Authors: Deborah Chester
“Oh, come,” Sien
said in false disappointment. “Do not hesitate. You are a champion in the
arena. You have killed more men than you can count. Death walks at your shoulder.
You call him friend. Are you not his best reaper?”
“No,” Caelan
whispered, but his mouth quivered as he spoke.
“You take life so
efficiently,” Sien said. “It is your talent. Tell me, in your culture what is a
taker called?”
Caelan stared at
him, skewered with guilt exactly as Sien intended. Loathing against both Sien
and himself burned in his throat.
“Take my life,”
Sien taunted him, “and learn. So much awaits you. Besides, do you not crave
vengeance against your enemies? And I have conspired with them, have I not?”
“Why aren’t you
with Tirhin right now?” Caelan asked around the lump choking his throat. “Why
aren’t you out there, enjoying your triumph? The empire is destroyed—”
“Oh, not by half,”
Sien said impatiently. “The head has been severed from the body, but neither
are dead yet. They could easily be rejoined. Especially since the emperor is
preparing to take the secret ways to safety at this moment. And the empress
lies here at our feet, very close to joining her sovereign lord.” Anger flashed
in Sien’s yellow eyes. “My work is far from finished.”
Caelan felt his
entrails drawing into a cold knot. Drawing on his courage, he forced himself to
go on facing the priest with defiance and contempt. “If you are so busy,” he
said, “why don’t you run to Tirhin and help him?”
Sien laughed. “Can
you really be so naive, so stupid as to think I want the prince to assume the
throne?”
Caelan frowned at
this monster in human guise. This was the man who had persuaded Tirhin to trust
the Madruns and to ally his cause with theirs. This was the man who had
abandoned his prince to the attack of the
shyrieas
that night on the
mountainside. This was the man who had counseled Emperor Kostimon for years,
yet tonight had turned on him in betrayal.
“You want the
complete destruction of everything,” Caelan said slowly. “You want everything
pulled down. You are working against everyone in the imperial family.”
A smile spread
across Sien’s face. “Perhaps I have given you a small piece of myself in our
joining,” he said in approval. “Your perception has improved.”
“It isn’t hard to
fit the pieces together,” Caelan said angrily.
“No, it isn’t.
Especially when I make it easy for you.”
A soft moan from
the empress kept Caelan from retorting. He turned and knelt beside her as she stirred.
Moaning again, she
lifted one hand to her brow and opened her eyes. She seemed lost and confused
for a moment; then comprehension flooded her gaze and her eyes filled with
tears.
She sat up,
choking, and Caelan wished he could gather her tightly in his arms and hold
her.
But she was the
empress, and he was no one with the right to offer her such comfort.
“You are safe,
Majesty,” Caelan said quickly, putting reassurance in his voice. As he spoke,
he glanced up at Sien standing apart from them in the gloom, and hoped he told
the truth. “We are beneath the temple.”
She glanced at
Caelan fearfully and brushed back a strand of hair from her face. “The shadow—”
“It is gone,”
Caelan reassured her.
She groped for the
embroidered pouch that hung around her neck, gripping it so hard her knuckles
turned white. “Did you destroy the creature?”
He had a sudden
fear that she might reveal to Sien the magical jewel she carried. “The shadow
is gone,” Caelan said firmly.
Her eyes met his,
and she seemed to see the warning in his gaze. Frowning, she looked away and
swallowed. Her shoulders were trembling, and she drew up her knees, trying
weakly to stand up. “It will return.”
“Not down here,
Majesty,” Sien said with an unctuous bow.
At the sound of
his voice, she gasped and stiffened. Caelan put a large hand on her shoulder
and squeezed gently.
Sien stepped
closer to them. “Nor can the Madruns break through our safeguards for a short
time yet. Your guardsman has spoken the truth when he said you are safe. Are
you ready to join the emperor?”
Elandra ignored
the priest and looked at Caelan. “Assist me to my feet,” she said.
Although her voice
was sharp and imperious, he could see how frightened she really was. In
silence, he obeyed her and steadied her when she swayed. Then she squared her
shoulders and lifted her chin regally, looking every inch an empress. Only her
pallor and her tight grip on Caelan’s fingers betrayed her.
“Lord Sien,” she
said unsteadily, “are you saying my husband is nearby?”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“Is he—is he alive
or dead?”
Sien’s eyes
widened. “Why, alive. Your Majesty need not fear.”
A reverberating
crash from overhead made all of them look up.
Caelan’s throat
tightened, and he reached for the hilt of his dagger. “The Madruns have broken
through. Go on. Majesty. I will try to hold them as long as possible—”
“You fool!” Sien
said sharply before Elandra could respond. “There are sufficient safeguards in
their path that will hold the barbarians better than even you can. Let us go
forward, however. The emperor cannot wait much longer.”
As he spoke, he
gestured at the shadowy corridor stretching ahead of them. Caelan moved to take
the lead, all his senses alert, his dagger in his hand. He had the edgy, uneasy
feeling that they were walking into a trap. Sien could not be trusted, whether
he helped them or not. The priest was far more dangerous than he appeared, and
his dark powers made him formidable. As Caelan strode along with Elandra and
the priest following, he glanced often at the dagger in his hand. Could mere
steel, even if thrown swift and true, destroy this minion of the shadow god?
Caelan had the feeling that at any moment he might have to find out. Sweating,
he tried to stay calm and ready for anything.
“Stop,” Sien said.
Caelan obeyed so
quickly Elandra nearly bumped into him from behind. He stepped aside with a
murmured apology to her. Inclining her head, she flashed her eyes to his, then
looked away.
Caelan faced the
priest. “What now?” he asked suspiciously.
Sien smiled, his
yellow eyes glittering. He gestured. “Open the door.”
Caelan had seen no
door, but now as he spun around in surprise, a carved wooden barrier blocked
the corridor where none had been before. Astonished and more wary than ever,
Caelan stared at it. He could not tell if it was real or imagined. He dared not
touch it to find out.
“Open it,” Sien
said softly. “The emperor is just on the other side in the cavern.”
Elandra’s face lit
up. “He’s been waiting for me?”
“Yes,” Sien said. “Twice
his officers have had to dissuade him from going back to search for your
Majesty. His distress has been great. But naturally he could not be allowed to
jeopardize himself. If the enemy manages to break through my special defenses
within the temple and get this far, it is possible they will be able to follow
him even through the secret ways.”
“I must join
Kostimon,” Elandra said. New strength filled her voice. She stood tall and
queenly, her grace and confidence returned.
Caelan gazed at
her, glad she so readily believed the priest’s smooth lies. He met Sien’s gaze,
and the truth flickered between them for just an instant. In the initial
confusion of tonight’s attack, Caelan had seen the emperor refuse to send
guardsmen to rescue Elandra, claiming he could not afford to split his meager
forces unnecessarily. Caelan knew the emperor had not waited for her, had
thought only of his own safety, had abandoned her with his concubines and his
staff. It was better she did not know. Caelan himself would not give her such
hurt for the world.
Gathering up her
skirts, Elandra stepped right up to the door and stopped there. She glanced at
Caelan over her shoulder. “Open it.”
He hesitated just
long enough to bring a frown to her eyes; then he stepped forward to obey. It
was hinged to swing toward them.
Cautiously, not
trusting what might perhaps really await them on the other side, Caelan
gestured for the empress to stand back.
She did so, and he
reached for the latch.
Before his fingers
actually touched it, however, it opened itself. The door swung inward on its
own.
Caelan flinched
back from it, then crouched with his dagger ready.
Past the doorway
stood a spacious cavern filled with men and milling horses. The area hummed
with frenzied activity. On the opposite side of the cavern, the emperor’s
banner hung limply from a staff, and the guardsmen themselves were men Caelan
recognized as loyal. Relief swelled in his throat.
He stood aside to
let Elandra precede him.
On the threshold,
however, she seemed to bump into something unseen.
Gasping, she
recoiled and backed away quickly.
Cursing himself,
Caelan reached her side immediately. “Is your Majesty hurt?” he demanded.
She shook her
head. Her eyes were still wide with fear. “What in Gault’s name is it?” she
whispered, clutching her jewel bag.
Caelan returned to
the doorway. When he reached out, his hand struck an invisible barrier that was
as firm as a stone wall. It was neither cold nor hot to his touch. It was
simply impassable.
Gazing through it
in mounting frustration, he could see the guardsmen saddling horses and loading
provisions, but he could not step through to join them.
No one in the
cavern glanced his way. Caelan decided they could not see him. The thought
stirred fresh worry inside him. Were the guardsmen really out there, or was
this all an illusion?
He turned around
to face Sien. Inside him, rage and resignation were building. He’d known all
along the priest was going to pull some trickery. Now it had to be dealt with.
“Careful, warrior,”
Sien said softly. “Do not make a mistake you will regret.”
Caelan bared his
teeth as he brandished his dagger. “Did you not ask me to strike you down just
a few minutes ago? Your memory is short, priest.”
“On the contrary,”
Sien replied, “my memory is excellent. I recall asking you what price you would
pay for the lady’s recovery.”
Elandra’s head
whipped around sharply. “What?”
Caelan felt a slow
rage heating inside him, molten in his loins, burning hotter and hotter in his
chest, rising through his neck, his cheeks, his eyes. He glared at the priest,
in no mood for games.
“You didn’t cure
her,” he said hoarsely.
Sien smiled with
pity, and Caelan suddenly understood that the priest meant Elandra’s return to
the side of the emperor. It was a cold drenching of comprehension that left him
standing there stricken and silent.
“No,” Elandra said
softly, horror in her voice. She looked from one man to the other. “No.”
Caelan ignored
her. His gaze was only for the priest, whose eyes were now rapacious and
gleaming. Sien licked his lips, and something in the air smelled burned.
“Dark magic!”
Elandra cried in warning. She stumbled against Caelan, perhaps to push him to
safety or perhaps to grip him for reassurance.
He swept her aside
with his free arm and moved toward Sien slowly on the balls of his feet. In his
temple his pulse throbbed with the desire to kill this bald old viper, but he
kept his emotions in check. He must use his wits here, not his brawn. Physical
attack was not the answer; if Sien used magic to defend himself, Caelan knew he
would not stand much chance against the priest.
“I ask again,”
Sien said. “What price will you pay?”
“What price do you
ask?” Caelan countered.
“No!” Elandra
said. “Caelan, I forbid this. Do not bargain with this traitor.”
Caelan frowned,
wishing she would be quiet. She was distracting him. He narrowed his gaze on
the priest, wondering how he could make the man drop the spell on the doorway. “You
wanted answers from me, and you took those. What is your price now?”
Sien laughed, a
horrible gloating sound. “If I could give you a way to go back and save the
life of your father, would you take it?”
Caelan froze in
revulsion. His fingers clenched knuckle-white on his dagger.
Don’t listen,
a voice in the back of his head warned him.
“If I could give
you a way to go back and change your decisions?” Sien continued, his voice
insinuating and soft. “What is the child’s name? Lea? Do you want to know
exactly how she died in the forest?”
Caelan shut his
eyes. “Be quiet.”
“But if I let you
go back to save her, would you go?”
The never-healed
wound broke open afresh, welling raw hurt. Caelan clenched his eyes shut
harder, and tears stung against his eyelids. If only he had stayed with her. If
only he had remembered his responsibility was to protect her. If only he hadn’t
thought he could make a difference at the hold.
“I was just a boy,”
he whispered aloud. “I did my best.”
“You made a
mistake,” Sien said. “Undo it. Go back and save your sister. Forget this woman
who stands here. Think of Lea. She loved you so much, Caelan. She trusted you.
And you promised to return for her. Why not keep that promise now? I can send
you back to her.”
Caelan shivered.
Inside, he felt as though he were breaking in half. It hurt, and it would
always hurt. To be able to undo his mistakes. To be able to change the course
of his life ... but such longing was only a belief in falsehood. Change was not
possible.
“It
is
possible,” Sien whispered. “Trust me.”
Caelan forced open
his eyes. Tears spilled hot down his cheeks, and he turned his back on the
priest. Inside, he struggled away from temptation and tried to harden himself
against the priest’s lies. He understood what Sien wanted now. Sien wanted him
to abandon Elandra in these corridors, to leave her able to see her husband and
his soldiers yet barred from reaching them until the Madruns eventually found
her.