Cast in Wisdom (Chronicles of Elantra #15) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,174

Larrantin said.

Robin’s glance bounced between them.

“But the message was delivered, in the end, to the right person. I apologize for my inability to be more precise at the time. But the air is changing. Can you sense it?”

She could smell it; things were on fire. She looked at the classroom closest to the door. Not all of the students had survived. And Robin had likely been close to that door when Candallar had destroyed it, given his late arrival to Larrantin’s class.

Hope squawked. Larrantin frowned. “You are certain?” he finally asked the familiar.

Hope squawked again.

Kaylin, standing beside Robin, dared a look through Nightshade’s eyes. The hall in his immediate vicinity was a sparkling darkness, a silent shade of death. Candallar had moved all of his attention to Nightshade. Nightshade who was, demonstrably, a student of the Academia for a little while longer.

Yes, he said. Nightshade spoke a word—more felt than heard—and light brightened the unnatural darkness. In its glow, she could see the dim outline of Candallar, his right arm raised, fingers pointed toward her. No, toward Nightshade.

“That will not do,” Larrantin said softly. He gestured. “Killianas, if you would be so kind, I find the walls here an impediment to the continued health of the students who survived.” He didn’t gesture, he merely glared.

As if the walls that contained what was left of the door were part of the student body, they shifted, pulling out of the way of Larrantin’s line of sight as if they were eager to avoid it.

Kaylin could now see the darkness that surrounded Candallar. In his hand was a book of flame, pages alight not with purple but with a deep red. Around his neck, the medallion burned a pale white-blue; she couldn’t see the rod.

The darkness had devoured the hall where Nightshade fought. Kaylin couldn’t see the floor—which was fair, given what covered it—but she could no longer feel the floor beneath Nightshade’s feet, either. That the darkness had not yet destroyed him was a miracle.

Nightshade didn’t like the thought.

“Killianas,” Larrantin said. “We seem to be having a difficulty that should be resolved. My class—”

A roar filled the hall. It wasn’t Candallar’s, and it wasn’t the roar of Starrante—she would have recognized that. He had said he couldn’t leave the library without damaging himself, and she believed it—but she had seen him spit webs with blood mixed in, and knew that damage to himself wasn’t his primary concern.

“Ah,” Larrantin said softly. “My apologies, Killianas. It has been long, indeed, and I forget myself. Robin, please remain where you are standing.”

“She’s leaving—”

“She is not a student here; she is not my responsibility.”

Kaylin approached what was no longer technically speaking hallway, and she saw, at the far end, a glint of gold: gold scale, gold neck, gold claws. The Arkon had left the library.

The Arkon faced Candallar. “Lord Calarnenne,” he said, his voice a rumble of thunder, “Return to your class.”

To Kaylin’s surprise, Nightshade did exactly as commanded. She felt a flicker of grim amusement as he leaped to where Larrantin now stood. I am a student, he said. I have less freedom of movement than you have been granted. Now hush.

The Arkon walked to where Candallar stood. Candallar was not idle; he retrieved the rod from the folds of a roiling robe; he held it in his right hand, as if it were a sword, while his left held the open book. He turned to face the Arkon as if all other concerns were irrelevant here, and perhaps they were. Stone halls and short ceilings—short relative to the full height of a Dragon—were not the Arkon’s preferred battlefield. Not in the full Draconic form.

He didn’t choose to adopt the human form in response to his surroundings. That should have told Kaylin something. What, she wasn’t certain.

Bellusdeo and Emmerian didn’t join him. Killian remained absent—although the fading walls showed that he was fully awake.

Only the Arkon and Candallar stood in this hall. Killian could repair the damage done to the furniture and the floor—but he couldn’t repair the damage done to the students; Helen couldn’t bring the dead back to life beneath her roof, either.

“Enough, Candallar,” the Arkon said. “If you will not relinquish the insignia while you live, you will die here.”

“I built this place,” Candallar replied, voice low. “I took the risk of finding it. I claimed it—it is mine.”

“It was never fully yours,” the Arkon replied. “As it will never fully be mine. No more is the Empire fully the Emperor’s, although