“Perhaps, Majesty,” Baiter ventured nervously, “if each man were to strap one item behind his saddle—”
“No,” Paz said. “Begging your Majesty’s pardon, but fighting men cannot be burdened with nonessentials—”
“Nonessentials!” the emperor shouted. “Murdeth and Fury, man, why don’t you say I am a nonessential? These foolish objections do nothing but delay us. Where is Sien? Sergeant, see that he comes at once.”
Saluting, Baiter hurried away as though glad to escape.
Vysal reappeared, hurrying through the cluster of guardsmen. He looked increasingly pale beneath his bandage. Concerned for him and his injury, Elandra wished the others would have more consideration than to send him running back and forth like an errand boy.
“Majesty,” he said, saluting the emperor and sounding out of breath. “Lord Sien is—is not at leisure to come. And I think the Madruns are in the temple.”
Kostimon received this news with a deepening scowl, but Paz stepped forward.
“I told you she would lead them to us, and she has!” Paz said, glaring at Elandra as he spoke. “There is no time to spare. Captain, mount the troops.”
Vysal swung away and beckoned to Baiter, who came running back. “Mount the troops.”
“Sir!” Saluting, Baiter spun about and bawled orders at the men with such vigor his voice echoed from the ceiling.
The men scrambled to line up, each one standing at attention with his hand on his mount’s bridle. Fifteen men, not counting the emperor or her or the officers, and only twelve horses. Elandra counted them again to be sure, and with a sinking heart wondered who was to be left behind.
Baiter’s experienced eye ran along his meager troops, and he nodded in curt satisfaction, then walked over to personally check the emperor’s saddle. He tightened the girths another notch, retied the strings holding the heavy saddlebags, and next turned his attention to the general’s mount.
By the time he’d finished this, the emperor was coming with Paz in tow.
“Mount up!” Baiter shouted, and the men with horses obeyed. The rest stood by, impassive and ready for war, their gauntleted hands resting on their sword hilts.
“Here, Majesty,” the sergeant said to Elandra, leading a raw-boned sorrel up to her. He handed her the reins. “I’ll shorten the stirrups for you.”
“Thank you,” she said.
But the general pointed his whip at the sergeant. “Stop that!” he commanded. “Captain Vysal, withdraw this man.”
The captain’s face tightened visibly beneath the bandage. It was plain to Elandra how loathe he was to become caught in this conflict. The guardsmen’s eyes were shifting in the torchlight, watchful. From her father, Elandra knew that such disagreements among the commanding officers always led to a loss of morale in the fighting men. They could not afford to be seen bickering, yet Kostimon was making no effort to stop it. Did she dare try to intervene?
“Vysal!” the general said sharply. “You heard my order. Obey it.”
Saluting in response to the general’s command, Captain Vysal snapped his fingers at the sergeant, who stepped back.
Paz glared at Elandra first, then at the emperor. “I’ll leave not one able-bodied man behind. I need fighters, not wailing women.”
Astonished, Elandra stared at him and wondered if he had gone mad. “I am your empress,” she said in outrage.
“You are a traitor!” he shouted, red-faced. He jerked the reins from her hand, making the sorrel horse shy back nervously. “You could not have crossed the palace compound alone, by natural means, and arrived here alive. That means you are in league with the enemy. You led them here. You have betrayed us!”
Furious, Elandra looked at the emperor, who stood frowning and silent. “Will you not defend me?” she asked.
Kostimon frowned at the general. “Say no more against the empress.”
Elandra waited for more, but Kostimon fell silent again. In astonishment, she realized he intended to say nothing else in her defense. Did he think it enough, this mild rebuke? As support of her, it was paltry indeed.
Her face went stiff; her eyes burned. She clenched her fists down at her sides, hiding them in the folds of her skirts. So she was to be abandoned, like unwanted chattel. The promises, the ceremonial words, the crowning itself were all as dead leaves blown away in the wind.
She wanted to rage, to throw things, to weep. But she must not give way to her emotions now. She must act like an empress, not a woman.
“Sergeant Baiter,” she said quietly, her voice so tightly regulated it sounded dead. “I shall not require your horse.”
Frowning in dismay, Baiter took the reins from the smirking General Paz. The sergeant’s face told all that lay in his heart. “But, Majesty—”
Elandra’s gaze moved to Kostimon, old and half-confused, his mind alternating between bouts of imperial temper and indecision. He remained emperor still, but now he ruled a lost empire. He was no longer capable of defending himself or her or his domain.
Fresh tears burned her eyes, but she swiftly blinked them back.
“Go quickly, husband,” she said. “Ride to safety while there is still a chance. I bid you well.”
Looking bewildered, Kostimon snapped his fingers impatiently. “Get on the horse. There is no time for such—”
“You have an empire to defend,” she said, trying to keep her tone steady and noble while Paz’s smirk widened. “As the general has said, it’s swordsmen you need beside you, not an ineffectual woman.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Kostimon said. “Fauvina—I mean, Ela, come here at once.”
But she turned her back on him, not certain she could control her composure much longer. She walked away, ignoring his call, her head held high and her back straight.
Chapter Two
“Who serves the empress sovereign?” called out a strong, masculine voice over the general noise.
Sudden silence fell over the cavern. Men’s heads turned. They craned to see.
Recognizing Caelan’s voice, Elandra stopped in her tracks and stood still. Her breath came raggedly in her throat. She dared not glance back at the emperor.
“What?” said Kostimon from behind her. “What? Who said that? Who speaks?”
“Who serves the empress sovereign?” Caelan called out again. His voice rang off the walls. “Without both emperor and empress to rule, this land is fallen. Which man of you will leave her behind? Which man of you is both traitor and coward?”
A growl of assent broke out among the soldiers. Sergeant Baiter and Captain Vysal exchanged glances, then looked at the emperor. Elandra herself stepped aside as Caelan came striding forward from the shadows.
He carried his drawn sword in his hand. His cloak swirled about his ankles with every step. As he walked into the circle of torchlight, he looked somehow taller, leaner, and more fierce than he had ever appeared before. His blue eyes blazed with a wrath that was all the more terrible because of its coldness. Elandra saw something bleak and deadly in his face. It was the same look he had worn when he refused to serve as her protector. Yet here he came, to save her once again.
Triumph blazed inside her, and her head lifted higher in renewed confidence. This man served her. No matter what he said, he was her protector.
The soldiers parted at his approach. Even Balter stepped back. Caelan strode past Vysal, then past Elandra without glancing at her. A few feet short of the emperor, he stopped and stood towering over Kostimon, fierce, proud, and grim.
The emperor stepped back. “Who are you? How dare you bring a drawn sword into my presence? Hovet—”
Kostimon’s voice choked off abruptly. He glared a moment, his jaw working. Chagrin warred with anger in his face.
Then his gaze snapped to General Paz. “Who is this man? How dare he speak to me unbidden?”
The general glared at Captain Vysal. “Identify this man at once.”
“You know me,” Caelan said before Vysal could respond. Caelan’s
gaze never left the emperor’s. His youthful strength and vigor made Kostimon look shrunken and almost feeble.
Glaring, Caelan said, “You know by what right I speak unbidden. I brought your Majesty warning of this attack, and you heeded it not. I told your Majesty the Madruns were coming, and you ignored me. You had time to send for your armies, but you did not. I told your Majesty there were traitors close to you, men who would open the secret ways of the palace to your enemies. You sat and did nothing. Nothing, until now when your throne has been shattered and your palace burns. Your Imperial Guard has been massacred, and you bleat like the coward you are.”
The emperor’s face turned nearly as white as his hair. He glared at Caelan. “That is your death sentence, knave! You cannot talk so and live. Sergeant! Kill this man, who dares insult me to my face!”
Elandra drew in a sharp breath. She wanted to cry out in protest, but she dared not speak. Violence glowered in the faces about her. Every man’s hand gripped the hilt of his weapon. The wrong move, the wrong word would set off a fight like a torch thrown among straw.
“Sergeant!” Kostimon roared. “Kill him!”
Baiter did not move. He stood at attention, as rigid as stone.
Silence spread over them all, broken only by the soft jingle of bridles and the stamping of the horses. None of the guardsmen moved. Captain Vysal’s fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword until his knuckles were white, but not even he drew his sword.
Kostimon looked around at them all, his face strained and disbelieving. “Is this how I am served?” he asked hoarsely. “In my final hours, is this the loyalty I command?”
“Majesty,” Baiter replied, “lead us honorably and we will serve you honorably.”
A cheer rose from the men.
General Paz cleared his throat and let his gaze slide toward the door. Then he stepped to the emperor’s side and drew his sword. “If no one else will maintain order, then I shall, Majesty. To prove my loyalty to you, I shall kill this knave as you have commanded.”
“No!” Vysal called, but too late.
Paz launched himself at Caelan with a swing of his sword. Although Caelan stood with his own weapon drawn, he was not in a fighting stance. Nor did he look prepared for the sudden attack.
Watching in horror, Elandra choked off a scream.
But Caelan was not run through. At seemingly the very last moment before Paz’s sword struck him, he shifted his feet—quick and light—and swung up his sword to meet the general’s.
Steel hit steel with a resounding clang. Two quick exchanges, and Caelan’s sword tip flashed swiftly.
The general’s sword went flying across the floor ... with the general’s hand still attached to it.
Now Elandra did scream, her cry rising with the general’s own.
Paz stood there transfixed, staring at the stump of his right wrist. Blood spurted freely.
Shuddering, Elandra shut her eyes and turned away. It was so horrible she thought she would be sick. Again and again, the sight of that swift clean cut of steel flashed through er mind as though it would never fade.
Frightened shouts broke out, and she turned back in time to see the general sag to his knees, then crumple bonelessly to the floor. Black fluid now gushed from the stump—not blood, but instead something that stank most foully.
“Get back!” Vysal commanded. Throwing out his arm, he held Kostimon back. “Majesty, take care!”
“What in Gault’s name is it?” Kostimon asked.
Caelan approached the body, which now lay facedown on the ground. Crouching beside it, he started to dip his finger in the black liquid.
“Caelan, no!” Elandra shouted in horror.
At the last second, he withdrew his hand. His face wrinkled in disgust, and he jumped back with a quickness that alarmed all of them.
“Possessed,” Caelan said. “If General Paz was human once, he is no longer. Everyone, stay back.”
Ashen, the emperor looked around for Elandra and beckoned to her. She ran to him, and he gripped her hand hard in his.
“Stay close to me,” he said.
“What can it be?”
“I think I can guess,” he said grimly and shifted his gaze to Vysal. “Captain, we now have danger from within as well as without. In minutes, there will be creatures spawned in that blood. Creatures none of us wish to meet.”
Blinking, Vysal spun around. “Men!” he shouted. “Form ranks. Those who are mounted, go in front. Those on foot, assemble at the rear. Draw your weapons and say your prayers.”
The sergeant brought up both the emperor’s horse and his own for Elandra.
She stared at Kostimon in rising urgency, caught up in the general tension and fear. “But where are we going? We are trapped in this cavern, with no way out except the way w/e entered. And the Madruns are waiting.”
Kostimon touched her cheek briefly with his fingertips. “I am sorry for what was said a moment ago, my dear,” he said softly. “Too many masks—too many betrayals. How could I doubt your integrity for even a moment?”
This was the man she knew, alert and clear-eyed once again. Grateful for his apology, she caught his gnarled hand and held it pressed against her cheek for a moment. “Husband, I—”
“Later.” He pulled away. “You there, assist the empress.”
Baiter held the stirrup for her, then boosted her up as though she weighed nothing. Hastily she arranged her skirts across the saddle. She was not dressed for riding astride, but that hardly mattered now. Clutching the reins in her gloved fingers, she heard a feeble sound come from the direction of the general’s body.
Newly afraid, Elandra glanced at Paz. The corpse lay in a spreading pool of blackness. It should have stopped bleeding long since, but the loathsome fluid still poured from the wound. Ripples now spread across the surface of the pool, although it was too shallow to contain anything. With horrified fascination, Elandra saw movement as though something was taking shape there.
“He is not dead!” she cried.
“Hush. He is,” Caelan said. “Hurry.” He slapped the rump of her mount.
Only by reining back hard did she prevent the startled animal from bolting. All the horses were snorting now, stamping and backing away from the corpse. Fear spread quickly through the cavern.
It took both Vysal and Caelan to push the emperor onto his horse while Baiter struggled to hold the spirited animal still. Elandra had never seen Kostimon look so physically weak, or have so much difficulty mounting. When he was finally in the saddle, he leaned over, gasping for breath. She saw his hands shake on the reins, and she was afraid he would die then and there.
She reached out to him, wanting to help him, but his mount skittered to one side, snorting and tossing its head.
“Lord Sien,” Kostimon said, managing to straighten. “Where is Lord Sien? I need him.”
It was Caelan who looked up and answered: “The priest cannot come to you.”
“I need him!” Kostimon insisted. Glaring, he glanced around. “Sien! Come to me!”
“He will not come!” Caelan said more forcefully, gripping the emperor’s bridle. “Do not call him, lest you bring more of the darkness to us.”
Elandra’s mouth fell open, but she said nothing. Others stared at Caelan in open astonishment. As for Elandra, she wondered if he knew what he risked by accusing Sien so openly. The priest had been Kostimon’s most trusted adviser for a long time. Only a fool or a very courageous man would dare speak against the priest.
Kostimon’s mouth clamped in a thin line. His yellow eyes blazed with anger and impatience.
The guardsmen watched, the whites of their eyes showing in the torchlight. Murmurs rose among them.
“Lord Sien,” called Kostimon, “I call on you to serve me now.”
The priest did not answer, nor did he appear. Realizing she was holding her breath, Elandra released it. Then she sent Caelan a look of fresh wonder. It seemed he had indeed cowed the priest into staying away.
&nbs
p; “Damn!” Kostimon said angrily, twisting about in the saddle. “Where is the man?”
“He can not come,” Caelan said again, his voice very terse.
Kostimon glared at him. “Is he dead?”
“No, Majesty.”
Another eerie sound came from Paz’s corpse. Kostimon glanced at it and scowled. “There is no more time to wait for him. I shall have to do this myself.” He lifted his free hand into the air while the other gripped the reins. “I, Kostimon the Great, call on the hidden ways! Exalted ruler of the shadows, show mercy upon thy subjects and reveal the ways to us.”
Several of the men gasped at his request. Elandra felt coldness squeeze her own heart. Suddenly she was short of breath, and everything about her did not seem quite real. Kostimon was calling on the powers of darkness, the forbidden knowledge. Openly, with all of them as witnesses, he was committing blasphemy.
“Dear Gault,” Elandra whispered aloud in her horror, “watch over us and keep us safe.”
Caelan’s gaze met hers. “Gault does not rule here,” he said in warning.
Across the cavern, the shadowy darkness curled back as though parted by an unseen force. Eerie light not cast by fire appeared in soft radiance. It hurt Elandra’s eyes to look at it. Blinking, she squinted and turned her face away. Her heart was beating faster now. Her mouth was dry. She felt deathly afraid.
A doorway stood revealed in the strange light. The wall surrounding it was carved into the shape of a beast’s snarling mouth. As they watched—disbelieving, horrified, some muttering prayers and others hastily making warding signs—the door swung silently open to expose a yawning darkness beyond it.
A dank, ancient smell came to Elandra’s nostrils. She shivered, and her horse whinnied nervously.
“Do not fear!” the emperor called out across the confusion. “Ahead of us lies safety. At our backs grows the danger of Beloth.”
As he said the unspeakable name, something shrieked behind them.
Crying out involuntarily, Elandra looked back and saw a shape rising from the black pool surrounding Paz’s body. The shape looked slender, almost like a child or a woman. Now it was unfurling wings that dripped and splattered the black fluid. Each splatter on the floor spread into a miniature pool of its own, rapidly spreading and growing.
Realm of Light Page 2
