Cast in Ruin. Michelle Sagara
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and his annoyance.
Tell Lord Sanabalis to stop whatever it is he’s doing. Tell him to stop now. There is a danger.
She couldn’t even see Sanabalis by this point, and what she’d had of breakfast was threatening to revolt; telling a Dragon Lord—even one as tolerant as Sanabalis—what to do was so far out of the question it hadn’t even occurred as a possibility. The frosty and furious arrogance of the Barrani wasn’t Kaylin’s by birth or inclination.
She started to think as much—saying it was beyond her—but the flow of defensive thought was interrupted by something a lot less pleasant: thunder and the flash of something that looked like black lightning.
She heard Nightshade curse, and she understood the meaning. The syllables themselves were—or would have been in any other circumstance—a delight of discovery because they were Barrani, and Barrani, to her knowledge, didn’t have curse words. But delight at that discovery was swamped by the sudden certainty that the danger that Nightshade feared was about to arrive.
On the heels of Nightshade’s sharp word, she felt the pain and the disorientation recede in a rush, as if someone had pulled the plug. That someone was Sanabalis. As the pain and the visual distortion fled, she felt two things: the physical, full-body trembling that was often the result of portal crossing, and the hair-raising, sharp pain that was also the result of strong magic in such proximity.
Her hand was somehow still clasped around the broadest of strokes that comprised Maggaron’s name and she blinked rapidly as his multiple wavering images coalesced into a single shape again. She turned, still holding his name, and also holding the sword he had handed into her keeping by the blade, which would have caused any number of sword experts to deafen her in their rush to have her handle it properly. Since it had, in fact, cut her palm, she didn’t require this. She set the blade on the ground, and picked it up again by its hilt.
It was, of course, in her off-hand, but at this point, it didn’t matter; the hair on the back of her neck was rigid. She was afraid to release Maggaron’s name, and that fear was just a bit stronger than her fear of being unarmed. Adjusting the sword, she turned. Oddly enough, her grip on the name itself didn’t change at all, even though Maggaron was now behind her. She could see the word; she couldn’t see him. This meant something. She wasn’t certain what.
At the moment, it didn’t matter. She could see a black, amorphous cloud rising—coalescing—in the not-far-enough distance; it was the source of the dark lightning.
Tiamaris roared a warning in all-out Dragon, and Sanabalis roared back. Before Kaylin could speak—or react—at all, Sanabalis lifted her with ease and leaped toward the border, where Tiamaris and Tara were standing. The People had pulled back, and huddled more or less behind them. Kaylin noted that Sanabalis had also picked up Mejrah, who was, in theory, too large and cumbersome to be tossed around like a sack of potatoes.
Maggaron, however, didn’t move. Kaylin tried to shout his name, and then, remembering what she held, thought it instead. Maggaron.
No, Chosen.
She cursed him in every language she could—which now included Barrani. Maggaron, cross the border, damn you.
It is not safe, Chosen—
It’s not safe to stand there—you don’t understand what that is.
Of all unexpected things, he laughed. It was a wild roar, just slightly quieter than the Dragons’ normal speaking voices would have been. “I?” he shouted. “I do not understand what that is?” He swept an arm toward the approaching cloud; as Kaylin watched it, she saw that it was eating the ground it passed over.
His laughter grew wilder, and she heard pain break free of amusement. “It is the Shadowstorm, Chosen. What do you think I was born for? What do you think the Ascendants are?”
Crazy. She didn’t say the word. And then cursed as his laughter deepened. We don’t have time for this.
You cannot take the risk of—
Yes, damn it, I can. She took a deep breath as Sanabalis deposited her more or less on her feet beside the Avatar of the Tower. Tara was glowing. The whole of her form—winged, an echo of Aerians—was made of shining alabaster. But stone or not, she moved; Tiamaris didn’t.
“Tara,” he said, speaking in sharp Elantran, “do not risk too much.”
“It is a test,” was the cool reply, “of the boundaries and the area over which my responsibility lies. Kaylin,” she added in a tone of voice that no friendly, itinerant gardener should have been able to use, “bring your follower across the border.”
“I’m trying. He’s afraid that the Shadow—”
“I am the Tower. I am the border. Bring him; the responsibility will be on my head.”
On her head, Kaylin thought, but if she failed—if Maggaron was right—it would be writ in the bodies of the People and the humans who still lived in the fief of Tiamaris. She was willing to take that risk; she’d already attempted to call Maggaron. At Nightshade’s insistence she had done that before—to him—and she had felt his counter.
No; it wasn’t the same. She had called. She hadn’t commanded.
She’d never truly attempted to impose her will on Maggaron in a way that she didn’t try to force it on anyone else in her life—by shouting, pleading, swearing, cajoling, even demanding. What the name gave her meant that she could do more.
Would she? If he stood in the streets in the path of a storm that could—if the Dragons were right—literally unmake, re-make, or worse—everything that he was, could she force him to do what she desired?
Maggaron!
He didn’t, and wouldn’t, move. Everyone was shouting now. Mejrah, in Kaylin’s ear, as if volume could compensate for lack of comprehension. Tiamaris was roaring, and if it wasn’t in her ear, he was less than ten feet away, so it had the same effect.
Swallowing air and strengthening resolve, Kaylin looked at Maggaron, and his name flashed like lightning or gold. Yes, she thought grimly. Yes, I would. He had given her the ability.
His folly gave her the right. She called his name as if his name were part of her, and she pulled him, focusing all her will on the simple act of motion: his.
It hurt her. It hurt, and she almost stopped. But Maggaron had moved, taking drunken steps toward Kaylin—and, more important, away from the moving cloud.
She heard Nightshade’s chuckle as she hesitated. Do you think that power is taken—or practiced—free of cost, little one?
Since the answer was more or less yes, and since he now already knew it, she didn’t reply. Instead, she looked at Maggaron and said, Don’t make me do this. Please.
She could see his eyes so clearly they might have been inches from her face. If you cannot do even this, Chosen, how will you protect them from me, should the time come?
Damn you, she thought, hating him for testing her this way. Damn it, if it comes down to their lives, I can. But this isn’t their lives—it’s yours. Maggaron, please.
She felt his laughter; it was sharp and unkind. But he wasn’t wholly unkind; he did as she all but begged. He walked—quickly—toward where she now stood, his name in her hand. She grimaced, and then, as if letting go of a security blanket, she removed her hand from the rune; it remained in her vision, something Nightshade’s name had never done.
Kaylin, Nightshade said. He, too, was laughing. You are far too weak for the power you have been granted. But you will learn.
The first thing Tiamaris did was order a retreat from the edge of the border. Everyone obeyed—and given he spoke Dragon, Kaylin was surprised that the People understood his command. Then again, she didn’t understand Dragon, either, and she had. Severn was waiting—always, and in his usual grim silence.
But Severn wasn’t looking