Cast In Fury (38 page)

“To which the Sergeant responded, truthfully, ‘No.’”

“The friend was silent, and the Sergeant—moved.”

“Moved?”

“He leaped off his chair and away from his table, grabbing the edge of the nearest table and flipping it sideways. He rolled behind it.”

Kaylin smiled. She had rarely seen Marcus in action—but that had Marcus written all over it.

“Why?” Adar asked.

“Instinct,” Ybelline replied serenely. “It saved his life. There wasn’t much left of the table. The payment for damages to the pub is still outstanding, and he regrets that.”

“What was he fighting?”

“A Leontine,” she replied. Her expression grew remote, as if she had moved away from them all while standing in place. “To the eyes of the barman and the pub’s owner, that was all he fought. To his own eyes, on one level. But on another, because he was prepared, he could see…shadow.

“And because he could see the shadows clearly, he understood what the Elders in tribes across the plains fear. He understood the significance of the marked, and understood why they were exterminated. And he understood, as well, that Sarabe, marked but nonetheless his wife, would be in danger.

“He called out to his friend,” she continued, still at a remove. “He called out three names. Only one is the name you call him,” she said, “and I did not think it germane to press for further knowledge.”

Adar lifted a hand. “It was not germane,” he replied, “and I thank you for your hesitance. But if he understood the nature of what he faced, why did he call out?”

“They were friends,” she said starkly. “And he could not—not completely—believe that his friend was no longer there. Controlled, yes. Enspelled, yes. Possibly enslaved—but not absent. He took some injuries in the fight because of this,” she added quietly.

“But he killed the—the abomination.”

“Yes. In the end, he killed. But there were Leontine witnesses in the bar by the end of the fight. Witnesses who had not been there at its beginning. He understood, then, that the death was a sacrifice, and he was its intended victim.”

“And he said nothing.”

“No.”

Adar was silent for a moment. “I see.” He turned, then, and offered Sanabalis a deep bow. “Eldest,” he said. “We will deliberate, now. We thank you for your intervention.”

Sanabalis nodded in return. “How much time will these deliberations require?”

“I am not certain. There is much to discuss.”

“There is much that is relevant to the Emperor,” Sanabalis replied in turn. “We will wait.”

“Rennick is going to kill us,” Kaylin told Sanabalis as they stood together some distance from the Elders. Ybelline had taken a seat along one of the curved stone benches. She was silent.

“While I would like to see him make the attempt,” the Dragon Lord replied, “I took some precautions before I left the Palace. He is aware that you will be somewhat tardy.”

“Did you tell him why?”

“No. I’m certain you’ll—what is the phrase among your kind? Ah, yes. Think of something.”

Leontine growls punctuated the otherwise silent day; the sun began its march toward the horizon while they listened. Kaylin heard snatches of conversation, but never quite enough to make sense of; her Leontine belonged to the Pridlea’s hearth. She did, however, pick up a few of the more familiar phrases she occasionally used.

She glanced at Marcus. He remained standing where he had stood while Ybelline examined him; he hadn’t moved an inch. His hands were by his sides, and his eyes were closed, probably because he was listening. He had stood there for hours, and could probably stand there for several more. They hadn’t insisted that he return to his cage; they hadn’t really spoken to him at all.

He didn’t draw their attention to this oversight.

But when the Elders were done, his eyes opened.

Adar approached him in silence. The Elders followed.

“Marcus son of Horus, you are called before the Council.” He spoke in very slow High Barrani.

Marcus nodded.

“We have considered the circumstances with care,” Adar said, “and it is our opinion that, in choosing silence, you have endangered the kin.”

Marcus nodded again.

“But if you have sidestepped an ancient law, you have done so because you have chosen to follow laws equally ancient. The laws of the Pridlea,” he added. “The blame is ours, and we accept it. We should have ordered the deaths of Sarabe and Marai when they were presented to Council at birth. We did not. And because we did not, you were left little choice in the matter. You are a man. A man does not abandon his wives.

“You understand the threat we face, Marcus. You are not an Elder, but we ask you now what you would do, were you to carry the weight and responsibility of the tribe.”

“If I were in your position, and I had decided that Sarabe and Marai must die,” Marcus replied, without expression, “I would kill me.”

“And would you decide that their deaths are necessary?”

“No.”

Adar stepped forward until he was within arm’s reach of the Sergeant. “No?”

“No. We failed to protect Marai. The failure is
ours.
”

“She had a son.”

“Yes. But she was not married, and she was adopted by no Pridlea. She was left to fend for herself. She is not tainted by the Shadows. Or she was not. And Sarabe has borne girls, and their births were registered. None of them are marked. They have lived their lives by the whim and rules of the Elders, and they have lived them as well as they can. Were I you, Adar, I would hunt the shadow-spawn, and I would kill him. If it were possible. But I would not destroy two innocent women to appease the wrath of Dragons.”

“Even though you have seen for yourself the truth of the ancient story, and the danger.”

“Even so.”

Adar was silent for a moment. “The tainted one must be stopped,” he said at last. “And a Pridlea must be found for Marai—one that meets the Elders’ approval. Sarabe is, as you say, without blame. Her existence is not without risk, but it is a risk that we are—for the sake of peace between the Emperor and our kin—willing to accept. If the Eldest accepts it,” he added, glancing toward Sanabalis.

“The Dragon Court is not without its misgivings,” he replied slowly. “But the continued existence of the only Leontine to serve the Halls of Law is marginally more valuable to the Emperor than the death of the marked. The tainted one was not born within the city. He might not have been born within the Empire. Some investigations are ongoing with regards to this, but they do not concern the Caste Court at present.”

Kaylin could see the sudden sagging of Marcus’s shoulders, could hear the breath that he had been holding as he slowly, slowly let go. But he kept something in reserve, for he nodded warily, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Very well. If it is acceptable to the Eldest, it is acceptable to the Elders. In these things, we take their lead.”

Marcus nodded again, still silent, still wary.

“But the child—his son—must die.”

“No!”

As one man, they swiveled to look at Kaylin.

“The child has done
nothing wrong.
How can he? He’s a
baby!
”

They stared at her for a long moment, and then a few of them glanced at Marcus. Marcus was massaging his temples and, yes, showing his fangs. It was the universal sign of frustration in Leontines.

“Private,” he said, a warning growl underpinning the familiar word.

“No,” she said. It was a different no; it didn’t sound as if it had been torn out of a place so deep it had left a wound on exit.

“It is not your place—”

“It
is
my place. I helped deliver the baby. There was
no one else
there. I licked the birth fluids from him. His name is in part
my
name.”

“He is not your child.”

“No? And Sarabe’s children are not Kayala’s?”

“There is a difference.”

“There is no difference. They didn’t bear those daughters, but they were there to catch the babies when they were born. Even you weren’t present,” she added. “Marai asked for me. I was there.

“And I claim the right of Pridlea law. I won’t just step aside and wait for his death.”

“The Ancient Laws supersede—”

“You just told Marcus that primal law counts for something. That it is as old, and as honorable, as—as anything else. I believe that,” she said grimly. “I also believe that it’s my duty to defend the helpless. I have the right of a mother. I have the responsibility of a Hawk.” She folded her arms carefully. It kept her hands from her daggers.

“The tainted,” Adar said almost gently, “are not recognized at birth as kin. They are kinless, and they are motherless.”

She snorted. She stopped herself from using the choice Leontine phrase that was hovering on the edge of her tongue by dint of pure will.

And Lord Sanabalis spoke.

The hair on the back of Kaylin’s neck rose and she felt an answering tingle from the skin beneath it. From the skin on her arms, her thighs, her back. She heard his voice, and
felt
it. He was not speaking Leontine. Or Elantran. Or any tongue she could recognize.

But she recognized it anyway. It had been the language that he had first spoken when he had disembarked from their carriage into the crowded Leontine streets what seemed half a lifetime ago.

She could not see the words the way she had that day. They were not the same words, she thought, although the sound of each syllable was resonant with strength, intent, power.

The Elders forgot her. They forgot Marcus. They fell, slowly, to their knees before the standing Dragon, with his flashing eyes and his trailing beard of frost that made a lie of the infirmity of age.

When he had finished, and it was a short speech in comparison with the telling of the long tale of their creation, he bowed to them all and rose. “Private, I believe you are late.”

She shook herself, coming back to the present. “What did you tell them?”

“The truth,” he replied wearily.

“Which one?”

“That anything that knows life—anything at all—can be corrupted or swayed from its purpose.” He offered a hand to Ybelline, and she accepted it gracefully. “Sergeant Kassan is to remain with the Elders,” he said, “until the tainted is either contained or destroyed.”

“But—but why?”

“Because you would not scruple to hold the city hostage for the sake of your convictions. And because I do not think we will come to the tainted in time without your aid.”

“The child—”

“I will not lie to you, Kaylin. The child is safe—for now. But his fate is yet to be determined, and when it is, it will be by the Emperor. Who cares nothing, in the end, for the Pridlea laws or your personal loyalties.”

Ybelline shared the carriage back to the Palace. Sanabalis was not, and had never been, small; Kaylin was wedged between his bulk and the door, while Ybelline and Severn sat opposite.

“Aren’t we going the wrong way?” Kaylin asked Sanabalis.

“No.”

“I think we missed the turnoff to the Tha’alani Quarter.”

“There are severe restrictions on traffic in that Quarter,” the Dragon Lord replied, “but even if there were not, that would not be our destination. Ybelline Rabon’alani is to accompany you to your meeting with Mr. Rennick.”

“Oh.” She had almost forgotten Rennick.

“Your time with Mr. Rennick will be severely curtailed over the next few days,” Sanabalis continued. “But Ybelline has graciously consented to oversee his work in your absence.”

“Is he aware of this?”

“Not yet.”

“And we’re already late.”

“He is less likely to frown on that than your Sergeant. Your current Sergeant,” he added. “And if he does shout or throw things—for which he is famed in the kitchens—he nevertheless dislikes overweening pride in authority figures. He will, however, accept it from the Emperor.”

“He’d have to. He’s still alive.”

Rennick must have crawled his way to the door, he took so long to open it. Kaylin had a suspicion that he wouldn’t have answered at all if Sanabalis had not cleared his throat. In the lovely, cavernous heights of the Palace halls, it sounded suspiciously like a roar.

She wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Rennick, because she and Severn were, at best estimate, almost four hours late. While this was not entirely unheard-of in the office, even Kaylin recognized that days this late generally caused starvation due to lack of employment.

But Rennick stared into the hall, first at Sanabalis, and then at the Tha’alani woman who stood at his side. Sanabalis’s brow lifted—it was a subtle motion—and Rennick, whose mouth had opened slightly, bowed instead of speaking. He rose and said, “I’m sorry—it’s a bit messy. I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“Kaylin and Severn were expected, surely?” Ybelline asked.

“Well, yes—but they’re Hawks. They’re not exactly guests. Speaking of which,” he added, “you’re late.”

Kaylin nodded. “We were waiting for Ybelline.”

“And you didn’t think to inform me?”

“It would have been a good idea, but there were other things on our mind at the time. Can we come in?”

“Yes. There’s not a lot of visible floor, but you don’t have to worry about what you step on. Unless it squeals or snaps.”

He fully opened the door, and Kaylin shrugged. As mess went, it was pretty clean. Granted, she couldn’t see the carpet. But the only thing that covered it was paper and books.

Rennick had busied himself shoving similar crumpled pieces off the surface of the large dining table, and from there, off the seats of various chairs. He pulled one of these out and gestured to Ybelline, who took it gracefully. Kaylin and Severn found their own chairs.

“I will leave you all to the matters at hand,” Sanabalis said, eyeing one of the slender chairs with some disdain. “Private, Corporal, I will send Lord Tiamaris to retrieve you should we receive word that your services are required elsewhere.”

“Hey!” Rennick shouted, before Sanabalis could touch the large, gleaming handle on the door. “They just arrived. Late, I might add.”

“Yes. If all goes well, you will have their full attention—their full,
respectful
attention—for the remainder of the day. If it does not, Ybelline has graciously agreed to aid you in their stead. Since she
is
the Castelord of the Tha’alani, and she is noted for her ability to tolerate other races, you should be able to obtain any information you require from her.”