Her attention was caught by a plume of white-gold, which also happened to be fire. The Arkon stiffened, his eyes red; his arms tightened around the two books over which he’d kept stewardship. But he didn’t—although this took visible effort—shout commands of any kind at the Arbiters. He had chosen to trust them. They were guardians of this library. Their fire would not harm it.
Belief, however, was a struggle.
Only when the fire splashed to either side of the spokesman did he relax; the fire didn’t harm the books at all.
“I think they pulled us into whatever phase the intruders are in,” Kaylin helpfully offered. “And I’m not sure they can harm the library itself in that phase.”
Clearly condescension of any kind was only acceptable when it was coming from the Arkon, given his expression—and Kaylin had intended no condescension whatsoever. “You asked for that book for a reason. I suggest you see to it.”
The rune was bright; it looked like the words on Kaylin’s arms—and probably the rest of her body, as well. But its color was not quite the same gold, and it seemed, as she looked at it, to be carved into the cover, rather than engraved or painted on it.
She frowned. The marks on her arms had shifted color until they were the same as the word she now thought of as Starrante’s. Not his name—never that—but the word that might wake him, invoke him, summon him. She touched the surface of the rune on the book’s cover.
As she did, the marks on her arms began to lift themselves off her skin. She was now aware that this was a visual signal that only she could see; she’d never worried about it because the lifting didn’t shred her shirts or tunics. Or pants, if it came to that.
The surface of the word wasn’t flush with the cover; it was farther down or in. She had to reach to contact the word, and her fingers dipped below the surface. Her hand did, as well.
The Arkon’s silence was loud. His attention was torn between the literal fight that was now occurring between three Barrani and the two Arbiters, one a very loud Dragon, one a silent...something else, and Kaylin’s handling of the object he had never seen as a book.
Had he, he might never have surrendered it.
When her hand dipped beneath the outer surface of the cover, he cleared his throat. Given Kavallac’s roars, she shouldn’t have heard it.
“I’mtryingto reach the word on the cover. It’s there, visually—but it’s not there physically. And it seems to have taken the actual physical dimensions of the book cover with it wherever it is. I promise I’m not damaging a book.”
“You had better not be,” he growled.
“Lannagaros, honestly.”
“I mean it.”
Kaylin grimaced but didn’t respond; there was nothing she could say. The word—Starrante’s word—seemed to be attempting to evade her.
I’m not sure what the Arbiters have done, Severn said,but Terrano believes he can locate you now.
Tell him to stay where he is.
Severn didn’t bother with a verbal reply, but Kaylin understood. Telling Terrano to stay where he was was a waste of breath. Helen could manage to both say it and enforce it. Maybe. No one else stood a chance.
I mean it—if Robin manages to get you to the chancellor’s office, Terrano’s the one most likely to be able to ignore inconvenient things—like, say, doors or walls. If he needs to go on a seek-and-find mission, he should be looking for Candallar. I’m willing to bet Candallar is the interim chancellor, and it’s Candallar who holds whatever diminished keys are necessary to open Killian’s figurative locked doors.
Terrano doesn’t like it; Sedarias agrees with you. She also points out that she’s not sure how long we’ll have Robin, so the office comes first.
Kaylin nodded. Sedarias was the person she’d send to find Candallar—Sedarias or Bellusdeo. The latter, however, was here and likely to remain here in the immediate future.
A geyser of purple flame interrupted that thought, given its location: beneath Kaylin’s feet. The Arkon’s protections buckled for a moment, but didn’t break. Bellusdeo headed toward the visible fight.
The Arkon didn’t stop her; he didn’t even try. “Corporal?”
She shook her head. The book itself obviously occupied dimensions quite different from its physical shape. She thought she could climb into Starrante’s rune—if she was conveniently sized and shaped in a way that would fit through the window made of lines—and still be no closer to actually touching it.
A thought came to her then, and she turned—as she had done before and would no doubt do in the future—to the Arkon, the ancient Dragon whose life had been given to the gaining of knowledge.
He seemed to be waiting, as irritable as he often was when interrupted. His eyes were a deep orange, the inner membrane raised to slightly mute the color.
“I can’t touch the word on this book.”
He nodded; he’d seen the attempt.