She had walked toward Bellusdeo.
“Move as you moved before you named me, Chosen. You understand the danger the Ferals represent to your friends. If you had the time for this standoff, it might be wisest to let Teela and Severn fight—but Severn is mortal, and human. His survival here is not guaranteed.”
Kaylin moved then, the motion a visceral lunge forward into a darkness alleviated only by Hope’s diffuse wings. As she did, she finally saw the Ferals.
“Kaylin.”
“Notnow,” she snapped.
“Open your eyes.”
She did. She was no longer standing in a hallway. There were no people between her and the Ferals that stood their ground. No Teela or Nightshade with their humongous swords; no Severn with a weapon chain he could not set to spin. Even in a shorter circle, the halls here were too narrow.
The Ferals did not immediately look up to meet her eyes. They didn’t shift position at all. Ynpharion certainly had.
He was beyond irritated by the observation; Kaylin realized that he found it humiliating. But she had no way to turn off her thoughts, and didn’t waste the effort trying. She did waste the effort on amazement that Teela and Nightshade could guard their own so completely.
An’Teela is impressive, Nightshade said.I am less so. It is not difficult to guard one’s thoughts against someone who very seldom listens.
Can you see what I see?
I believe so.
The Ferals seemed almost like statues; their bodies were obsidian, with flecks of color. That color moved, swirling and shifting, beneath the surface of skin that was hard, carved, smooth. This was not how she had seen Ynpharion, the first time. This wasn’t, she was almost certain, what Teela and Severn were seeing now. The Ferals were the Shadows closest to animals in appearance; they didn’t sprout extra eyes or extra mouths; they didn’t have fingers and hands instead of paws. And they had fur, like short-haired dogs.
These didn’t. Not here. Their surfaces seemed almost chitinous, with small gaps in the armor where their joints would bend. But their faces were the larger variant of the Ferals that had made nights a time of pure terror in her childhood.
And their eyes were Barrani blue. They were Barrani eyes.
Was it Iberrienne who taught you how to do whatever it is you were doing with your name and your physical form?
Yes. He was not the only such teacher.
Clearly. You mentioned that mortals—or mortal Arcanists—may have been involved. I doubt we’ll find them here—but we’re going to have to find them in the future.Speaking, she moved toward the Ferals.
Their feet seemed to be anchored—literally anchored—to the floor. The floor on which Kaylin was standing. She flinched as her eyes followed their paws, her gaze then moving to the Shadow beneath them. If they were the Shadow’s peak, the Shadow’s physical manifestation, what lay beneath them was far larger, far darker.
Ynpharion, tell Teela and Severn that these arenotlike the forest Ferals. They seem to be anchored to, and drawing power from, a much greater pool of Shadow. If it’s possible—if theyneedto fight—tell them to try to take out their legs.
Pardon?
Or tell them to somehow detach the Ferals from the ground they’re standing on.She frowned.It may be the reason they’re not leaping—literally—to attack. I don’t think they’ll attack until they can extend their jaws and start biting faces, or whatever else they can reach.
Can you see their names?
Not yet. Not quite.She could see the armor that should have been fur. Her gaze, her focus, had first gone to the breadth of darkly smooth chest, as if she were looking for the heart of the beast, because on some level she believed the name resided there; her gaze had dropped to the floor when she realized the shadows cast by these Ferals were not the shadows she would have expected, even of creatures of their size.
Her gaze left the floor and rose, past the chest that in theory contained heart or lungs. When she reached the head, her attention momentarily snagged on ebon jaws; she forced it up.Yes, she told Ynpharion.Yes, I’ve found their names.
The names were not like Bellusdeo’s name; they were far more like Ynpharion’s—a single rune she’d have some hope of transcribing, rather than a mess of different lines and textures that overlapped and faded from memory the minute she looked away. Once she’d caught sight of the names, she wondered how she’d managed to miss them; they were glowing, golden sigils that appeared to be anchored to the foreheads of the Ferals by gravity and Shadow. They weren’t flat; they were dimensional.
She hesitated. She had taken Ynpharion’s name; he hadn’t offered it to her. Although she could see the names, they weren’t on offer, either. One angry, condescending voice in her head was more than enough. If she could, she’d forget the name entirely; it would free her from a constant stream of criticism.
“You do not have to take the name,” Hope said quietly.
“I have to do something with the name—”
“Yes. Think, Kaylin. The last time you encountered Ynpharion, you had not named me. There were things I could not do, interactions that were impossible. Now you have more flexibility. I cannot do what you must do, but the ability is yours.”
