Page 30 of Cast in Conflict

“So he used Candallar to get what he wanted?”

“Do you somehow believe that the Towers must love their captains?”

“It’s just—someone said he held Candallar in some affection.”

“It is not outside the realm of possibility, but—and I mean no disrespect to the person who issued that opinion—this is not something that can be relied on as fact, as truth. Killian’s decision was not Karriamis’s decision, and if Killian is aware of Karriamis, he is just as aware of the rest of the Towers on the periphery of his responsibility.”

Kaylin immediately raised a hand.

If the librarians didn’t teach classes in the various classrooms or lecture halls, they had nonetheless dealt with groups of students before.

“Can you repeat that last bit? I mean the part where Killian’s aware of the Towers on the periphery?”

“As you appear to have heard it, I do not believe repeat is the word you meant.”

“I don’t understand but—can Killian deliberately communicate with the Towers?”

Another glance bounced between the Arbiters.

It was Starrante who chose to answer. “We believe that communicate is the wrong word. He is aware of the Towers; they are—on some peripheral level—aware of Killian. Karriamis wished to find the Academia he was certain still existed in some form.

“It is our belief that the sleeping Academia was anchored in a space similar to the outlands, which we are informed you have traversed.”

“The outlands are—”

“Similar to, not the same. The Tower imperatives did not allow such a preservation where Shadow might intrude; we stand in a space created by the power of the Towers themselves.”

“You don’t think they’re aware of this?”

“There has been much lively debate about that very question. For my part, no.”

“And if no,” Kavallac snapped, “you imply an error on the part of the Ancients. How could power be drained from the Towers who were meant to be our last—our best—line of defense, if the Towers themselves were not aware of the source of that drain? That implies a dangerously lax and foolish architecture on the part of the Ancients who also created us.”

Kaylin took all of this as a maybe.

“Did Karriamis teach Candallar how to find this place?”

“I doubt it. Had Karriamis been able to clearly delineate the steps to do so, Candallar would likely be chancellor. I believe that magical strides have been made in the past several decades—perhaps the past century. You will have seen the results of some of them personally. Two of those who we believe would have had a far greater chance at accomplishing what Candallar hoped to accomplish are now students within the Academia.”

Serralyn and Valliant.

She could guess where some of the “magical strides” had originated—but nothing remained static. Terrano had once traded his hard-won knowledge with some of the Barrani in an attempt to buy freedom for the cohort. Terrano’s knowledge was practical. His lessons had been changed, studied, improved, and used in ways Terrano hadn’t bothered to predict.

She wondered if Serralyn’s knowledge would become more esoteric, and shook her head to clear it. What Serralyn would do was irrelevant in the immediate future, and the far future was unlikely to be Kaylin’s problem.

“It is to Killian you wish to speak.”

“And Karriamis,” Kaylin replied.

“I would not advise that,” Kavallac said. “I understand the stakes. I understand what is at play here. But one cannot take a Tower that does not, in the end, consent. Towers will test. The tests are dependent on the Towers; they were not and are not meant to be predictable. Fail that test, and you will be lucky to survive. Most were not meant to.

“Bellusdeo has asked questions very similar to yours.”

Severn cleared his throat. “Did she ask Arbiter Starrante if his ability to weave portals could be used to access areas that are not within the Academia?”

It was hard to determine whether or not Starrante smiled in response. Kaylin felt guilty. She understood that Starrante was fond of Robin, and that Starrante’s intervention had saved both the child and the library, but her visceral dislike of large, hairy insects made it difficult to relax. His spoken Barrani, while precise and perfect, was encased in something that sounded like insectoid clicking, which caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise.

She was grateful to Diarmat, though—a thought that she’d’ve bet she’d never have. His etiquette lessons meant she could interact with Starrante as Starrante deserved, in spite of her visceral response. Her fears were her problem; they shouldn’t be made his.

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