“This was not well done, on the part of the chancellor. It is clear to me that he does not understand what the library is; clear, as well, that his understanding of Killianas is flawed in the extreme. If his companions have a better understanding, they were not willing to share it.”
Kaylin doubted they did—but regardless, neither had been present when Candallar had attempted to divest the Arbiters of power.
“I don’t understand,” she admitted.
“A good first step in the gaining of knowledge,” Starrante replied. He coughed up a large blob of glistening white; it hung suspended in the air in front of his space. “Robin,” he said.
Kaylin blinked.
“Larrantin clearly had much to say about paths that could be woven and walked.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he speak about cohesion?”
Robin’s yes was slightly more hesitant.
“Very well. If you could stand here—between the front legs, beneath my head—I would have you watch what I am about to do. You may interrupt at will, until I am finished.
“I apologize,” Starrante added. “But it is the safest place for you to stand. You have a value to Killianas that the rest of the people present lack, and it is important, now, that you be preserved, even if they cannot be.”
Robin glanced over his shoulder at the Dragons, at the Barrani, and at the Hawks. He was both worried for them and pleased for himself; in such company as this, he’d probably never thought to considered valuable at all.
“My apologies, Chosen. Unless Robin interrupts you, you may tell me what it is, exactly, you do not understand.”
“I was in the library before the chancellor tossed us out. He threw us into the halls in which we first met you.”
“Yes?”
“Before he did, I saw the Arbiters in action.”
“I imagine so, given everything done here. What is it that you fail to understand?”
“They were using skills and weapons that...we would use. Dragon breath, claws, teeth; magic.” Before Starrante could tell her to get to the point, she said, “There was nothing about their power that seemed to come from the outside. Kavallac was no match for Bellusdeo, in my assessment.”
“Your assessment is in error.” He spit out more white goo. Robin tensed, but didn’t move. Starrante then began to weave with it—but the weave was not a web that crossed the space in front of him, at least not yet; it was web that he stretched along the obvious cracks in the floor. “Forgive the incomplete reply. Your assessment, were you all to be situated outside of the library itself, might be factually correct.
“The power of the Arbiters in this space, however, is twofold. The Arbiters may use the full force of their powers and abilities without causing harm to anything that belongs within the library, and the Arbiters are capable of closing the space to all, save the chancellor.”
“The interim chancellor counts?”
“Apparently so, although I would have argued against it. Understand that none of the three of us have seen the Academia in its riven state; what we know—and know well—is the Academia when it is fully functional. Things have broken; they are woefully chaotic. I am almost surprised that an interim chancellor could even be acknowledged.”
“Killian said—when we first met him—that the building had no master, no lord.”
“He was inexact, in my opinion.”
Robin lifted a hand. “I think you missed a bit.”
Starrante broke off, extended his neck in the direction to which Robin now pointed out. “My eyes,” he said to the young man, “are not what they used to be. You are correct.”
“It’s only a small bit,” Robin offered, almost apologetic.
“And a single eye is only a small bit as well, when measured against the rest. Is there anything else you have noticed?”
“Larrantin said that dimensional spaces have weight and gravity—but not like our classroom did.”
Starrante’s nod was impatient.
