Cast in Flame (52 page)

She heard, as well, the sound of distant blades: steel bouncing off steel. The ancestor leaped before the familiar could snap him in two. She couldn’t see Annarion. She could see Severn as he backed toward the basin’s edge, his chain spinning before him.

She couldn’t hear Evarrim’s voice.

At any other time, she might have tendered regrets for his death to the Barrani, but they would have been insincere. Good manners. She wouldn’t weep at his death now, but she would regret it. That surprised her.

She took a step forward. Two. Neither were enough to carry her into the range of the ancestor; nor were they nearly enough to bring her to Severn’s side; he was almost at the opposite end of the stretch of land that, empty of the rest of the combatants, now seemed so large.

The ancestor moved only once to follow Severn; the familiar cut him off. He moved like a graceful feline, not a lumbering giant, although he was that, now.

The third step brought her closer to the ancestor and the familiar.

* * *

The fourth step took her away from what remained of the city streets.

* * *

She recognized the gray, shapeless mass on which the familiar and the ancestor now stood. Annarion had materialized to the right of the ancestor; he wielded a sword that reminded her of
Meliannos,
although she knew it couldn’t be.

Annarion made a
lot
more noise here than she’d heard when she’d been trying to avoid fire, magic and the dissipation of the words. His eyes were black.

They were
all
black. His features were accentuated, the lines that spoke of anger sharper and harsher. Annarion appeared to be fighting almost alone. The familiar now hovered above him—in almost the same position he had held in the normal city skies. Or rather, the city skies; nothing about this night and its attack were remotely normal.

She could see Evarrim. The Arcanist lay face down in the fog, his hair a black, perfect spill, his right arm stretched above his head, fingers pointing, as if he’d collapsed in midspellcast. It was to Evarrim she ran. Her dagger—which had made the transition with her—was about as useful here as it had been in the streets of Elantra during the fight. But it was her talisman. She didn’t throw it, but she didn’t sheathe it, either.

She did shift it into her left hand as she knelt by Evarrim’s side. Her fingers fumbled for his pulse. If Barrani anatomy wasn’t human anatomy, the crude similarities made it fairly easy to determine whether or not the Barrani in question was still alive.

He was.

She leaned in. His face was turned to the side, his eyes closed. His eyelids looked bruised, but the rest of his skin was normal, flawless Barrani skin. “Evarrim.” He was breathing.

When his eyes shot open, she jumped, but managed not to fall on her butt. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here.” His voice was a dry rasp, but his eyes—bloodshot—were dark blue.

“The Arkon and the Hawks set up some sort of trap while Teela, Tain and Severn distracted the ancestor in the real world; the Consort managed to sever him from the source of his power.”

“Not an answer.”

Kaylin exhaled. “I came looking for you. I think you’re going to be stuck here if you don’t move.” She held out a hand; he looked at it as if a cockroach had hitched a lift in her palm. On the other hand, cockroaches were apparently less offensive than actual death; he took the hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. His weight was close to dead weight, and Kaylin wasn’t all that steady on her own feet.

The blood that wasn’t on his back was a large, expansive splotch across his chest and his upper thighs. None of it clung to the mist he had fallen into. Kaylin suspected that was for the best. She hesitated until she looked at the ruby circlet he wore on his forehead. There was a black crater where the gem had been. Stepping closer, she tucked herself under his arm-pit, and put an arm around his back to brace him.

He looked even
less
pleased, but endured without comment. Or rather, endured without comment about her proximity. He was watching the ancestor and Annarion, his eyes narrowed to edges, his lips thinned in about the same way.

“Why,” he demanded, “did you not command the familiar to destroy the ancestor earlier?”

“I haven’t commanded him to destroy the ancestor at all,” was Kaylin’s tight reply. She was remembering, now, that there were still plenty of things to detest about the Arcanist. She was not about to answer his question. She knew damned well what his response would be to
that.
“I don’t know if he’s trying to destroy the ancestor; it doesn’t seem like he is, to me.”

No, Kaylin. I am waiting. If the ancestor is destroyed now, Evarrim will perish. Come to me,
he added.

“He’s waiting,” Kaylin told Evarrim.

“For what?”

“For the two of you to leave.” She glared at Annarion, who was far enough away he couldn’t see the expression.

“Leave him,” Evarrim told her, making the effort to modulate his tone so it at least sounded reasonable. “He will not, I think, be stranded here. He is not without power and presence on this plane.”

Kaylin could see that. She thought he fought with more savagery and power than he had in Helen’s dining room—although admittedly she hadn’t actually seen him in combat there. But his eyes were not Barrani eyes. His facial structure was more accentuated, and his hair seemed to have a life of its own. Where his feet touched ground, fog warped and dispersed, leaving something solid in his wake. It was a solid Kaylin recognized.

Chaos.

Neither the familiar nor the ancestor had the same effect on the fog, although the familiar hadn’t actually touched the ground
here,
such as it was. “I can’t leave Annarion,” she told the Arcanist. “I don’t think he’ll come back.”

“We would be better quit of him—what he does now is not natural.”

“You’re here.”

“Yes. And I know how I arrived. He could not have arrived the same way.”

“Can you return now?”

Evarrim stiffened. “Yes. I can return now.”

“Then go back. I won’t be lost here—I have the familiar.”

“You are, as expected, unreasonable.” He looked as if he had more to say. What he did say however was, “You have my gratitude for your intervention.”

She had not even tried to heal him. “Corporal Handred is using his weapon very near to where the familiar is hovering in our world. I think the Arkon is doing a variant of the same spell—but with much weaker chains.”

One dark brow rose.

“Meaning, if you’re going to arrive anywhere near where the ancestor is standing, don’t.”

“Noted.” He grimaced as Kaylin withdrew her arm.

“You owe me nothing,” she told him. “Everything you did, you did for the Lady’s sake.”

He chuckled, which surprised her. “You are becoming more familiar with the social mores of my kin.”

“Yes. And so far I’ve even survived them.”

* * *

She didn’t watch Evarrim go, and made no attempt to follow. Instead, she approached the two men locked in combat, looking for an opening of some kind. There wasn’t one. They both moved far too quickly. There would be a safe opening in the combat when one of them was dead.

Kaylin.

We can’t leave Annarion here.

No. He should not have come. These lands are not safe for him; they are far too destabilizing.

At least we don’t have Mandoran.

No. I believe Helen contained him when she realized Annarion had departed. Mandoran will not be best pleased.

At the moment, Mandoran was not her problem. Annarion was. He maintained the shape and form of a Barrani—but his grip was tenuous. Kaylin didn’t think it would last. She thought his eyes had grown larger and darker as the fighting progressed.

He had not killed the ancestor. Watching him, Kaylin thought he might be capable of it. But only if he continued with the transformation that was slowly taking place. Of the two of Teela’s cohort who’d come from the West March to Elantra, Annarion had been the more reasonable. None of that reason was in evidence now.

“Where is my brother?”

Do you know where Nightshade is?
she asked her familiar.

No.

Could you find him?

Under one of two circumstances, yes.

I’m going to assume that one of the two is the one I’ve already rejected.

Yes.

The other?

You travel with me.

This sounded a lot like “I can find him if you find him first” to Kaylin; she didn’t argue. Instead, she said,
Can you help me pull Annarion out?

His silence went on a beat too long.
Yes. But I do not think we will be able to fully contain or constrict the enemy if I do so. I believe Annarion may be able to kill him, in the end.
Even as he spoke he shifted, heading toward Kaylin, who stood a good five yards from the wide-ranging blades.

Kaylin, watching, wondered what would remain of Annarion in the end, in that case.

The familiar’s feet did not solidify the ground as he landed. But his eyes were the size of her head, and they looked very, very much like the chaos that Annarion was leaving in his wake. She climbed up on his back; he was warm and solid, and even resting there soothed the trembling ache of her limbs. He pushed himself off the ground in one lazy, slow leap.

Gravity didn’t seem to be an issue in the outlands. And these were the outlands, even if they weren’t in the West March.

The familiar circled inches above the moving heads—and weapons, which were more important—of the two combatants in the gray zone.

The ancestor is a danger,
the familiar said.

Yes.
Kaylin exhaled.
But
there’s an entire Dragon Court and probably every Barrani Arcanist in the city who can deal with the ancestor, now. I wasn’t willing to sacrifice total strangers to kill him. There is
no way
that Teela would be willing to let Annarion go.

It is not Teela’s decision.

No. It’s mine. But I don’t want to lose him, either.

Interesting. Why not?

Because he’s important to Teela. And he’s important to Nightshade. And because
I
like him.
She wasn’t as certain about Mandoran. On the other hand, if he didn’t stop getting in Bellusdeo’s face, her certainty would be the least of his problems.

She took one deep breath.
I’m not the Emperor. I’m not the Hawklord. I’m not even a
corporal
yet. I’m a private. Sometimes I get to make decisions based on what’s right for
my own
life. The Barrani still exist as a race. They faced the ancestors before. They won.

He said nothing.

Teela was unhappy about Annarion for a long time. She finally found him—found them—again. Maybe he’ll commit suicide some
other
way. He almost certainly will. But he can do it on someone else’s watch.

Everything has consequences,
he said, in a rumbling internal voice that seemed, for a moment, larger than the inside of Kaylin’s head.

Yes. Everything does. Breathing does. Not breathing. Stealing. Not stealing. Killing—and not killing. I’ve done all of it. Some of the consequences are good. Some are bad. I used to want to find something safe and good and preserve it forever. I used to think that was possible.

You still do.

Bastard.
I still
want
that, yes. Because everyone
does
. I don’t believe I can
have it
because everything changes. But some of the changes are good. And some of the bad leads to good.

Some of the good leads to bad, to use your terminology.

Yes. But not all of it—and if we don’t try, we’re just surrendering. We’re giving up. We don’t
reach
for anything. Speaking of which,
she added, tightening her knees,
grab Annarion.

That would not be wise.

Then swing in slowly enough that
I
can grab him without losing an arm or my head.

That would be even less wise.

Kaylin looked across to the fighting and said, “We’re going to lose him. He’s not going to come back.”

Had you not interfered, Kaylin, he would never have come back to begin with. Perhaps that is his fate.

Fate. If Kaylin had been born to any other race, her eyes would be red, blue, or distinctly gray by now.
Fate,
she said,
is bullshit. Take me down if you’re not willing to risk it yourself.

She felt, of all things, his amusement; it was rich and thick and it pushed the anger aside, which left simple determination behind. She finally sheathed the dagger she’d been carrying.

The familiar swooped in low. His wings passed
through
the two combatants without touching either. They looked like ghost wings; she’d expected them to be as solid as the part of his body that was currently supporting her weight. She tightened her knees, folded forward and to the side, and reached out with her right hand.

She caught Annarion by the shoulder, and saw the arc of his blade as he
moved.

The familiar’s wing became solid in the blink of an eye. Both the ancestor and Annarion were almost flattened by it, which was enough—barely—to knock Annarion back. It probably saved Kaylin’s life; it certainly saved her arm. She pulled him up—was surprised at how easy it was. He seemed to weigh almost nothing.

His eyes
were
black. They looked very similar to the familiar’s eyes, but his expression lost some of its focused rage as he blinked. “Lord Kaylin?”

Ugh.

“We’re leaving.”

“We can’t—my brother—”

“I give you my word—as a Hawk, as Chosen—that I will
find
your damn brother. But you won’t be able to come back to us if you stay here. You’ve already been here too long.” When he stiffened, she said, “Mandoran, Teela—tell him. Tell him he has to come back with me. Because I’m leaving, and he’s going to have to kill me if he wants to stay and fight.”