Читать книгу Cast In Honour - Michelle Sagara - Страница 8
Оглавление“If your Sergeant was unable to convince Moran that her services are not currently required, what do you think you’ll achieve?” Bellusdeo asked pointedly as they made their way to the infirmary.
“I’ll worry less. I just want to make sure she’s all right.”
“You don’t expect her to be all right.”
Kaylin rolled back her sleeve, exposing the bracer that she wore. It was a gift—of sorts—from the Imperial Treasury, and it looked like a golden manacle, but longer, and with gems. The gems were actually buttons, and when pressed in a specific sequence, it opened. If one didn’t know the sequence, the bracer wouldn’t open. If it didn’t open, it did not come off. Cutting Kaylin’s hand off would not remove the bracer—because while she wore it, her entire arm seemed almost impervious to physical damage.
She frequently tossed it over her shoulder; she sometimes tossed it into the Ablayne. No matter where she threw it, it always returned to its keeper.
Its keeper was not Kaylin. It was Severn.
Today, she handed it to Bellusdeo instead. Bellusdeo didn’t exactly argue when Kaylin dropped it, but she clearly didn’t approve of the casual way Kaylin treated the artifact.
“You mean to heal her.”
“I mean to try, yes. She has a very Barrani attitude toward healing. She considers it intrusive.”
“It is intrusive.”
“I didn’t say she was stupid. I might in the very near future, though.”
Kaylin’s power had been used extensively the day after the disastrous attack. Moran had been absent from the infirmary, and the mood of the Hawks working in its crowded environs had been a blend of determination and gloom. Moran was not particularly fond of Kaylin’s healing ability; she seldom allowed Kaylin to heal at all. But First Corporal Kirby, the Aerian who had taken over the infirmary in Moran’s absence, was more of a pushover. He was only a little older than Kaylin, and he lacked Moran’s wintery presence and absolute authority.
Since Moran hadn’t been present, things had gone more smoothly. If over two dozen officers of the law had died, many, many more had been injured. Moran felt that setting bones—arms, legs, ribs, collars—was her purview. She was less sanguine about burns—especially those that involved flight feathers or wings.
Kaylin had insisted she be allowed to heal the men and women who were not guaranteed to survive. She tended to severe burns and the infections that came with them; she was allowed to heal crushed limbs and fractured skulls. Kirby approved it all, while muttering Moran is going to kill me under his breath.
No one had questioned Kaylin’s work in the infirmary, though the use of her power was not entirely legal. Kaylin was not yet a member of the Imperial Order or the Arcanum—and she would rather die than join the latter.
In theory, there were strict laws that governed the use of magic in Elantra. But in practice, the use of magic wasn’t easily quantified. It was therefore very poorly governed.
Even had it not been, it wouldn’t have mattered. The Hawklord and the Swordlord were fully capable of petitioning the Emperor for permission; neither had felt the paperwork would be productive or entirely necessary.
The beds had emptied slowly. While Kaylin could heal—and very effectively—the process exhausted her, and she’d only been able to work on one man or woman at a time.
At least today, if she collapsed on the way home, Bellusdeo could carry her the rest of the way.
The likelihood of that happening was very small if Moran was, as Clint stated, at her desk. Kaylin wanted to believe that Teela had exaggerated. She didn’t. Moran, she was certain, should not be at work. Not yet.
* * *
Clint, unsurprisingly, was right: Moran was in the infirmary.
Her left arm was in a sling, and her wings...
Kaylin shook her head. Moran’s left wing was a mess; the skeletal structure of the limb itself could be seen, and huge sections of feathers were missing entirely. It looked as if half of the Aerian’s flight feathers were gone. Aerians, like regular birds, did molt—but they didn’t do it publicly. As far as Kaylin could tell, it would be the cultural equivalent of taking a bath fully nude in the market fountain. She knew that full regrowth could take months if the feathers were damaged. She was less certain about what happened if they were simply gone.
There was no way Moran had flown here. She must have been carried.
Moran glared at Kaylin.
Actually, she glared at everything. She nodded—stiffly—to Bellusdeo, the gesture weighted with what Kaylin felt was genuine respect. “We’re honored to have you back among us,” she said, startling Kaylin. Her expression softened slightly. “We owe you.”
Bellusdeo’s eyes, which were already mostly gold, brightened until they were shining. “I have become very fond of the Halls of Law, and of the city. I am less fond of the Barrani High Halls, but if a battle of any significance had to take place within the city—”
“It’s better there than anywhere, aye. You’ll be going on duty rounds with the private?”
“I will.”
“Then you’d best drag her off—she’s going to be late, and the Sergeant is not in a charitable mood.”
And whose fault is that? “I’m right here,” Kaylin said.
Moran had an impressive glare.
“What, exactly, are you afraid of? Everyone else who was badly injured accepted my help.”
“I am not—”
“You can’t fly, Sergeant.”
“Not immediately, no. The feathers will grow in.”
Kaylin didn’t believe it; she wondered if Moran actually did.
“I have already had an argument about the state of my health this morning. Two, in fact. If I did not listen to that giant, lumbering cat and I did not bow to Lord Grammayre, believe that I am not going to blithely obey a private.”
“Teela said you would be out for months.”
“She was demonstrably incorrect. There is nothing wrong with my hands, my legs or my eyes. I am capable of doing my duty. I can’t fly in these rooms, anyway.”
“Moran, please—”
“No.”
“But your wings—”
“Do you know why I’m a sergeant in the infirmary, Private?”
Kaylin did not roll her eyes, though it took effort. “Because you can deal with the injured, regardless of their moods or state of mind.”
“Exactly. You can plead, beg, cry and curse me. I won’t be moved.”
Kaylin inexplicably felt like crying at the moment. Moran’s wings—white and speckled with a brown that almost formed a pattern when the wings were closed—were unique among the Aerians of her acquaintance.
“You still have your childish obsessions, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Kaylin folded her arms, refusing to feel embarrassed.
Moran’s eyes narrowed. They were blue. Aerian blue was not the same midnight as Barrani blue, but it meant essentially the same thing. Moran was angry. Then again, Moran was almost always angry.
“Where are you staying?”
Moran blinked. “Pardon?”
“You can’t fly. You can get Aerians to carry you to and from the Southern Reach, but you can’t fly back on your own. Given it’s you, I’m willing to bet last week’s pay that you don’t even intend to try.”
Moran shifted her gaze; it fell on Bellusdeo. There was nothing else in the room to look at, as the beds were all empty.
Bellusdeo held up both hands. “I am willing to face Barrani ancestors, Shadows and death. I am not willing to pull nonexistent rank on a private. Please don’t ask—I am here on sufferance, with the understanding that I will not interfere with the private’s duties.” She spoke in more formal Barrani, though the rest of the conversation had been uttered in Kaylin’s mother tongue.
“You’re a Dragon,” Moran pointed out. “You don’t need rank.”
“She’s the Chosen,” Bellusdeo countered. Her eyes were still golden, although her expression was neutral. Except for the corners of her mouth, which were twitching.
Moran turned to Kaylin. She could look down on the private from the secure position of rank, but she wasn’t quite tall enough to tower. “I intend to stay here until I’ve fully recovered.”
No bloody wonder Marcus had thrown a fit. “This isn’t exactly residential.”
“It has a roof, and the doors are never completely unmanned. Food is within relatively easy walking distance, and if I need supplies, that’s what privates are for.”
“And where are you going to sleep?”
“In the Aerie in the halls.”
“Which you can’t reach.” Kaylin’s eyes narrowed a little more with each sentence.
“Which is none of your business,” Moran snapped.
“Fine.” Kaylin turned and marched toward the door. When she reached the frame, she turned back. Bellusdeo was still standing beside Moran; the Dragon looked amused. She was the only person in the room who did.
“I believe Private Neya is attempting, in her brusque fashion, to offer you a more amenable place to stay while you recover,” Bellusdeo said.
“I don’t need her charity.”
“Ah.”
Kaylin attempted to count to ten. She made it to three. “But it’s okay for me to accept yours?”
“I’m not offering you charity.”
“You’ve offered me help and guidance for years. You’ve taken care of me after training accidents. You were here when we almost lost a fight to a Dragon.” The small dragon, bored or silent until now, lifted his head and bit Kaylin’s hair.
“You,” Moran replied, “were here. Taking care of you here is my job. And you weren’t here for long.”
“There’s supposed to be give-and-take, Moran.”
“Sergeant.”
“Whatever. This is the first time in my entire life that I’m able to offer you any help at all!”
“I don’t need it.”
“Fine.” Kaylin turned and walked out.
* * *
“If you were a Dragon,” Bellusdeo said, “you’d be steaming the halls. Possibly even melting parts of them.”
“It irritates me that my help isn’t good enough.”
“The sergeant probably doesn’t understand what you’re offering. I believe the entire department knew where you were living before the assassination attempt destroyed your home. She might assume you now live in similarly sized quarters—and frankly, the ceiling of your old apartment would be nearly crippling for an Aerian over the long term.”
Kaylin stomped down the long hall, but slowed her pace as Bellusdeo’s words caught up with her temper.
“I know you’re upset at the sight of her wings.”
“They told me—” Kaylin exhaled. “They told me she’d been damaged by the ancestor’s fire. I didn’t actually get to see the damage. It’s a wonder she didn’t die; there’s no way she could keep herself in the air with wings like that.”
“No. But I have noticed the Hawks keep an eye out for their own. She is alive, Kaylin. But she is an older woman, and she clearly does not care for...coddling.”
Kaylin gave a little shriek in response. The small dragon whacked her face with his wing.
* * *
Marcus appeared to be looking for a suitable target for his obvious frustration. His eyes were a steady orange, and his facial fur was almost standing on end. Kaylin picked up the thrum of his growl just after she had time to reconsider the wisdom of entering the office. Of course. Leontine anger was never quiet or invisible.
She headed directly for his desk, bypassing the duty roster and anyone else who stood between them—except for Caitlin, who waved her over.
“Have you seen Moran?” Kaylin demanded, as Caitlin opened her mouth.
“Yes, dear.”
“Why is she even in the office? She should be at home recovering!”
“It’s...complicated,” the office mother replied. The tone of her voice had a dampening effect on Kaylin’s outrage.
“Complicated how?”
“Given that you’ve seen her—you didn’t start an argument with her, did you?”
“I didn’t start the argument, no.”
Caitlin sighed. It was as close as she generally came to open disapproval. “If Moran didn’t discuss it with you, I can’t. She is having some difficulty at home.”
“She thinks she’s going to be living here.”
“Her living quarters are definitely not your problem.”
“In the Halls, Caitlin.”
“You’ve lived in far less optimal conditions in your life. She won’t starve and she won’t be hunted; she’ll have a solid roof over her head. The Halls were designed, in part, with Aerians in mind. She will not suffer.”
“I want her to live with me.”
Caitlin’s eyes flicked briefly to the side, in Bellusdeo’s direction. She did not, however, tell Kaylin that she thought it was a bad idea. “Let me speak with her,” she said, rising. “I know Marcus and Lord Grammayre have attempted to do so, but I might have better luck with a different approach. You’re certain you want this?”
Kaylin nodded, trying not to look as mutinous as she felt.
She was rewarded by Caitlin’s smile. “Good. I wouldn’t have suggested it—but I think that might be for the best. We’re not certain that—” She shook her head. “You’d best speak with Marcus. He’s been waiting for you—and not terribly patiently.”
* * *
Marcus immediately barked Kaylin’s name. Or Kaylin’s rank, at any rate. No other private rushed to fill the space in front of his disaster of a desk.
“Since Moran is back, you can stop moping around in the infirmary and get back to work.”
That was unfair, but life generally was. The Sergeant growled at the mirror on his desk; it flickered instantly to life as an image began to coalesce. “Corporal Korrin! Corporal Danelle!”
Teela and Tain materialized almost instantly, which meant they’d been eavesdropping from a safer distance than most mortals—at least the non-Leontine ones—could manage. Severn joined them before his name could also be barked.
This was two people too many for Elani beat work. Kaylin pushed thoughts of Moran aside.
“There was a triple murder reported up the Winding Path.” The Winding Path was both the road’s official map name and an accurate description. It crossed two market areas at its lowest point and then headed toward the Southern Reach. It was not a particularly short street.
“Where on the Winding Path?”
“At the Keffeer crossing.” As he spoke, the mirror showed a clearly marked spot on the map. “The bodies are to be moved to the morgue when you’re done.”
“What are you not telling us?”
“I am not telling you anything other than the location. You are expected there as soon as you can make it. Take the carriage.”
Kaylin glanced nervously at Teela and shook her head. “We’ll get there faster if we walk.”
“Not if I’m driving,” Teela said.
“We’ll get there alive if we walk.”
Marcus growled, but his eyes lost a touch of their orange; Teela’s driving was the stuff of legend in the office. “Teela, take a mirror kit. The quartermaster is waiting with it. Private, there are Imperial mages on the property. Attempt not to offend them.”
“Yes, sir.” She hesitated.
“Yessss?” He turned the full force of his gaze on the silent Dragon by Kaylin’s side. His exhale was rumbling. “You intend to follow the private?”
“If that is permissible.”
“I don’t like it. You’re not a Hawk, and this is serious Hawk work; it’s not patrolling fraud central.”
Bellusdeo was helpful; she smiled benignly and held the Sergeant’s glare until he growled again. “Keep an eye on her.”
Kaylin tried not to bristle.
“I will.”
“If any of the idiots in the office attempt to buy you a drink or grovel their gratitude, I’d appreciate it if you ignored them.”
“Oh?”
“They’re grateful for your intervention. They’re not idiots. They’re aware that the Emperor wasn’t.”
Bellusdeo’s face stiffened. Had Kaylin been on the other side of the desk, she would’ve kicked him. She would’ve regretted it, of course—if he’d even noticed, that was.
“But they’re impressed, anyway. Private, are you going to stand around all day gaping like a new recruit?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Head out.”
“Going, sir.”
“Good.” He ran a claw through what was fast becoming a collection of loosely connected splinters. “If you can talk sense into Sergeant Carafel, I’ll send your rank request up to the Tower immediately.” Seeing the change in her expression at the mention of Moran, he added, “No, I did not bring this up.”
“You’re at least the same rank—”
“And the Hawklord outranks her. She is not listening to either of us.”
Kaylin shrugged. “Caitlin went to talk to her. I want her to move in with me.”
He growled his way through a Leontine phrase for which there was no Elantran equivalent. Teela caught Kaylin’s arm and dragged her toward the nearest exit.
Kaylin shook her off as soon as they’d made it out the doors. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not let the quartermaster see my face. He’s pissed off at Jenkins at the moment, and I’d like him to stay that way.”
“Jenkins has offended you? He’s a bit green, but—”
“No, he hasn’t. But it’s the first time in months that someone else has been the quartermaster’s official problem child.” Jenkins had recently lost a sword. “I’d just as soon not remind him that I exist.”
* * *
The Winding Path met Keffeer about a third of the way up the gentle incline on which the southern part of the city was built. It was well away from the Ablayne, although one small stream trickled down from the rocky heights of the unoccupied reach and fed into it.
The homes were not as fine as they were in the expensive districts around the Imperial Palace, but they weren’t as run-down as the buildings in the fiefs, either. There were fences and gates that fronted the street, but they weren’t uniform.
“Did he even give us an address?” Kaylin asked, as Keffeer came into view.
“You were there. You heard just as much as we did,” Teela said. She was, as Mandoran had said earlier, in a mood.
“Yes, but I remember less clearly.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Tain, silent, cast a sidelong glance at Bellusdeo. “You might want to sit this one out,” he told her.
She raised a golden brow. The line of the arch was almost identical to the line of the Arkon’s when he did the same thing. “Do you feel that I am in marked danger in this investigation?”
“It’s a distinct possibility.”
“And you think that I am likely to fall prey to this theoretical danger when two mortals will not?” She glanced pointedly at Kaylin and Severn, neither of whom were stupid enough to say anything.
Teela grinned. “Give it up,” she told her partner before turning to Bellusdeo. “The reason he’s attempting to be cautious is the lack of information we’ve been given. It implies—heavily—that the star of this leg of the investigation is going to be Kaylin.”
“Kaylin? Why?”
“Thanks,” Kaylin interjected.
“Kaylin is particularly sensitive to magic and its remnants. You’ve probably heard her whining about door wards?”
“I’m breathing, so yes,” Bellusdeo replied.
“It’s not just door wards. Any use of normal magic—”
“How are we defining normal?”
“Magic that might be used by a mage of the Imperial Order and most of the Arcanum. The Arcanum does have some branches— You know what, never mind. We can discuss this in a tavern on an off-night. The point is, Kaylin’s sensitive enough to see magic without using any of her own—that we can detect, anyway. The Sergeant doesn’t wish to influence what she might—or might not—see. He’ll have some inkling of what the Imperial mages discovered.”
“Inkling?”
“They’ll write a report, but it won’t come in until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“Is everything in your city reliant on reports of this nature?”
“Yes. Paper is easier to lose than Records.” She turned to Kaylin. “What are you looking at?”
Kaylin swore under her breath. Mostly. “I think I know where we’re heading.”
* * *
Magic gave Kaylin hives. She’d gotten used to this in the West March, though the magic of the green didn’t cause the same reaction as the magic on the streets here did. The Imperial roads, such as they were, were well kept, from the merchant gates to the city’s economic center.
But the stones on the Winding Path were cracked.
Kaylin knelt.
“Did we get any witness reports?” she asked, as she touched the cracks she could see.
“Let me access Records,” Teela replied, and did so. Kaylin felt a twinge as the pocket mirror came to life in the Barrani Hawk’s hand. “Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“Marcus has put a hold on that information until you tender your first report.”
Kaylin was annoyed, but she tempered her reaction. “Do these cracks look strange to you?” she asked.
“What cracks?”
Which answered that question. “You know, when I first started training with the two of you, we had normal cases.”
“Technically, yes. Your first case—”
“Don’t mention it. I wasn’t a Hawk then.” She rose. The street, in her view, was cracked, the stones listing toward the crack as if something very large or very heavy had recently traveled on this road. But the cracks themselves felt odd. She stopped a yard up the path and knelt again.
At her back, she heard the familiar clink of metal against metal. Severn was unwinding his weapon chain. Neither Teela nor Tain told him to stop. “What does the road look like to you?” she asked him.
“Flat, for the most part. It’s a relatively smooth incline; there are patches of weeds to either side. You don’t see that.” It wasn’t a question, but Kaylin answered it as if it were, describing what she could see.
“This isn’t your usual paradigm,” Teela said.
“No. And I see no magical sigils, either. It’s not strong magic, but it’s definitely there.”
“Records,” Teela said. “Record.”
Kaylin described what she saw for a third time, and Teela moved the mirror so that it captured the street. She then handed the tiny captured image to Kaylin. Kaylin, well aware that her head would be on a pike if she dropped or damaged this mirror, took it gingerly. The image in the mirror was what Severn had described. She handed it back to Teela.
“What do you normally see?” Bellusdeo asked, as Kaylin rose again.
“Sigils and words,” Kaylin replied. “They’re often splashed against walls or doors like random paint. The larger the sigil, the greater the magic that produced it.”
“Not cracks.”
“Not usually, no. I think one or two of the mages in the Imperium look at magic as dimensionality, though. They see containers. Where magic has been cast, they see the type of shards you’d see if you dropped a vase. The greater the shattering, the larger the magic that caused it. One of them sees particular colors of glass or glaze—his version of my sigils.
“The crack—it’s mostly one—veers at the gate three houses to the left of where we’re standing.”
“The short, wooden gate?”
Kaylin nodded. “Why are you making that face?”
Severn coughed. “I don’t think that that’s the house with the bodies,” he said.
Sometimes Kaylin’s entire life felt like a game of gotcha. “Which house is it?”
“Three down,” he replied, “and on the other side of the street.”
* * *
Teela didn’t head to the aforementioned dwelling immediately. She began to cast instead. Her spell was much stronger than the afterimage of magic left on the road; Kaylin’s skin goose-bumped in protest. The Barrani Hawk handed the mirror to Tain as she knelt in the center of the road.
“Honestly, kitling,” she said, passing her hands over the crack that Kaylin could still see. “How bad a teacher can Lord Sanabalis be?”
“He’d say the quality of the student is the determining factor,” Kaylin replied. “Are you getting anything?”
“My initial response would usually be no.”
Kaylin, having worked with Teela for years, waited as the Barrani Hawk rose and retraced Kaylin’s exact steps. She was frowning; her eyes, which had been as green as they ever got at work, were shading toward blue. It was a green blue, so she was concerned, but not overly worried. Tain, on the other hand, was definitely worried.
Kaylin raised her brows at him, and he shook his head. “If you teach me nothing else in your short life,” he said, “you have forced me to reevaluate boredom as a concept. There is definitely such a thing as too much excitement.”
“This isn’t too much excitement,” Kaylin quite reasonably pointed out.
“Not yet. Are you betting?”
“Is she breathing?” Teela cut in. “Shut up, both of you. I can’t concentrate.” Severn—much more quietly—asked Tain what the bet, stakes and odds were. Teela did not tell Severn to shut up.
The Barrani Hawk straightened. “There is something. I wouldn’t have noticed it—I’m only barely detecting it now.” She glanced at Tain, who shrugged.
“Magic was never one of my strengths.”
“Bellusdeo?”
“Yes, it was considered one of mine.” The Dragon was frowning. She looked at Kaylin. Or rather, at the small dragon sitting on her shoulder. “Well?”
The small dragon was silent.
“Bodies, or house across the street from the bodies first?” Tain asked.
“House,” Kaylin said.
* * *
“Let Teela do the talking,” Severn suggested as they followed the path of this indeterminate magic to what appeared to be its source. “Records indicate that this house is occupied, that the taxes are paid up and that the owner is not a person of political significance.”
Kaylin said nothing. That lasted for five seconds. “Is it too much to ask,” she said under her breath, “that I not be shoved out in the dark with zero information whatsoever and asked to find something?”
“We’re in the same dark. If you hadn’t been arguing with Moran—how did that go, by the way?—you would’ve been in the office when the request came in.” When this failed to appreciably lighten Kaylin’s mood, he added, “You know that magical precepts are both individual and susceptible to suggestion.”
“I bet Ironjaw has more information.”
“The Sergeant is not a mage.”
Neither am I. She kept this to herself, aware that she was cranky in part because of her discussion with Moran. She was old enough not to be treated like a child.
Teela approached the gate, raised a hand, then lowered it. The frown she wore seemed etched into her otherwise perfect face. “Kitling?”
Kaylin shrugged off her resentment and came to stand by Teela’s side. She also poked the small dragon, who squawked quietly, but lifted one transparent wing. He tapped her face gently, to make a point, but kept the wing extended so it covered her eyes.
To Kaylin’s vision—with the added interference of a translucent dragon wing—the gate looked weathered. It was slightly warped. The nails that held it in place had rusted a bit, but that was it. “It’s a gate.” She turned to glance back at the road and froze. After a second, she lifted her hand to gently catch the small dragon’s wing. He expressed his appreciation of this loudly, but stopped short of biting her fingers.
“We’ve got a problem,” Kaylin said.
