“You have the gifts of healing,” Agel said in a stern voice. “So much talent and potential, and you wasted it all. Worse, you have put your gifts into the hands of evil. You use severance to kill, do you not?”
The unexpected attack left Caelan silent.
“To do so is an abomination,” Agel said. “An abhorrence to all life. The citizens of Imperia worship you. They throw coins and flowers at you in tribute. “The mighty warrior Caelan,’ they cry. How greatly would they cheer you if they knew the truth? That it is not with the sword that you slay your victims, but with your talent?”
Agel’s unjust accusations stung Caelan. Years ago, when they were young boys, Agel had been fair and open-minded, but the teachers at Rieschelhold had obviously erased those qualities from him. Now he was petty and prejudiced. He had prejudged Caelan, and his disapproval hurt.
Before Caelan could say anything, Agel continued in that same soft, relentless voice:
“The deaths of your many victims is like a dirty cloak over you. When I look at you from severance, I see you in shadow, vague and obscured. You are tainted and foul.” He paused a moment, his lips tight as he assessed Caelan. “You even use sevaisin, do you not? I can tell it is entwined about you.”
Repulsion filled his eyes. “It has always been forbidden. Where did you come by it? Who taught you such evil? In the memory of your father and all he stood for, how can you?”
Caelan sighed. All his life he had struggled between the two extremes of his unwanted gifts. Severance, the cold isolation, and sevaisin, the joining of life to life. No man should be able to do both, yet he could. The struggle to keep them balanced, the struggle to keep himself from going mad between them at times, seemed harder and harder. He feared himself, feared what might befall him if he ever gave way. Which side of him would eventually win? Yet, for now, he had no means of saving himself except to practice the very principles of balance so revered in Trau. He often felt like a man walking the crumbling edge of a precipice, with no solid ground ahead of him.
No one had ever known his secret, except his father, who had called him a monster. And now Agel knew also. His condemnation showed plainly in his face.
“Please,” Caelan said softly. “Try to understand ...”
“Sevaisin is forbidden!” Agel snapped. “Why did you seek such a thing? Why did you study it?”
“I didn’t—”
“Was it to dishonor your father’s memory? Was it to stain his accomplishments, all he stood for? Has this been your purpose?”
Caelan’s temper slipped. “You said to let the past lie. My father is dead. Why should I seek to dishonor a dead man?”
“What other reason could you have to willingly pursue such a course of study?”
“I didn’t study sevaisin!” Caelan shouted. “I was born with it, just as I was born with severance.”
“No one has both!”
“I do!”
They glared at each other, both tight-lipped and pale. Agel’s eyes slowly widened. He looked increasingly alarmed.
At last, Caelan thought in satisfaction. He had managed to break through his cousin’s icy reserve. There was nothing like shock to destroy the harmony.
Agel’s gaze flickered toward the door.
“You can’t run and tell the elders,” Caelan said. “Traulanders are scarce in this city. There is no one to scourge me because of your accusations. There is no one to sever me or to put me out in the wilderness to wander. No one in Imperia cares. Half the citizens don’t believe in either sevaisin or severance. The rest follow observances that truly are abominations. The city is a melting pot of cultures and beliefs. You will have to get used to that.”
“What is to be done with you?” Agel said despairingly.
“Nothing. I am what I am.”
Agel frowned. He seemed to be trying to regain his composure, although he still looked shaken. “You are much changed in the years since we last saw each other. You have grown harsh and cynical. You jest about evil with an air of worldly sophistication. You commit unspeakable acts, then ask me to accept you. I used to think you would grow out of your rebelliousness and settle into a useful life. Instead, you kill for the amusement of others. You are an entertainer of the vilest kind. I cannot begin to comprehend what you are.”
Now it was Caelan’s turn to be made of stone. He stared at his cousin and felt only coldness. “It is time for you to go.”
Agel looked jolted. “My work is unfinished.”
“I don’t want you. Go.”
Agel’s expression smoothed into something tight and unreadable. “It is not a question of your choice. Your master has requested my services on your behalf. The fact that you are so difficult to heal is—”
“Tell him I’m too difficult. You’ve done all you can. Get out.”
“I will not lie. And I am not finished.”
“You are if I refuse you,” Caelan said, clenching his fists. His head was throbbing, and he was beginning to feel faintly nauseous. The pain came seeping back. “Go back to wherever you came from and stand there looking wise, mysterious, and foreign. I’ll take my chances with the arena physician.”
His harsh, sarcastic tone slid off Agel without effect. “I am newly appointed to the imperial court,” Agel said with a trace of pride. “The emperor gave his gracious permission that I should attend you. However undeserving, you have been honored, and I will not shirk my responsibilities no matter what private opinions I hold.”
Caelan frowned. He thought Agel had hurt him all that was possible. He realized how wrong he was. As long as he still cared for his cousin, he would go on being hurt again and again. “You really hate me, don’t you?”
“Hatred is the antithesis of balance,” Agel replied.
“All right, then. You’ve made yourself clear enough. You consider me a monster and an abomination. Not original, but then you always wanted to imitate my father. What do you feel, if not hatred?” He leaned forward and glared at Agel. “Fear?”
“Disappointment,” Agel said without flinching.
Caelan’s frown deepened. The anger in him deflated, leaving him hollow and tired. As a reunion, this was a nightmare. Lectures . .. disapproval... disappointment. It never changed. He’d been a fool to want to return to Trau. He told himself now he would never go back. As for Agel, there would be no future meetings with him if Caelan could help it.
Lifting his chin, Caelan squared himself and faced his cousin. “I, too, am disappointed,” he said, holding his voice hard to avoid giving away his emotions. “I thought, despite everything that has befallen us, we could still hold our friendship.”
Agel met his gaze. “You are the one who turned away from our friendship. We had everything planned together, but you ran away from Rieschelhold, putting yourself and everyone in jeopardy that night. You did all that you could to get yourself expelled. You even broke our bond. I wept for you as you walked through the gates, turning your back on the greatest calling a man can follow. But I have not wept for you since. And I will not forgive you now. I see you clearly, Caelan E’non, for what you represent. I do not like it, and I will not keep friendship with you, not even for the sake of the blood we share.”
Caelan felt frozen. Every word was like a blow, and despite his anger and disappointment he had no defenses with which to shield himself.
“The road of life has turns we do not always foresee,” he said. “I am glad your road has always been so simple and straight. Mine has not been, and probably will never be. All I know is that I must stay true to myself, not to what other people planned for me. I have only one final statement for you, and then we will be finished with our candor. We need never speak to each other again.
“After the bone-breaking labor and the whippings and the insubstantial food ... after the sweating nightmares and the shakes ... I used to lie awake at night and think of my loved ones. I would think of Lea and the servants ... and even Father. I would think of their deaths, my grief burning a hole i
n me. And I would comfort myself that you were alive and well. I would tell myself that I wasn’t completely lost in this nightmare, that someday I would regain my freedom. Someday I would return to Trau and find you, my remaining kinsman. My family. I told myself I hadn’t lost quite everything. You were a small, precious part of my hope.” Caelan managed a twisted grimace of a smile and shrugged. “I never imagined you would be like this. Still condemning me after all these years because I rejected what you wanted for yourself. Can’t the jealousy and envy have an end?”
“I see no reason for jealousy here.” Appearing unmoved by what Caelan had said, Agel made a slight gesture at the room. “The things you value have no interest for me.”
“Envy, then,” Caelan said harshly. “Every time Beva spoke to me, you were green with it.”
“I wanted what he gave you.”
“You have it,” Caelan said. “You’re the healer, not me. You wear the white robe. I don’t. You are good at the art, as good as my father was. You have his skills, his abilities. You took the court appointment he refused. You have succeeded in emulating him. You will be even more famous than he. Let the envy go, Agel. Accept me for what I am. Please.”
“A killer? How can I accept that?”
Caelan shut his eyes and gave up. He’d bared his soul to this man and been spurned. It was pointless to keep trying.
“You are as foolhardy and reckless as ever,” Agel was saying. “I saw yesterday’s contest—”
Startled, Caelan opened his eyes wide. “You? I don’t believe it.”
“You were too stubborn yesterday to give up, and you are as stubborn as ever in refusing to cooperate today in what is good for you.”
“Oh, so you do remember a few things about me.” Caelan said sarcastically.
Agel did not flinch. “I remember everything.”
“And you don’t care, do you? You’re so perfect now, so severed. You can remain detached despite what happened at E’nonhold. Everyone was slaughtered in the raid. My home was burned to the ground. You used to wish it could be your home too. Now you don’t care.”
“To grieve for the hold does not bring it back,” Agel said. “To grieve for Uncle Beva does not restore him to life. Do you wish me to join the inner confusion you live in? What purpose would that serve? I have my work, which is to heal. It is enough for me.”
“You’re just like Father,” Caelan said bitterly.
“Thank you. That is high praise.”
“No, it’s insult!” Caelan screamed at him. “You fool. My father and his stupid philosophy opened the hold to destruction. He let his own servants die. He stood like a stupid moag and let Thyzarenes slit his throat. It could have all been prevented, and he would not act!”
“Uncle Beva lived by his beliefs. If he also died by his beliefs, then he did so with dignity and honor. I will not debate the principles of harmony and balance with you,” Agel said sternly.
“Why did you have to stop being human? Why can’t you be a healer and still care?”
“I care that you have undone my work,” Agel said. “Has the pain returned?”
Agony throbbed in Caelan’s side. He frowned, certain he would rather die than let Agel near him again.
“Lie down,” Agel told him. “We must begin again.”
Caelan shook his head. “Please,” he said. “Please be the Agel I once knew.”
“Let the past lie where it is,” Agel said. “I live in the present. My task is to tend your hurts.”
“I can tend my own hurts,” Caelan retorted. “I—”
Pain covered him in a sheet of grayness. He sagged against the bedpost, robbed of breath and sense for a moment.
When he regained awareness, he found Agel gripping his elbow and steering him back to bed. Caelan did not want him, but had nothing left with which to drive his cousin away. He found himself suddenly spent by his emotions.
Agel was gentle and ministering, but the icy barrier remained between them. Caelan let Agel work, but nothing could heal the wound inside. For all his principles regarding peace and tranquility, Agel had inflicted the harshest blow. No mere stab would could surpass it.
It was as though his father had come to life again. If pride had not choked him so, Caelan would have wept.
Chapter Five
At twilight the summons came, brought by a timid servant who also carried new clothing and bathing water. Thankful at last for something to do, Caelan put on the finery. Admiring his reflection in the looking glass, he smoothed the tunic of pale brown silk. It fit him perfectly. Tirhin's coat of arms was embroidered on the left sleeve; otherwise, Caelan might have passed for a courtier. He sleeked back his blond hair into a neat braid and spent a moment fingering his amulet bag concealed at his throat.
He desperately needed consolation, and he sent a little prayer to the memory of his dead sister Lea to help him find some inner peace. She had been little and sweet, her wealth of golden curls as bright as sunshine, her heart pure goodness. He still grieved for her, more than for any of the others. After his encounter with Agel today, Caelan missed her even more intensely.
And Orlo still had not returned, not even to check on his health. It was possible the trainer would not come back at all. He was a free man, and if he chose to leave the prince’s service, he could. Caelan sighed. He did not even know what terms he stood on with the prince at present. He had sent word to his master that he was well enough to resume his duties of attendance. His highness had not replied, other than to give him this curt summons.
There came a soft tapping on the door. “It is time,” the servant said.
Anxious not to keep the prince waiting, Caelan gathered up his cloak and hurried out. The hours of rest following Agel’s departure had done wonders. Caelan felt physically strong and complete once more. His side gave him no more than an occasional twinge, provided he did not overexert himself. Yet despite that, he felt grim and old inside. He tried telling himself that depression was useless and that he must not let these people affect him so profoundly, yet it was hard to feel positive when his emotions had been ruthlessly pounded. He kept asking himself if he could have done better, if he could have done differently. Would it have mattered?
The sun was melting into a golden stain on the horizon as he emerged through the main entry of the prince’s house, descended a flight of grand steps flanked by life-sized stone dragons, and halted under the portico. Grooms stood nearby with saddled horses. Caelan counted them, recognizing coats of arms on many of the saddle cloths. The prince and his entourage had not yet appeared.
Catching his breath, Caelan was glad to be here ahead of his master. He swore to himself that Tirhin would find no fault with him tonight.
Caelan gazed out toward the sunset and inhaled the fragrant air. Prince Tirhin’s house was a miniature palace, and the gardens around it had been expertly designed to please the senses. Normally had Caelan found himself standing here at ease, he would have let himself pretend he was the master of his surroundings. The sidelong glances of respect and awe from the house servants as they hurried past on myriad tasks could also be woven into the fantasy. Suppose they were his servants. Suppose the grooms were holding his horses saddled and ready. Suppose he were a free man, master of himself, successful, and at ease.
But tonight the fantasy did not come readily. He was not in the mood for make-believe.
A bargain was a bargain. The prince had ordered Caelan to win, and Caelan had. The prince wanted Caelan to appear at tonight’s parties, healthy and whole. Caelan was here.
But he had done enough. He was tired, tired to his very bones and beyond, of slaying men for no purpose. As a boy he had dreamed of being a soldier who fought for the glory of the empire. Never in his wildest imagining had he believed he would ever end up in exotic, decadent Imperia, killing efficiently and ruthlessly almost daily to provide public entertainment. Agel was right to call it a moral violation, and whenever he allowed himself to think of it as such, Caelan felt sickened to
his core. But even worse, he feared his own skills. He feared how good he had become, how attuned he was to his weapons, how easily his body quickened to the task before him. He liked the risk and challenge of combat. He thrived on it, and that—more than anything else—frightened him.
Laughter from within the house made the grooms put away their dice game and straighten to attention. The horses snorted and pawed. Caelan smoothed a wrinkle from his tunic and flung his cloak over one shoulder.
Emerging from the house, the prince came down the steps with about six of his friends in tow. All were dressed in sumptuous velvet tunics that were padded and lined with rich silks. Tirhin wore his distinctive blue, with a fashionable velvet cap set at a jaunty angle on his dark head. He was adjusting the belt of his dueling sword as he came. To Caelan’s eyes, the sword was a strange-looking weapon, quite long but scarcely thicker than a knitting needle. It was designed for thrusting only, no edge to it at all. One stroke of a broadsword would shatter it. Caelan considered it an overly dainty weapon, useless and silly. Still, all the fashionable courtiers wore them now.
“Caelan, there you are,” the prince called out. “Attend me.”
Startled from his thoughts, Caelan realized he was staring like a half-wit. The prince had stopped partway down the steps and stood waiting. Caelan hastened to him and bowed low.
The prince gestured for his friends to go on, and waited until they were under the portico at the foot of the steps before he returned his attention to Caelan.
Only then did the prince allow his pleasant expression to become grim. He looked Caelan up and down. “That will do. The clothes fit better than I expected.”
“They are very fine, sir. Thank you.”
“Heed me. I have your instructions for the evening,” the prince said in a low, curt tone.
Caelan knew his moods well. This was a dark one. With his heart sinking, he bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”
“We shall attend several parties, but Lady Sivee’s is the important one. When we arrive there, do not stay close to my side. Circulate among the guests. Go and come as you please.”
Shadow War Page 7
