“I’mnevergoing to forget any of this,” Robin said.
Starrante spit out a gob of webbing—this time, without the pink residue that strongly implied internal injury. He worked that into a web, just as he’d done any other time. But this web closely resembled a door, and when it was done and Starrante breathed on it, it became a door. With a handle.
“Your classes, Robin. Do not neglect them.” He straightened. “I believe you will find them much changed in the near future. Go now.”
Robin clearly wanted to stay. But he recognized the authority inherent in a giant spider, and he understood that the library itself was a hazard zone. He reached for the doorknob, opened the door and stopped.
A familiar man stood in the doorway.
Killian.
It was a Killian that Kaylin had never seen before, although she did recognize him. He had both of his eyes. Those eyes were narrowed, glinting and completely black. The Arkon was angry, yes.
So was Killian. He glanced at Robin. “You took a detour while attempting to find a bathroom, yes?”
Robin cringed.
“This is not the place for you, and you missed the oral portion of your test. I’m afraid it will be reflected in your overall evaluations.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I believe you are already late for your next class. Do not let us keep you.” He stepped into the library but held the door open. Robin glanced once at Starrante, nodded and stepped out, leaving the door ajar.
Killian closed it.
“Killianas, you are late,” Androsse said.
“I believe I requested, through an intermediary, that you open the library.”
“Ah. There were some impediments to your request.”
“Yes, I see that.” He lifted his face, and his hair, a pale sweep of color that now matched the pallor of the Arbiters, hung down his back like a cape—a cape of office. “You could not deal with them?”
“We were not given permission to remove chancellors. I believe you argued against it, at the dawn of things. My memory, however, is not what it was,” Starrante said.
“He did,” Androsse said. “I believe it took some decades to come to an agreement.”
“A compromise,” Killian pointed out.
“There is a reason that ‘compromised’ is not considered a good thing.”
To Kaylin’s surprise, Killian laughed. “Come,” he said. The Arbiters nodded as one. Killian made his way to the Arkon’s side.
Candallar was, for a moment, at a loss for words. He did not find them quickly enough.
“Killianas,” the Arkon said.
“You might consider the number of people in this area, Lannagaros.”
The Arkon’s eyes had gone from red to orange in an instant, and—as if he were as much a student as Robin—he made haste to return to his human form. He was forced, by lack of clothing his transformation into Dragon form had caused, to wear golden scales as plate armor, just as Bellusdeo did, but he was now recognizably the Arkon with whom Kaylin was most familiar.
He carried three books as he turned to face Candallar.
“Do you know me?” Killian asked of Candallar—or his companions.
Candallar nodded, the nod stiff. “You are Killian.”
“I am, at last, Killianas of old.” To Kaylin’s dismay, he tendered Candallar a very low bow; it practically seethed respect. “Respect is due, Chosen, and it will be offered. It was Karriamis who set you upon this path; Karriamis who guided you to what remained of the Academia of old. Did he tell you of our history?”
