Shadow War Part 4

A sense of danger alerted Caelan. He fought off the gathering mists and forced himself to focus on what the man was saying. Insolence seemed the best defense.

"And as such, is it sacred?" Caelan asked with open mockery. He knew Nilot was an army veteran, supposedly much decorated for bravery. "Does a gladiator slave sully this type of swordplay by using it on an enemy of the people?"

Nilot's thin mouth tightened to a hard line, but he was not deflected. "There's not a gladiator alive who would know such a move, or how to execute it properly. Who taught it to you?"

"I have an excellent trainer."

"Orlo?" Nilot snorted. "Excellent for turning third-rate scabs into second-rate fighters. Has your master been giving you special lessons?"

Caelan saw the trap yawning before him, now when it was too late. Inwardly cursing this man, Caelan sought for a quick answer that would be believed. He found nothing. He could not say the truth, that he had joined with a sword and learned its secrets from all the combats it had known. The secret ways of Trau mysticism were feared here.

Yet how could he answer in a way that would protect Prince Tirhin?

"Masters do not have time to teach their slaves the finer secrets of swordplay," he said as scornfully as possible.

"Oh, that's a loyal answer."

Caelan's gaze snapped to Nilot's. "What would you have me say?"

"The truth. Did Prince Tirhin teach you that move?"

"No."

"Then who?"

If insolence would not work, perhaps arrogance would. "Perhaps you did not know that I was born free and of good birth. I have not always worn chains and served the will of others." Caelan pushed himself forward, praying he would not stagger. "I cannot linger here."

Nilot blocked his path. "I am not done with you."

"Caelan!" came an angry shout. "What are you doing standing in this cold? Are you mad? Your muscles will stiffen."

It was Orlo, coming down the pa.s.sageway at a furious pace. Caelan had never been so relieved to see the man.

He glanced at Nilot and shrugged. "I must go."

"But-"

"I must go."

Nilot reached across him and gripped Caelan by his injured arm. The pain was like a spear point, impaling him. Caelan sucked in a breath, and felt the world turn gray.

"By the G.o.ds, I'll have a straight answer from you yet," Nilot said angrily. "Tell me the truth! Was it his highness who taught you?"

Caelan gritted his teeth. He wanted to scream from the pain. He knew his face must be as white as paper, but severance severance still served him. Coldly, he said, "You speak disrespectfully of my master. Shall I defend him, here and now, with my bare hands?" still served him. Coldly, he said, "You speak disrespectfully of my master. Shall I defend him, here and now, with my bare hands?"

Nilot's eyes flickered as though he realized he stood unguarded, face to face with an unchained gladiator. Caelan reeked of sweat and blood. He had just killed in the heat of combat; his temper still ran high enough for him to risk the punishment of death or mutilation for threatening a free man like this. Nilot swallowed, and his grip slackened on Cae-lan's arm.

At once Caelan yanked free. Glaring, he started to speak but Orlo reached them, hastily interceding.

"Enough, enough," the trainer said, his eyes darting from Nilot to Caelan. "Nilot, what are you doing, keeping him standing here? For Gault's sake, let him clean off the gore first and have his wine. There'll be occasion enough to talk to him tonight."

Nilot scowled and stepped back. "I think not. There is no reason for me to attend the victory party of the emperor's opponent."

Orlo sent him an innocent look. "What a pity. I thought the Madrun was considered everyone's opponent."

Nilot's scowl deepened. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away.

Orlo gestured at Caelan to descend the steps. "Get on with you! I thought you'd have enough sense to get to your bath at once. You can reap your glory later."

Sighing, Caelan turned in silence and somehow got himself moving down the steps. Orlo flanked him, grumbling and criticizing all the way. He fended off anyone else who attempted to approach them. "Get back! Let the champion pa.s.s!"

Leaning closer, Orlo shot Caelan a sideways glance. "What in Murdeth's name did that snake want with you?"

"Nothing," Caelan said. "He was angry at the loss."

"Angry? Him?" Orlo snorted. "Oh, yes, and how innocent you are. You, looking like you meant to tear out his throat. Don't you have better sense than to threaten a man of his position?"

"He insulted the prince," Caelan said through his teeth.

Orlo shot him another look, then frowned. "You are a slave," he whispered hotly, glancing left and right to make sure no one overheard him. "It's not your place to defend the honor of his imperial highness."

Caelan shrugged. Now that he had a little distance from the incident with Nilot, he was annoyed with himself. Tirhin was not worth the risk he took. "You're right, Orlo," he said meekly. "The prince can defend his own honor. I am a fool.

I have always been a fool. It is likely I will be a fool until I die."

Orlo's frown deepened. "I know Nilot. He never does anything without a purpose. Did he make an offer to buy you?"

Caelan snorted, not bothering to answer. There were always men trying to buy him from the prince. Caelan was supposed to be flattered by such offers, but he always found them demeaning and shameful.

"Yes, I'm sure that's it," Orlo continued. "He will bring an offer from the emperor. Gault, that will be a problem! If the prince refuses to sell you, he runs the risk of offending-"

"Stop worrying," Caelan said tersely. "Nilot didn't come to buy me. He wanted to know who taught me the Dance of Death."

Orlo veered onto that subject immediately like a dog after a bone. "Hah, wouldn't he just! Wouldn't we all? You didn't get it from me."

"No."

"And it was a d.a.m.ned stupid thing to try! You-"

"It worked."

"Oh, yes, it worked, but the risk!"

Caelan's gaze dropped. "Necessary."

"You could have killed him several times before you finished him," Orlo said sternly. "G.o.ds, it was like watching your first season. My heart nearly stopped at the mistakes you made. Besides, have you ever practiced that move? It was invented for bravado by lovelorn officers wanting to duel over their women."

"It was invented for combat," Caelan said stubbornly, concentrating on each step. "Later, it was used in duels."

"Yes, by the officers in the emperor's Crimson Guard. You had no business using it."

Caelan threw him a cynical look. "Because I'm a slave."

"Because you're not in the Crimson Guard. They'll be offended. They hold their traditions as high as their honor."

Caelan frowned. No wonder the prince was displeased with him. Caelan thought he was doing the right thing, but once again he had blundered. It did no good to say he wasn't versed in military traditions. Neither the prince nor the army was interested in his excuses. Some of Caelan's anger returned. He hadn't asked to be involved in this intrigue. He was no good at it. And now he had made things worse.

Someone hailed Orlo from the bottom of the steps, calling out congratulations.

Orlo waved, and swiftly changed the subject with a warning glance at Caelan. "I'll bet you twenty ducats that putting the Madrun in today was Nilot's idea. Stupid. If the brute had won, how could they celebrate the victory of an enemy? If he lost, who would care?"

Caelan nodded, conserving his strength against the mists that were blurring everything. He b.u.mped into the wall and had to bite off a groan.

Orlo's hand gripped his uninjured arm to steady him. "Stiff," he said with pretend anger while he hastened Caelan past the group eager to offer yet more congratulations. "Too much standing around talking. Time for that ma.s.sage."

The moment they were inside Caelan's ready room, Orlo slammed the door and yelled for the slaves.

Unz appeared. Scrawny and perpetually nervous, he was the youngest.

"Where is everyone?" Orlo demanded, looking around. "Why isn't the ma.s.sage table ready? Where's the bath water?"

Unz bowed. "I'll get-"

"I'll flog their hides for this. Where are they?"

"Gone to cash in their wager tokens," Unz replied nervously.

Orlo's face turned a dark purple. "Get the water" was all he said, however.

Unz fled.

Orlo kicked a stool over to Caelan. "Sit!"

Caelan dropped heavily onto it. His side began to bleed again; he could feel it warm and wet against his arm. The effort of holding severance severance was too much. He longed to let go, yet he was afraid to. was too much. He longed to let go, yet he was afraid to.

"Hurting, are you?" Orlo asked. He tossed his club aside and advanced on Caelan. "I thought I'd never get you safely out of sight. You reckless idiot, I told you to stay out of his reach. Let me see that arm."

As he spoke, he pulled the cloak from Caelan's shoulders, then stood there, staring. The cloak slid unnoticed from his fingers. "Merciful Gault," he whispered. "I thought I saw him stick you, but then you seemed unhurt. I couldn't get out of the stands sooner to help you."

"It's all right," Caelan said through his teeth. He had never seen Orlo look this pale, this frightened. "I had to provide ... spectacle."

"You fool," Orlo said, pressing his fingers gently against Caelan's side where the trickle of blood was beginning to bubble faster. "You great, hulking fool. When I told you to use every dirty trick, I didn't mean this." this."

Caelan felt suddenly flushed and hotter than ever. He twisted on the stool. "Where's my bath? It's too warm in here. I-"

Orlo gripped his shoulder. "Boy!" he bawled at the top of his lungs. "Unz! Bring bandages, quickly!"

The room started spinning around Caelan. He braced his shoulder against Orlo's side and gripped the bottom of the man's tunic. "Not so loud. They'll hear you."

"Why the devil shouldn't someone hear?" Orlo said in exasperation. But he lowered his voice. When Unz came running with a handful of gauze strips, he grabbed them from the boy's hand, knocking some of them to the floor. "Get more! Idiot! Can't you see he's bleeding to death?"

Unz stared, his face as white as the bandages, and stammered something incomprehensible.

"Get more bandages. And water. And the healer. We need the healer!"

"No," Caelan said.

Orlo pressed the gauze to his side, and he flinched at the pain.

"Steady," Orlo said, but he sounded more desperate than soothing. "Don't talk. Just stay quiet. Boy! Where are you?"

Unz reappeared with more gauze. "This is all-"

"Never mind. Get the cloak. We'll bind it around him. Quick, boy. No, I'll do it. Support him."

Unz timidly grasped Caelan's shoulders while Orlo hacked the cloak into long strips and wrapped them around Caelan's torso. He knotted them with a firmness that made Caelan cry out.

Severance slipped, and he could not hold on any longer. The river of blood escaped him and gushed into the cloth. He could feel his life, his awareness flowing out with it. slipped, and he could not hold on any longer. The river of blood escaped him and gushed into the cloth. He could feel his life, his awareness flowing out with it.

"Forget the water. Run for the healer now," Orlo said while the room swirled and eddied. "Go, boy!"

"No," Caelan said. He reached out, his hand groping blindly.

Orlo gripped his fingers hard enough to crush them.

"No one to know," Caelan insisted. "Spoil the victory. Spoil the prince's ... orders ..."

He couldn't finish. The room grew white, blurring into shapeless light, then fading, fading until there was only shadow.

"Get the healer," he heard Orlo say. "Don't say why. Don't say anything. Just get him. Run!" Run!"

Caelan came drifting back to the pleasant fragrances of balm and honey, herbal scents that reminded him of his childhood safe in E'nonhold. Someone nearby was grinding with a small mortar and pestle, working the old-fas.h.i.+oned way, doing things correctly.

He opened his eyes a fraction, not quite willing to wake up completely yet. There was a fire burning to keep him warm. It cast a ruddy glow across his bed. He listened to the hiss of the embers, a steady singing of flame that seemed to be calling his name.

Wind spirits had called his name once, and nearly killed him when he went to them. There were no wind spirits in Imperia. He wondered if the fire spirits had come here instead.

Restlessly, a little frightened, he turned his head on the pillow, only to have a shadow fall across the firelight. A hand slipped beneath his head and lifted him slightly.

"Drink this," a voice said.

Caelan sipped the potion, finding its taste bittersweet. The effort exhausted him, but once he was lying down again he found his head felt much clearer.

He gazed up at the healer, but the man's face remained hidden in shadow, silhouetted against the firelight. Something about him seemed oddly familiar, yet he wasn't the usual arena healer. Caelan frowned, unable to sort it out.

"These aren't my quarters," he said fretfully. His voice sounded weak and hoa.r.s.e. "Have I been sold?"

"No," the healer said soothingly. "Rest. Do not talk. Give the potion time to do its work."