Realm of Light

by Deborah Chester

  Realm of Light

  Ruby Throne Trilogy Book 3

  Deborah Chester

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Gloom shrouded the cavern beneath the Temple of Gault. Torches flared everywhere, yet their ruddy light revealed little. Hurrying through the shadows in the wake of Sergeant Baiter, the Empress Elandra felt as though she walked in a dream. Her life had been turned completely upside down. She was a refugee now, with no home, no guards, no protector, and possibly... no husband. She had come here for safety, but this was no sanctuary.

  Perhaps fifteen guardsmen in armor and crimson cloaks milled about, engaged in various tasks. A couple of servants, pale-faced with fear, crammed provisions into saddlebags under the gimlet eye of a square-faced sergeant. Half the guardsmen were checking saddles and gear. The rest were piling stones from what looked like dismantled benches across a doorway in the distance. The remaining granite benches stood in an eerie semicircle about an altar surrounded by empty copper cauldrons tipped on their sides. All the men moved with haste, but there was no panic, and relatively little disorder.

  The torchlight flickered up the soot-blackened walls, casting shifting, ruddy illumination over the scene and glinting off the rolling white of the horses’ eyes, the sharp rowels of men’s spurs, and the wire-wrapped hilts of swords as their scabbards were buckled to saddles. The air smelled of sweat—from horse and man—a pungent, honest odor overlaying a lingering, cloyed fragrance of incense and death.

  Glancing again at the abandoned altar, the Empress Elandra shivered and drew her cloak more tightly about her shoulders. This was a forbidden place. Blasphemy seemed to crawl upon the walls, and no priests were in sight. She stumbled after -the sergeant, consumed with exhaustion, finding herself stupidly near tears.

  It was just reaction, she told herself, struggling to maintain her composure. She had spent the night fleeing for her life from both creatures of the darkness and savage Madrun invaders who were now looting and burning the palace.

  Her home ... ablaze in the night.

  She choked again, and the sergeant glanced back at her in swift concern.

  “It’s not far, Majesty. Stay close to me.”

  She nodded and quickened her step although her legs felt leaden. They were heading to a part of the cavern where officers were standing among haphazard stacks of boxes, scroll cases, and misshapen bundles. No doubt these were the scant items that had been salvaged from the palace. Elandra herself had managed to save nothing. She had only the dirty, torn clothes she was wearing beneath her cloak and the magical topaz jewel that she carried in a small embroidered bag strung around her neck. Even her dagger had been given away to the guardsman Caelan E’non, who had saved her life and brought her safely to this place beneath the temple.

  At the thought of Caelan, however, her fear returned. She glanced back over her shoulder, but did not see him for the confusion around her. A horse, overly excited by the commotion, broke away and went shying sideways through the men, kicking and squealing before it was brought under control again.

  “Majesty!” the sergeant said in alarm, holding her back.

  Elandra looked at him, and hastily he released her arm. His square, honest face turned as red as his cloak.

  “Forgive me, Majesty,” he said, aghast. “I thought only of your Majesty’s safety.”

  Wearily she thought of the imperial protocols. A man like him could have his hand cut off for having dared touched her. She was an empress sovereign—by law, equal to the emperor himself. By law, she could appear only in the midst of her ladies in waiting, with chancellors in attendance, her protector at her back, and her own specially picked guardsmen surrounding her. But the Madrun barbarians had ended imperial law tonight. The empire was falling, and she did not know whether anything would ever follow protocol again.

  Impatiently she shook her head. “You are forgiven, Sergeant. Please, escort me to my husband without delay.”

  He saluted her. “Yes, Majesty. At once!”

  They strode on, Baiter with his chin jutting at the military angle and his hand correctly on his sword hilt, she with her gown a mess and her hair a tangle down her back. Her eyes were burning. Fatigue lapped at her, a natural reaction after the stress and exertion she’d undergone, but she wondered if the shadow that had attacked her and rendered her unconscious for a time had done her more harm than she suspected. She still felt strangely unwell and shaken from the encounter. If Caelan had not been with her to protect her...

  With a fresh shiver of alarm, she drove away thoughts of the Traulander. There was no time to think of him now, no time to wonder. He was no ordinary man, of that she was certain. Just remembering his confrontation with the evil priest Sien sent chills through her. Lord Sien had used dark magic. That alone was terrifying. But Caelan had countered with something else, something indescribable. For an instant, he had even vanished before her eyes, as though he was never there.

  And when he reappeared a moment later, it had been as though he had come back from a far, far place. Ice crystals had glittered in his hair and eyebrows. His blue eyes had been stony, merciless, implacable. In his eyes, she had looked for the man she knew and had not found him. Until then, she had trusted him completely, believing in his loyalty and devotion without question. He had risked his own life to save hers. He had brought her here to safety against all odds. Yet in the blink of an eye, he had unleashed powers of the unknown, becoming a stranger who frightened her. The wrath in his face as he turned on Lord Sien had been terrible to see, yet Sien was already defeated, already cowering.

  If nothing else this horrible night, she was glad to see Sien the traitor slapped down. He deserved far worse, but his punishment would be by Kostimon’s order, no one else’s. When that order came, she would rejoice.

  Ahead, Kostimon’s voice rose in fierce argument. She looked past the sergeant and could not see her husband clearly for the officers surrounding him. Kostimon’s voice rose and cracked in anger.

  Sergeant Baiter stopped a short distance behind the officers— one wearing gold and one crimson—and cleared his throat. “Er, Captain—”

  “Get the men ready,” the captain said without glancing around.

  Baiter cleared his throat again. “Captain, the empress is here.”

  The officer whirled around, his mouth dropping open in astonishment.

  Elandra recognized Captain Vysal despite the dirty bandage that swathed half his face. His breastplate was splattered with dried blood, and his cloak hung in tatters. A long weal ran down his left forearm, and he was covered with dust and grime.

  Glad relief filled his face. He saluted her. “Majesty! Thank Gault you are safe.”

  At his words, the officer in red and the emperor broke off their shouting match. The officer, a general with gold stripes creating a magnificent chevron across the back of his crimson cloak, spun around. Beyond him, Kostimon was sitting on top of a box, wearing armor also splattered with dried blood, and a cloak of imperial purple lined with red silk. One side of his face was smudged with dirt, and his white curls were standing on end as though he’d been jerking his hands through them.

  Staring at her, Kostimon rose to his feet. His yellow eyes widened in confusion. “Fauvina,” he whispered hoarsely. “You are safe.”

  Elandra’s heart broke at the slip, and she glanced quickly at the officers to see if they heard it. Of course they had. Their faces were impassive; their eyes held nothing.

  Worriedly she walked forward to her husband and took his gnarled, dirty hands in hers.

  “Fauvina,” he said, smiling at her in pathetic gratitude, “you have come.”

  “I am here,” she said unsteadily. Fear made her cold. If the shock of tonight’s attack had brok
en Kostimon’s mind, what was to become of them? “Come and sit down.”

  But Kostimon had his purple boots well planted, and he refused to move. “You have brought the army from Gialta?” he asked eagerly. “A counterforce, to smash the enemy?”

  With all her heart she wished she had. But she could not bring herself to lie, not even to comfort him. “No,” she said softly. “I am Elandra, and I come alone.”

  His fingers tightened on her wrist, digging in. “Ela,” he said suddenly in a changed tone. “Of course. Ela!”

  “Yes,” she said, forcing a smile through tears. “Your Ela.”

  The emperor’s yellow eyes narrowed and grew fierce. Pushing her away, he advanced on the general.

  “Paz!” he shouted. “You damned lazy incompetent! You told me she was dead, that all the women were dead—taken in the first assault. You never checked, did you?”

  The general’s mouth opened, but he said nothing. His eyes met Elandra’s shocked ones, only to slide away. “The reports came to me. I had no reason to doubt them—”

  “What else have you lied to me about?” Kostimon demanded furiously. “Persuading me to break off the defense, to run and hide like a peasant afraid of the dark. Bah! Vysal, tell me the truth. What is left of our forces?”

  “Sir!” Snapping to attention, Vysal said, “They were scattered in the initial assaults, and deployed in small pockets of resistance.”

  “What the hell is this?” Kostimon roared. “I know how the Madrun devils fight. They surround, cut off, and massacre. Are you telling me the Guard cooperated like sheep?”

  “It was by your order, Majesty,” Vysal said nervously.

  Red flared in Kostimon’s face. He raised his fists. “I gave no such order! What is—”

  “You have been betrayed on all sides,” Elandra broke in. “Your dispatches were false. Your most trusted advisers were either misled or have joined the conspiracy. Many of the Guard have gone over to the enemy rather than be slaughtered.”

  Kostimon turned on her, and the anger in his face sagged away. “Would you also lie to me, my dear?” he asked more quietly. “Have you been a part of this?”

  She gasped, too outraged at first to deny it. She had come this far, had escaped fire and demons and the attacks of men. She felt as though she had been running all night, and she would not be insulted now.

  “It is true,” General Paz said swiftly. “She has conspired from the first with Prince Tirhin against your Majesty. They plan an alliance with—”

  “That is not true!” Elandra said. “How dare you accuse me of such wickedness?”

  The general met her angry gaze without flinching. A sneer curled his thin lips. “The oldest story in the world. A son, impatient for his inheritance. A young wife, beautiful and alluring, bound to a husband so much older. Is it not natural they should turn to each other?”

  Elandra found herself shaking with fury. The top of her head felt icy cold, while the rest of her was on fire. That someone could stand before her and utter these bold lies to her face was unbelievable. And yet the cruelties of her childhood had taught her how to hide hurt, how to keep her face a mask when she had to, how to stiffen her lips to keep them from trembling, how to fight back tears. She could see Kostimon listening, could see the calculating shift in his gaze as he began to wonder. She wanted to grip him by the arms and shake him. Was he under some spell that he could swallow such slander? But she must control her emotions if she was to survive. She must think, and quickly, in order to find some way to convince him of her innocence.

  “Why have I risked life and limb to come here to you, if what the general says is true?” she asked.

  “No doubt she has led the Madruns directly here to our hiding place,” the general said.

  “Then we have even less time to make our escape,” Vysal said.

  Tears stung Elandra’s eyes. Was the loyal captain now turning against her too? Was there no one to believe her?

  She glanced about for Hovet, knowing she could appeal to the gruff old protector. But for the first time, she realized he was missing. Her gaze shot around the cavern, darting from face to face, but his sour, weathered countenance was nowhere to be seen. If he was not here, neither at the emperor’s heels nor within the emperor’s sight, then he must be dead. Regret passed through her. For all his surly manners, he had been a faithful man, true and brave all his life.

  “Ela,” the emperor said harshly, “why do you come to me like this, without your attendants, without your guard? Where is your protector?”

  “Where is yours?” she retorted.

  Her defiance reddened his face again. “Hovet died in battle, saving my life,” the emperor replied, his tone a rebuke.

  “Rander is also dead,” she told him. “My life I owe to him and to another guardsman who saw me safely across the compound.”

  “No one could get across,” General Paz said. “We saw it overrun. And her part of the palace was on fire. I tell your Majesty that this miraculous arrival of the empress now is part of some devious trick. Do not trust her-—”

  “Take care, Paz,” Kostimon snapped. “You are accusing your empress of infamy. Without proof, you will see your tongue cut out if you continue.”

  Suddenly pale, the general shut his mouth and frowned.

  Despite Kostimon’s rebuke, Elandra knew the general would go on dripping poison into the emperor’s ear at every opportunity. He was anxious to conceal his own duplicity and incompetence by accusing her. That he should even be allowed to utter his slander infuriated her; by now his head should have been struck from his shoulders. But Kostimon remained lenient with him. That in itself was a warning to her that she must do something to thwart Paz’s deviltry once and for all.

  Lifting her chin, she said, “I will submit to truth-light, if the general will do the same.”

  Consternation flashed across all the men’s faces.

  “Ela!” the emperor said in exasperation. “Would you act like a peasant on top of all our problems? You stand here in rags, your hair looking like—like I know not what—and announce you will submit to examination? Are you guilty, that you should abase yourself this way?”

  “No, I am innocent,” she replied defiantly. “And I am impatient with this hypocrisy. Why not throw the truth-light over me?

  If this coward is allowed to denounce me, why can I not prove my innocence and loyalty?”

  “An empress does not need to prove her—”

  “Yes, yes, so says the law, but you listen to him, Kostimon!” she said in fresh anger. “You listen! Is there humiliation to exceed that? I will endure the examination.” She swung around and pointed at the general. “Will he?”

  Paz glared at her. “Am I not of high rank?” he retorted. “Why should I submit when—”

  “Silence!” the emperor shouted. “Vysal, pass the word for Lord Sien to attend me immediately.”

  Vysal saluted and hurried away.

  The general glared at Elandra, then sniffed in disdain. He focused his gaze on the far wall, where ancient gruesome faces were carved in the stone like silent watchers.

  She started to say that Lord Sien would not be available, but something in Kostimon’s expression silenced her.

  The emperor turned away from Elandra and began to pace back and forth among the stacks of boxes and bundles. She glimpsed money bags and jewelry cases of exquisite woods. Clothes chests with travel straps stood nearby. Even though everything had been hastily assembled and was far from representing Kostimon’s usual amount of baggage when he traveled, there was far too much for someone fleeing into exile. She saw no pack animals, no servants. Who was to carry it all?

  She counted the milling men and horses and realized there were not even enough mounts for everyone. Who, then, was to be left behind?

  Elandra stood there, tired and dirty, and began to understand that she was now a refugee. Her home was burning. She had no servants, no clothing save what was on her back, no goods, no money or jewels, n
o property.

  All of it suddenly overwhelmed her. She saw again faithful Rander Malk, so anxious to please in his new post as her protector, dying almost at her feet as the shadow demon strangled him. She felt again the heat of the flames and smelled the thick smoke filling her bedchamber. Her ears rang with the war cries of the Madruns as Caelan fought them down the stairs. She remembered the hideous touch ofthe shadow’s fingers upon her throat, the metallic taste of blood on her tongue where she bit herself in her struggles.

  Her lips trembled, and she pressed her fingers to them, swaying as she fought her own exhausted emotions.

  Sergeant Baiter came running up and saluted the general. “Five minutes until the men are ready, sir.”

  Paz nodded. “The emperor’s horse?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve attended to it myself. And my own mount will go to the empress.”

  Elandra swung around, the tears on her face forgotten in her gratitude. “Sergeant—”

  “Nonsense,” Paz snapped as though she had not spoken. “We need all the able-bodied fighting men possible. Keep the assigned order. Sergeant. Make no changes. And tie on the emperor’s saddlebags for him.”

  “Sir!” Saluting, Baiter cast Elandra a swift, apologetic glance before he strode to the emperor’s side.

  Still sunk in thought, Kostimon looked up at the sergeant. “Lord Sien has come?”

  “No, sir. Which saddlebags have you selected to take?”

  “Am I to run for my life like a pauper?” Kostimon roared loudly enough to make everyone pause and look. “Great Gault, is it not enough that I was convinced to fall back when I should have held? Is it not enough that I was persuaded to save myself when my men have died without me? Is it not enough that I abandoned wife and concubines for expediency? Is it not enough that I cower down here in a hole like a damned mouse while those murdering brutes pillage and sack my own palace? And now, am I to flee without the means of preserving anything I have built all these centuries? Am I to run like a beetle seeking a new crevice, without my treasures, without my maps, without my literature, without my possessions? Be damned to you! I shall not go!”