Shadow War

by Deborah Chester

“Address me as Majesty,” she snapped.

  He bowed his head, chastened. “Majesty,” he said in a low voice.

  She did not like his deplorable manners. He had been too much indulged. It often happened to slaves who acquired fame. They found it difficult to remember how unimportant they really were. Yet he was an uncommon man, with uncommon qualities. It must be hard for him to mute that with deference and humility.

  “What was your master doing on the Forbidden Mountain?” she asked.

  Caelan’s head snapped up, his eyes wary once again.

  “Answer me!” she commanded. “What was he doing there?”

  “Indeed, my lady—Majesty”—he corrected himself— “I cannot say without betraying him.”

  “Is that not your purpose? Haven’t you come seeking audience with the emperor in order to betray and denounce your master?”

  Again his eyes widened. She felt her irritation rise. Did he think her incapable of guessing the truth?”

  “Majesty, I stand before you a condemned man,” he said finally, his voice low with pleading. “I have attacked you, insulted you, acted in all ways wrong. I will die for it. I have no defense to offer, save these circumstances.”

  She stared at him. This was a man of rare courage, far more pragmatic than she’d expected. His qualities had held her from calling her guards. They intrigued her enough now to give him a nod.

  “Speak,” she said. “And tell me the truth of this matter.”

  His blue eyes were grave. He hesitated.

  “If I judge it sufficiently serious, then perhaps I will go to the emperor on your behalf,” she said. “Mind, I make no promise. But in the interests of the empire, I will listen to what you know.”

  “No,” he said wearily and turned away.

  She stared at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend that he was refusing the opportunity she had just granted him. Was he mad?

  “Will you die in silence?” she asked him in open exasperation.

  In return he shot her a look that made her flush. “Majesty, if I may speak freely, to denounce the prince is a punishable offense. Why should I confide my knowledge in you, expecting you to then denounce him for me? Why should I request that you endanger yourself on my behalf? Can a slave ask this of his ... queen?”

  She felt both hot and cold. Her feet were rooted in place. Her heart was suddenly pounding in embarrassment. She had completely misjudged this man, from his first appearance at her throat, to the brutal accusations Agel had hurled at him, to his stubbornness in not obeying her commands.

  Only now did she understand that he was trying to protect her. Not to gain her favor, but because doing so was natural to him. What kind of man was this, to think of others beyond his own terrible predicament? It was obvious that Tirhin had been plotting treason, and that this man, this gladiator champion in his possession, had witnessed everything. Was Caelan so honorable that he could not withdraw into the blindness and deafness that every slave acquired for self-protection? Was he truly willing to risk his life in order to carry a warning to the emperor?

  She saw that he was, and understood his frustration all too well. Here was a man trying to help, and hindered at every turn.

  “I am sorry,” he said now, spreading out his hands. “I am a man of action and the sword, not of polished words. I cannot go back to my master’s service, even if he orders me killed for my disobedience. I cannot take back what I have done and said in this room. I can only ask for pardon, and your help.”

  His appeal moved her deeply. She believed his sincerity now.

  “If you truly want my help, you must be forthright in your answers,” she said. “Speak to me about your master. Is he badly hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he dying?”

  “He could be. I do not know.” Caelan hesitated. “The shyrieas got to him.”

  “Shyrieas?” she echoed amazed and fearful. “In the city?”

  “No. Beyond.” He gestured vaguely.

  “Ah, on Sidraigh-hal” she said, remembering what he had said earlier. “What were you doing there? Plotting treason against the emperor? Was that how the two of you were caught by the demons which protect the mountain?”

  Caelan’s mouth opened.

  She went on. “The mountain was active last night. We felt tremors, even here in the city.”

  As she spoke, she thought, Yes, even a tremor that broke the ruby throne. Did Beloth plan that? Can the shadow god reach so far now into our world?

  Driving such thoughts away, she continued.

  “Yes, you were there by your own admission. That is how you got your burns. And you carried his highness back?

  All that way? That indicates deep devotion to your master. Why are you now so eager to denounce him?”

  He frowned. “I—”

  “Are you guilty as his accomplice? Have you also committed treasonous acts? By his order or by your own free will? Have you listened to treasonous talk and not reported it? Today is not the first time surely that Prince Tirhin has acted against his emperor, yet why haven’t you spoken up before now? Why wait? Is it for revenge against your master that you speak now? Why did you not come forward at the first incident? Do you understand that if you speak, you will come under blame?”

  His chin lifted. “I am prepared for that.”

  “How proudly you say it. Have you realized that if you lay such a charge, you must be questioned? Do you understand that slaves are questioned by torture, and must make confessions in order for their evidence to be admissible in court?”

  Her scorn was coming out into her words. How big and foolish he was, standing there with his mouth open. He looked at her as though he could not imagine a woman would know about such matters, much less understand them. He was like an ox, too big and docile to comprehend that he was being led to slaughter. She wished she could tell him that Kostimon knew his son was plotting, but that was privileged information, not for disclosure.

  Caelan sighed. “I would not be risking this if I did not believe the emperor should be warned without delay. Will you now keep your promise, Majesty, and tell him?”

  “I made no promise.”

  He scowled. “You—”

  Her hand flashed up to silence him. “I said I would judge your message and then decide whether I could help you. It is quite impossible.”

  His shoulders sagged, and despair filled his face. It was as though he was too weary to be angry anymore.

  “The emperor grants few audiences,” she found herself explaining out of pity. “Those are set weeks in advance. He will see no one on whim or demand.”

  “But for this—”

  “No. It is by his will,” she said. “It cannot be changed.”

  “But how—”

  “There is another way,” she said.

  Hope dawned in his face. Eagerly he nodded. “Tell me, and I shall do it.”

  “You offered to write your message. Do that, and I will see that it reaches the hands of Lord Sien.”

  Everything in his face crashed. He drew back, shaking his head. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “It is impossible.”

  Elandra’s patience crumbled. She had made more explanations and offers of assistance than he had any right to expect. Suggesting Lord Sien’s help was the only avenue of seeing that his message got to the emperor, for the high priest alone had unlimited access to the emperor’s ear. But this man was indeed an ignorant knave. If he did not understand how far she had been willing to go on his behalf, then she would not explain further.

  “Very well,” she said coldly, and walked to the door.

  Caelan came after her. “Majesty, please!”

  “I must go.”

  He reached around her and held the door shut with his palm when she would have opened it.

  Outraged, she whirled to face him and found him far too close. “How dare you keep me here against my will!”

  “What is one more offense among so many?” he r
etorted. “Will you help me if I tell you the Madruns are coming?”

  “The Madruns are always coming,” she said, unimpressed. “It is a threat spoken to frighten children. They cannot break through our defenses.”

  His face was intense. “But if they could?”

  “They cannot!”

  “But if they could!”

  She stared at him, wondering for a moment if it could be true. The very idea chilled her. “Is this the terrible warning you bring?” she asked, putting a slight hint of laughter in her voice.

  He met her gaze, emotions at war in his face. Finally he took his hand from the door and stepped back.

  “It is impossible for them to reach Imperia,” she went on derisively. “Our defenses are very strong.”

  He said nothing. His eyes held defeat, and it was as though he refused to plead or argue further.

  She watched him a moment, wanting to believe him, but unable to. With a sigh, she replaced her veil and straightened her cloak. Her obligations could not be put off any longer. She had tarried here too long already. Elandra’s curiosity was stronger than ever regarding what Tirhin had been up to. But if the slave would not talk openly, she could waste no more time trying to draw it from him.

  “My advice for you is that you run,” she said. “The healer will tell Prince Tirhin what you have done here. You are lost. No one at the palace will grant you sanctuary, and you cannot return to your master with any hope of his mercy now that you have attempted to denounce him. Run. It is your only hope.”

  “I can’t live with bounty hunters on my trail,” he said quietly.

  It was not the answer she expected from him. She cast him one final look of amazement, then gathered her potion from the table and left the small study, taking care to close the door after her.

  In the passageway the guards snapped to attention and fell into step behind her. Elandra walked quickly, moving with purpose but not unseemly haste. She was late; she had been gone too long. There would be an uproar to face in her chamber.

  It did not matter. She had much to think about regarding this chance encounter.

  Was it chance or fate? whispered a voice in the back of her mind. The Penestrican sisterhood did not believe in chance, only in connections.

  What had Tirhin done?

  He had plotted treason unsuccessfully in the past, and Kostimon had overlooked his transgression. Lately the prince had been surly and rebellious, but more toward her than toward his father.

  But now he had done something wrong enough to shock a slave still loyal enough to carry his master bodily all the way back from Sidraigh-hal. As for how the slave had escaped the shyrieas himself, that had not been explained. She was inclined to think there had been no encounter with demons.

  What, then, had Tirhin done? What was this wild talk of Madruns overtaking the city? It was unthinkable that Tirhin would join in some unholy alliance with the enemy, and yet it made sense. It explained what had made this slave claw his way through an unguarded palace window, risking everything for a chance to warn the emperor.

  She had barely managed to pretend that she didn’t believe the slave’s hint about the Madruns. But inside, her heart raced at the possibility. Yet they couldn’t take the city. They couldn’t.

  Even with help?

  She dismissed the thought, telling herself not to become fearful and foolish. Her own father considered fear a contagion. He despised anyone who was governed by it. Elandra told herself she must think on this matter with her coolest reason.

  But what if the slave was right? What if there was little time? What if her indecision and delay cost the city dearly?

  What if she broke protocol and risked demanding an audience with the emperor? Even she had not the right to go to him unbidden. What if Kostimon heard her secondhand tale of supposition and hearsay and disbelieved it?

  After the events of this morning, her ground had become very shaky. She did not think Kostimon would receive her at all, much less listen.

  Besides, if she took the risk and Kostimon did believe her, that would mean Tirhin’s arrest. An investigation would be carried out. Possibly he would be tortured. If the charges were proved true, Tirhin might be executed.

  Elandra frowned to herself as she hurried along. She held a man’s future in her hand, and she was not certain she liked it.

  But if she kept quiet, deliberately suppressing the knowledge she had been given. How could she live with her own conscience? Would her silence not make her a coconspirator against her husband?

  What was she to do? What was the wise course? The right course? They did not seem to be the same.

  Did not Kostimon genuinely want his son to succeed him? Had he not hinted as much to her earlier? If she accused his son, would that not enrage him? The relationship between father and son was clearly a troubled and complex one. She would be foolish to step between them in any way. Besides, Kostimon had been laying many secret plans lately. His network of spies informed him of everything, and he had Tirhin watched constantly. Was he not already informed of where his son had been last night?

  The easiest course would be to consult with Lord Sien. He would know how to handle this news and whether it should be mentioned to the emperor.

  Such thoughts brought her no relief. She did not like Sien, or his priesthood. Something about the man chilled her. In his presence she always longed for the protection of a jinja, and until now she had avoided him as much as possible. He did not approve of her, nor did he approve of the emperor’s recent decision to make her a sovereign.

  To approach him for his advice might be the avenue toward making peace. However much she disliked him, it would be better to have him for an ally than an enemy.

  Her chin lifted, and by the time she reached her chambers her difficult decision had been made.

  Her ladies clustered around her, fussing and scolding, and hastening to remove her cloak and veil. She was terribly late. Where had she lingered so long? Was she not frozen from being outdoors for nearly an hour? The delegation of Penestricans had arrived. She had kept them waiting. No, there was no time now for anything except her preparations. No, she was very late, too late to think of writing notes to people. She had no time for discussions with priests and chancellors. Everything must now wait.

  Resignedly, Elandra allowed herself to be led into her bedroom, where she was undressed and bathed in warm water scented with rose petals and fine oils. Then the preparations began, with each lady in waiting standing in line with the one article of clothing she was responsible for. Each lady walked up to Elandra in turn, curtsied low, handed over the item of clothing to Elandra’s dresser, and curtsied again before retreating. It took an inordinate amount of time, but it was the customary ceremony of dressing the empress and it occurred several times a day, for every separate function. Late or not, protocol must be maintained.

  Today, she was not impatient with it. Her mind busily turned over every aspect of what she intended to do. And she decided against putting herself under an obligation to the high priest. It was too risky. Elandra stilled her uneasy conscience. If Tirhin had done serious wrong, the emperor’s own spies would bring word to him soon enough.

  “Keep your place,” Kostimon had shouted at her this morning.

  Elandra’s eyes narrowed as her gown was slowly lowered over her head and fastened at the back. Her place was remaining the empress, remaining alive. She would do whatever was necessary to keep that. Even if it meant not passing on a warning to her husband.

  Chapter Nine

  Drums rolled like thunder across the vast expanse of parade ground; then the beat became a steady cadence, like the fast throbbing of her heart.

  Borne in a swaying litter whose leather curtains were tightly closed, and surrounded by a solid phalanx of armored soldiers, Elandra was carried down the lengthy steps of the palace and across the parade ground past endless rows of men and horses, all at perfect attention. Swathed in furs and heavily veiled, Elandra peered out through
a crack in the curtains, curious to see the army turned out so smartly in her honor.

  Divisions from every province in the empire had arrived. She knew the barracks were crowded to bursting, that the city was swollen with citizens pouring in from the countryside, that every inn was full and people were camping illegally in the streets, hoping to see her tomorrow. Ambassadors and delegations from outside the empire had even sent gifts of all kinds, some of them said to be truly magnificent, although it was considered bad luck for her to see them yet.

  So much attention and tribute was overwhelming, yet she felt isolated from most of it by the restrictions surrounding her. In a way, it almost seemed to be happening to someone else.

  She wished she could see her father. Homesickness filled her suddenly, and she found herself missing the river and humid jungles of Gialta. If only she could talk to her father, tell him of the events that were happening, and ask his advice. But when he had given her hand in marriage, she had been cut off from him. Until her bridal year was finished, she could seek no one outside the palace without the emperor’s express permission. And to ask Kostimon’s permission meant she would have to explain.

  Elandra sighed. There were no easy answers or solutions. She must find strength inside herself, somehow.

  Tucked in her glove was a folded paper that Miles Milgard had slipped to her at the last moment. She was supposed to be studying her oath right now while she was being taken to the temple. But how could she concentrate when her nerves were keyed up? All she could do was wonder what the purification rites entailed.

  They were part of the mysteries ... no one would tell her more.

  Although the Penestricans had been banished from court for centuries, due to some ancient feud between them and the Vindicants, the sisterhood had been permitted to return for this occasion. They were to conduct the final rites tonight.

  And although Elandra feared the Vindicants and their strange ceremonies, she could not feel relieved to be in the hands of the sisterhood either. She had endured their lessons before. They were always unpleasant experiences.

  Elandra had been dreading the purification more than anything else. Gripping her hands together in her lap, she tried to shore up her faltering courage. But her nervousness kept growing. She drew in deep breaths, telling herself she must stay calm.