Realm of Light (46 page)

Caelan turned his
head to watch Agel go. There was nothing left for either of them to say. They
had chosen their sides. They would not change.

The prince swayed.
A sheen of unhealthy sweat coated his face, which was far paler than usual. He
had lost his handsome looks. His features were haggard, almost gaunt, with deep
lines carved on either side of his mouth. His blue eyes seemed paler than
Caelan remembered, and as the firelight reflected in them they appeared almost
yellow.

Caelan thought of
Kostimon’s yellow eyes, so cold and strange. He remembered that Sien had also
had yellow eyes, like a serpent’s. Was this, then, a mark of the shadows?

Tirhin limped
closer to Caelan, a sneer on his face, and Caelan tugged at his bonds, testing
them with a strong bulging of his muscles. But unlike the bolt set into the
pillar of wood in Albain’s courtyard, this one was immovable. Nor could the
chains be broken. They were strong enough to have held many a prisoner, many a
gladiator, in the past. They were holding now.

Tirhin chuckled.
“Oh, you would like to get at me, wouldn’t you? I can see the heated desire in
your eyes.”

Tirhin stopped
just out of Caelan’s reach. The prince wore his usual blue clothing, sumptuous
velvet trimmed with fur. His sword was too long and heavy for him. An emerald
winked from the hilt, and Caelan recognized Exoner. He caught his breath
sharply.

“Yes,” Tirhin
said, noticing where his gaze went. “This exceptionally fine sword is not
suitable for a former slave to carry. I have taken it for my own.”

As he spoke, he
drew it from the scabbard and swung it aloft. He held it overhead a moment,
long enough for his thin arms to tremble; then he brought it down in a vicious
swing at Caelan’s head.

Caelan met
Tirhin’s eyes, and never moved. At the last second Tirhin bent his elbows, and
the blade missed Caelan by a whisper.

“Whack!” Tirhin
said, with a hollow laugh. “There goes your head, rolling away like a ball.”

He sheathed the
sword and glared at Caelan, looking disappointed that he had failed to frighten
his prisoner. “You always had ideas above your station. I gave you everything,
showered you with gifts and wealth, and you have repaid me most ill.”

“You brought the
evil to Imperia,” Caelan said. “You bargained with the Madruns. You unleashed
the darkness—”

“Shut up!” Tirhin
broke in hotly. His eyes opened wide, and he shook his head. “Damn you, how
dare you accuse me! You are dung beneath my boots. This darkness was Kostimon’s
doing. Blame him, not me.”

“Kostimon is
dead.”

“Is he?” Tirhin
asked with an angry gesture. “Why do I hear his name at every turn? Why do I
hear his voice in my dreams at night? It is said his ghost stalks the city. He
is the man who bargained for immortality and paid the price by bringing this
destruction down on all of us.”

Caelan did not
answer. Blame could be thrown in any direction. It did not change the
circumstances.

“But you,” Tirhin
said, coming closer. “I have brought you back to revive the games, to give the
people some entertainment.”

“Haven’t they seen
enough death lately?” Caelan asked with scorn.

Tirhin flushed.
“What spell have you cast over her?” he asked in a sudden change of subject.
His voice was hoarse with fury. “What have you done to her mind?”

“Who?”

“Elandra! Don’t
play games with me. You are this close to death.” Tirhin held his thumb and
forefinger together. “This close! You could have had your freedom. Did I care?
You could have gone back to your precious backwater province and rotted there.
But why did you abduct her?”

“There was no
abduction. Kostimon placed her in my protection,” Caelan said coldly. As he
spoke, he cast a glance at the two guards. They were still alert, watching him
closely.

Tirhin moved away,
and Caelan was not able to seize him. He could sense Exoner calling to him. The
sword was practically glowing in its scabbard from their proximity to the realm
of shadow.

Grim determination
reawakened in him. He had to get that sword.

Tirhin kicked
aside the wine cup and went to stand near the fire. He shivered, then moved
restlessly back toward Caelan.

“Well?” he
demanded. “You’ve had time to think up a lie. What is your hold on the lady?”

Caelan frowned,
not sure what he wanted. Feeling the conversation was pointless, Caelan
answered with the simple truth. “Love.”

“Love?” Tirhin
said the word as though it were foul. “She loves
you!
How could she?”

Caelan said
nothing.

But Tirhin seemed
to read everything in his face. He scowled. “This is absurd. You have enspelled
her.”

“I am only an
ex-gladiator,” Caelan replied satirically. “What powers do I possess?”

“Plenty of them,
from all accounts. Your speed, your prowess, your ability to heal, your way of
reading a man’s mind. Agel has told me of the Traulander religion, of the
special gifts and spells that can be performed.”

“There are no
spells,” Caelan said, wondering what lies Agel had fed into this man’s mind.

“How earnestly you
say that,” Tirhin said with a skeptical laugh. “You were always such a literal
fool, so honest, so upright, so faithful. But now you think you can take
everything from me, just because of Elandra. You think her favor will make you
a great man. But you are wrong!”

“The men are
already calling you Majesty,” Caelan said, trying to provoke him. “Did you
crown yourself today?”

“Damn you!” Tirhin
glared at him with clenched fists. “Taunt me again, and I’ll cut out your
tongue.”

“Before or after
you cut off my head?”

One of the guards
growled a warning and reached for his sword.

Tirhin waved him
back. “I don’t need you. Keep away.”

“But, Majesty, he
is dangerous—”

“Get out, both of
you! If you won’t obey me, I won’t have you with me.”

“Better let them
stay,” Caelan said softly.

Tirhin jerked
around to stare at him. Whatever he read in Caelan’s eyes made him blink. He
stepped back and glanced at his guards. “Very well,” he said. “But keep quiet.”

Caelan started
over. Tirhin was a man on the edge. Whether pain or fear drove him hardly
mattered. He was half-mad, fevered, far from being in control of himself or his
men.

“Elandra will not marry
you of her own free will,” Caelan said, still speaking softly. “Has she told
you that yet?”

Tirhin’s face
turned bright crimson. Hatred gleamed in his eyes. He was breathing hard, but
he did not answer.

“Is an alliance
with her the only way your chancellors will let you be crowned?” Caelan asked.
“Imperia politics are so complicated. How much easier it all seemed when you
thought the Madruns would slaughter both Kostimon and Elandra in their beds,
leaving your succession a clear and simple matter. Did Kostimon accuse you of
treason before he died? Is that why the Lord Commander of the army still
hesitates to give you his allegiance?”

“The Lord
Commander is here, damn you,” Tirhin breathed, staring at him in fascination.
“He came to me. He brought the army to me.”

“But has he sworn
fealty to you?”

Tirhin’s mouth
trembled, but he said nothing.

“Has Lord Albain?”

“That old fool!
His head will roll after yours!”

“And will that
make Elandra smile at you with more favor?”

Tirhin lifted a
shaking fist. “She’ll come to fear me. I don’t want her love. I want her
cooperation.”

“You want her
crown, and you’ll do anything to get it. The problem is, you’re about to be
emperor of nothing. Imperia is doomed, and you can’t put the monsters back. Do
you think they will spare you when they’ve eaten everyone else?”

All the color
drained from Tirhin’s face. His eyes snapped open wide, and they were utterly
mad. He gripped Caelan’s sword. “I will not be their creature!” he shouted. “I
will not surrender to it, nor to you!”

Caelan held his
breath, praying Tirhin would draw the sword and swing at him. There was a
chance that he could seize the weapon and take it from the prince. If only
Tirhin would get close enough.

But instead, the
prince ran the back of his hand across his mouth. He was shaking visibly; his
eyes rolled from side to side. He staggered back, too far away for Caelan to
reach him.

“No,” he said
raggedly, as though talking to himself. “No, not on my hands. An emperor does
not stoop to ... you are nothing.” His gaze swung back to Caelan and focused.
“Do you hear? You are
nothing
!”

“Tirhin,” Caelan
said desperately, “wait—”

Tirhin made a
chopping gesture to silence him. “For the good service you once showed me, I
had hoped to spare you, but you are no longer of any use to me. As long as you
are alive, she will hope. If she has hope, she will resist me.”

Caelan frowned,
his wits scrambling for a way to reach Tirhin. “If I die, she will hate you
more—”

“Guards!” Tirhin
shouted.

The two men came
forward. The others walked in.

“Execute him,”
Tirhin said. “I want him dead. Now. Tonight.”

“At once,
Majesty.”

Saluting, the
sergeant turned around and gestured at his men. One of them yanked at Caelan’s
chains, pulling him down to his knees. The others drew their daggers, blades
ringing out the song of death.

Exoner called to
Caelan, its voice an ache in his veins. If he could only get Tirhin to come
close, close enough for him to grasp the hilt, he would still have a chance.

The sergeant
gripped Caelan’s hair and tilted back his head to expose his throat. He placed
the edge of his dagger under Caelan’s jaw. The steel felt cold against Caelan’s
skin. He could tell how sharp and well honed it was. He hardly dared breathe
against it.

“Will you give the
order, Majesty?” the sergeant asked.

Caelan’s gaze
found Tirhin’s. “Why not cut off my head yourself?” he taunted. The dagger
nicked him as he spoke, and he felt a hot trickle of blood slide down his
throat. “Do you fear me, emperor of nothing, or are you too little a man to
dirty your hands?”

Rage darkened
Tirhin’s face at the insult, and the sergeant cursed Caelan.

Before he could
slit Caelan’s throat, however, Tirhin jerked up his hand.

Caelan knelt
there, his whole existence poised on the edge of that trembling blade. He could
feel the violence in the metal, feel the previous deaths coating the steel,
feel the outrage in the sergeant who hungered to slash hard and cleanly.

Eyes blazing,
Tirhin glared at Caelan. He looked more fevered and ill than ever. His thin
body swayed as though he could barely stand. Breathing hard, he hesitated
there, and his fists clenched and opened, clenched and opened.

Caelan never let
his gaze falter from Tirhin’s.
Draw the sword,
he commanded in his mind.
In Gault’s name, draw the sword.

Tirhin’s gaze narrowed.
His hatred seethed in him plainly, but after an eternal moment he stepped back.

A low rumble ran
through the room, and dust sifted down on Caelan’s shoulders. He frowned,
glancing up involuntarily to see if the roof was going to fall on them.

The sergeant
laughed deep in his throat. “Scared of a little shake?” he taunted. “We get
them all the time down here. You’ll be dead long before you’re crushed.”

“Stand down,”
Tirhin said.

His voice was
choked, hoarse, almost unrecognizable.

The sergeant stared
at him in consternation, then reluctantly moved the dagger away from Caelan’s
throat. He released his hold on Caelan’s hair.

Gritting his
teeth, Caelan lowered his head a moment to ease his neck muscles. Inside he was
cursing with a mixture of relief and frustration.

Was Tirhin having
second thoughts? What plot was being cooked up in the prince’s devious mind
now? But any delay was a chance, however slight.

“I thank you,”
Caelan said breathlessly, “for your imperial mercy.”

Tirhin’s dark
brows knotted together. He swept a cold look at Caelan and said to the
sergeant, “Wait until I am gone, then execute him. Don’t just slit his throat,”
Tirhin added as a slow smile returned to the sergeant’s face. “Cut him into
quarters and throw him outside to whatever hunts the darkness.”

“A pleasure,
Majesty.”

“And, Sergeant?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

Tirhin’s gaze
returned to Caelan’s. “Cut out his heart and send it to me. Then I shall know
for certain that he is well and truly dead.”

The sergeant
saluted.

A chill swept
through Caelan. His plan had failed him. If he died here like a dog tonight,
Elandra would truly be alone. His promises to her now seemed like idle
boasting, deflated wineskins swinging in the wind.

“Your highness—”
he said.

But the prince
started laughing. It was a low sound without amusement, a sound of madness, a
sound of bitter enmity. He paused only to spit in Caelan’s face, then resumed
his laughter as he limped out.

Tirhin’s
bodyguards followed him out of the room, leaving only the five prison guards
surrounding Caelan.

He knelt on the
gritty floor with his fingers tight on the chain, considering his odds, forcing
himself to be calm and wait for the moment, however slim. There was always a
moment, a slight second of inattention or carelessness, when a guard might
glance away or move fractionally too close. If no moment came, Caelan intended
to create one.

The links of the
chain were stout and well forged. The only weakness lay where the chain had
been fastened through the ring bolt. Caelan eyed it, flexing his muscles to
keep them loose, aware that his heart was racing.