or perhaps comforted, by your presence. He acknowledges, of course, that the needs of the Halls of Law take precedence in this case, and that the jurisdiction is…hazy. He also feels, should we grant his request, Corporal Handred should accompany you.” The Hawklord looked at Kaylin.
“While I feel it inadvisable to annoy Lord Diarmat, three thousand homeless strangers—none of whom speak Elantran or Barrani—seem, to me, to be the greater concern. While the fief of Tiamaris is not within the purview of the Halls of Law, if accommodations cannot be safely made, the strangers will no doubt become our problem, one way or the other.
“I will therefore accede to Lord Sanabalis’s request, and I will write my regrets to Lord Diarmat. I will not, however, attempt to get you out of his extracurricular lessons. Is that understood?”
Kaylin nodded.
“Therefore, if you must be late—or worse, miss one—have a reason with which even the most punctilious of people can find no fault.”
“Such as being dead?”
“That would,” was the wry reply, “be acceptable, but I think it goes a tad far.” He exhaled. “Report to Lord Sanabalis directly upon leaving the Tower; he will have further instructions. Where it is possible, make your reports to Sergeant Kassan at the end of the day. He will no doubt have some issues with your placement, and this will mollify him somewhat. It is the only concession I can afford to make at this time.”
Kaylin nodded and offered as perfect a salute as she could.
“I will mirror Sergeant Kassan to let him know of your reassignment.” He placed one palm on the surface of his slender, tall mirror; the office—the one she usually called home when she wasn’t dealing with nervous, angry, or insane people—swam into view. At the center of that office, in image, as in life, was the bristling golden fur of a Leontine. “Sergeant Kassan,” the Hawklord said in brisk, clipped Elantran.
“What,” Marcus said, catching the same glimpse of Kaylin that she’d caught of him, “has she done this time?”
“At the moment? She has apparently made herself all but necessary to the Dragon Court. Lord Sanabalis has seconded her for ancillary work in the fief of Tiamaris; I have granted the requested redeployment. Please have Corporal Handred report in; I believe he’s in the outer office.”
“I’m losing two Hawks for how long?”
“I’m certain that, after deliberations with Lord Sanabalis, Private Neya will be able to answer that question.”
Marcus growled. His eyes shaded toward copper, and his fur began to stand up, increasing the size of his face. Kaylin, used to this, lifted her chin, exposing her throat. The Hawklord, however, was unmoved by this display of annoyance, and really, given Marcus, it was second-rate. He gestured briefly at the mirror, and Marcus’s image dissolved in a sea of silvered waves.
The Hawklord then turned to Kaylin. “I have an interrupted meeting to resume. Please tell the Barrani Hawks to get back to work on your way out.”
Severn wasn’t waiting for her by the time she reached Marcus’s desk; Marcus, however, was. He was also aware that the appearance of Kaylin’s partner would end most conversation—although Marcus’s idea of conversation suited most definitions of interrogation Kaylin had ever run across. “Caitlin said you had two letters.”
Kaylin winced and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“The second letter was also from a Dragon Lord.”
“Yes, sir.”
Marcus growled.
“Lord Diarmat,” she offered, aware that while this was what he wanted, it would in no way mollify him. She was right; he’d created three new runnels in the surface of a desk that already looked as if insane carpenters had gone on a drinking binge and then tried to have a carving contest.
“The letter’s content?”
“I didn’t read it; it was sent to Lord Grammayre.”
“Is Lord Diarmat going to be annoyed at your new assignment?”
“Yes, sir. But with any luck he won’t be annoyed at the Hawks.”
“I’ll speak with the Hawklord when he’s done. Corporal Handred is waiting.” He growled before Kaylin turned. “Try not to antagonize Lord Diarmat, Private. He’s not known for his abundance of goodwill. He is also famous for his utter lack of anything that could remotely resemble a sense of humor.”
With good damn reason. She managed not to say this out loud, but did turn to jog her way to where Severn was standing in order to leave an impression of good behavior intact.
Sanabalis was, of course, waiting for them in his usual rooms. Food was also—as it often was—waiting with him, albeit on small tables near the very heavy chairs that occupied the room. Sanabalis was, for a change, seated in one when they arrived.
“Corporal, Private,” he said, gesturing toward the food. “There may not be a reasonable opportunity to eat later on in the day; I suggest you avail yourself of what’s here.”
Kaylin took a chair closest to the food. She often wondered how—or what—Dragons ate, because she’d never actually seen them do it. Today was not to be the exception, but as she was hungry, food at home being sparse because of the insanity of her schedule and the fact that the market was either closed when she managed to crawl out of the office, or sold out of anything that looked remotely edible, she ate.
Severn joined her, but ate less. “What,” he said, while eating, “is the difficulty in Tiamaris? The borders of the fief have stabilized, haven’t they?”
“Tiamaris is still hunting down Shadow remnants and infestations within the fief boundaries; the few that he has failed to destroy are subtle.”
Very little destroyed the appetite of people who’d scrounged through fief garbage in their childhood, which is why Kaylin could continue to eat. Around a mouthful of something, she said, “Shadows aren’t known for their subtlety.”
He frowned. “You are well aware that that is not the case. Your experiences in the High Halls and in the Leontine Quarter are solid evidence that subtlety is not beyond their scope, nor planning.”
She gave him the point. “Are the problems caused by the Shadows?”
“Not in their entirety. I know you’re aware of the various building projects Tiamaris and his Tower have undertaken. What you are perhaps not entirely cognizant of is where the funds for that reconstruction have come from.”
“Funds?”
“Funds. Money.”
It was true. Until Sanabalis had, in fact, mentioned funding, she hadn’t given it a thought. Her experience with fieflords had made clear that the lords of the fief were never strapped for cash; it was just anyone else who lived under them who had difficulty. Tiamaris had dismantled Barren’s old tried-and-true method of bringing gold into the fiefs by strongly discouraging anyone who stepped foot across the Ablayne without a clear purpose. In only one of those cases had the discouragement caused friction with the Halls of Law, and in truth, not much.
Kaylin
