There was an outer barrier. Kaylin understood, as that fire traveled—instantly obliterating a line of soldiers that stood between Brennaire’s banner and the High Lord—that the shield was immobile; the High Lord had placed it above the bulk of the army. He had not expected fire from within. Not now. Even if politics among the Barrani were death games, no Barrani would play those games at this time; the cost would be incalculable.
It was, Ynpharion said. His interior voice was quiet, leached of its usual condescension.
The fire did not immediately destroy the High Lord. But the barrier above the army faltered, and Dragon fire rained down upon those who had sheltered beneath it. In ones and twos across that field she could see pockets of resistance spring up, places the Dragon fire couldn’t reach.
But the Dragons didn’t contain their attack to aerial maneuvers. She could see that the Arkon—and the Flight he was part of—was rapidly approaching the ground. Not all of the Flights descended—some remained above. The constant rain of fire didn’t hurt the Dragons, and never had. The same couldn’t be said for the Barrani.
The High Lord staggered; his cape was ash, and some good part of his hair; his face was ruddy, reddened, and he’d lost his eyebrows. He had not lost his bearing. He understood that the blow that had crippled his defenses—ah, no,theirdefenses—had come from within. Kaylin could see the expression and the certainty clearly. He gestured, lifted his horn, blew it; Kaylin couldn’t hear the notes, but didn’t need to hear them.
The Brennaire banner flapped wildly in a wind that moved nothing else; it whitened suddenly, becoming a flare so bright Kaylin had to squint. That white light spread in a burst of something that nonetheless resembled flame. The flame rose, and at its heart, Kaylin could see Shadow.
Spike said, “Yes.”
Kaylin gave herself a mental shake, and tried to remember the reason the Arkon was offering this information. Her familiar squawked—quietly, for him, which implied that he wasn’t angry—and Spike’s conversation devolved into something not quite designed for human ears. Judging from the expressions on Bellusdeo’s and the Consort’s faces, it wasn’t meant for Immortal ears, either.
As usual, Helen was the bridge. “Spike says that the Arcanist in question was, in whole or in part, in the thrall of the Shadow. He believes, given the casual use of magic—”
“Casual?”
“—that the Shadow was present in person, if that is an adequate description. If, however, he was, there would be more evidence, more magic, involved.” She hesitated, and then said, “He does not believe the Dragons were enspelled. They are fundamentally different in the ways they come of age, and it is more difficult to alter them. Perhapscorruptis a better word. He does believe, however, that were the Dragons to be in close and steady contact with this particular Shadow, it would be possible.”
Kaylin thought of Makkuron, the Dragon outcaste.
The Arkon folded his hands together, and as he did, the large magical image folded into nothing.
Ynpharion wasn’t happy. From the looks of it, neither were the Consort or the cohort.
“My apologies,” he said, as if any of them had spoken out loud. “But it is taxing, and I am old.”
Bellusdeo snorted. No one else did.
“I wished to have Spike’s opinion. And now I do. Your history will tell you that in that battle, the palace was almost destroyed. By us,” he added, as if it were necessary—and given what they’d witnessed, it probably was. “But I believe that not to be the case. The building itself retreated into its core, where its roots and power were strongest. In that retreat, it captured the creature that had been controlling Brennaire.
“I am less certain of how, but I believe the High Lord was instrumental in the defeat and containment. I wasn’t as familiar with the modes of Barrani magic as I now am.”
The Consort’s eyes narrowed. “And you will claim that you had nothing to do with that entrapment?”
The Arkon’s eyes shaded toward their more natural gold; there was a tinge of orange in them. “No, I will make no such claim. Our people are not at war, and I would offer no pretext for war where none is needed.”
“Might I remind you,” Bellusdeo said, voice dry enough to catch fire with just the tiniest of sparks, “that the Barrani have all but declared war?”
“A small band of rabble-rousers who have never seen war have attempted to make noise, yes,” the Arkon replied. “But the weight of the High Lord—and his Consort—are not behind those noises, and the Emperor does not consider the war band tobea delegation from the High Court.”
“And for that, you have our gratitude,” the Consort said gravely. Her eyes, unlike the Arkon’s, had not shaded back to green. “You believe that the creature contained beneath—and by—the Tower was responsible for the war.”
“Yes. But that is conjecture. Our information sources, for reasons that must be clear, are scant; while we have our spies, they are not necessarily numerous, and they are not always reliable. Your spies have more flexibility within the Imperial Palace.” He lifted a hand and added, “The conjecture is all but irrelevant. The war is in the past; it is done. We cannot return to the past to change its outcome. Nor can we change the facts of the second and third wars. We cannot take back the harm that was done on both sides.
“We have the future, and it has not yet been fixed or decided. I apologize if my recollections have caused you—any of you—pain or discomfort. They were meant for Spike, and Spike’s assessment. They are neither a declaration of innocence or an accusation. Not all of those who died on the field died at the hands of Shadow. In fact, I would say that most did not.” He then turned toward Kaylin.
No, she thought, toward Spike. “You have spoken ofRavellonand its lord. And you believe you have recognized the Shadow that I showed you—the Shadow that is now contained beneath the High Halls.”
Spike whirred for a long moment. “Yes,” he finally said. “From the evidence presented, I believe I can identify what you now face. More information is required for certainty, but the probability is high.”
“Then tell us—or have Helen translate if you cannot—what we, or what Lord Kaylin’s friends, will face.”
He whirred and clicked in response, and Helen’s eyes—still obsidian—widened. They widened enough that they no longer looked human or mortal.
“Spike understands why the Tower withdrew from the rest of the palace; he is surprised and uneasy because in his estimation, containment of this Shadow is...never certain. And yet, he has existed beneath the High Halls for centuries. The containment occurred after the first war?” she asked the Arkon.
