None so well as the Arkon. Kaylin saw him and thought he had never looked young to her. She’d never been able to conceive of an Arkon in youth. But he hadn’t been the Arkon in his youth. Hadn’t been a soldier, a warrior. There had been no Empire, the Aeries of the Dragons still existed in the heights, and the wars themselves were a distant, distant storm on a horizon that had already been darkened by Shadow.
It was Emmerian who shook his head. “This is his hoard,” he said softly. “I think it always has been. If the city were under attack, the Emperor would call up every man and woman at his disposal to defend it, yes?”
Kaylin nodded.
“Where the attack was surgical, he would send in the ground forces; Dragons in flight do much damage, and only in cases where necessity dictates the risk of that damage be taken will we fly.”
She thought of the attack on the High Halls.
“But were he to lose half the city, and yet emerge triumphant, the city would survive. It would be no less his, no less the heart of his hoard. He would rebuild. His hoard is larger, grander, and less physical than it first appears.
“So, too, the Arkon. How does one own knowledge? How does one own the thoughts of others? What does such knowledge become if it is not shared, if like minds are not invited to discover it, and to add knowledge of their own?”
“Lord Candallar,” Killian said for a third time. “The keys you carry have no value now. Set them down and leave.”
Illanen and Baltrin—the latter silent—had already begun to fade. Candallar wheeled in Illanen’s direction, but the Arcanist’s head was bowed; his expression could no longer be seen.
“If you desire it now,” Killian said, “Karriamis will free you. He will free you without devouring you, without destroying you. He has long been the most intense, the most focused; it is difficult to command him, and difficult to ignore him. You have said—you have thought—Karriamis a cage.
“But Candallar, you have made of me a cage for others, and that cage, too, is open. Those who do not wish to remain are free now to enter the stream of the lives they once had. I do not understand what you desired of the Academia. Freedom? Power? These things might exist here. But your cage is of your making; Karriamis did not cage you.
“Go. The Arbiters are restless, and none of the three are inclined to accept my judgment in this regard. Should you choose to remain, I cannot guarantee that I can continue to protect you from the consequences of your actions in this space.”
Candallar faded. He did not, however, release the objects that in theory governed the Academia.
“That,” Starrante said, “was unwise in the extreme.”
“It was Karriamis’s only request of me.”
“Candallar is a small man; it is not in him to allow others to enjoy what he himself does not control or possess. If he cannot have you, Killianas, he desires that no one does. Can you not feel it? I could feel it from here.”
“He cannot harm me now.”
“It is not for you that we fear, you fool. Think: Candallar understood—in a rudimentary, solipsistic fashion—how he might set about waking you. He understood you required a student body to function; he did not understand what a studentis. But in his slipshod way, he has provided you with one: one significant student. There might be others—but they are not his equal.
“That student is no longer in the library. And if the insignia of office, of control, is no longer absolute, it is not a mere trifle.”
Kaylin understood. She understood at least as well as Starrante, and she turned to the Arbiter. “Send me,” she said, voice low. “Send me to Robin.”
Starrante built a door; the entire process seemed agonizingly slow. Hope sat on her shoulder, silent, as that door solidified and emerged; Starrante opened it.
“I cannot leave the library,” he said, “and remain as I am now. You retrieved me the first time, Chosen.”
Killian vanished as the door opened, and Kaylin stepped—or jumped—into an empty hall. Severn was beside her; he cleared the door first, both of his feet hitting solid stone on the other side before hers did. He ran, and she followed.
Nightshade!
Here, he said.
Where is Robin? Is he with you?
He is. He has taken his seat.
She couldn’t risk running and looking through Nightshade’s eyes at the same time; she didn’t. She trusted Severn to know where he was going.
Nightshade said nothing more. But she heard the breaking—the shattering—of a door long before she could see that door. And she heard distant shouts and screams.
Candallar didn’t understand that Robin was the heart of this tiny student body. He understood that students were necessary—and he intended to kill them all before he retreated—if he retreated.
