Realm Of Light Part 43

Tirhin flushed. "What spell have you cast over her?" he asked in a sudden change of subject. His voice was hoa.r.s.e 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! you! How could she?" 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?"

"d.a.m.n 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, d.a.m.n 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 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, Draw the sword, he commanded in his mind. he commanded in his mind. In Gault's name, draw the sword. 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, hoa.r.s.e, 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 amus.e.m.e.nt, 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.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

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.

The sergeant took off his helmet with a grunt of relief and ma.s.saged the red marks on his temple where the helmet rubbed it. "Koloth, go watch for when he's reached the upper levels. That'll be long enough to wait."

One of the guards saluted and left. Caelan bowed his head to hide his satisfaction. Only four men now. His odds were improving. He drew in several deep breaths, gathering his strength.

A b.e.s.t.i.a.l howl rose in the distance.

The men froze in silence for a moment, then unconsciously drew closer together, holding their daggers. Only the sergeant did not seem concerned.

Tucking his helmet under his arm, he spat on the floor and grinned derisively at his men. "Relax," he said. "It won't come this far."

"We're very deep in the ground," one of the guards said nervously. He looked younger than the rest, a stout lad not quite fully grown into his big hands and feet, awkward and gangly in his armor and weapons.

The oldest of the bunch, bearing a puckered scar across his face, rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Maybe the sergeant will let us go lookin' fer Haggai after duty," he suggested with a leer.

The boy blanched.

"Shut up, Mox," the sergeant said. "You know the orders."

"Aye, but I got me a taste for some-"

Breaking off, he gestured suggestively with his hands and laughed.

Watching them, Caelan realized Mox was a gladiator, or had been. No one he'd fought personally. Strictly second rank, but it explained his lack of military discipline and the sloppy look of him. But even if his armor needed polishing, he would fight mean and he would fight dirty.

As for the sergeant, he was clearly a legion veteran. His ugly face was sunburned and coa.r.s.e, weathered from long years on the march, his eyes empty of anything except his orders. A little nub of skin and scar tissue was all that remained of one of his ears, and his left cheek was tattooed with the symbol of Faure, the ancient war G.o.d. He might command conscripted dregs such as old gladiators and green boys, but he was an imperial soldier, and as such he was one of the toughest, most fearless fighters ever trained.

Caelan made his calculations. Half closing his eyes, he drew severance severance to him, testing it, knowing that of late his ability to use it had been erratic. The gladiator and the sergeant must be the first to die. The boy would panic and might run. The remaining man looked tough and competent, but Caelan could take him. to him, testing it, knowing that of late his ability to use it had been erratic. The gladiator and the sergeant must be the first to die. The boy would panic and might run. The remaining man looked tough and competent, but Caelan could take him.

"Who's to do 'im?" Mox asked, pulling out a dice cup and rattling it suggestively.

The boy grinned, then glanced at the sergeant and wiped his expression blank.

"Know 'im?" Mox said. "Called 'im Giant in the arena."