Cast in Honor

by Michelle Sagara

  “If you didn’t open the door and Gilbert was busy, how did they get in?”

  “They came around the back and kicked the door in. I woke Gilbert up,” she added, “when I heard the back door. It took them a while.”

  “Gilbert doesn’t sound like he was fully awake.”

  Kattea’s snort was not particularly delicate. “He was awake enough to talk.”

  “What did they want?”

  “Mostly? I think they wanted to kill Gilbert.”

  The three corpses, such as they were, had been invisible when viewed through the wing of her familiar. They had, however, been examined by Red—and by Hawks who had seen enough death to be able to recognize it.

  “I meant to leave you both with Helen, where you’re safe. But I think we need to visit the Winding Path. I need you to look at the three bodies.”

  Two days. Two days, she’d slept. “Next time,” she said to her partner, “wake me up.”

  * * *

  Annarion and Mandoran chose to remain with Helen. Given the look on Mandoran’s face, “chose” was probably the wrong verb, but the argument his expression implied was not audible. This meant, on the other hand, that Kaylin’s small and flappy familiar came out of hiding; Helen was capable of muting their voices.

  He appeared in midair and landed on Kaylin’s right shoulder.

  “He’s back,” Kattea said, voice hushed but perfectly clear.

  Kaylin, who would have sworn that the familiar was nothing but a pain on most days, was surprised at how right it felt to have him there. She endured the quiet squawks that sounded suspiciously smug.

  “He’d better be useful to you,” Mandoran told her, his perfect mouth folding into a not-entirely-unattractive pout. “He’s most of the reason we’re staying put.”

  “You don’t—”

  “Sedarias doesn’t want us anywhere near theoretical bodies. Or Gilbert, if it comes to that.”

  Although she’d stayed behind in the West March, Sedarias had Annarion’s and Mandoran’s True Names. She could see what they saw, and was free to offer advice and opinion. Sedarias’s opinion carried a lot more weight than anyone who happened to be present.

  * * *

  Kattea was, in spite of her fear, excited. Kaylin felt ambivalent about this. There was something wrong when a child was excited about seeing corpses. She attempted to hint at this, but Kattea saw it as Hawk work, and she wanted to be included. Any hope that she would stay—quietly—with Helen when Gilbert left was instantly dashed.

  Kaylin, remembering herself at thirteen, couldn’t bring herself to put her foot down. Severn, who had grown up in the same fief that Kaylin had, didn’t blink, either. She expected Marcus to be growly about it, but hoped to avoid actually telling him. She’d have to write a report, but Marcus didn’t usually read those all the way to the end.

  The Hawks were in evidence when Kaylin approached the house. She let Severn do most of the talking, because if Kaylin and Severn did not consider a murder site—with bodies—unsuitable for a child, they were probably the only humans on the force who didn’t. In the end, Kaylin said, more or less truthfully, that Kattea was needed as an interpreter for Gilbert, who lived across the street.

  “And the neighbor has information that he can’t give us without seeing the bodies first?” This was a perfectly reasonable question. Kaylin tried not to resent it. Gavin had never been her biggest supporter; he was practically purple now.

  Kaylin waited while Gavin glared at Gilbert. He did not glare at Kattea; she was too young. At least in that, he was better than Mallory.

  “This is highly irregular,” he said.

  “I know. I only get called in on the weird magical problems, and this is definitely that.” She almost volunteered to route his request through Marcus, but waited. Marcus would put Gavin at ease, but it would eat time.

  Time they didn’t have.

  “Gavin, I still have to consult with Evanton, and if there’s time today, I have to go to two of the actual fiefs. I need to get this done. They won’t touch anything; I’ll be there to supervise.”

  Gavin’s estimation of Kaylin’s ability to supervise was vanishingly small. “I’ll be there to supervise. Are you going to stand here all morning?”

  * * *

  Viewing the bodies—or having Gilbert view the bodies—had seemed like a smart idea in the comfort of her own home.

  Gavin took the lead, which was to be expected. Kaylin followed, and Gilbert trailed after her. Severn took the spot behind Gilbert and Kattea pulled up the rear, at Gilbert’s insistence and to the child’s annoyance. She did not feel endangered in the presence of Hawks—and Gilbert himself—and she was old enough, barely, that she didn’t want to be treated like a child.

  Gilbert abruptly stopped walking as they approached the stairs that led to the subbasement. Gavin continued down the stairs, stopped and turned when he realized that no one was following. “Is something wrong?” he asked. Well, demanded, really. Asking was not entirely Gavin’s style.

  Gilbert didn’t answer.

  Kaylin turned and froze herself; Gilbert’s eyes were black.

  And there were three of them.

  * * *

  She almost reached up to close the third eye, but knew it was pointless. The eye looked like a normal eye, except for its placement; closing it wouldn’t make it disappear.

  “When,” Gilbert said, in a voice that implied he had more than one mouth, although only one, thankfully, was visible, “did you disturb this place?” The stairs shook.

  Gavin’s eyes were slits. “Private Neya.”

  She exhaled. “He’s here to look at the bodies because he can see things we can’t. For obvious reasons.”

  “What is he?” Gavin’s hand had fallen to his dagger; he didn’t have a sword.

  “Gilbert. He’s—he’s not from around here.”

  “I can see that. Where is he from, exactly?” He retrieved a pocket mirror with his left hand.

  The small dragon leaped off Kaylin’s shoulder and flew at Gavin’s face. She dived after the translucent familiar while Gavin attempted to swat him out of the air.

  “Don’t!” she shouted at the small dragon. “He’s not going to hurt us!”

  Severn leaped down the stairs, using the wall to halt his momentum. He raised a hand and caught the familiar by a spindly leg. It screeched in his face. “Apologies,” Severn said to Gavin. “The Arcanum has been implicated in these murders. We require knowledge that the Arcanum has, without consulting or otherwise alerting an Arcanist. Gilbert is foreign; he is not from the Arcanum.” To the familiar, he said, “Gavin needs to mirror the Halls of Law.”

  The familiar squawked loudly—and furiously.

  Gilbert said, “Your companion is trying to tell you that it is not safe—in any way—to use the mirror in this building.”

  Gavin frowned. He’d recovered his composure. Flying, tiny dragons and men with three eyes might have walked past him every morning before breakfast. “The mirror has been used—to no detriment—in the past.”

  Gilbert closed all three of his eyes. He spoke to the familiar, and it spoke back. Neither were intelligible to Kaylin. Or to Gavin, given his expression.

  “Harm has been caused. If you do not wish your magical communications to be completely compromised—” He stopped. “Kaylin, this mirroring—Mandoran attempted to explain it. How does it work?”

  She punted the question to Severn.

  “None of us are mages,” Severn said, “but my understanding is this: it is a magical net that is spread across the whole of Elantra. Mirrors are fixed locations that are attached to that net; a mirror can be designated in two ways. Geographically—to a building—or personally. Teela can be reached at any mirror that is attached and activated. Kaylin cannot. If you
require a more technical explanation, you’ll need to speak to an Imperial mage.”

  “Can this be done now?”

  Kaylin blinked.

  Gilbert’s eyes were open again. The two that were divided by his nose blinked the normal way; the one that rested in the center of his forehead didn’t. It didn’t blink at all. It did, however, move, although the movement was subtle. Gilbert spoke to the familiar. Kaylin decided then and there that she was going to learn the language Gilbert spoke. The familiar sounded too much like an enraged chicken; she couldn’t even pull syllables out of his squawking.

  “My apologies,” Gilbert said to Gavin. “I did not mean to interrupt your progress.”

  Gavin’s lips thinned. He looked pointedly at Kattea, the necessary “interpreter,” as Kaylin reddened. He then looked at the nascent mirror in his hand before shoving it back into its well-cushioned place in his satchel. “Neya.”

  “Sir.”

  “Just how big is this going to get?”

  She knew she had to choose her words with care. Apparently she was not fast enough for the older Hawk.

  “Private.”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Gavin—but I don’t know.”

  “Bigger than the tidal wave?”

  Silence.

  “Bigger than the Devourer?”

  “No—not that big.”

  “So you do have some idea.” He ran a hand through his graying hair. “You understand there’s a chain of command?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it’s my butt in the fire if anything goes wrong here?”

  “...Yes.”

  He shook his head. “With your background, I would’ve expected you’d be better at lying.”

  “Only when my life depends on it.”

  “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  Kattea’s excitement had faded considerably as they once again descended en masse. She clutched the back of Gilbert’s jacket so tightly her knuckles were white, and kept her eyes on her feet. Kaylin’s gaze was drawn to the markings on the wall: magical, all, and invisible to the naked eye if one wasn’t blessed—or cursed—with magical vision.

  The familiar returned, disgruntled, to Kaylin’s shoulder. He didn’t lift his wing. He didn’t lift his head, either, but he did complain a lot.

  Gilbert stopped walking and turned to the wall on which the detritus of previous spells had been splashed. Kaylin was not surprised when he reached out to touch the wall.

  She was very surprised when his hand passed through it.

  Kattea’s breath stopped. It resumed when she realized that Gavin, back toward them, hadn’t noticed. “This was a bad idea,” the girl whispered, presumably to Gilbert.

  “Most of the work we do is,” Kaylin told her, just as quietly. “But someone’s got to do it.”

  “But what is the work?”

  “Right now? We’re trying to figure out what the Arcanum wanted with this particular building.” She hesitated. “You said the water brought you here.”

  Kattea nodded, moving as Gilbert once again descended the curved, stone stairs, and stopping when he stopped.

  “I think I can guess why.”

  “Why?”

  Kaylin exhaled. “Your Nightshade is not my Nightshade. I was born in the fief. I know it. I hate it. I ran across the bridge. But the bridge brought me here. It brought me to the Hawks. Your bridge doesn’t lead here. It doesn’t lead anywhere.”

  Kattea nodded again.

  “There must be a reason it doesn’t lead anywhere. And it’s here, somewhere.”

  “You’re certain?” Severn asked.

  “You aren’t?” she countered.

  “Did you write these?” Gilbert asked, as if no other conversation had been taking place around him.

  “They’re not exactly writing,” Kaylin began.

  Gilbert once again slipped his hand through the wall, as if he were rearranging something.

  Kaylin wanted to tell him that the marks he could see were the echoes of magic’s use. She refrained because she didn’t actually know what he was seeing. No two mages saw evidence of casting the same way. She suspected that even given that, Gilbert, with his third eye, was unique.

  “According to the owner of the building, the subbasement is new.”

  “It is not newly constructed,” Gilbert replied, stating the obvious without apparent condescension. “What was its purpose?” He hesitated, frowned and returned up the steps, dragging Kattea as if she were just a heavier part of his outerwear. His hands passed through the wall again and again, and as they did, Kaylin saw the runic symbols of forgotten or unknown mages realign. The colors, the blue that shaded to purple and from there to red, shifted as well, blending into a continuous glow of...gold.

  “I’m not sure you should have done that,” Kattea told Gilbert.

  Kaylin felt absolutely certain he shouldn’t have—because if Kattea could now clearly see the sigils, it meant that everyone could, including Gavin.

  Gilbert was frowning. Kaylin’s frown was different. Where she had previously seen the distinct hand of multiple magicians, probably attempting to cast the same spell at different times, she now saw writing that looked almost familiar.

  Lifting her left arm, she unbuttoned her sleeve and inspected the runes on her skin. How big is this going to get? The sigils left behind by strong magic had never reminded Kaylin of ancient words before. Gilbert’s rearrangement had altered that. She could see familiar bold lines, heavy curves, lighter strokes.

  “Gilbert, what are you doing?”

  “I am trying,” he said, “to understand the purpose of this alcove. I do not believe it was meant to be accessible to you and your kind.”

  Gavin, predictably, stiffened at the phrase.

  “Those aren’t—those weren’t—a message.”

  He lifted one dark brow.

  “Until you touched them, they weren’t visible to anyone.”

  “They were visible to you.”

  “Yes, because I can see magic.”

  “These are magic?”

  Gavin’s snort was not followed by words.

  “A certain kind of magic. Not everyone can use magic. But when magic is used, the caster leaves evidence.”

  “Evidence.”

  “Yes. Magic is very individual. Even when mages cast the same spell, they don’t leave the same...magical trail. That trail is evidence that can help us to track down a mage if they commit a crime using magic. The wall contained traces of that evidence.” Which Gilbert had destroyed. “That’s not what it contains now.”

  “No. But I believe your...mages...were attempting to invoke this phrase.”

  “Pardon?”

  “This is what they were attempting to say, in this place.”

  Kaylin started to tell him that that wasn’t how magic worked. She stopped. What she knew about magic, in any practical sense, amounted to the lighting of one candle after months of useless attempts. And how had she achieved that?

  By knowing the name of fire. A word. A word that defied easy pronunciation or comprehension; a word that dribbled through the figurative cupped palms of her concentration. “All of them?” she asked, instead.

  He nodded. “They were not standing in the right place, but close.” He lowered his hands, the words on the wall reflected brightly in only his third eye. “This was not meant for you.”

  “Was it meant for you?”

  “No.” He bent slightly and retrieved the edge of his coat from Kattea’s hands. “I think you should wait upstairs.”

  Kattea let his coat go, but folded her arms, looking the very definition of mutinous. And frightened. Only one of these held sway. “What are you going to do?”

>   “If we are very, very lucky, nothing.”

  “And if we’re not?” she demanded, and Kaylin again felt a pang of recognition.

  Gilbert, predictably, didn’t answer. He looked to Kaylin instead. “You said there were bodies.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mortal bodies.”

  “Uncertain.”

  Gavin said, “Mortal bodies,” with a side-eye at Kaylin.

  “They are in a room?”

  “Yes. The stairs lead to the only room in the subbasement.”

  “No,” Gilbert said quietly, “they do not.” But he pulled his gaze away from the words he had arranged out of nothing on the wall and followed Gavin without further interruption.

  * * *

  The large room in the subbasement had not changed much. It was better lit than it had been on first visit. This didn’t bother Kaylin. The fact that the bodies were now in entirely different positions, however, did. Where they had once been laid out in a row, they were now laid out in a triangular position; their feet were touching, their heads pointing outward.

  “When did Red examine them?” Kaylin asked.

  “Two days ago. Corporal Danelle recommended they not be moved; Red concurred, after his examination.”

  Kaylin turned to Gilbert and said, “These are the corpses.”

  “They are not dead,” Gilbert said.

  Gavin’s gaze attached itself to Gilbert’s face for one long, silent moment. To Kaylin, he said, “You should really report to the office if you want full details.”

  “I’ll take what I can get.”

  “Red didn’t say they were alive. We’ve seen our share of corpses. But he was concerned.”

  “Because?”

  “They haven’t decomposed at all. Some very basic magical protections have been laid across the bodies to preserve them, but Red says they’re working too well. No pulse. No breath. They don’t bleed—he did check that. But he’s not comfortable.”

  “What, does he think they’re undead?”

  “He didn’t say. Before you make that face, stranger things have happened.”

  “Yes—but with Barrani. You know, the ones that have to have True Names to animate them at all?”