As if the mirror were the very bottom of an impossibly large funnel, the Shadow condensed to a point, its height vanishing as the mirror absorbed it. The eyes that Kaylin always found so disturbing did not likewise fold themselves into the mirror; they remained arrayed around the group, encompassing Teela and Tain, as well.
Kaylin was knocked off her feet as she turned toward the two Hawks. She covered three yards, maybe four, as she tucked her shoulder and rolled, drawing daggers as she gained her feet. She turned.
The Arkon was in full draconic form.
He stood in front of something that looked vaguely like a mirror—if mirrors were made of polished obsidian. The street to either side of that obsidian surface was no longer visible.
“Next time, could you give me a bit of warning?”
“I did not think it wise for you to stand in the middle of the mirror as it transformed. I may have been mistaken. This is, I believe, Gilbert’s version of a mirror.” If it was, it was taller than the Arkon in his draconic form; it easily dwarfed Kaylin. “What do you see in it?”
“The...basement.”
“Good. Stand aside.”
Kaylin shook her head.
“Don’t argue with a Dragon, kitling.”
“Fine.” Kaylin didn’t waste her breath; she conserved it and sprinted. She leaped into the mirror, trusting Gilbert not to kill her, eat her or send her somewhere she couldn’t afford to be, trusting him to somehow preserve her, as he’d somehow preserved Kattea, a different orphan from a fief that would—if this worked—no longer exist.
She thought she could hear his voice, although she couldn’t understand his words. She definitely heard the Arkon’s, reminding her that he had been designated her commanding officer. She didn’t sit still in time to hear his command. Nor did she try to explain why she had to go through first, because she couldn’t. In theory, a Dragon was a better advance force than a mortal. Everyone in this group was a better advance force than a mortal.
But she could see the net of Gilbert’s eyes tightening around them; she could see the way their rounded surface reflected runes: her runes. She could see, as she moved through this passage, eyes that extended into the distance, and they seemed infinite. But they formed runes. Words. Hers.
Because Gilbert, as he was now, couldn’t speak.
No. That probably wasn’t true. Kaylin, as she was, couldn’t hear him.
Be ready, Kaylin, the familiar said.
She burst into the basement and nearly tripped over a body.
*
The body was Sanabalis. He was in mortal form, he wore gray Dragon armor and he appeared to be bleeding. He also seemed to be wheezing. Bellusdeo, almost in mortal form, was encased in armor the same golden hue as the Arkon’s; she was on her feet and armed with what appeared to be Maggaron’s weapon. Her eyes were bloodred.
Kaylin couldn’t see what she was fighting. Whatever it was, it drove her back; the sound of metal hitting something was loud and clear. Beyond the combat, Kaylin could see three men. They were no longer laid out in a row against the ground; they stood at three points of a carved stone triangle, facing in toward its center.
Kaylin landed and leaped instantly to her right; the Arkon came crashing down in the spot she had briefly occupied. He roared. The floor shook.
Mandoran and Annarion followed, and behind them came Teela and Tain, both of whom were on their feet. Kaylin felt magic’s edge; she knew how they were on their feet, and she knew it wouldn’t last. Tain, at least, found a patch of convenient wall near Sanabalis and braced himself against it.
Teela intended to fight.
What she intended to fight wasn’t clear—at least not to Kaylin. She couldn’t see it. Maybe the Arkon could. Maybe Mandoran and Annarion could. She could take care of herself in most of the fights her job made necessary—but this wasn’t one of them. Let the immortals do what they did better.
To the familiar, she said, Hide me.
It is already done, but, Kaylin, be wary. What you face here is not a Feral or its distant, more powerful cousin.
She headed directly for the three men, who were—as Gilbert had said—not dead. Something whistled past her theoretically invisible cheek. She felt the sting of a cut and raised her hand; it came away bloody. She didn’t swear—she headed straight for the center of the triangular formation and stopped.
There were three stones where the three living men were standing. They existed in the same place as the men, although the men didn’t appear to be made of stone; the effect was disturbing. The men seemed to be breathing, but slowly, as if air was scarce. The stones appeared to be faintly pulsing in time to their labored breaths. Kaylin didn’t have time to examine them more carefully. Or at all; something struck her arm, her right arm, and this time she could see the welt that crossed it, and the blood that followed.