Authors: Deborah Chester
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.
“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.
“Ela!” Kostimon
shouted. “Don’t look at it. You’ll draw it to you. Hurry and pin this to your
cloak. It will protect you.”
As he spoke, he
drew a metal disk from his pocket and thrust it at her. She saw that he wore a
similar disk pinned to his own cloak. Some trick of the torchlight made its
polished surface gleam as though it emitted fire.
But when the disk
touched her gloved palm, a searing flash of light and heat shot out. Sparks
flew between the disk and her glove. She cried out and dropped the disk, which
went clattering across the ground.
It rolled up
against Caelan’s boot. He stooped and picked it up as though in wonder.
“You!” the emperor
shouted at him, barely controlling his plunging, half-rearing mount. “Give that
back to the empress. She must wear it. It’s her only protection against the
shyrieas.”
Fresh fear leaped
into Elandra’s throat. She couldn’t help looking again at the monsters that
were forming. They shrieked and struggled, flapping wings and clawing the air
with their talons.
Caelan was still
studying the disk, turning it over and over in his hands. Elandra was afraid of
it, afraid of Kostimon’s suddenly revealed powers, afraid of the way he dared
utter the shadow god’s unspeakable name.
“I shall wear no
emblem of the darkness,” she declared fearfully.
“Don’t be a fool,”
Kostimon said. “You—”
“It’s a warding
key,” Caelan interrupted, his voice full of amazement. “Choven made.”
“Give it to the
empress,” Kostimon said. He kicked his horse in Caelan’s direction. “She must
be protected—”
“Her cloak and
gloves do that,” Caelan said. “The protection spells are different. They cannot
work together.”
“Give it to her, I
say!”
Shrugging, Caelan
handed up the disk to Elandra.
“No!” she cried,
backing her horse away.
Behind them, the
shyrieas
shrieked. Ahead of them, a tall figure in long priestly robes
suddenly appeared in the bestial mouth of the doorway. He beckoned, and several
guardsmen cried out a warning. Panic ran through the air, hot and sour.
“Majesty!” called
the priest. “Come quickly.”
“It is safe, men!”
Kostimon tried to assure the soldiers. “On my honor, I swear to you that it is
safe. It is a secret way of Gault.”
Caelan was also
staring at the priest. “It’s not Sien,” he said as though to himself.
Elandra heard him,
and relaxed slightly in relief. She never wanted to see the high priest again.
“Captain Vysal,”
Kostimon ordered, “send the men through at once. We cannot afford delay.”
Vysal’s voice rang
out, tighter and more brusque than usual, and the men reluctantly spurred their
shying, frightened horses toward the exit.
“Majesty, come!”
the priest called with more urgency than before. “Your Majesty must be the
first one through the portal, if the others are to follow where you go.”
The emperor swore,
using dark, ancient words that rang in Elandra’s ears. “Never mind your
instructions!” he shouted back. “I know what to do. See that you get the cup
ready. Hurry!”
Elandra stared at
him in wonder, trying to understand what was happening.
He glared at her.
“Take the disk and come with me. We must go through first. There’s no more
time.”
No matter how
great her fear, she could not disobey his direct command. With great
reluctance, she reached out her hand and let Caelan give her the disk.
Again, sparks
flashed between her glove and the disk. A numbing jolt went through her hand,
and the disk went flying.
“I cannot hold
it,” she said.
Kostimon swore
again. “Ela, stop fooling about or I shall lose you forever. Take off those
damned gloves and—”
“The magic she has
is stronger than this, and older,” Caelan said, interceding. “She is safe as
she is.”
“Nonsense!”
Kostimon snapped. “Nothing is stronger than Choven-forged—”
“Women’s magic,”
Caelan replied. He glanced at Elandra with his brows lifted, as though for
confirmation. “Penestrican?”