“I would have pushed him into the Ablayne and kept him underwater. But that is not the question you are asking, and he was not near the Ablayne at the time. How much have you heard about elementals?”
Severn said nothing.
“Very well. You have heard, almost certainly, stories about sorcerers and mages who command the use of fire?”
“Yes.”
“That fire, in reality, has a voice and will of its own in most cases.”
“Most?”
Elluvian grimaced. “Some cases. If a mage has burned a city to the ground, it is almost certainly by commanding an elemental—a fire elemental—that he has summoned for that purpose. Ah, no. It is almost certainly because he attempted to summon a fire he could not control. The fire itself contains the power of fire; the mage’s power is bent on control.”
Severn nodded.
“Water, air, and earth can also be summoned. They are less malleable than fire. Were I to drown a man in the middle of the street, there would be no question of how it was done; there would be a water elemental surrounding the victim until the victim was dead.”
During this explanation, Severn had donned the tabard. He looked down at it.
“We can continue this; we will be walking to the High Halls.”
“No carriage?”
“No. Walking will take longer.”
If Severn wondered why he had been asked to wear the tabard, he chose not to question Elluvian’s decision. Rosen, however, did. Her initial comment when Severn emerged from Elluvian’s office was derisive. The derision was discarded entirely when Severn said they were going to the Barrani High Halls.
“You are taking Private Handred to the High Halls wearingthat?”
“I am.”
“Have you cleared this with Helmat?”
“I would, but alas, he is in a meeting with Lord Grammayre and cannot be interrupted.”
“Records,” Rosen snapped.
Elluvian’s eyes lightened slightly. They were still blue, and his expression suited the color. “Rosen.”
As the mirror flared to life, she faced him, rising from her chair. She was angry; her hands, braced across the top of her desk and stray bits of paper, were trembling. “Why? You might as well paint a target—”
“If it will comfort you, I will don the tabard myself.”
This silenced Rosen.
“But I have beensummonedto the High Halls, and I wish the summoner to understand that Severn Handred is a Wolf. He is not a servant; he cannot be bartered for or traded; he cannot be commanded by those who have the authority to commandme.
“If not for Helmat’s orders, I would not have brought him to the High Halls the first time. It did not work out well for Darrell. As a Wolf, Severn is clearly a statement: no harm done to him will be dismissed or hidden by the laws of exemption. His very duties demand the opposite.
“I do not think it will damage him to be presented thus. It might damage me, but only peripherally; anyone of import understands quite well what I do.” There was a tinge of bitterness in the words. “I am called the Emperor’s Dog by people who believe they will suffer no consequences. To take a mortal to the High Halls is, for most, proof of that assertion.”
“Helmat won’t like it,” Rosen said. Her hands, however, had relaxed. “And Mellianne will attempt to kill you if you lose another Wolf—another new Wolf—to Barrani.” She spoke without humor. Without anger. The flat words, unadorned by either, were a statement of fact.
Severn believed them.
“Private Handred is not Darrell.”
Rosen sat down. “No. Get out of here before I change my mind.”