“No. And I am not the man to enlighten you. But some beings exist who can see names as clearly as they can read handwriting. It is not always possible, and before you ask, I am not one of them—I don’t know how, or when, it works.” He hesitated for just a moment, and she marked the hesitation. But when he spoke, he said, “It is my suspicion that you could do it.”
“But—but—”
“Because of the marks you bear, Kaylin. And if you’re about to ask me how, don’t. I understand the marks little better than you claim to.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth. “I am not accusing you of lying. I believe that you have as little understanding as you claim.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“But our ancients grew to understand their names not as the source of their life, or even their power, but as a weakness. They learned the Old words, and they tried, in their fashion, to exist without names.”
“It didn’t work.”
“Oh, it did. You have seen the results of it, I think, at least once.”
She nodded.
“They do not die as you or I understand death—nor do they live. Nameless, they exist. They are not without thought or cunning.”
“Neither are ferals.”
“But they are not as we are. They do not appear to feel either pain or fear, and they are therefore without natural caution.” Again, he hesitated. “Do you understand why we attempted to destroy them all?”
She nodded.
But he shook his head. “I don’t think you do. Had I succeeded in my attempt to divest myself of a name, my father would have had no choice but to destroy me and end his long game. He had hoped my brother, the Lord of the West March, would do so.”
She remembered. “He wouldn’t.”
“Not until the end,” the High Lord said softly. “But it is my belief that in the end my brother would have done what was necessary to save us all. I do not know if he would have done so in time. But I would have achieved some semblance of peace—I would have given my name to the void, and the shadows beneath the High Halls would have had no direct purchase over me.
“They might have had some indirect purchase. We destroy the undying,” he told her quietly, “because they are hollow, and they can often be vessels for the chaos of shadow.”
“When you say you would have given your name to the void, what does that mean?”
“It means that the name would leave me, or I would leave it. It would not return to the lake, because I would technically still be alive.”
“Where does it go?”
He shook his head. “I am not entirely certain, Kaylin.”
She frowned, then. It was a twitch. Something in his words tugged at her memory, at the facts she’d gathered and had not yet fully examined. Name. Something about true names. She looked at Severn, whose face was, as it so often was in the Barrani Court, a study in neutrality. He did not meet her gaze, but he did nod, briefly.
“Illien wouldn’t have made himself an empty vessel,” she finally said. “Not so close to the heart of the fiefs. It makes no sense. He had to know—”
“Yes.”
“What was he trying to do?”
He didn’t answer the question, not directly. This, Kaylin thought, with some frustration, was the problem with talking to immortals. They had forever. And they generally took it, too. “I told you I studied. I studied our legends and our lore. I spoke with our sages. And what I discovered in my desperate search for some solution to my dilemma was this—There were at least two, in our history, who managed to lose the names that had brought them awareness without becoming essentially empty vessels. They learned, from the errors of those who had made the first attempts, and they attempted to do better.
“It was not an option, for me.”
“Why?”
“Because it involved, among other things, the study of the words of the Old Ones. Not the memory of the words, not the traces that exist in our history—or even the history retained by the Dragons—but the words of Power.”
“Words of…” Almost involuntarily, she glanced at her arms. The marks on them were hidden, as they usually were, by the fall of fabric. “Power.”
“Yes. I do not know if Castle Nightshade is like the Tower that Illien inhabited. I suspect it must be, but suspect, as well, that each building is unique. The buildings themselves have power, Kaylin, and it is a power that we, as individuals, do not possess.”
She remembered the living statues in Castle Nightshade, and remembered, as well, that Nightshade had said that he had dared to use the Castle’s power to create them. To preserve living members of almost every race in Elantra, frozen in time, until he released them.
“Two Barrani sorcerers discovered that they could, in some fashion, remake their names. They could choose, for themselves, runes and words that were never resident in the lake from which we are all, as infants, birthed. They did so, Kaylin.
“And they remained among the Barrani, shorn of life, but living.” He glanced at the consort. “It was not discovered immediately,” he said. “But when it was, it was discovered by the consort of the High Lord—she knew.”
“Did she survive the knowledge?”
“You understand much. No. But at least one of them perished when revealed.”
“The other?”
“He fled.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Long before Elantra existed.”
“You don’t know if he died.”
“No. We know that he could possibly live, even now. But so, too, could any one of our race from that time, in theory. We do not fear time, but many are the things that diminish us as time passes.
“What we also know, from those records, is that the two could, with time and subtlety, create the undying. Those, they could imbue with some of their power, some hidden word of their own, and those they changed thus cleaved to their masters.”
“It seems like a lot of work for people who could just use their true names against them.”
“The use of a name requires both power and concentration. It is not perfect control for anything more than moments at a time. Because it is imperfect, there is always the possibility of betrayal, if not in the obvious way, then in subtle. This? It required very, very little of either.
“You understand,” he said softly, “why the Outcaste Dragon is a threat, to us.”
She did, now. “He can create the undying.”
“Yes.”
“And he has.”
“Demonstrably.”
She shook herself. “But this isn’t what you tried, in the end.”
He laughed. It was a low, resonant sound, and as it filled the rough contours of this dark, strange room, the color of his eyes deepened until it was almost a green she could recognize as Barrani. “You are like a bulldog, Kaylin.”
“I’m a Hawk,” she replied, with a shrug. “It may not be what Illien tried to do. It may be what he achieved. I don’t know what will be useful in the investigation.”
“I tried to shed my name. I had nothing to replace it with. I would have made myself an empty vessel, and in the High Halls, that would have been a threat. I do not know who—or what—might attempt to retrieve what I sundered from myself; it was not, at that time, of concern. If the name was no longer part of me, whatever might somehow grasp it could not use it in a way that affected me.”
“But you failed.”
“My brother and Lord Evarrim interfered. It was not pleasant and I will not go into the details. They are not—I hope—relevant. Even if they are, they are not mine to share.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but had she been allowed to do something as trivial as bet, it was the one she would have placed money on.
“Illien tried to rewrite his name, didn’t he?”
“Again, I now offer speculation. But, yes, I believe that is what he did. Although you put it crudely, it is what our ancient ancestors achieved.”
“But…”
&nbs
p; “Yes?”
“It would still be a name.”
“Would it?”
“Yes.” There was no doubt at all in her answer. None.
“You are certain.”
She nodded, frowning.
“Why?”
Sometimes the short questions were the biggest pain. She began to pace across the floor, avoiding the runes engraved in the rocks beneath her feet; it made her stagger like a drunk. “It’s what the Outcaste did. The Dragon,” she added. Her feet continued to find unengraved spaces. “And he has a name.”
The silence that followed the statement was not the silence of hesitation. It lasted as long as it took Kaylin to reach a wall, pivot and pick her way back toward the circle. “How do you know this?”
“I saw it,” she replied, hating the answer even as it left her mouth.
“You—you know his name?” At any other time, she would have taken some small and private joy in being able to actually shock a Barrani High Lord. Now? She wasn’t even tempted, although a tiny part of her mind saw it as a lost opportunity.
“No.” She grimaced. “Maybe. I saw it. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can see it now. But I can’t say it. I can’t even begin to say it. And, no,” she added, before he could speak again, “I can’t talk about the Outcaste. Anything I now know is mixed up with everything I’ve learned from the Lords of the Dragon Court—and if they knew I was talking about it, nothing that could happen to me in Barren could be less pleasant than what they’d do. Trust me.”
“I have some experience with the ferocity of Dragons who guard their hoard,” he replied, with a dry chuckle. “Trust, in this case, is entirely unnecessary.” But his smile ebbed from his face as he watched her. “You are a threat,” he finally said. “Lord Evarrim saw truly.
“But anyone who wields power is a threat. It is the nature of power.”
“Intent has something to do with it,” Kaylin pointed out.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I will not debate the point with you.” He glanced at his consort, and then, at last, took the hand she had never lowered. Their fingers, where they touched, glowed faintly in the darkness. “Illien must have attempted what our ancestors attempted. I cannot say whether he failed or succeeded. In the end, I fear you will know far better than I, or any of his kin.
“But if he exists in the Tower, now, he is not what he was when he first claimed it.” He met her gaze and held it as the floor itself began to coalesce beneath his feet. “We do not fully understand the nature of the Towers—nor can we claim a full understanding of the nature of the fiefs or what lies at their heart. But Elantra exists, in some small measure, because the fiefs exist. That much, we know and accept.
“Perhaps the Towers were meant, in their entirety, for the living. Perhaps they were built with the living in mind. That must be our hope.
“You will go to the Tower of Illien, Lord Kaylin. You will find what remains. If the Tower no longer has the power that sustained the fief, you will discover that, as well. It is possible that Illien’s act of transformation drained whatever magic lay resident there. If that is the case, we must prepare,” he added softly. “There is power in the High Halls to withstand the dangers that come from the fiefs, if they breach the river.”
“You can’t put the entire damn City into the High Halls, and I’m not certain that the same can be said of any other building.”
“There are others who also have the power to withstand the most ancient of forces. If I am not mistaken, you have met at least one, and consider him a friend.”
She started to ask who he meant, and realized, before she’d opened her mouth, that he spoke of Evanton. “I’ll do what I can,” she told him. “But I’m already under orders to—”
“It was not a request. You are a Lord of the High Court.”
And he was the High Lord. She swallowed, and then executed a bow.
But she hadn’t quite finished. “One more question?”
“Ask,” he said, as his feet drifted toward the floor.
“What do you know of shadowstorms?”
He stopped moving for just a few seconds. But his expression, as he watched her, was grave. “Why do you ask?” Raising a hand, he added, “I would be greatly obliged if you would tell me the question was entirely theoretical.”
“I was never a great student of theory.”
“If rumor is to be believed, you were never a great student of anything.”
She shrugged. “I’m learning to be a better one,” she said with a grimace. And then, as if she needed to justify her record, added, “I always paid attention to anything that seemed practical and important. I didn’t realize just how practical some of the theoretical classes would end up becoming.”
“A flaw that is common in the young.”
She didn’t consider herself that young, but compared to the Barrani, she knew she was almost a babe in arms. She forced herself to nod.
“There have been storms in Barren,” the High Lord said quietly. It was almost a question.
“I think so.”
“You are certain.”
“No. I’ve never seen a storm. But…the Dragons were certain.”
“Storm,” he said softly, to his consort. “It is time.”
She nodded.
“Time for what?” Kaylin asked, as he stepped, slowly, out of the circle’s confines.
“For the High Court of the Barrani to convene,” he replied. “You will, of course, be excused if you do not answer the summons. You have a personal duty to which you must attend on behalf of the Court. Lord Severn is likewise excused. You may tell Lord Andellen, however, that his presence will be expected.”
“I’m not even sure I’ll see Andellen—” She stopped, and then offered him a bow. “I’ll make certain he knows.”
CHAPTER 15
Tiamaris was waiting for them on the bridge that crossed the Ablayne. It was still the wrong bridge, and Kaylin hoped that it would always feel like the wrong one. The bridge to Nightshade had been, in its way, a symbol of hope when she had been growing up in the fiefs.
The bridge to Barren meant, in the end, death.
“Corporal Handred,” the Dragon Hawk said, nodding as if he had expected Severn to accompany Kaylin.
“Lord Tiamaris.”
No one was sporting the Hawk, today; the clothing was all practical. Even Tiamaris was wearing what was, for Dragons, almost obscenely casual: a tunic, rather than his more stately robes; flat, thick boots that looked vaguely obsidian in what was left of the morning light; an undyed shirt beneath which the thick links of golden chain could barely be seen. Obvious daggers were notably absent. Then again, until yesterday, she would have bet money he didn’t bother with them; Dragons didn’t generally bristle with arms that weren’t attached to their bodies.
“Private Neya. Your friend was here. I believe she became impatient after the first hour had passed.”
“You could have gone with her. We’d’ve followed.”
“I do not believe she trusts me,” was his reply.
Kaylin shrugged. “It’s Morse. If she’d learned to trust many people in her line of work, she’d be feeding worms under some patch of weeds in Barren, if they bothered burying her at all. Was she pissed off?”
“If, by that, you mean ‘angry,’ I would say she wasn’t pleased.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No.”
Kaylin swore. “The meeting with the High Lord took a little longer than I expected, and I dropped into the office to pick up a couple of things—including lunch.”
“Was the meeting useful?”
“Hard to say.” She grimaced. “Actually, what I want to say is no. But I’m not sure. I’ve been ordered to investigate Illien’s Tower.” She adjusted the fall of a belt that was, unlike Tiamaris’s, snug and practical. Waterskin, knife, knife. She had also shrugged herself into a backpack into which she had dropped one round cheese, two candles—neither of which resembled the c
andles that she had come to think of as torture during her lessons with Sanabalis—and a large coil of heavy rope. It was the rope that provided most of the bulk.
Tiamaris raised a brow.
“Rope,” she told him, as she readjusted the buckles now that the pack had settled some.
“Ah. Why?”
“Just a hunch. If we’re anywhere near fighting, I’ll drop it.”
“If you have time.”
Fair enough. It’s not as if she usually carried what was admittedly an awkward pack on her shoulders during her regular duties. “I know the Tower’s important,” she told him. “I know we have to go there.”
“It is not, however, the first place you want to visit.”
“Not really.”
“You want to go back to the White Towers.”
“I can’t figure out,” Kaylin replied, as she started across the bridge, leaving Tiamaris and Severn to follow, “why Sanabalis thought you weren’t a good student. You’re damn perceptive.”
“I can’t figure out,” he replied, mimicking her Elantran, “why almost all of your teachers thought that you weren’t, and for the same reason.”
Dragons.
“Private Neya?”
“What?”
“How well do you know Barren?”
She stopped walking. Glanced over her shoulder. Shrugged. “I can get to the White Towers from almost anywhere in the fief. Good enough for you?”
Walking through the streets of Barren without Morse as a native guide should have been easy. In some sense, it was. Severn and Tiamaris flanked her on either side, and given her own gear, and the expression she was probably wearing, they kept people at bay. The only people likely to be stupid—or cocky—enough to try to stop them were all employed by Barren. But he employed a lot of stupid people; Kaylin thought, given a sample size of two, most fief lords did.
She had thought—and most of her teachers had agreed, usually when they were pissed off—that nothing would take the fiefs out of her; they were her first home. They were where she’d learned to speak, learned to walk, learned to eat, steal, and dream.
But the truth was different. She wondered if the truth, when she arrived at it, would always be different from what she’d been certain it would be.
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