Realm of Light

by Deborah Chester

  Sitting up with a wince, he gripped the sword lying beside him just as the door flew open and four men came rushing inside.

  In a glance, Elandra saw that none were warlords. Their insignias had been torn from their surcoats to conceal the identity of their cowardly masters.

  Rage swelled inside her. “Stop there!” she commanded.

  The men faltered within two steps, for whatever they had expected, it obviously was not Elandra and her father side by side, armed with swords and ready for them.

  The jinja squealed loudly and began to jump up and down on the bed. “Danger! Danger! Danger!”

  Albain’s face turned scarlet with rage. Brandishing his sword, he yelled, “What in Murdeth’s name are you doing in my chamber? Bandits and thieves, the lot of you!”

  His free hand swept past Elandra and seized one of the fist-sized stones rowed up on the bedside table. He hurled it up at the large bronze bell hanging over his bed. A mighty gong reverberated through the chamber.

  Panic filled the men’s faces. They turned as one and battled at the door, all of them trying to go through it at the same time.

  “Damned assassins!” Puffing, Albain flung off the bedcovers and went staggering after them in his sleeping shirt.

  “Father, wait!” Elandra said in alarm. “Don’t chase them. Father!”

  Albain ignored her, busy jabbing one of the men in the buttocks with the tip of his sword.

  The valet came running in, his hair askew and his eyes bugging out. He set up a shout while the jinja went on shrieking at the top of its lungs. Elandra followed her father, terrified that the assassins might yet turn on him.

  The guards lay slumped on the floor, drugged or dead. Albain stumbled over them and stood roaring in the corridor while more guards came running.

  “Catch those men! Stop them!” he shouted.

  The guards ran in pursuit, their feet pounding over the carpets. Courtiers in night clothes appeared, only to stare in astonishment. An alarm bell began ringing belatedly, rousing the entire palace.

  Albain wheezed for breath and swayed.

  Alarmed, Elandra threw down her sword and steadied him. “Careful, Father. No more shouting. Catch your breath first.”

  His arm went around her and he leaned hard against her, his weight making her stagger. “Damnation,” he swore softly. “Don’t squeeze me so hard. My ribs feel like they’ve been kicked by a mule.”

  She had the sudden urge to laugh. He was alive, as ill-tempered and loud as ever, and everyone was staring at him as though he were a ghost.

  Albain seemed to finally notice the stares and frozen stances of the courtiers. He glared at them and hefted his sword with an angry growl in his throat. “What in blazes are you staring at?” he demanded. “Where’s the officer on duty? Where’s my own squire? Who the devil chose the guard roster tonight?”

  Chaos broke out anew as everyone started talking to each other and pointing. More guards came running up, along with a pale-faced young captain. A moment later General Handar himself appeared.

  He stepped forward and saluted, his eyes round and astonished. “My lord!” he said, sounding out of breath.

  “Handar, report! Were those men captured, or are they out setting fire to the stables by now?”

  Albain’s acerbic tone darkened Handar’s cheeks. He stood stiffly at attention, looking like a subaltern getting his first dressing down. “Captured, my lord.”

  “Hmpf.” Albain coughed and glared with his one eye. Without warning he turned on his squire. “Be useful! Bring me that chair.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The young man dragged over the chair, and Albain lowered himself heavily into it with a grunt. Only then did he seem to be aware of his thin linen sleeping shirt and bare feet.

  His face turned scarlet, and he gestured with his sword. “Captain!”

  “My lord?”

  “Clear the hall of these women! I’m not a spectacle for them to gawk at!”

  One of the women tittered loudly, and there was a sudden flurry as people retreated.

  Albain’s face stayed red. “What in blazes is the matter with this household, letting everything fall to ruin the moment my attention is elsewhere?”

  Handar swallowed. He was still staring at Albain as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. “My lord,” he said respectfully, “you were dying.”

  “Yes, I was, damn it!” Albain shouted at him. He paused to catch his breath, then continued. “And someone came tonight to help me along, since I was obviously taking too long. Heads will roll for this, I promise you.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Question those men. Use any torture you like, but get answers. I want to know who paid them, the blackguard.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And get some order established. Who the devil are all these people? Am I housing the entire population of Gialta?”

  “Mostly, my lord.”

  “Vultures,” Albain muttered.

  But at least two of the warlords were venturing closer now. Neither of them was Lord Pier, Elandra noticed with scorn.

  “Albain,” one of them said. “This is truly a miracle. You’re alive.”

  “Eh? Of course I’m alive. Why shouldn’t I be?” He scowled at the man. “What are you doing in my house, Humaul?”

  The warlord opened his eyes very wide. “I came for a council of war. There was your successor to choose, and a decision has to be made about the new emperor.”

  “Emperor?” Albain barked, turning red again. “The emperor’s dead, man.”

  “Prince Tirhin is ready to take his place.”

  “Father,” Elandra said in quiet warning, observing the sheen of perspiration on her father’s brow. He was doing too much, growing too tired.

  Albain shifted in his chair, grunting at her without looking around. “Tirhin is a fop, a puppy,” he said, then grimaced. “All right, a council of war. But not tonight. A man should be able to sleep in his own bed without fear of cutthroats bursting in. Handar, I want this place in order come morning. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And I’m going back to bed. I’m too old for such excitement in the middle of the night. I need my rest. My ribs hurt like the very hell. You, help me get up.”

  The captain of the guard obliged, and supported Albain back down the hall into his apartments. As Albain sank onto his bed, wheezing and grunting, the captain saluted smartly, wheeled around, and marched out.

  Elandra heard the man issuing a string of orders before he reached the outer doors, and footsteps thundered up and down the corridor.

  There was the jinja to be soothed, the swords to be put away, the bedclothes smoothed, pillows plumped, the valet to be reassured, her father to be quieted.

  “I’m hungry,” Albain complained as Elandra pulled the coverlet over him and tucked in the edges. “My stomach’s flapping against my backbone. Have the kitchen send up a haunch of roasted gazelle. Cold meat will do.”

  “Hush,” Elandra said, mopping perspiration from his face. She nodded at the valet, who left to fetch some food. “You must lie quiet and rest now. You’ve done enough.”

  Albain grunted, clearly enjoying the fuss.

  Servants kept peeking in at him, only to whisk out of sight the moment he or Elandra looked their way.

  “Will they stop doing that?” Albain complained. “Throw my boot at the next one who—”

  A fit of coughing interrupted him. When it was over, he lay spent on his pillows.

  Worriedly, Elandra listened to his lungs. They sounded clear, but he needed to conserve his strength.

  “Be still,” she said in growing exasperation. “I’ll get you some broth—”

  “Broth! Gault’s breath, I don’t want broth!”

  “Then you won’t have anything,” she shot back at him while the valet nervously brought in a tray containing soft bread, a bowl of steaming soup, and boiled eggs. “Be reasonable, sir, and let me take p
roper care of you.”

  He scowled. “I won’t be coddled and unmanned by a bunch of women and servants. I want meat, not broth. Do you hear?”

  “I imagine the whole palace can hear,” she said dryly. “When you’re done shouting, perhaps you’ll remember that a few hours ago you were trying to breathe your last. You might also realize that your ribs wouldn’t hurt so much if you’d just calm down.”

  He snapped his mouth shut and glared at her so ferociously she was tempted to kiss his cheek. Instead, however, she gestured for the valet to put the food tray on the table. She began cutting up one of the eggs.

  It wasn’t until she popped a piece into her mouth that Albain blinked.

  “Elandra!” he said in consternation. “You aren’t going to eat my dinner right in front of me, are you?”

  “You don’t want it.”

  His scowl came back. “Unnatural girl—”

  “I learned from you.” Smiling, she held out a piece of the egg.

  After a moment, his expression softened, and he took it. He ate everything on the tray, and drank two goblets of water, complaining all the time that he wanted wine.

  “No wine so soon after a fever,” Elandra said firmly as the tray was removed.

  She smoothed the coverlet again, whisking away a few crumbs, and Albain caught her hand.

  “Daughter,” he said gruffly.

  She paused, meeting his gaze.

  “How did you know to wake me? How did you know about the assassins?”

  She frowned, not wanting to hurt him. “We’ll discuss it in the morning.”

  “No, we’ll discuss it now.”

  “Father, you’re tired.”

  “Don’t evade me, Elandra!” he said sharply. “What do you know about this?”

  “I have only suspicions, no proof.”

  “You had something, enough to come and save my life.”

  Elandra bit her lip, but his eye was relentless. It bored into her, refusing to let her escape an explanation.

  “Speak up. No lies!”

  “Very well. Lady Iaris came to my rooms tonight.”

  His expression grew blank. He dropped her hand. “Iaris.”

  Elandra nodded. “She had questions about Caelan, who he was, where he came from. But I sensed another purpose in her.”

  “What else did she ask?”

  Albain’s voice was quiet now, perhaps too calm. His face gave nothing away.

  “She and Lord Pier intend to sway the council in Tirhin’s favor. They don’t want me or Caelan upsetting the new balance of power. Lord Demahaud is counting on inheriting your estates, and Lord Pier wants your rank and influence.”

  “Go on.”

  “You stand in their way if you oppose Tirhin and support me. They despise Caelan completely because of his past.”

  Albain said nothing, but simply scowled in the distance, deep in thought.

  Elandra rubbed her face wearily. Most of the night was gone. She felt wrung out and restless, too tired to sleep now.

  Albain sighed at last. “Politics are a damned nuisance. I’d rather have a simple war any day.”

  Despite herself, she gave him a wan smile and kissed his cheek.

  “I’ll dig into the rest of it later,” Albain said, yawning. “Don’t look so worried, child. Your mother can’t hurt me. The only thing between us is you, and that we dealt with a long time ago.”

  “The Penestricans told me the truth,” Elandra said softly. “About you and her.”

  Startled, he met her gaze, and sadness filled his eye. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I never meant you to know that.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I wish I did not know it either. But in a way it prepared me for this meeting with her. She would have hurt me had I not known. Truth is better than one’s dreams and imaginings.”

  Albain gripped her hand hard. “I wish to Gault you were a boy. I would set you on the throne myself.”

  That, unlike everything else, did hurt her. It hurt her deeply.

  She stared at him a moment, then bent her head and rose swiftly to her feet.

  “Elandra,” he said.

  “I must go.”

  “Elandra, wait.”

  He said it as a command.

  She stopped unwillingly, her back to him to hide the tears swimming in her eyes.

  “It was a stupid thing to say. I retract it,” he said to her earnestly. “I’m sorry. I owe you better than an old man’s outdated way of thinking.”

  “Everyone else thinks the same way,” she said, struggling to keep her voice light. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. It should matter. Kostimon could see farther than that. He gave you a chance. And I promised you my army.”

  She turned on him, not caring now if he saw her tears. “But can you hold your own warlords?” she asked. “They scheme and intrigue and throw spells the jinjas do not sense. We are slipping from the light into darkness, and every man is running to grab what he can.”

  “The man you brought with you,” Albain said wearily. “Where is he? Why did he not help you tonight?”

  Her fears came boiling up, uncontrollable. She gripped her hands together and tried to keep her lips from trembling. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know! He is gone. Vanished without a trace. And I fear for him. I—”

  “But you must explain this. He came to me, did he not?” Albain hesitated, looking unsure. “He healed me.”

  She nodded, crying openly now, unable to stop herself.

  “I saw him,” Albain said slowly, “as though in a dream. He was tall and well muscled. Manly. Tanned as dark as a laborer, with hair like gold.”

  “Yes.”

  “He held me, and the pain left. He spoke to spirits, who came and gave me strength again.”

  She pressed her hands to her face. “His father was a healer, Beva E’non of Trau.”

  “Traulanders have a gift that way.”

  “His father died several years ago. It was his spirit Caelan sought to help you.”

  Albain stared at her, looking awed. “He can enter the spirit world? Death was carrying me there, but do you mean this Caelan can enter of his own will? Can he return?”

  There it was, her fear articulated now and brought into the open. She raised brimming eyes to her father and shrugged. “I do not know. I thought he could. From things he has told me, he has gone there before. He can do so much other men cannot. He—” She stopped and swallowed, trying to compose herself. “But he is gone. I fear he cannot return, and that he has given himself wholly to save you.”

  Albain held out his arms. “My poor child.”

  She ran to him, hugging him tight and weeping against his chest. “I made him do it,” she confessed, sobbing bitterly. “He was afraid, and I begged him. I didn’t listen. All I wanted was to save you. And now he is gone. He is lost. It is all my fault.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The rains continued the following day. It was winter, the time of monsoons, when the laborers worked hour after hour to channel the river away from villages and planted fields. The river, swollen and threatening to rage out of control, coughed up Caelan from its muddy depths shortly after midday.

  One of the laborers who was pulling logs from the water with grappling hooks and the help of an elephant found him floating unconscious in the water.

  This man, streaked with mud and clad in nothing but a loincloth and turban, came running to the gates of the palace and shouted for admittance.

  In the council room, Lord Albain, wearing mail and a face as grim as war itself, presided at the head of the table. Elandra, gowned regally, sat erect and silent at his side like the queen she was. She had said nothing all morning while the men argued, hurling accusations and denials. Now and then her gaze moved to the face of Lord Pier, looking pale and drawn after his adventures the day before.

  Agreeing to speak under truth-light, Pier had
explained his actions to Albain. He made no excuses, no justifications. His report spared neither himself nor the others. It was as though his encounter with dark magic had shaken him. But while he had sought to make trouble yesterday against Caelan, whom he still considered an upstart piece of arena trash, he was not behind the plot to kill Albain in his bed.

  The four assassins had confessed at dawn and were already hanged. They were employed by the governor, Lord Demahaud, who was now sitting in the dungeons, an agent of the empire no longer.

  Albain had scant interest in what he considered a minor attempt on his life. Once more he pulled the discussion back to the emperor’s successor.

  Lord Pier rose to his feet. “I support crowning Tirhin. Despite the initial chaos, he succeeded in pulling together a fighting force, and he has driven the Madruns from Imperia.”

  “Yes, to set them loose on the other provinces,” a man piped up on Elandra’s left. “My lands border Ulinia, you know. I am responsible for protecting half that province. And the Madruns will cross my personal estates before they get this far.”

  “They will not get here,” Albain said with a growl. “My dispatches say that the Lord Commander has deployed three legions to cut them off.”

  Men pounded the table in approval, and several shouted in satisfaction.

  Pier, however, was still standing. “All the more reason to send our delegation to Tirhin and proclaim him emperor quickly. The empire needs order restored. This will do it before we have more invaders on our hands.”

  “Don’t forget who brought the Madruns here in the first place,” the small man who had spoken before said. “He let them sack Imperia.”

  “Renar, hold your tongue,” Pier said sharply. “You don’t know that is true—”

  “I know it is true,” Elandra said.

  Pier scowled fiercely at her, and several more men jumped to their feet.

  “These interruptions cannot be permitted, Albain!” one roared. “The council room is no place for a woman.”

  “Silence!” Albain shouted, his voice louder than any of the others. “Whether yob like it or not, she has the right to speak.”