Shadow War Part 9

A shiver pa.s.sed over Caelan. Suddenly he felt wild and panicked. He did not know who he was or where he was. Perhaps this was a fevered dream, and in truth he lay in his bed, sweating with delirium and madness.

But he remembered Agel, the block of granite that was his cousin. Kinsman Agel, who cured him, so that he could come tonight with his master.

"We are waiting," Lord Fuesel said. "Please throw."

Caelan drew a deep breath. For wielding death so successfully, for killing to amuse his patron, he had been dressed in finery, brought to this social function among the elite of Imperia, and invited to play dice with lords. It was a mockery of death to accept such rewards. Now-worse-he was about to fritter away his money, this mysterious, ghostly money, about to waste it gambling. Agel's sour face hung before him like a vision, mouthing accusations.

Clenching the dice harder in his hand, Caelan stood up so abruptly his stool turned over.

Both of his opponents glanced up. Lord Fuesel looked fl.u.s.tered, even momentarily panicked. Thole, a swarthy man with a thin mustache adorning his lip, raised his brows at Caelan.

"Running away?" he asked with a sneer.

"You can't quit now," Fuesel said.

Thole brushed Fuesel's hand in warning, and the lord subsided with a nervous rat-a-tat of his fingers on the board.

"How long have I been playing?" Caelan asked in confusion, brushing his face with the back of his hand. His thoughts were full of holes. He could not make sense of anything except the overwhelming need to throw the dice. "My master may require me-"

"Nonsense. No need to worry about that just yet," Thole said. "You will forfeit all that you have bet up till now."

"Giant! Don't quit!" shouted a buxom woman from the crowd. "Keep your courage. Don't rob us of the end."

Frowning, Caelan edged back from the board. Thole leaned over and gripped his wrist. His hand was soft and supple, lacking the calluses of physical labor. The touch of his warm, moist palm made Caelan's skin crawl.

"They want their spectacle," Thole said, tightening his grip. "Don't you want this fortune?"

Something seemed to lie beneath his words, as though another language had been spoken, with a different meaning. The mists were swirling anew in Caelan's brain. He was so very thirsty, and he looked around for his cup.

Everyone seemed to be shouting now. The din increased in volume, making Caelan's head ring. He blinked off a sudden feeling of dizziness, and felt the internal shift of sevaisin sevaisin taking hold. taking hold.

Not here, he thought in panic. he thought in panic. Not with so many. Not with so many.

But something inside him surged to connect with Thole, before he hastily yanked free of the man's grip. Just as hastily the gambler shielded himself from any empathic link.

But Caelan had gained one impression from that fleeting connection.

Trap.

He swallowed hard, hearing anger in the voices shouting at him now. Disappointment and derision came in open jeers.

"Why doesn't he throw?" someone asked in bewilderment. "All he has to do is throw."

"Take the sword from his hand, and he's just another stupid gladiator."

"Maybe his victories are as fake as his dice game."

The croupier leaned forward. "You are delaying the game. Take your turn, or forfeit."

Caelan uncurled his fingers and stared at the yellowed ivory dice lying on his palm. Sevaisin Sevaisin shifted within him again, and he knew the elephant from faraway Gialta that had died and left its tusks to be crafted into ornaments and baubles. He knew the craftsman who had carved these dice from the ivory. He knew how the slivers of lead had been cleverly worked into the interiors of the cubes. shifted within him again, and he knew the elephant from faraway Gialta that had died and left its tusks to be crafted into ornaments and baubles. He knew the craftsman who had carved these dice from the ivory. He knew how the slivers of lead had been cleverly worked into the interiors of the cubes.

These were not the same dice he had been playing with before. They had been skillfully switched since the last throw, and they would roll up a high number.

If he threw, he would win.

That large mound of ducats would be his. He would be a very rich man.

Caelan frowned. He would be a very rich slave, he corrected himself.

But one rich enough to purchase his freedom?

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he shoved it derisively away. If the prince would not free him in honor, he would not accept a price either.

What, then, did a slave need with so much money?

Even more puzzling, why did these men want him to win?

Why had they let him win until his stake rivaled theirs?

Why had they lured him here and kept him so long? Why were they so interested in him?

Trap. But what kind? What did it mean? But what kind? What did it mean?

"You must play or forfeit," the croupier said sternly. "Follow the rules of the game before we have a riot in here."

"The barbarian doesn't know the game!" someone shouted.

"Throw the d.a.m.ned dice," Lord Fuesel said. "Where is your nerve now? Show us the courage you exhibited in the arena."

He was too vehement, too desperate. Fuesel's thick fingers were gripping the edge of the board so hard they turned white.

Thole watched Caelan with the unwavering gaze of a serpent.

Meeting that gaze directly was a mistake. Caelan felt mesmerized, unable to look away. His heart started thumping hard, and once again he felt he could not breathe. The compulsion to throw the dice grew inside him as though the collective wills of everyone in the room had merged into a compelling force. Caelan could feel himself being drawn into it, being absorbed by it as though his own consciousness were melting.

The dice themselves grew warm in his palm, pulsing against his skin, almost purring as though they had come alive. Strange whispers floated through his mind: wealth, please us, fortune, obey us, treasures incomparable, obey us, obey. wealth, please us, fortune, obey us, treasures incomparable, obey us, obey.

His eyes fell half shut, and he swayed. His blood still pounded dizzily in his ears, and he felt boneless and adrift. Why fight it? What harm could there be in winning?

Something icy cold seemed to pierce his breastbone. The pain touched him directly beneath where his small amulet bag swung on its leather cord beneath his tunic. New visions filled his mind, overlapping the mist and heat with swirling snow, icy blasts of cold wind, the scents of fir mingled with glacial ice. And Lea's small face, her blue eyes bright, her mouth open as though she called to him.

He strained to hear her, and as he did so something snapped inside him. He slipped into severance. severance. It was as though a knife sliced through the spell that had engulfed him. He stood apart, detached and separate in the cold wind. He saw the plan in its entirety. Fuesel and Thole were paid agents, intending to accuse Caelan of cheating as soon as he made the winning throw. Such a charge was serious. He could be imprisoned, and his hands cut off. He would never fight in the arena again. The compet.i.tion could then step in with new contenders and new champions. The betting odds would once again be more even. It was as though a knife sliced through the spell that had engulfed him. He stood apart, detached and separate in the cold wind. He saw the plan in its entirety. Fuesel and Thole were paid agents, intending to accuse Caelan of cheating as soon as he made the winning throw. Such a charge was serious. He could be imprisoned, and his hands cut off. He would never fight in the arena again. The compet.i.tion could then step in with new contenders and new champions. The betting odds would once again be more even.

Caelan set the dice on the edge of the gaming board and stepped back with a shake of his head.

"I forfeit the game," he said.

Fuesel's mouth fell open, and Thole looked furious. The spectators roared with disappointment.

Avoiding everyone's gaze, Caelan turned his back on the money that was spellcast and not his. He shoved his way through the crowd. People growled and swore at him. A women even struck his chest with her fist. Wrapped in his cloak of icy detachment, Caelan ignored them all and pushed his way clear.

The moment he exited the room, he felt another tug of resistance, then a final snap as though the last tendrils of the spell had broken. He hurried away, and every step brought a cool, refreshing sense of relief and freedom.

Finally, he let severance severance drop from him. He paused behind a column in the pa.s.sageway. Drawing in several deep breaths, he pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the small, rea.s.suring lump of the amulet bag beneath his silk tunic. Even now it still felt cold to his touch, as though a chunk of ice swung inside the leather pouch. His emeralds, gifts from the ice spirits of Trau that had favored him long ago, had protected him many times before. No ordinary gems, they looked like plain, ordinary pebbles whenever anyone else examined them, and they revealed their true shape only to him. He had never understood why the ice spirits had chosen to give him such magical stones; he had never understood what purpose they might be intended to serve. Never had they intervened as directly as they had tonight. drop from him. He paused behind a column in the pa.s.sageway. Drawing in several deep breaths, he pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the small, rea.s.suring lump of the amulet bag beneath his silk tunic. Even now it still felt cold to his touch, as though a chunk of ice swung inside the leather pouch. His emeralds, gifts from the ice spirits of Trau that had favored him long ago, had protected him many times before. No ordinary gems, they looked like plain, ordinary pebbles whenever anyone else examined them, and they revealed their true shape only to him. He had never understood why the ice spirits had chosen to give him such magical stones; he had never understood what purpose they might be intended to serve. Never had they intervened as directly as they had tonight.

He realized he was still sweating. He felt trembly and a little sick. The wine, of course, had been drugged. Tipping his head back against the wall, he struggled to compose himself, then wiped his face with his sleeve and sent a small prayer of thanks to whatever benevolence existed within the stones.

Painful memories of his sister flooded his heart. He choked a moment before he pushed such thoughts away. He had loved her with all his heart, and he had failed her utterly. He had failed other people as well, including his father, but it was only Lea he felt the sharpest guilt for. She had been sweet, innocent, special-a tiny, golden-haired child beloved by nature, people, and the G.o.ds.

And he must stop thinking about her now, must drive her from his mind once more, knowing he could not return to the past and undo his mistakes, knowing he could not go back and save her.

Wiping his eyes, Caelan repressed a shudder and walked on in an effort to pull himself together. Forcing his mind back to Fuesel and Thole, he found his anger growing. It had been a vile plot to remove him from the games. Rivalry among the owners was fierce, and sometimes fighters were stolen and sold illegally. Sometimes they were poisoned or hamstrung. The prince must be told without delay. He had the authority to order these agents questioned. Tirhin could find out who hired them, then plan his own retaliation.

Yet the prince was not to be found. Searching discreetly, Caelan drifted from room to room, yet did not find his master. Occasionally he made an inquiry, only to be told, "His highness was last seen with Lady Sivee."

Yet Lady Sivee sat in the main reception chamber, surrounded by all her male admirers except Prince Tirhin. The group chattered wittily and nibbled on delicacies while dancing girls whirled seductively to erotic music. When Lady Sivee saw Caelan lurking in the doorway, she beckoned to him.

"Tell your master I miss him dreadfully," she said with a pretty pout. Drink had softened her eyes and her mouth. "Must he talk politics in the garden all night?"

Caelan barely concealed his reaction. In that moment he had a sudden vision of Tirhin on horseback, galloping away into the darkness, alone.

Somehow Caelan found a smile for the lady. "He is returned to the house, my lady. He sent me to ask you to meet him."

"Where?" she asked, too eagerly.

Some of her male friends scowled. Others nudged each other.

Caelan said nothing, and she gave him a quick nod and a sudden, dimpling smile.

"I know" know" she said and put her finger to her lips. she said and put her finger to her lips.

Caelan smiled back, although he could be flogged for playing such a prank. But the lady would never guess. He left the room and slipped outside into the cold air. As soon as the shadows engulfed him, he lengthened his stride, cursing to himself with every step.

Every action of the prince's made sense now. Bringing Caelan and his wealthy young friends to the party as distractions, chatting freely and moving about from room to room until everyone had seen him and everyone thought he must be nearby, ordering Caelan not to stay close to his side. Yes, it had been perfectly planned for the prince to slip away unnoticed. Even Lady Sivee would now contribute to the deception by going to wait for a rendezvous. Her tipsy departure would be noticed by her guests. Alone in her chambers, she would disrobe and wait. The prince would not come to her, but to save herself humiliation she would not rejoin her guests. They would never know he stood her up, because she would never tell.

But the prince had no business going out unescorted and unprotected. Not late at night, not with strangers casting spells on his slaves for dastardly reasons, not with the land restless and unsettled as it was.

"Fool," Caelan said under his breath and quickened his pace.

Twice he nearly ran into couples entwined in the dark shrubbery. There were almost as many people in the gardens as in the house. Torchlights blazed everywhere, but the noise and general confusion was a blessing. Finding a dark wool cloak lying across a bench, Caelan put it on, drawing up the hood to disguise himself. Joining a group of guests who were leaving, he was able to get his horse and mount up, unnoticed by the harried grooms and stableboys. He also casually drew a sword from a saddle scabbard as he rode by. His heart was thumping hard, for if he were caught it would mean his death.

But the G.o.ds favored him, and he was able to conceal the weapon under his cloak.

Leaving the gates, he wheeled his horse around uncertainly and set off at a trot. The moon was too thin to provide much light. It was hard to see the road, and he had no idea which direction the prince had gone.

Again he cursed his master, then he cursed himself for caring. What had happened to his anger and resentment? The prince could risk his foolish neck if he wanted.

But if anything happened to the prince, Caelan knew he would be sold to a new master. Better to stick with the master he had than risk the unknown.

He tried to calm down, although impatience and worry made it hard.

He sought, extending sevaisin sevaisin farther than he had ever tried before. A flicker of the prince came to him, but it was clouded by something else, something evil and horrifying. farther than he had ever tried before. A flicker of the prince came to him, but it was clouded by something else, something evil and horrifying.

Caelan's mouth went dry, and he cut off the contact with a shudder. He did not know what he had sensed, but it was of the darkness. And it was on the prince's trail.

Praying he would not be too late, Caelan turned his horse north and spurred it to a gallop.

Chapter Six.

The north road climbed steadily through the hills r.i.m.m.i.n.g Imperia, its broad, unpaved expanse twisting lazily through the inclines, then crossed a narrow plain and began to ascend to the mountains. Highest of all of them stood the ancient and forbidding Sidraigh-hal Sidraigh-hal, its jagged peak shooting up a pale curl of smoke against the night sky.

Ever questing with his senses, Caelan kept his horse at a gallop until the animal foamed with lather. The prince was not that far ahead, but he must be setting a blistering pace, for Caelan never got within sight of him. Caelan had to ride on faith, the amulet bag bouncing against his chest as though to urge him on.

And if he was wrong? If the prince had remained at the party? Then eventually bounty hunters would come after Caelan. He would be dragged back to the city in chains, and without trial or the chance to offer explanation, he would have sentence read over him. When the floggings and other punishments were done, his broken, mutilated body would be thrown into an iron cage, and he would be suspended from one of the city gates, given no food or water, and left there to die and rot.

It was the kind of risk to make a man sweat with fear.

But Caelan didn't draw rein. Danger rode on the prince's trail, and if Caelan could save him, then perhaps he would be made Tirhin's protector after all.

Cresting a low rise, Caelan spotted a glimmer of light below, far down inside a valley. He let his winded horse slow while he glanced about and took his bearings.

This land lay empty of dwellings. The hills were not farmed. There were no villages. The light that winked briefly through the darkness, then vanished, had to be connected with whomever the prince was meeting.

Caelan frowned. More conspiracies. He wanted no part of them, no knowledge of them. The prince could lay plots all night, for all Caelan cared. But as for the creatures on Tirhin's trail... that was different. Stripping off his cloak and tying it to the saddle, Caelan drew the sword he'd stolen.

Using his knee, he nudged his mount forward cautiously.

He was halfway down the hill, still on the road, when a sudden flurry of wings above him gave him a split second of warning.

His horse screamed in fear and reared. Caelan had a confused impression of something large and black descending on him from the sky before sharp talons ripped across his shoulder. Crying out, he stabbed up with the sword and caught the creature deep in its vitals. Inky blood gushed forth, running down his sword arm and splattering across his face. The stench that accompanied it was of something putrefied.

The creature made no death cry, but simply plummeted past him to land in a dark heap on the ground. Caelan's horse shied and bucked away from it, and by the time he was able to regain control of his mount and move closer, the creature was crumbling rapidly into dust. A breath of wind scattered it away, and he never got a good look at what it had been.

Breathing hard, Caelan wiped off the stinking blood as best he could. Inside, he was shaken more than he wanted to admit. What, in all the names of the G.o.ds, was that thing? It had very nearly killed him, and he still could not quite believe his luck.

After a moment he forced himself to ride on, but he kept his senses attuned to the sky as well as to the shadows around him. Even so, he nearly missed the small trail branching off from the road. It led down the hillside that was rough with boulders and thickets of stunted trees.

Caelan hesitated a moment, then turned his mount that way. His horse's ears p.r.i.c.ked forward alertly. The animal seemed more nervous and reluctant than ever, and he had to force it to take the trail. Step by step, the horse picked its way along, while Caelan's unease grew.

He had the same eerie feeling of being watched as he had earlier that evening when he'd ridden with the prince and his friends. Yet though Caelan's eyes were never still, he saw nothing.

The glimmer of light he'd spied before now reappeared in a brief wink, then was gone as though a door had been opened and closed. It was not far ahead.