Cast in Chaos

by Michelle Sagara

  Severn did likewise.

  “It’s not about the class schedule, although if you want my opinion—”

  Sanabalis raised a pale, finely veined hand. It looked like an older man’s hand, but it could, in a pinch, probably drive a dent into solid rock. Dragons could look like aged wise men, but it was only ever cosmetic. They were immortal, like the Barrani. They lacked Barrani magnetism, and their unearthly beauty and grace, but Kaylin assumed that was because they didn’t actually care what the Barrani or the merely mortal thought of them. At all.

  “I believe, given previous exposure to your opinions, I can derive it from first principles.”

  Severn coughed. Kaylin glared at the side of his face, because for Severn, this was laughter that he’d only barely managed to contain. “There was an incident in Elani street today.”

  So much for gold. His eyes started the shade-shift into bronze the minute she mentioned the street. “I take it,” she added, “you heard.”

  “We were informed—immediately—by Lord Grammayre, yes. I am not at liberty to discuss it at the moment. I am barely at liberty to have this meeting,” he added. “But in general, you come to the Palace with information that is relevant, and often urgent. Do not, however, waste my time.”

  “I didn’t cause the incident. I caused outrage because I didn’t immediately obey the orders of a pissed-off noble.”

  “Understood. You have information on what did cause the incident?”

  “Not directly.”

  He snorted. Small plumes of smoke left his nostrils, which was unusual. “Evanton sent me,” she said quickly.

  “The Keeper sent you?”

  She nodded. “He started to talk about magical potential, and the sudden surge he felt in Elani.”

  Sanabalis was silent. It wasn’t a good silence.

  “He—the incident with Alyssa Larienne—he thought the magical potential shift was responsible for it somehow.”

  “Let me reverse my earlier position,” he said quietly. “What were the other incidents?”

  She told him.

  His eyes were now the color of new copper. “And these incidents,” he finally said, rising and turning his face toward the window. “Did they all occur within roughly the same area?”

  It was Severn who answered. “We aren’t entirely certain of that.”

  “How uncertain are you, and why?”

  “You are no doubt aware that Sergeant Mallory made a few changes to the official office out of which the Hawks operate. One of those changes was—”

  “The window, yes. I can tell you his requisition raised a few eyebrows in the Order.”

  “The window is perhaps not the most popular addition to the office. It is, however, impervious to most casual attempts to harm it.”

  “Go on.”

  “Someone attempted to dampen or neutralize the magic on the window—or so we believed.”

  “Tampering with official property?”

  “As I said, that was our belief at the time. Given the nature of the enchantment—”

  “It would be entirely believable. What happened?”

  “The window now greets visitors—and staff—by name. Among other things. Its lectures have become more directed.”

  “The names could possibly have been carried over from any connection with Records, and I assume, given the requisition request, that connection would be mandatory.”

  “That was the theory. The window began, however, to greet visitors by name, as well, and some of those visitors don’t exist in our Records. None of the Hawks are mages. We naturally assumed, given the nature of the original enchantment, that the attempt to disenchant the window had simply skewed it.”

  Sanabalis raised a hand, not to silence Severn, but to touch the window that separated them from high, open sky. Kaylin’s hair began to stand on end.

  The window darkened instantly, shutting out both sunlight and the sight of the Halls of Law. The bars that separated the panes seemed to melt into the surface of what had once been glass until the entire bay looked like a smooth, featureless trifold wall.

  “Records,” Sanabalis said, and the blackness rippled at the force of the single word. So, Kaylin swore, did the ground. He was using his dragon voice. The mirror—such as it was—rippled again, and this time light coalesced in streaks of horizontal lines. Sanabalis inhaled. Kaylin lifted her hands to cover her ears. Severn caught them both in his and pulled them down as the dragon spit out a phrase that Kaylin could literally feel pass through her.

  “When you finally get called to Court,” Severn told her, when it was silent again, “you won’t be able to do that. Not more than once.”

  “They’ll…” She grimaced. “I just assumed they’d be speaking High Barrani.” She swallowed, nodded, and wondered how bad a Court meeting would be if she couldn’t actually hear anything after the first few sentences.

  Severn released her hands; they both turned to face the image that Sanabalis had called so uncomfortably into being. It was, to Kaylin’s surprise, a map. “We,” the Dragon Lord said, without looking away from the lines that now stretched, in different shades, and in different widths, across the entire surface area, “are here.” A building seemed to dredge itself out of the network of lines, assuming solid shape and texture; it was, however, small.

  “The Halls, as you can see, are here.” A miniature version of the Halls also seemed to grow out of the surface of the map.

  “The Keeper’s responsibility is here.” He gestured, and a third building rose out of the map. Kaylin frowned as it did. She walked past Evanton’s shop at least a dozen times a day when she was sent to Elani on patrol. That shop and the one that now emerged at Sanabalis’s unspoken command had nothing in common.

  “Private, is there some difficulty?”

  She turned to Severn. “Severn, does that look like Evanton’s place to you?”

  “No.”

  Sanabalis frowned. “It is a representation of—” The frown deepened, cutting off the rest of his words. His eyes narrowed and he leaned toward the emerging building. He needn’t have bothered; the building that had started out in miniature began to expand, uprooting the lines that were meant to represent streets or rivers as if they were dusty webs.

  The dragon spoke, loudly, at the image. It froze in place.

  “It appears,” he said softly—or at least softly compared to his previous words—“that we have a serious problem.”

  CHAPTER 3

  When a Dragon of Sanabalis’s power uses the word problem in that tone of voice, you start to look for two things: a good weapon, and a place to hide, because, when it comes right down to it, the weapon’s going to be useless. Kaylin, aware of this, did neither.

  “Problem?” she said, staring at the malformed map. Sanabalis didn’t appear to have heard her. Clearing her throat, she said, “What are the distances from the Palace to the Halls, the Halls to Elani and the Palace to Elani?”

  “I would prefer, at this point, not to ask,” he replied. “Suffice it to say it is not an insignificant distance. The full length of Elani itself would not have been an insignificant distance, given the perturbations you’ve described. I am now assuming that either Margot or the young Alyssa Larienne drew upon the waiting potential and used it. That they did so entirely without intent…

  “Come,” he told them both, and turned away from the mirror.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You are going to the courtyard. I will meet you there with an Imperial Carriage.”

  “Why?”

  “I would prefer not to use magic at this point. I would also prefer to have no one else use it. Word of this zone, if we can even deduce its boundaries, will spread. We cannot afford to have it touched or used by the wrong people.”

  Kaylin stilled. “People can deliberately use it?”

  “Not without effort, and not without unpredictable results. Mages are likely to find their spells much more powerful in that zone, and if they are
not prepared for it and they are using the wrong spells, it could prove fatal. It is not, however, for the mages that I am concerned.”

  “This has happened before,” she said, voice flat.

  “Yes, of course it has. Magic is not easily caged or defined. It has not, however, happened over an area this large in any recent history.”

  “How recent is recent?”

  “The existence of our current Empire.”

  Immortals.

  If Kaylin had any curiosity about where Sanabalis had gone in the brief interval before he met them in the courtyard, it was satisfied before they left the Palace: she could hear the thunderous clap of syllables that was the equivalent of dragon shouting. The Imperial guards, to give them their due, didn’t even blink as she and Severn walked past.

  But if Dragons were immortal, an emergency was still an emergency; they waited for maybe fifteen minutes in total before Sanabalis, looking composed and grim, met them. “Do not,” he said, although Kaylin hadn’t even opened her mouth, “ask.” He glared at the carriage door, and it opened, although admittedly it opened at the hands of footmen.

  The ride was grim, silent, and fast. Imperial Carriages were built for as much comfort as a carriage allowed, and people got out of its way. Sanabalis had the door open when it hit the Halls’ yard; the Halls, unlike the Palace, expected people to more or less do things for themselves. He waited until the precise moment someone else had a hand on the horse’s jesses, and then jumped down. Kaylin and Severn did the same, following him as quickly as they could without breaking into a run.

  Sanabalis wasn’t running, of course.

  There was what wouldn’t pass for a cursory inspection at the front doors; Sanabalis gave his name, but the formality of crossed polearms failed to happen because Sanabalis also didn’t stop moving. They didn’t have time to send a runner ahead, at least not on foot, but there were Aerians practicing maneuvers in the Aerie that opened up just behind the front doors, and Kaylin noticed the way at least one shadow dropped out of formation.

  Lord Grammayre was, uncharacteristically, not in his Tower when they finally crested the last corner and hit the office proper. Nor was Marcus behind his desk. The two of them were standing more or less in the space in front of Caitlin’s desk, which was what passed for a reception area this deep into the Halls itself. They turned to greet Sanabalis as he walked briskly toward them.

  “Lord Sanabalis,” the Hawklord said, bowing.

  “Lord Grammayre. I have need of your Hawks.”

  “Of course.”

  “Let us repair to the West Room. We can discuss the nature of their deployment—and their new schedule.”

  Marcus didn’t even blink.

  “For reasons which will become clear, I would like to shut down the use of Records except in emergencies.” He turned to the small mirror on the wall. “Records,” he said. Which would clearly make this an emergency.

  Lord Grammayre lifted his left wing, and then nodded.

  “I have spoken with the Imperial Order of mages. The Emperor is currently evaluating the possibility of a quarantine on the Arcanum. Map, Elantra.”

  A map that was in no way the equal of the one he’d called on in the Palace shimmered into view. For one, it occupied a much smaller surface. Reaching out, Sanabalis touched three points on the map; they were familiar to Kaylin.

  “A quarantine?” the Hawklord asked, watching the map shift colors where the Dragon Lord had touched it.

  Sanabalis nodded grimly. “I will,” he added, “speak with the Lord of Swords when I am finished here. If it is possible, it will be his duty to see that it is enforced.”

  “That is not likely to make the Emperor more popular with the Arcanists.”

  “Nothing short of his disappearance would do that. The Arcanists are a concern, but they are not the cause of the current difficulty. They are merely the most obvious avenue for turning it into a disaster. Here,” he added. “Here, and here. At the moment, they are sites in which what I will call leakage for the purpose of discussion has been known to occur. The leakage in your office—the windows—is not as severe as the incidents that occurred in Elani street.

  “It does not, however, matter. People’s expectations during this unfortunate leakage guide some of its effects. Our historical Records are, as might be expected, veiled. The Arkon is looking over them now.”

  “Are there historical Records that would be relevant, Lord Sanabalis?”

  “There are. They are not exactly fonts of optimism, however. What we need the Hawks to do is, as Private Neya would colloquially put it, ‘hit the streets.’ We need to ascertain what the boundaries of the area are. Look for the unusual. Look for the miraculous. Take note of the usual crimes or deaths, but examine them for any…unexplained…phenomenon. This has to start now,” he added.

  “The Emperor himself will speak to the Master Arcanist. He has been summoned to Court as a precaution. At the moment however, the Arcanum sits squarely outside of the area marked by the three geographical incidents. With luck, it will remain that way.

  “Sergeant Kassan,” Sanabalis added, “you may assure your Hawks that they will be adequately reimbursed for their extra duties.”

  Marcus looked as though he had just swallowed something more unpleasant than a week’s worth of unforwarded reports. “Several of the Hawks are involved in the current investigation into the Exchequer.”

  “It pains me to say this, Sergeant Kassan, but both duties—the more subtle and now-endangered investigation, and the much less predictable magical one—must be fully discharged.

  “As Private Neya is not currently involved in the former, I suggest you deploy her in the latter. I have taken the liberty of arranging an appointment with the Oracular Halls, as she had some success in not offending the man who runs it on her previous visit. I would recommend that you send both her and her current partner.”

  “I have—” Kaylin began.

  “Private Neya will, however, be excused her classes.”

  Kaylin shut her mouth.

  “Or rather,” Sanabalis continued, “her classes under my tutelage. I was unable to shift the class schedule for the etiquette lessons, and it is vital that she not offend that teacher.” He turned to Kaylin. “If anything is untoward or of particular interest in the Oracular Halls, you will return to the Palace to report to me.”

  Kaylin glanced at Marcus, who nodded stiffly, and managed not to growl. Given the state of his hair, much of which was standing on end, it was surprising. In a good way.

  As if he could read that stray thought, the Sergeant added, “And you’ll report back at the Halls after you’ve been debriefed at the Palace.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t care how late it is. From the sounds of it, the office will be operating under extended hours.” He grimaced, which in Leontine involved more fur and ears than actual facial expression. “I’ll mirror my wives and let them know.”

  She didn’t envy him that call.

  The appointment with the Oracular Halls was, ironically enough, one hour in the future. Sanabalis handed Kaylin a very official document with the unmistakable seal of the Eternal Emperor occupying the lower left quarter, where words weren’t.

  “Take the Imperial Carriage. Master Sabrai will be expecting you,” he told her. “He did not, of course, have time to respond to or question the request, and he did not look terribly surprised to receive it, which is telling.”

  What it told Sanabalis, Kaylin wasn’t sure; Sabrai was an oracle, after all, and they were supposed to be able to thresh glimpses of the future out of the broken dreams and visions of the Halls’ many occupants. “What am I supposed to discuss as the official representative of the Imperial Court?”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Given the lack of disaster during your last visit—in spite of your many attempts to contravene the rules for visitors to the Halls—I am willing to trust your discretion in this matter.”

  Someone curse
d, loudly, in Leontine. Kaylin recognized the voice: it was Teela’s.

  “Well,” she told Sanabalis, “Severn and I will head there immediately.” She managed to make it out of the office as other voices, mostly Barrani, joined Teela’s. Marcus had apparently already started the who-hates-the-duty-roster-most game, and while the Barrani in the office were Hawks first, they were still Barrani. Barrani in a foul mood were a very special version of Hell, which, if you were lucky, you survived intact.

  Given the way the day had started, she didn’t feel particularly lucky.

  “It isn’t cowardice,” Severn said, with a wry grin, because he understood her sudden desire for punctuality. “It’s common sense.”

  The Oracular Halls, as befitted any mystical institution that labored in service to the Eternal Emperor, was imposing. Constructed of stone in various layers that suggested a very sharp cliff face, it was surrounded on all sides by a fence that looked as if it would impale any careless bird that landed on it. The posts were grounded by about three feet of stone that was at least as solid as the walls it protected; it wasn’t going to be blown over by a storm, a mage, or an angry Leontine.

  A Dragon, on the other hand, wouldn’t have too much trouble.

  In the center of the east side of the fence, which fronted the wide streets that led up to and around it, was a guardhouse. It was late in the day, but the hour did not lead to less guards; there seemed to be more than the last time she’d visited at the side of Lord Sanabalis. She counted eight visible men, and those eight wore expensive, very heavy armor. They also carried swords.

  Severn glanced at her as the carriage came to a halt, but said nothing.

  The guards didn’t meet the carriage itself; they waited until it disgorged its occupants. Said occupants walked—in much less heavy armor—to the wide, very closed, doors that led to the grounds. To Kaylin’s surprise, the guards didn’t demand her name or her business. Then again, the first thing she did was hand them the paper that Sanabalis had handed her.