weary. And no, Kaylin thought, although she hadn’t spoken the title out loud, he was no longer the Arkon. He was, as Bellusdeo had always called him, Lannagaros.
Kaylin’s arms were numb by the time the Arkon decreed the wagons—four in total—ready to go; he had clearly taken magical precautions to protect the contents of these wagons, and it was the type of magic that gave her figurative hives.
“These aren’t the only wagons,” Bellusdeo said. “But these are the ones that contain cargo he feels is delicate or priceless.”
“I’m surprised there’s only four.”
“The interior space of the wagons—you will note they’re all covered—is somewhat larger than the exterior suggests. I highly doubt, given the tenor of the escort, we will encounter difficulties. I believe the Arcanum is preoccupied, and the human Caste Court likewise in flux.”
And those were the two most likely to cause problems.
* * *
If the procession of wagons headed toward the bridge to Tiamaris drew stares, people remained at a distance. This wasn’t only because the Barrani were out in force; Maggaron was here, and at nearly eight feet in height, he was the most visible guard present. The irony, of course, was that he was probably the person least inclined to violence in the caravan; size told a story to the people who stood back, near the walls of the buildings that lined the street, but it was the wrong story.
Still, it meant there would be very little in the way of interference. The Arkon—no, the former Arkon—had received Imperial writs and permissions to temporarily close down traffic from cross streets, never a popular move, to get from the palace through the rest of the city to the fief of Tiamaris.
Tiamaris was waiting on the other side of the bridge. His eyes were golden as he met the former Arkon. “Lannagaros,” he said, offering the oldest member of the Dragon Court a perfect bow.
“Tiamaris.” No word of thanks passed the older Dragon’s lips, but his eyes, like Tiamaris’s, were gold.
“I would offer you refreshments, but I see that you are anxious to reach your destination. Might I accompany you?”
“Yes, in fact. I have a need to speak with your Tara shortly, although your permission will, of course, be required.”
“You are always welcome in my fief.”
“Ye-es. It is not entirely a matter of the fief.”
“I suspected it might not be, given your destination. But where it is possible to do so without compromising our own responsibilities, you will have our utmost aid.”
“Good. One of the most promising of the students Candallar happened to haphazardly locate came from the warrens.”
“I see.”
“There are citizens within your fiefs that might benefit from some study—although that will have to be discussed with Killian.”
Kaylin, listening, considered this. Robin had been a prisoner in the Academia, but even so, had not appeared to be unhappy there. And why would he? If the lessons were repetitive—and that wouldn’t be the case going forward—the day started with breakfast, was broken by lunch, and finished with dinner.
If he learned nothing from his time in the Academia, he was fed and he was safe. But he’d clearly learned something.
* * *
Tiamaris was as good as his word; he accompanied the caravan from the fief over which he ruled to Lannagaros’s new home. In the streets of Tiamaris, the sight of the Norannir was far more common; it was the Barrani cohort who kept the curious at bay. Kaylin considered this a more reasonable reaction, given Sedarias.
Tara didn’t join Tiamaris, probably because she couldn’t cross the border—a border that had become fixed, solid. The fief of Nightshade clearly existed in the distance, and Kaylin had only to cross a street to enter Nightshade’s domain. But a road now existed at a T junction, and that was the road down which the Arkon’s possessions—and all his various attendants—now traveled. The cohort had no issues with visibility this time. They could see the same street as anyone else; the street was narrow, which made travel more cumbersome.
But aside from an orange-eyed Dragon, the travel went smoothly, and the larger campus, with its circular road, came naturally into view.
As if that were a signal, the cohort took off at a swift run, spreading out across the grass as they angled their way to the main building; the doors were already open, and a stone ramp now existed in the center of the long, flat steps that led to the interior.
At the head of those steps was Killian, watching the progress of the new chancellor’s caravan almost impatiently. If he wasn’t a building the way Helen was, he resembled her strongly. There was a gravity to Killian at the moment that Helen lacked, probably deliberately.
Gravity, however, was vanquished by the impatience of the Academy’s youngest student; Robin kept peering around the open door, his head moving back and forth as if everything caught his attention but failed to hold it for long.
Only when he caught sight of Kaylin did he leap through the door and bound down the stairs, Kaylin being the least intimidating of the assembled group. Even this didn’t last; his eyes were drawn to the chancellor, or rather, his wagons. Maggaron was first in line. Killian descended the steps to offer to immediately relocate the more delicate items in the collection.
And of course he could.
Lannagaros—Kaylin was never going to get used to this, because “the Arkon” had practically been his name—stood at the foot of the stairs, and looked up, and up again, his gaze taking in the whole of the central building.
He turned once to look at the park, and once to look at the building in which Larrantin had been found, and then once again faced forward.
Robin said, “I’m staying!” as if that had been in doubt. But...for Robin, it probably had. Candallar’s people had been ejected, one way or another. Candallar’s other prisoners—Kaylin couldn’t bring herself to call them students—had departed with as much haste as they could muster.
Robin remained.
“I’m not alone,” he said, smiling. “I think Calarnenne will be here, too. He’s pretty smart.”
Kaylin didn’t choke, but it took effort.
“Are they going to be students?” he asked, lowering his voice as he glanced at the cohort.
“I think some of them will—but I’m told there’s an admission process.”
“Huh. Like...permission?”
“Worse, probably. Bureaucracy.”
“I heard that, Corporal.” Lannagaros spoke without turning to them.
“You’re not denying it, I note.”
“Organizations require some oversight.”
“But... I’m in, right?” Robin asked.
“You are a student, and unless you do something that threatens the Academia or another student, you are, as you put it, in.” The chancellor drew a deep breath, which was just enough of a warning that Kaylin could cover ears that had barely recovered from yesterday’s council meeting.
Hope, on her shoulder, crooned softly.
Kaylin couldn’t understand native Dragon, but she knew, without needing to, what the former Arkon had said.
Bellusdeo wandered across the grass until she could sling an arm over the chancellor’s shoulder. “Yes,” she said. “You are home.”
He said nothing in reply. With Bellusdeo’s gentle urging, he mounted the stairs and entered the Academia.
* * *