And found himself suddenly sucked into a tide pool of surging emotions, hatreds, vile passions, and perversions. Overwhelmed by the fury of them, Caelan temporarily lost himself. He was being sucked in ... he was becoming ... he was one with ...
“No!” he shouted, and severed.
The shadow screamed in his mind, a mortal cry that went through him like a knife plunge. Freed of that which had controlled it and had tried to control him, Caelan came to himself with an abrupt jolt.
He found himself on his knees at the top of the temple steps. The moonlight bathed him in silvery radiance and coated his sword where he had dropped it. The empress lay on the stones, unconscious or dead, he did not know.
Chapter Twenty
Frantically Caelan pressed his fingers against Elandra's throat and found a pulse. He sagged with relief and gathered her still body in his arms, drawing her back into the concealment of the darkness.
Across the parade ground, a group of Madruns were coming now, having been alerted by the screams and the flash of light. Bearing torches, they ran with their uncanny speed, and more joined them. It would be scant minutes before they arrived to finish what the shadows had begun.
Laying Elandra down next to the door, Caelan retrieved his sword, then remembered the half-seen assailant who had thrown the dagger at him.
Breathing out short and hard, Caelan closed his fist around the hilt of the dagger and plucked it from the wood. Using sevaisin he joined with the weapon, learning who owned it and who had thrown it.
Agel.
The answer made him ill, but he snapped from the joining and gazed around swiftly without sparing time for his emotions. His nostrils flared, drawing in scents, sifting them. He spared one more glance at the approaching Madruns, then hurried off to the right, in the direction from which the dagger had been thrown.
At the front corner of the temple vestibule, he found a narrow flight of steps heading down the side of the temple. At the foot of them crouched a man in pale robes, struggling with a broken shoe lacing.
Agel.
Caelan’s heart felt like stone in his chest. Gripping his sword, he went hurtling down the steps.
Agel sprang up to run, but he was hampered by his shoe. He went no more than a few paces before Caelan caught him and drove him full force to the ground.
Crying out, Agel lay unmoving beneath him. Caelan scrambled up, seizing his cousin by his robes and hauling him upright. He shook Agel the way a dog would shake a rat.
“Give us the way in!” he said through his teeth.
Agel moaned something, reeling bonelessly in Caelan’s grip.
“Damn you to hell if you do not get us inside! Agel!”
At that moment he was ready to strangle his cousin from sheer rage if nothing else. He had nothing to lose now, nothing to care about.
As though sensing that, in silence Agel pulled a large metal key from his pocket.
Caelan seized it and turned, dragging his cousin with him as he ran back up the steps.
The Madruns were less than fifty paces from the main ceremonial steps. They roared at the sight of him and quickened their pace.
Stepping over Elandra’s unconscious form, Caelan slammed the key into the lock and turned it. The heavy door opened with a creak of its hinges.
He shoved Agel inside and picked up the girl. Her head lolled over his arm, her long hair spilling down like a curtain. Caelan carried her inside, then propped her against him while he pulled the door shut and locked it again. A heavy bar leaned against the wall. He threw that into the brackets as additional security.
A heavy thump against the panels made him flinch back. More thuds and kicks resounded off the door, and he could hear the cries of the enemy outside.
On a pedestal near the door, a single lamp cast a feeble glow. Caelan turned around and saw a narrow foyer with an open doorway at the opposite end. The air smelled musty and unclean. He heard unfamiliar sounds in the distance, and his skin crawled.
Agel stood erect once more, no longer stunned. His eyes met Caelan’s stonily even as a fresh barrage of kicks and thumps came from the door.
“That won’t hold against them long,” Agel said.
“Even with a spell-lock?”
“I know nothing of such things.”
Caelan didn’t trouble to argue. “Lead us below, to the hiding place of the priests.”
Agel frowned in defiance. “You’ll find no refuge here, disbeliever.”
Caelan’s final shreds of respect for this man faded. So Agel had joined the ranks of the blasphemers. His healer’s robes were a sham, his piety fake.
“Liar,” Caelan said harshly. “You have sipped the blood of the damned.”
Agel’s eyes flinched slightly, as though Caelan’s knowledge surprised him.
“You belong to Sien,” Caelan accused him. “Admit it!”
Agel inclined his head.
Grief knotted itself in Caelan’s heart, but he stayed remote from it. There was no time to deal with Agel now. Nor did he intend to discuss Agel’s attempt to kill him. Instead, he met his cousin’s wary eyes. “In the name of the empress, give her the assistance you would deny me.”
“The empress has no authority here,” Agel said sharply.
“What is this?” Another, deeper voice broke in.
Caelan turned quickly to face the doorway at the far end of the foyer.
Sien emerged, his deep set eyes luminous and alert in the gloom. His saffron robes had been discarded. He wore instead a tunic and leggings beneath a heavy traveling cloak.
At the sight of Caelan he checked, stared, then frowned. “You have brought the enemy to us,” he said. “You fool! Could you not lead them away long enough for—”
Caelan hefted the girl higher in his arms. “I ask help for the empress.”
Sien’s frown deepened. “The empress,” he said as though he did not recognize Elandra.
“Great Gault, man!” Caelan cried. “The empress! Your sovereign ruler.”
“Yes, of course,” Sien said, blinking. “Her arrival is unexpected. It will alter things—” Breaking off his sentence, he seemed to recover his court manners. With a slight bow, he gestured toward the doorway behind him. “This way.”
Caelan strode forward without hesitation. Beyond the doorway, a flight of steps descended steeply. He could see a feeble glow of light below, and he went down the steps as fast as he could with his burden. Behind him, he heard a low murmur of voices as though Sien was giving Agel a set of instructions.
I am mad to come here, Caelan thought, but he shoved his doubts away. There was no choice. He could not reason with the Madruns, or ask for civilized treatment if they were to take Elandra prisoner. They would defile and kill her, and the very thought of such a fate made him tighten his hold involuntarily.
He would not fail this woman, he vowed silently, still going down steps. He would not.
At the bottom of the steps, he stopped and gazed around apprehensively. The place was featureless, swept clean. Aside from the small lamp on its pedestal, he saw no furnishings. Three doors surrounded him, all firmly shut. The smell down here was worse, hinting of decay and death.
He could tell himself that it was only the stench associated with blood sacrifices, that entrails for the auguries had to be cleaned and disposed of somewhere, that carcasses of dead animals had to be butchered for daily distribution to the poor.
But his instincts knew there was more to the smell than innocent surface explanations. There was something darker at work down here. Something he did not want to meet, or know.
He swallowed hard, half-ready to retreat, but Sien joined him and walked across to a door carved with the faces of unnamed spirits. He pulled it open.
“Through here. Is she injured?”
“I don’t know,” Caelan replied, carrying her through.
He found himself in a narrow passageway, unlit except for the lamplight cast from behind him. When Sien shut the door, they were plunged into
cold darkness.
“Wait,” Sien said, and a second later a dim radiance appeared. It spread, pushing back the encompassing darkness.
The light glowed from Sien’s left hand, faint but steady, just enough to show their way.
Caelan found his heartbeat thudding too fast. He swallowed again, but it did not ease the dryness in his throat.
“You were nearly too late,” the priest remarked. “They will be leaving soon. Or so they intended before you led the Madruns here. Now there may not be an opportunity. We are not as well hidden down here as we should be.”
“What do you mean?” Caelan asked quickly with a sharp look at the priest. “Is the emperor here?”
“Of course.”
Caelan blinked, too astonished at his luck to speak.
It was Sien’s turn to frown at him. “Is that not why you brought her to the temple?”
Confused, Caelan swung his gaze away. “Yes. But I— I thought we were too late.”
“You nearly were. If she is hurt, I had better examine her. Or let Agel attend her. It will not do for the emperor to see her in this state.”
Unwillingly Caelan halted. He knelt and gently propped the girl against his knee, supporting her while Sien bent over her.
She looked so young and vulnerable. Even smudged with dirt and soot, she was breathtaking. He could have gazed at her for hours, marveling at the delicacy of her bone structure, at the wide, clear expanse of her brow, at the thick crescent of her dark lashes against her cheekbones. Tall and slender, she lay against him with no more weight than a feather. Even in her bedraggled clothes and tangled hair, her high lineage showed plainly in her narrow wrists and ankles, in the tapering perfection of her hands that all evening had gripped his with such strength and determination.
Caelan prayed for her now, worried that the shadow had damaged her irreparably.
“It was choking her,” he said softly. “I don’t—”
“What was?” Sien asked.
Only then did Caelan realize he had spoken aloud. He looked up and met the priest’s yellow gaze. An unnameable fear took hold of Caelan’s entrails and squeezed, but he forced himself not to look away.
“A shadow,” he replied. “A shadow of a man, but unattached to anyone alive or present.”
Sien did not seem surprised. He went on gazing into Caelan’s eyes as though to probe to his very soul. “Was it?” he asked.
His voice held only interest, nothing more.
Suspicion came alive in Caelan. He frowned. “You—”
“It did not act by my command,” Sien said, lifting his hand. “Cast no accusations at me.”
His remarks confirmed Caelan’s suspicions. “So you can command these creatures?” he asked. “You can bring them away from the person who casts them and make them do your bidding?”
Sien frowned at the empress, letting his hands hover just above her. “What is this material, this cloak?” he asked. “I cannot touch her.”
“Her cloak is Mahiran-made,” Caelan said. He found it interesting that the cloak’s spell could repel the priest. That alone told Caelan to not trust Sien. Not that he intended to anyway. He wished she had been wearing her hood. Perhaps then the shadow could not have reached her throat.
“For someone so young, she is remarkably resourceful,” Sien said.
“Yes, she is. And I asked you if you can separate men from their shadows.”
Looking cool and unruffled by Caelan’s questions, Sien went on gazing at the empress. “You are an unbeliever,” he replied. “I have no answers to give you.”
“But did you set this thing loose on her?” Caelan persisted with growing horror.
“No.”
“Do you know who—or what—did?”
Again Sien paused to glance at him. “An interesting phrasing of that question. What is your name, guardsman?”
Caelan was surprised that Sien had forgotten him. “Caelan E’non.”
“Ah, yes. You were rejected by this lady as a possible protector. Yet here you are. How interesting.” There was an idle note of amusement woven in Sien’s tone.
Caelan caught it, and his lips tightened. “You toy with me, Lord Sien,” he said grimly. “You know me from before that. You have seen me often at the heels of my former master.”
“Yes, I have. And now you serve the empress instead. Although you were not her chosen protector, and you do not wear her colors.”
“Rander Malk is dead,” Caelan said evasively. “Killed by shadows. Will she recover?”
Sien stared intently at him. “What will you pay for her recovery?”
Confused, Caelan reached for his belt. If it was a matter of a healing fee—
“No,” Sien said as though he had read the thought in Caelan’s mind. “Put away your coinage, fool. It is answers I want. Where do you come from? What spawned you? Why do you serve those who are doomed? Why do you resist us? Resist even your own kinsman Agel? What powers enable you to fight like no other man alive?”
Caelan’s chin lifted, and his eyes grew steely. “I have no answers for you.”
Sien backed away from the empress and stood up. “Then I have no help for her Majesty.”
Furiously Caelan moved on him fast, pinning him with enough force to make the priest’s shaved head thump against the wall. Eyes narrowed, Caelan glared at Sien. “No matter what unholy shadows you serve, your duty still lies here. Attend her Majesty now, or—”
Sien’s long fingers curled around Caelan’s, and Caelan felt sevaisin leap into him from the other man.
For the first time in his life, he experienced the joining from the other direction. It was strong but clumsily done. It was an invasion, a violation. And he could feel himself shifting also to sevaisin, as though to make the link doubly strong.
Horrified, Caelan held himself back, refusing to cooperate with what called to him.
He could have snapped the link with severance, but caution warned him not to reveal the other side of his gift.
That left him with no choice but to endure Sien’s exploration of his feelings and his thoughts, even parts of his memories.
Then the priest withdrew with sinuous slowness, his questing coldness fading away. Shuddering, Caelan broke free of the man, shoving himself back. His legs felt wobbly and weak. His stomach was roiling. He felt both chilled and hot, as though a fever had seized him. Most of all, he felt defiled, as though he had been bathed in slime.
A slow smile of satisfaction spread across Sien’s face. “Thank you,” he whispered. “That was very informative.”
Caelan jerked out his dagger and held it on the man, ready to plunge it deep to end that smirk forever.
“I have a piece of you now,” Sien said fearlessly. “If you want it back, you must come to me of your own free will and ask for it.”
“No,” Caelan said hoarsely.
“You will come,” Sien said with soft assurance. “And you will give me the rest of your secrets in exchange.”
“Never.”
Laughter ghosted from Sien’s throat. His deep-set eyes glowed at Caelan with a madman’s fervor. “The shadow god wants you. He knows of you now. You are marked, and you cannot escape what awaits you.”
“You’re lying,” Caelan said defiantly. He closed his ears to what Sien was saying, refusing to believe it. “I know what you serve. You are darkness and blasphemy. You have betrayed the emperor and brought destruction down on the city. You’ll pay for it.”
Sien spread out his arms, the smile still lingering on his lips. “Why not now? Take vengeance for all those who have died tonight, and strike me down. It will teach you much.”
Caelan’s hand tightened on the hilt. Thoughts of the guardsmen, courtiers, women, and servants who had died needlessly tonight boiled through his mind, igniting his rage anew. He knew Sien was mocking him now, egging him on as though to test the limits of his temper. With all his heart he craved the satisfaction of killing the priest, but he stayed his hand. He would not do
it, if only because the priest asked for it.
“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.
Shadow War Page 33
