Harvest Moon

by Mercedes Lackey, Michelle Sagara

  Red flushed. Kaylin looked at her feet.

  Three hours later, the doors were finally opened to admit another stranger in dark robes. He was older than Ceridath, and he wore a very thick gold chain, from which an equally thick gold medallion hung. He didn’t look friendly—but at this point, no one in the room did. His beard was long and thin at the ends, and his hair was sparse, but what made him instantly unusual were two things: the color of his eyes and the way both of the Barrani lost any look of boredom.

  His eyes were almost the same gold that the Sergeant’s had been. But he was definitely not covered in fur and claws or fangs.

  “Lord Grammayre,” he said. “Ceridath.”

  Ceridath bowed.

  “The Magister evinced some concern at your request, Lord Grammayre. It is highly unusual, and it was not done through the proper—and more germane, discreet—channels.”

  “I did not think we had the luxury of time. Forgive me,” he added. “I did not realize they would appoint such an important member to the task.”

  “Ah. They did not. I am fond of my Imperial Order, and when I realized that the Magister was…flustered…I undertook the task on my own recognizance. Three candidates were proposed, but I felt, at this juncture, that absolute certainty—swift certainty—was essential.” He spoke to no one but Lord Grammayre; everyone else might have been furniture. Or worse.

  “I do not, however, have all day. Please, proceed.”

  Red, still invisible, walked over to the body that he had just covered. He removed the blanket himself.

  “Ceridath, you were responsible for the scan?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “And the analysis?”

  “Mine.”

  “Very well. If I recall correctly, your sensitivity to magical residual effects has always been considered your strength. It is among the strongest in the Imperial Order.” Ceridath nodded.

  “Is there anything you would like to say before I begin?”

  If there was, he couldn’t even manage a single syllable. It was the first time he’d looked less than icily composed or civilly furious. The new mage frowned, and his eyes began to shift color, moving from gold to bronze. “Ceridath,” he said, and this time his voice was a low rumble.

  Ceridath remained silent.

  The older mage turned to the exposed corpse. “Lord Grammayre, with your permission?”

  “Granted.”

  “Records. Secondary autopsy scan by Sanabalis of the Imperial Order of Mages. Note time and date.”

  “Noted.”

  Just as Ceridath had, Sanabalis began to cast. The movements he used were different; less fluid, to Kaylin’s eye. He didn’t speak, either. But he was doing something similar, because she felt the marks on her arms and legs begin to tingle. She braced herself, bit her lip, and remained silent when the tingling became painful. What failed to emerge this time were the runes that had risen like golden ghosts from the dead girl’s eyes.

  Teela walked over to where Kaylin stood, knees bent, lower lip between her teeth. “Well?”

  Kaylin shook her head as the older mage said, “I do not find anything remiss, Lord Grammayre.”

  Teela grimaced and said something almost incomprehensible under her breath. The tone, however, made it clear that it was a curse—just not in a language that Kaylin understood. The Barrani Hawk lifted her head. “Lord Sanabalis,” she said quietly, “is Ceridath’s grasp of the particulars of the spell greater than yours?”

  The older mage frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “The results of his spell, and the results of yours, differ.”

  “They do not,” Ceridath began.

  But Sanabalis lifted a hand. “In what way?”

  “I would have you cast either a different spell, or a more centralized one,” Teela replied, avoiding a direct answer. “Centralized where?”

  “The girl’s eyes.”

  He frowned. “What about her eyes?”

  “There is some residual magic there, and it is defined.”

  “I did not realize that you had spent any time in the Imperial Order, Corporal.”

  “Ah. I did not, of course. I spent some time dabbling in the early Arcanum, but I was not considered a promising student, and after some political turmoil, I was allowed to retire. But in my studies, there were different spells of detection; some required subtlety, and some did not. In this case, I believe that any spell was not cast to kill the child, and it was not cast on her corpse, which would make any traces hard to detect.”

  “Indeed. It is why the three mages seconded to the coroner are those who specifically specialize in such subtleties. But the request was made for a mage who does not regularly attend the Halls.”

  “The child was mortal,” Teela continued. “It is possible that your detections are not finely tuned toward things that change and decay even in life. Neither you nor I are mortal, after all.”

  The mage simply nodded. If he wasn’t mortal, Kaylin thought, what was he? “Your point is taken.” He turned back to the body and this time his spell—if this is what a spell looked like—took longer. The accompanying motion of hands was subtle and slow.

  Lord Grammayre glanced at Teela, and then at Kaylin, but he didn’t choose to speak. Teela, however, gently guided Kaylin closer to the corpse over which the mage labored. She kept herself between Kaylin and the mage, but she left a line of sight open.

  This time, after a much longer period of lip-biting pain, Kaylin saw the words begin to rise from the girl’s closed eyes. They weren’t solid, but they weren’t so complicated she couldn’t begin to see a shape and a pattern to them; the two glyphs were the same.

  Teela touched her shoulder lightly, and Kaylin nodded emphatically. But it wasn’t necessary; the mage’s eyes suddenly widened—and they went from bronze to a very fiery orange almost instantly.

  “There is something, then,” Lord Grammayre said softly, and with just a hint of relief.

  “There is,” was the low, low reply.

  “Is it strong enough to trace?”

  “It is strong enough for Ceridath to trace.” The words managed to be both heated and deathly cold at the same time. “Or he would have felt no need to lie about his findings.” He turned to Ceridath. “I believe your tenure here will not be as short as you planned. Lord Grammayre, place Ceridath under arrest.”

  The Hawklord nodded.

  “I will send for the Tha’alani.”

  Ceridath lifted an ashen face. “That won’t be necessary,” he said softly, and without much hope. Without the ice of defiance, he looked much older.

  “Given your actions here, any information you now willingly surrender will be suspect. I am disappointed, Ceridath.”

  “Yes. And I will pay for my treachery.” He straightened his shoulders; his breath was ragged, and when he exhaled, his shoulders once again sunk. He hadn’t otherwise moved.

  “Why did you lie?” Kaylin demanded.

  The Hawklord lifted a hand. “Kaylin, that will be enough.”

  “No—no it won’t. Look at him—he has everything. He obviously has money, he’s obviously respected. They had nothing, and even if he does die for this, it’ll be a clean death. None of these three got that. And you said there were more—”

  “Kaylin.”

  She knew it was stupid. It was more than stupid—it was dangerous. She didn’t know Elantra. She couldn’t trust the Hawks. She had no weapons, and even if she had, there were two Barrani here; she didn’t have a hope in a direct confrontation with even one. But all of her life—all of the life she could remember—she’d dreamed of crossing the bridge over the Ablayne River, of leaving the fiefs and arriving in the City, where things were safe.

  “Why?”

  Where it was safe to have friends and safe to love people because none of them would die. Not this way. Not this way, again. And maybe, a dark thought said, this is what she deserved; the life that she’d lived was hers no matter where she lived it. She shouted o
nce, wordless, in fury and denial and found herself a foot away from Ceridath.

  Ceridath met her eyes, his own as human and unchanging as hers, and said, “Because they have my granddaughter.” And he raised shaking hands to cover those eyes and his face.

  She stared at the fine, jade veins in those hands and the fury was instantly guttered. It left her feeling cold and empty, but that—she was used to that. His words were the only spoken words for several minutes.

  Lord Grammayre broke the silence. “Why,” he said softly, “did you not come to us?”

  The hands fell away. Ceridath looked at him, and then from him to the dead, and he said, “You couldn’t save them. How could I count on you to save her? She’s eight years old,” he added, closing his eyes again. “She’s eight, she’s been so sheltered—”

  “Do you know who has her?”

  “No. I know the message came keyed to my personal mirror—at home—and I haven’t been able to trace it. I didn’t try very hard. The first attempt was detected, and they—” He flinched. “She’s eight,” he said again.

  “What were you told to do?”

  “I was to make certain I would be sent to the Halls of Law today because they knew someone would be sent. I was to falsify reports if there was anything to be reported. I have a spotless record,” he added bitterly, “and my report would not be questioned.”

  “Did you recognize the signature you saw on the dead girl?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  The other mage lifted a hand; his eyes had dimmed from the fiery orange to something that was almost gold. “Have you been to any of the three sites?”

  “No. I was scheduled,” he added, “to attend the investigation into the third site this afternoon.”

  “At your request?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. It means there’s something to be detected there. I will send Farris.”

  “A fine choice. He has no family. No wife, no children. His mother is up the coast.” He hesitated again, and then squared his shoulders. “I have forfeited all rights, but nonetheless I ask that you allow me to communicate with my daughter.”

  “It’s her child?”

  “Yes.”

  Kaylin surprised herself now. “If you don’t go,” she told Ceridath, “they’ll kill her. If she’s even alive now.”

  “She’s alive for the moment.”

  “But they’ll kill—”

  “Yes.”

  Kaylin swallowed, wanting the anger and the confusion that had fled. Turning to Lord Grammayre, she said, “Let him come with us. Please.”

  He raised a brow. “With ‘us’?”

  Teela cleared her throat. “We’re due on-site this afternoon. I thought we’d take her with us. She could see some of the work the Hawks do, and it would keep her out of Caitlin’s hair. And frankly, a first introduction to the Hawks shouldn’t be a face full of angry Leontine, and he’s going to be in a mood when he hears about this.”

  The Hawklord frowned. “This was not exactly what I had in mind for Kaylin,” he finally said. “But you are correct in at least one thing—the Sergeant will be ill-pleased. Very well. But Teela? While I have no objections to her presence in this particular part of the investigation, you are to return her to—”

  “Caitlin at the end of the day in one piece.”

  He raised a pale brow.

  “She already handed us the memo when she dropped Kaylin off at the morgue.” She bent and whispered, “Caitlin is scarier, in the end.”

  Kaylin looked at the Barrani as if she were insane, which caused Tain to chuckle.

  “When you’re old enough, you’ll understand the joys of paperwork and reports. Caitlin can either expedite them or accidentally lose them. Or see that they’re sent to the wrong department entirely. If you need to piss off anyone in the department, avoid pissing off Caitlin.”

  “You are also to return Kaylin to the Halls if there is any sign of unforeseen difficulty, Teela. She hasn’t been trained, and even I am not willing to throw an untrained, unschooled girl into a conflict that involves magic and far too much money. Do I make myself clear?”

  “As glass, sir.”

  “Good.” He turned.

  “Wait!” Kaylin said, taking an anxious step forward. Teela caught her by the shoulder, and she shrugged the hand off.

  “While you are in transit, Corporal, I would appreciate if you explain explicitly the allowable forms of address, and the proper occasions for them.” The Hawklord’s voice defined the word icy.

  Ice clearly didn’t stop Kaylin. “What about the mage? Will you let him come—”

  The Hawklord now turned his back—which was basically large folded wings—toward her.

  “Lord Sanabalis. My apologies for the disruption of your day, and if you feel he will accept them, my apologies for my curt words with Magister Dreury.”

  This time, when Teela grabbed Kaylin’s shoulders, she held tightly; it’d leave bruises. “Hush, and listen,” she whispered.

  “I feel,” the Hawklord continued, as if there had been no interruption, “if we are to even attempt a facade for the sake of the mage’s grandchild, it is best that the results of your visit are not openly known. Whether or not you feel Ceridath deserves mercy or leeway, I must leave up to you. The addition of the second mage, however, is not optional.” He gestured and the doors slid open.

  Before Kaylin could hear the reply, Teela dragged her out of the room.

  “I absolutely forbid it.”

  Sergeant Kassan was not, as Teela had implied, happy. His eyes were a shade of unpleasant orange, but even if Caitlin hadn’t given warning, Kaylin would have known he was in a foul mood. The office was a lot quieter than it had been the previous day. But the silence was different. People were grimmer. The conversations that occurred were hushed, but not in a furtive way; there was no laughter. There were no smiles.

  “Word got here before we did,” Teela said to Tain.

  He shrugged. “I told you the Quartermaster was going to give you a hassle. She’s thirteen, Teela. He hates to equip half the Hawks on a good day, and they’re the Imperial version of legal.”

  “The Quartermaster mirrored,” the Sergeant added. “And it took five minutes to talk him off the ceiling. He has no intention of arming a child.”

  The child in question bristled, but managed to keep quiet, even though she knew how to wield a dagger.

  “We didn’t intend for him to arm her,” Teela explained. “But some sort of rudimentary armor—”

  “Which she would have no use for anywhere she’s going?”

  Teela grimaced. It looked lovely. “I don’t know how much Lord Grammayre told you, but…she was helpful, Marcus. She was even, in my opinion, necessary. No, she didn’t have to fight a mage, and no, she’s not expected to storm a blockade, but she didn’t have to do either.”

  “What, exactly, are you claiming she did?”

  “She saw something that the mage missed.”

  “Probably the nose in front of his damn face.” The Sergeant followed this with something that had a lot of r’s in it. “I don’t care if she saw the end of the world, Teela. I forbid it. She is not going on-site with you.”

  “What is she going to do instead? Shuffle paper? File? You know if she touches the files, Caitlin’s going to pull all her hair out, and human hair doesn’t grow back so easily. They won’t take her in Missing Persons—she’s too young, and the visitors who come there are already spooked enough they want authority figures.” She leaned over his desk, somehow avoiding the piles of paper there. “She’ll be with us. Nothing we’re likely to encounter is going through two Barrani to get to a child.”

  “Did I give the impression there was room for argument?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then why are you still here?”

  Teela nodded sharply and stepped away from the desk.

  Kaylin, silent until this moment, stepped forward. She couldn’t lean over the desk wit
hout sending the papers flying, and didn’t try—instead, she walked around its side to stand to the right of the chair the Sergeant was now filling. He watched her, his eyes bronze, his brows scrunched over them in recognizable confusion. “Yes?”

  “I want to go with them.”

  One brow rose, changing the lines of his facial fur. “And some people want to jump off high buildings.”

  “Yes, but they want to die. Or try flying, which is about the same thing if you don’t have wings. I don’t want to die.”

  “Then you don’t want to tag along with Barrani. Trust me.”

  She swallowed. “I don’t want to be with Barrani, no. But I want to go where they’re going.”

  A low growl began in his throat; she was afraid he’d open his mouth and it would emerge as a roar. But she stood her ground, lifting her chin as Caitlin had showed her, although it made it harder to talk. “I was in the morgue today. I was there when they uncovered one of the—the victims. Someone is killing them, and if I can help at all, even by accident, I want to help.”

  “Why?”

  She almost didn’t answer. Almost couldn’t. But silence wouldn’t help her here, and it certainly wouldn’t help anyone else. “Because helping is not what I did in my old life. And I want this life to be different.”

  He stared at her. His eyes hadn’t changed color, but he hadn’t roared yet either. “Go on.” He did fold his arms across his very broad chest, and she noticed that his claws were extended.

  “I couldn’t save anyone in the fiefs. I thought here no one would need saving.” She swallowed again, mouth dry. “So I was wrong about that, too. But…” She turned to look at Teela, who was waiting in silence. “I did help. No, I didn’t fight, and I wasn’t muscle. I didn’t make any threats. I couldn’t even understand half of what was said in the damn room. But I helped.

  “Teela thinks I’ll be useful at the site. She’s probably wrong. But I want to try. Because if you don’t find enough information, whoever’s been doing this will keep on doing it. More people will die.”

  “That’s not going to change one way or the other. You can be here or you can be there and it’s still true.”