“The Imperial Order of Mages has made some estimates of their own,” Sanabalis added. “They are not in any way accurate, and require some assumptions that not all of the members are comfortable making with regards to the raw magical potential required to open a portal of this nature.”
“How would they know?”
“That, indeed, is the crux of their discomfort. Magic and the amount of raw power any single event requires is not strictly correlative. But the events with the midwives’ guild indicate that at base, some of those assumptions are not entirely without merit.” He turned back to the Arkon.
The Arkon rose. “Let us visit the site of Everly’s painting.” He turned to Diarmat and added, “The Library is to be closed completely. There are no exceptions in my absence.”
“Understood, Arkon.”
“If the Emperor requires access to the Library,” the Arkon added, as he began to walk, “he can make his displeasure known. He is young and in good health. A few miles of city streets shouldn’t cause his voice much trouble.”
An Imperial Carriage was waiting in the yard, doors open. Lord Diarmat accompanied them only as far as the yard. He asked the Arkon if he had reconsidered his stand on an escort; the Arkon’s lack of reply was obviously reply enough.
Sanabalis, however, said, “We will not divert men from their watch on the Arcanum at this time. Your men are good. They are not, however, Dragons.”
To this, Lord Diarmat made no reply. Nor did Sanabalis point out that two of the Hawks were with them; it might have appealed to Kaylin’s vanity, but it wouldn’t have done much for Diarmat. When the carriage door had closed and the carriage itself was well on its way, the Arkon said to Sanabalis, “The young weary me. If I were not already mired in things barely understood, I believe I would dredge up the energy to find his queries insulting.” His expression was pinched and somewhat peevish.
It was also, apparently, safe enough to evoke a smile from Sanabalis. “Diarmat has always taken the duties he has accepted with gravity.”
“Yes, I understand that. But there is a distinct difference between gravity and the infantilization of the rest of his race. An escort of mortal guards?” A puff of smoke followed the words.
“From what I understand, the mortal guards are there to make sure no one offends you enough you feel forced to turn them to ash. Or eat them,” Kaylin interjected.
“At my age, I am capable of showing enough restraint that I am unlikely to do either,” was the curt reply. “The Tha’alani castelord will meet us at the checkpoint. We are to wait for her if she is not already there.”
She was. She was not, however, alone, nor were her companions Tha’alani. They were Linguists. They were also not entirely comfortable with the complement of Swords that barred their way. Ybelline, however, was gracious enough to make the presence of armed and armored men feel both natural and almost neighborly. If the Tha’alani ever wanted to conquer the world—and they had, in the past, and for less usual reasons—she would be their best weapon.
But even the unflappable Tha’alani castelord raised a brow when the Arkon exited the carriage. She tendered him a very respectful bow. “Arkon?”
He chuckled. “I did say I intended to accompany the young Private.”
“It is seldom, Arkon, that you are seen outside of your Library.”
“The word you want is never.” He straightened the fall of his robes and looked at the Swords. Or at the small barriers erected to prevent entry into the quarantined area. Or even at the buildings, which were much narrower, shorter, and vastly less impressive than the Imperial Palace.
“When was the last time you left the Palace?” Ybelline asked him.
“Much before you were born. Any of you,” he added, “excepting only Lord Sanabalis. I see that the City is both changed and unchanged since I last chanced its streets.” He walked toward the Swords, who were now standing bolt upright.
Kaylin took the opportunity to cadge a hug from the castelord as Sanabalis and the Arkon were being the walking credentials necessary to get through the Swords. Ybelline’s stalks brushed her forehead.
Kaylin.
To Kaylin’s surprise, the castelord was…excited. Nervous, fearful, yes—those were expected—but excited, as well. Why?
I’m not sure, Kaylin. But…this is where the Ancients are. Where your Keeper is. Where the water is. And the Arkon has left the Library. I am afraid of what we’ll face, but…the Tha’alaan will see it and know it forever if I am here. Where are we going?
Good question. I’ll ask.
The answer was pointed silence. The Arkon was frequently silent, and sometimes inscrutable—but this was not one of those silences. Kaylin didn’t have to be able to read his mind; his expression was absolutely clear.
“But Evanton doesn’t allow Dragons into his store!” she told him.
“Ask him nicely.”
Severn chuckled. “Sanabalis has already seen the garden once.”
“Evanton wasn’t in the store at the time, and it was a bit of an emergency.” Her voice trailed off on the last word. Throwing her hands up, she turned and began to walk, leading the small party. It wasn’t as if the Dragons didn’t already know the way, after all.
The streets were distinctly empty. It was a bright, clear morning—one which would usually involve a lot of sandwich boards and small wagons ringed with the idle gossip of the various customers who came to Elani. Kaylin found herself missing them, which surprised her. She would have bet against the possibility a week ago.
But it made the walk to Evanton’s much shorter than it might otherwise have been. The Arkon did pause and look at the various storefronts with their darkened interiors and their locked doors. “Do mortals really come here to find their destiny or the love of their lives?”
“That, or hair,” Kaylin muttered.
He shook his head. “I’ve noted the obsession with hair. I fail to understand its significance.”
“It means we’re not old,” Kaylin replied.
The Arkon raised a conspicuously white brow. It lowered be fore she could speak. “Ah, yes. Mortality. Hair does not, apparently, prevent it.”
She nodded absently, because they had reached Evanton’s storefront. The gold lettering caught sunlight and reflected it, making a blur of Evanton’s name. Grethan had clearly been in want of chores, because the windows were clean and gleaming; the two Dragons were reflected perfectly. Here goes nothing.
Grethan answered the door. The good thing about having Grethan in the shop was that he answered the door relatively quickly compared to Evanton. Evanton always moved slowly when he wasn’t in the Garden; Kaylin half suspected this was deliberate. Knocking on the door usually involved a long wait, one which wasn’t always rewarded. Knocking a second time, on the other hand, was rewarded with an annoyed Evanton.
Grethan never looked annoyed to see her; he often looked alarmed or nervous. Since she’d come with his castelord and two Dragons in tow, she expected alarm.
But she underestimated Ybelline. Why, after all this time, she didn’t know. The Tha’alani castelord stepped around her, toward Grethan, before his eyes had finished widening. Given how wide they actually got, this wasn’t miraculous speed on Ybelline’s part. Grethan’s mouth opened and closed, although no words followed; his stalks were weaving frantically in the air. They didn’t work; Grethan had been born deaf, in Tha’alani terms; he couldn’t touch the Tha’alaan on his own. Nor could he touch another person and hear—or convey—his own thoughts.
But it didn’t matter. Ybelline could touch the deaf. She could touch Kaylin. And she could touch Grethan with compassion and, in the end, pride. His eyes filmed with water; hers didn’t. But she smiled, and she spoke no words aloud for a few moments. When she stepped back, Grethan hurriedly brushed his eyes with the back of his hands, and then bowed—very formally—to the two Dragon Lords. He nodded, briefly, at Kaylin and Severn, but as they weren’t much of a problem, she didn’t expect more.
&
nbsp; “I will get Evanton,” he told them. He didn’t invite them in. Nor did they attempt to enter without his invitation.
But the two Dragons turned to each other when the door slid shut. “It is as you said,” the Arkon told Sanabalis. “This is not an entirely stable building.”
“It can’t be any worse than the High Halls,” Kaylin told him.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Like the Keeper, the Barrani are insistent upon the absence of Dragons within their Halls. I therefore have very little in the way of comparison. And, if we are blunt, very little in the way of useful observation. But it is less of a surprise that you lost your way while you were visiting the Keeper than it might have been had you failed to successfully cross the average street.” He took a breath, and might have continued, but the door once again opened, saving Kaylin from what was undoubtedly becoming a lecture in full bloom.
Evanton stood in the frame with a quiet Grethan as a shadow. He didn’t look happy, but the perpetual severity of his recent expression was absent. He didn’t step out of the door frame, nor did he invite the Dragons in. He did fix Kaylin with a very pointed stare before he spoke. But he offered Ybelline a genuine, if tired, smile. “He is doing well here, castelord. Or as well as can be expected of a new apprentice.”
“It brings me peace to hear it,” was her quiet reply. “It is more than we had the right to hope for, and less, in the end, than we did, but that is the nature and folly of love.”
One brow rose, but after a moment, he nodded. He almost bowed, and Kaylin was certain he would have, had the Dragons not been present. It was to the Dragons he now turned.
“Lord Sanabalis,” he said quietly. He nodded, as if he were the Dragon’s equal. “And your companion?”
“The Arkon of the Imperial Library.”
Evanton allowed his brows to rise. “The Arkon? I had not heard that the Arkon traveled.”
“I generally do not,” the Arkon replied. “And while I am not perhaps conversant with the entirety of mortal interaction, even I am aware that it is less than polite to speak of a person as if he is not present.”
Evanton grimaced and slid into High Barrani. “I am not famed, unfortunately, for the quality of my manners, and as I seldom have company that is better schooled, I am accustomed to speaking my mind. My apologies, Arkon,” he added, and this time, he did bow. When he rose, he said, “What brings you to my humble shop?”
“You are aware that someone will attempt to open a portal—and it will open just beyond the facade of your store in these streets?”
“I am.”
“We have, at the best guess of the Master of the Oracular Halls, a day and a half. The timing is not entirely accurate.”
“Did the Master of the Oracular Halls give a better estimate of the numbers we might expect?”
“No. It was not, however, our primary concern.”
Evanton snorted. “It wouldn’t be. What do you hope to achieve by your presence here?”
“Achieve?”
“You have left what is, if I understand it correctly, your hoard. You are here, on the very periphery of mine.”
The Arkon raised a brow; in color it was a match for Evanton’s. They stood almost bristling—in totally correct postures and with the patina of civility—while the sun inched across the sky. It was, to Kaylin’s lasting surprise, the Arkon who blinked first. He chuckled.
Evanton’s expression didn’t change.
“You have some understanding of Hoard Law. It’s unusual in mortals.” He glanced at Kaylin. “Yes, Keeper. We understand in all ways that this is your hoard. We will touch nothing, harm nothing, and take nothing. Within your domain, not even the Emperor’s Law supersedes your claim in our eyes.”
Evanton grimaced. “I should,” he told them both, in a tone of voice that clearly indicated he wasn’t going to, “take your oaths.” He lifted a hand as the Arkon drew breath and added, “My hearing is not what it used to be, but it is still functional, and I’d like it to remain that way. I want no Dragon spoken in my store.” He swung the door wide, and added, “Lord Sanabalis has already been dragged into my domain by a less than well-schooled Hawk.
“Please, come in.”
If the Dragons were alarmed or dismayed by the dust and the clutter, they showed no signs of it. Given the Arkon’s small, dense pockets of same, Kaylin privately thought he hadn’t even noticed. Or rather, that he hadn’t noticed the mess. He did seem to notice everything else, and even chanced a question about one or two of the items.
“You sell these?” he asked.
“If it’s on the shelf, yes.”
Clearly, the idea of selling anything you claimed as part of your hoard was so astonishing, no further words were forthcoming. Evanton added, into the Arkon’s uncomfortable silence, “You replace chairs when you break them—you replace desks the same way.”
“And apprentices,” the Arkon added, with a perfectly straight face.
“I would suggest that you think of the clutter in the outer part of the store as desks, chairs, or inkwells. They are within my domain, but they do not define it.”
This did put the Arkon more at ease. Dragons, Kaylin thought, were crazy. But then again, who wasn’t? She followed at the back of the pack as Evanton led them toward the familiar, rickety door at the end of a very crowded hall.
“These,” Evanton said, indicating the shelves that entirely obscured the walls, “are not for sale.”
The Arkon did peruse them as he walked, his gaze so sharp Kaylin suspected that he carried a memory crystal. But if he did, Evanton didn’t seem concerned. He paused only once, in front of a shelf that looked to Kaylin’s admittedly nonbibliographic eye like Evanton’s usual mess. “I…do not recognize this book,” he said.
“Which one?” Evanton turned back. This caused immediate congestion in the very narrow hall space. “Ah. The treatise on the development of languages.”
“Is that what it is?”
“More or less. It’s…esoteric, and it is not a linguistics paper.”
“Where did you find it?”
“It came with the job,” was the gruff reply. There was another moment of extended silence. “If you wish,” the Keeper finally said, “and you are willing to do so, you may study its contents here.”
“May I capture them?”
“You will find it resistant to memory crystals, but you may certainly make the attempt. Not, however, until the difficulty with magic that is currently plaguing the quarter is resolved. Some half dozen of the more difficult books have been moved to the Garden for the duration.”
“Would those volumes also be less familiar to me?”
“I haven’t a clue. I’ve never been much of a collector,” he added. “And when I want to relax, I don’t generally read. I bead.”
“It is not to relax that one reads tomes of this nature,” was the slightly severe reply. “But rather, to learn.”
“At my age, I know enough to fulfill my responsibilities. Learning is for the young. Or,” he added, “the sages.”
“It is also for the wise.”
Evanton said, “If I had been wise, I would have found a different job.”
At that, the older Dragon shrugged. “We are not always capable of wisdom in our youth, and your duties are absolutely essential.”
“That’s what I tell myself, on most days.” He turned and made his way back to the door.
The Dragons were silent as they entered the Elemental Garden. Kaylin was silent, as well, possibly for a different reason; she was holding her breath. But the Garden, at least at first glimpse, was neither raging storm nor huge expanse of grassy wilderness; it was neat, tidy, and contained. There was a small path that led between the shrines, but Kaylin’s gaze went—as it always did—to the shrine of Water.
Ybelline, silent until that moment, turned not to Kaylin but to Evanton. “Might we explore the Garden while you discuss the matters that have brought the Dragon Lords to your domain?” She gestured toward Kaylin as
she spoke.
“I think the young Private is necessary for this meeting,” he replied. “And it may possibly prove relevant to you, as well. However,” he added, “you at least are welcome to visit, Ybelline. I have heard much about you, and none of it would ever constitute a threat to what I must Keep. Indeed, it may ease the burden.
“But if you desire speech with the element of water, it might have to wait. Water is often slow to respond, when it chooses to respond at all. I am the Keeper, but I am not the Master. I cannot force or hurry what will not be forced.” He spoke gravely and far more formally than he usually did.
She smiled. “I am that obvious?”
“It is obvious that you revere the water,” he replied. “But the elements are all confined in this Garden, and they are not without petty rivalries of their own. They are already unsettled, and they are…nervous, now. I believe they are waiting,” he added, looking beyond Ybelline to Kaylin.
“For?”
“The Devourer.”
CHAPTER 24
Evanton didn’t lead the Dragons to the stone hut that had been shelter during one raging storm; nor did he lead them to any of the shrines. Instead, he led them to what seemed the center of the Garden itself. It had curved stone benches which would easily support their weight, but also rounded stones that sported the soft moss Kaylin liked best. As Evanton felt comfortable enough to sit on those stones, Kaylin did likewise. She noted that Severn took an actual seat, as did the Dragons and Ybelline.
“What will you do?” Sanabalis asked Evanton, coming directly to the point.
Evanton raised a brow in a fashion that was almost Draconian. “I?” he asked. “What will I do?”
“Indeed.”
“I will do very little,” was his reply. “I am content—barely—to support the Private in her attempts to unify the elements.”
“To what?” Kaylin asked sharply. She was, unlike the Arkon, used to being spoken about in the third person as if she weren’t present.
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