope!”
Her familiar came instantly to her shoulder and lifted a wing to cover both of her eyes.
With Hope’s wing in place, she saw what Sedarias meant. For one, the Shadow that rode them was larger—taller, certainly, but also longer; it extended past the natural length of their wings, and it lengthened in tendrils from all four of their limbs.
The spears that she’d seen thrown were...still attached to their bearers, even after they’d unleashed them. Nor did they seem to have only one—the spears seemed to grow and solidify from the shadows that surrounded the Aerians, like a slow refill.
She turned in the direction Mandoran’s voice had come from—but it was harder to see past Bellusdeo’s head and neck, as Bellusdeo had immediately leaped toward the cutoff scream.
“Move over,” Terrano said.
She could see him clearly with the aid of Hope’s wing. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to help the idiot before he gets cut in half.” He raised his voice. “Bellusdeo—when I ask, give me five seconds of cover. I need you stay in one spot when I shout ‘stop.’”
She didn’t ask him why.
What Bellusdeo could see was clearly not what Terrano—or Kaylin, vision augmented by translucent wing—could see. What she couldn’t see at all, even with Hope’s wing, was Mandoran. She couldn’t hear him, either.
“Relax,” Terrano shouted in her ear. “He’s still alive.”
“Where?”
“We’re about to find out. Stop!”
Terrano jumped off the Dragon’s back.
“He better know what he’s doing,” Kaylin said—before she, too, came off the Dragon’s back. Bellusdeo hadn’t moved. Terrano had.
This time, Kaylin did shriek—but in Leontine.
“I need my ears—bad enough all the Dragons are shouting in their native tongue. Pay attention; I don’t think we’re going to have long.”
“To do what?”
“Grab the idiot.”
“I can’t even see the idiot!”
“That’s harsh,” a familiar voice said. Mandoran. Free of Bellusdeo’s back—or the large parts of her body that weren’t transparent—Kaylin could finally see Mandoran.
Terrano had wrapped both arms around her midriff; he was holding her tightly enough it was almost difficult to breathe. On the other hand, down was a long way away. Her arms were free; she could see Mandoran, but only barely, even with Hope’s wing plastered to her face. He was almost the storybook definition of a ghost, and she could only see his upper body. The rest was enmeshed in the overlapping strands of Aerian-carried Shadow.
“Why is it always me?” Mandoran asked, the words almost, but not quite, a whine.
“It’s not always you,” Kaylin snapped.
“It was in the Aerie.”
“True.” She reached out for his arm. Her hand passed through it. She cursed.
“Impressive,” Mandoran said, grimacing. This close, she could see that he was in pain. “Sedarias is starting to tilt.”
“Tilt?”
“Over the edge—I don’t want to rush you, but can we get me out of here before she falls off it?”
Shadow spears flew toward where Kaylin and Terrano now hovered. Toward, Kaylin realized, Bellusdeo, who remained in position just as Terrano had asked. She spared one quick glance, saw the body of the outcaste grow larger as he approached, and turned all of her attention back to Mandoran.
And then she closed her eyes.
* * *
She could see her marks clearly, as she’d always done with closed eyes. They were glowing with a gray, steady light; none had risen. None would rise.
Her skin was the same luminous gray as the marks, as if they were all of a thing. She could see her skin. Mandoran had said that this was her way of phasing; this was her paradigm. She accepted that, although she had a few questions about seeing her own skin when her eyes were closed.
She let that go, because one of her hands was not gray—or not entirely gray. It was covered in what looked like a badly made lace glove. This was Shadow, as Karriamis had divined, but it was like...dead Shadow? Shadow separated from whatever force controlled Shadows from Ravellon.
And it was what she needed. She reached out for Mandoran with the gloved hand. His hand, beneath the glove, was solid. When she reached out with her right hand, it wasn’t.
“We’re running out of time,” Terrano said. His voice was audible; the rest of him was invisible. She didn’t open her eyes. If Terrano wasn’t precisely where Mandoran—and Kaylin herself—were, so much the better.
“I’m trying.”
“What exactly are you trying?”
“Can you see him?”
“Yes.”
“Can you touch him?”
“No, duh. Look—we need to pull him out of there before—”
She almost lost Mandoran. She’d gripped his hand, his fingers interlocked with hers. If Terrano hadn’t been holding on to her so tightly, she would have fallen; Mandoran suddenly gained weight. She met his eyes; they were entirely black, and the flecks of livid color they contained were both familiar and almost terrifying.
She tightened her grip as she lost feeling in the one hand that Mandoran could actually grasp; she was surprised she hadn’t dislocated her arm. She opened her eyes.
Kaylin was grateful that Mandoran was holding on so tightly. What she held with her left hand, she could now see. None of it looked like Mandoran. Not even through Hope’s wing.
“Tell the rest of the cohort what’s happening here—they mustn’t close in combat!”
“We didn’t—”
“Let the others handle it!”
“Kaylin?” Bellusdeo said, voice a rumble.
“It’s all Shadow,” she snapped. “Something’s grabbed Mandoran and I’m trying to—to pull him out.”
“What? What’s grabbed him?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure if he caught a spear—”
“I’m not deaf,” Mandoran said. His voice was slurred, difficult to hear; there was an odd echo to the words.
“Fine—you tell us. Just don’t let go.” She closed her eyes again. Eyes closed, she could see Mandoran, or at least the top half of him; the rest was enveloped in something. To Kaylin’s eyes, that something didn’t have the visual characteristics of Shadow, not here; eyes opened, it was Mandoran himself who looked like he was slowly transforming, or slowly being transformed.
She prayed as loudly as possible that Bellusdeo couldn’t see him. Mandoran in this state might be able to survive Dragon breath; she was almost certain it would pass harmlessly through him.
Kaylin was more certain that that wasn’t going to be true of either her or Terrano.
Free me. Kaylin blinked. Kill me.
The voice sounded like Mandoran’s; the words overlapped each other. She could pick apart overlapping sentences when she was in the middle of a crowd that might, at any moment, transform into a mob, and she applied that training now.
“Say that again,” she told Mandoran.
“Say what?” Terrano shouted in her ear.
“Not you—Mandoran, say that again.”
“Say what?”
She wanted to shriek. The pressure of time was becoming an almost unbearable weight—worse, by far, than Mandoran. Her hand was numb. Mandoran’s voice, wrapped around the same two words Terrano had spoken, was once again an odd, echoing sound, filled with words that he hadn’t spoken.
Words.
Language.
She understood them. She understood them because both Terrano and Mandoran were speaking her mother tongue. But the overlapping words, the eddies, the echoes...weren’t Elantran.
Free me.
Kill me.
The words were clearer. The texture was clearer. They weren’t Elantran. She couldn’t identify the language—but she understood it. Understood, in the end, what it must be. She wasn’t surprised when the skin on her arms, her legs, her back, began to tingle.
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