“But when they achieve that death—and clearly, you have already done so—it is done. It remains a dire lesson, a warning against foolishness, but it no longer engenders bitter rage. You were meant to die. You survived. Your enemy did not. It is unlikely that your enemy had supporters among your Wolves, or things would have played out in a different fashion.”
“I don’t understand why he did this,” Helmat said. He was now staring at the magically preserved head, as if by doing so, he could demand answers and receive them. “If I understood why and how, I would be better prepared should it happen again. Tell me, En, if I fall foul of the Emperor, will you kill me?”
“I would execute you, yes. And frankly, it would do far less damage to the Halls of Law, or at least this office, than Renzo’s attempt.”
Helmat’s laugh was bitter, dark, harsh—but there was genuine amusement in it. “Have any of your students survived?”
“I fail to understand the question. If you are asking me if I have failed to fulfill the Emperor’s commands, the answer should be obvious.”
“Oh?”
“I am standing before you with a patience that is decreasing by the syllable. You are my students. You are not my masters. I do not teach you everything I know; it would be, even if I desired to do so, impossible. You have scant decades in which you can fulfill Imperial mandate, and you would be old and doddering long before I had finished.”
“And if we were, like you, Immortal?”
“You would not be Wolves. The Emperor has made that clear, time and again. I find it frustrating,” he added. “But there is some method to his madness. If we are mistaken, we only have to deal with that mistake for a few decades. If you were Immortal?” He shook his head. “But you waste time.”
“You have all the time in the world.”
“I do, yes. The possible recruit, however, is mortal. And if I have time, my supply of patience is dwindling rapidly.”
“Tell me about your prodigy.”
Elluvian was annoyed and did not scruple to hide it. “I have not claimed the recruit as a prodigy; you are aware of my feelings on the subject of prodigies.”
Helmat chuckled; he was both aware of it and in agreement. “Is he another young thug?”
“By appearance, yes. But to me, they all are.”
“You might select among those who actually apply for the position.”
“Why do you insist on wasting both of our time?”
The Wolflord frowned. He kept his words to himself for a long breath, perhaps two, assessing Elluvian. “What is it you want from this one?”
Elluvian hesitated and then, exhaling, said, “He managed to elude me for two hours.”
Helmat whistled.
“He had no interest in employ.”
“Not when offered by you? Is he from the fiefs?”
“Possibly. I was not searching in the fiefs when I found him. It is irrelevant. He showed no interest until I mentioned that the job would involve the Halls of Law. I believe he was tailing Barrani Hawks.”
“Then he’s already employed.”
“I do not believe so, and yes, that is unusual. That, and the two hours, makes him a promising candidate.” He did not mention the drawn daggers. Nor did he mention the mortal girl.
“You’re not telling me everything.”
“When do I ever tell you everything? Everything would constitute a much larger percentage of your mortal tally than you would care to give.”
“Fine. Bring him in.”
“The paperweight?”
“I am not yet ready to part with it, and its presence will no doubt be instructive.”
“Helmat.”
“I don’t believe the head itself will be the largest deterrent, as you are well aware.” His glance flicked to the side of his desk; a nascent mirror sat in the corner, apparently gathering dust. “Have you described in any detail the interview process?”
“Consider the process a test of his mettle.”
“Very well.” Helmat waved a calloused palm in front of the mirror, and the flat, silvered surface began to swirl.
* * *
The young man surrendered his name when he agreed to be interviewed.
“Severn Handred.” Neither of the two names were familiar to the Wolves—or, more relevant, their Records. Neither were familiar to Elluvian, which he considered more important.
It was too much to be hoped that Severn was linguistically skilled; he spoke Elantran, the tongue of merchants and trade. He claimed to understand a smattering of Barrani and a handful of mortal languages; to no one’s surprise that smattering generally involved curse words, and would not otherwise be useful to the Halls of Law.
He did not bristle at the questions involving education; nor did he appear to be concerned with the opinion, good or bad, of the two men who conducted the interview. Ah, no, perhaps that was not true; in as much as opinion led to intent, and intent was a danger, he was wary. There was, however, no rage at perceived condescension. He might, or might not, assume they thought themselves his betters—a particular weakness of Mellianne’s—but if he made that assumption, he accepted the judgment; in any pragmatic sense, they were.
This was far more intriguing, far more promising, than Elluvian had expected. If Severn noticed Renzo’s head, he made no comment; he did not flinch at all. Decapitated heads might have appeared at random in the streets for all of his life. Helmat had asked about the fiefs, and Elluvian understood why.
Helmat was brusque; he had always been brusque. Today, however, he was deliberately unkind; the questions verged, at times, on insult.
Elluvian occupied a space beside the nearest convenient wall, letting that wall support half of his weight as he folded his arms and leaned back. He watched the young man through half-lidded eyes, ticking off Helmat’s questions without a flicker of reaction.
Regardless, the boy—he would not be considered a boy among his own kind—paid only a bare attention to Helmat, the man theoretically in charge. Helmat was, in all ways, the boy’s superior: weight, strength, experience, knowledge. He was, and had been, a dangerous man, and—for a mortal—an almost worthy opponent. He understood power. Elluvian, dressed casually, and standing well away from the desk, exuded neither power nor authority. It was, however, the Barrani the boy was tracking; it was Elluvian he considered the threat.
He was not naive enough, in Elluvian’s assessment, to believe the fables and stories told to the young and the cozened about the Barrani. Elluvian moved away from the wall and came to stand to the right of the Wolflord.