Shadow War Part 7

"After the bone-breaking labor and the whippings and the insubstantial food ... after the sweating nightmares and the shakes ... I used to lie awake at night and think of my loved ones. I would think of Lea and the servants ... and even Father. I would think of their deaths, my grief burning a hole in me. And I would comfort myself that you were alive and well. I would tell myself that I wasn't completely lost in this nightmare, that someday I would regain my freedom. Someday I would return to Trau and find you, my remaining kinsman. My family. I told myself I hadn't lost quite everything. You were a small, precious part of my hope." Caelan managed a twisted grimace of a smile and shrugged. "I never imagined you would be like this. Still condemning me after all these years because I rejected what you wanted for yourself. Can't the jealousy and envy have an end?"

"I see no reason for jealousy here." Appearing unmoved by what Caelan had said, Agel made a slight gesture at the room. "The things you value have no interest for me."

"Envy, then," Caelan said harshly. "Every time Beva spoke to me, you were green with it."

"I wanted what he gave you."

"You have it," Caelan said. "You're the healer, not me. You wear the white robe. I don't. You are good at the art, as good as my father was. You have his skills, his abilities. You took the court appointment he refused. You have succeeded in emulating him. You will be even more famous than he. Let the envy go, Agel. Accept me for what I am. Please."

"A killer? How can I accept that?"

Caelan shut his eyes and gave up. He'd bared his soul to this man and been spurned. It was pointless to keep trying.

"You are as foolhardy and reckless as ever," Agel was saying. "I saw yesterday's contest-"

Startled, Caelan opened his eyes wide. "You? "You? I don't believe it." I don't believe it."

"You were too stubborn yesterday to give up, and you are as stubborn as ever in refusing to cooperate today in what is good for you."

"Oh, so you do remember a few things about me." Caelan said sarcastically.

Agel did not flinch. "I remember everything."

"And you don't care, do you? You're so perfect now, so severed. severed. You can remain detached despite what happened at E'nonhold. Everyone was slaughtered in the raid. My home was burned to the ground. You used to wish it could be your home too. Now you don't care." You can remain detached despite what happened at E'nonhold. Everyone was slaughtered in the raid. My home was burned to the ground. You used to wish it could be your home too. Now you don't care."

"To grieve for the hold does not bring it back," Agel said. "To grieve for Uncle Beva does not restore him to life. Do you wish me to join the inner confusion you live in? What purpose would that serve? I have my work, which is to heal. It is enough for me."

"You're just like Father," Caelan said bitterly.

"Thank you. That is high praise."

"No, it's insult!" Caelan screamed at him. "You fool. fool. My father and his stupid philosophy opened the hold to destruction. He let his own servants die. He stood like a stupid moag and let Thyzarenes slit his throat. It could have all been prevented, and he would not act!" My father and his stupid philosophy opened the hold to destruction. He let his own servants die. He stood like a stupid moag and let Thyzarenes slit his throat. It could have all been prevented, and he would not act!"

"Uncle Beva lived by his beliefs. If he also died by his beliefs, then he did so with dignity and honor. I will not debate the principles of harmony and balance with you," Agel said sternly.

"Why did you have to stop being human? Why can't you be a healer and still care?"

"I care that you have undone my work," Agel said. "Has the pain returned?"

Agony throbbed in Caelan's side. He frowned, certain he would rather die than let Agel near him again.

"Lie down," Agel told him. "We must begin again."

Caelan shook his head. "Please," he said. "Please be the Agel I once knew."

"Let the past lie where it is," Agel said. "I live in the present. My task is to tend your hurts."

"I can tend my own hurts," Caelan retorted. "I-"

Pain covered him in a sheet of grayness. He sagged against the bedpost, robbed of breath and sense for a moment.

When he regained awareness, he found Agel gripping his elbow and steering him back to bed. Caelan did not want him, but had nothing left with which to drive his cousin away. He found himself suddenly spent by his emotions.

Agel was gentle and ministering, but the icy barrier remained between them. Caelan let Agel work, but nothing could heal the wound inside. For all his principles regarding peace and tranquility, Agel had inflicted the harshest blow. No mere stab would could surpa.s.s it.

It was as though his father had come to life again. If pride had not choked him so, Caelan would have wept.

Chapter Five.

At twilight the summons came, brought by a timid servant who also carried new clothing and bathing water. Thankful at last for something to do, Caelan put on the finery. Admiring his reflection in the looking gla.s.s, he smoothed the tunic of pale brown silk. It fit him perfectly. Tirhin's coat of arms was embroidered on the left sleeve; otherwise, Caelan might have pa.s.sed for a courtier. He sleeked back his blond hair into a neat braid and spent a moment fingering his amulet bag concealed at his throat.

He desperately needed consolation, and he sent a little prayer to the memory of his dead sister Lea to help him find some inner peace. She had been little and sweet, her wealth of golden curls as bright as suns.h.i.+ne, her heart pure goodness. He still grieved for her, more than for any of the others. After his encounter with Agel today, Caelan missed her even more intensely.

And Orlo still had not returned, not even to check on his health. It was possible the trainer would not come back at all. He was a free man, and if he chose to leave the prince's service, he could. Caelan sighed. He did not even know what terms he stood on with the prince at present. He had sent word to his master that he was well enough to resume his duties of attendance. His highness had not replied, other than to give him this curt summons.

There came a soft tapping on the door. "It is time," the servant said.

Anxious not to keep the prince waiting, Caelan gathered up his cloak and hurried out. The hours of rest following Agel's departure had done wonders. Caelan felt physically strong and complete once more. His side gave him no more than an occasional twinge, provided he did not overexert himself. Yet despite that, he felt grim and old inside. He tried telling himself that depression was useless and that he must not let these people affect him so profoundly, yet it was hard to feel positive when his emotions had been ruthlessly pounded. He kept asking himself if he could have done better, if he could have done differently. Would it have mattered?

The sun was melting into a golden stain on the horizon as he emerged through the main entry of the prince's house, descended a flight of grand steps flanked by life-sized stone dragons, and halted under the portico. Grooms stood nearby with saddled horses. Caelan counted them, recognizing coats of arms on many of the saddle cloths. The prince and his entourage had not yet appeared.

Catching his breath, Caelan was glad to be here ahead of his master. He swore to himself that Tirhin would find no fault with him tonight.

Caelan gazed out toward the sunset and inhaled the fragrant air. Prince Tirhin's house was a miniature palace, and the gardens around it had been expertly designed to please the senses. Normally had Caelan found himself standing here at ease, he would have let himself pretend he was the master of his surroundings. The sidelong glances of respect and awe from the house servants as they hurried past on myriad tasks could also be woven into the fantasy. Suppose they were his servants. Suppose the grooms were holding his horses saddled and ready. Suppose he were a free man, master of himself, successful, and at ease.

But tonight the fantasy did not come readily. He was not in the mood for make-believe.

A bargain was a bargain. The prince had ordered Caelan to win, and Caelan had. The prince wanted Caelan to appear at tonight's parties, healthy and whole. Caelan was here.

But he had done enough. He was tired, tired to his very bones and beyond, of slaying men for no purpose. As a boy he had dreamed of being a soldier who fought for the glory of the empire. Never in his wildest imagining had he believed he would ever end up in exotic, decadent Imperia, killing efficiently and ruthlessly almost daily to provide public entertainment. Agel was right to call it a moral violation, and whenever he allowed himself to think of it as such, Caelan felt sickened to his core. But even worse, he feared his own skills. He feared how good he had become, how attuned he was to his weapons, how easily his body quickened to the task before him. He liked liked the risk and challenge of combat. He thrived on it, and that-more than anything else-frightened him. the risk and challenge of combat. He thrived on it, and that-more than anything else-frightened him.

Laughter from within the house made the grooms put away their dice game and straighten to attention. The horses snorted and pawed. Caelan smoothed a wrinkle from his tunic and flung his cloak over one shoulder.

Emerging from the house, the prince came down the steps with about six of his friends in tow. All were dressed in sumptuous velvet tunics that were padded and lined with rich silks. Tirhin wore his distinctive blue, with a fas.h.i.+onable velvet cap set at a jaunty angle on his dark head. He was adjusting the belt of his dueling sword as he came. To Caelan's eyes, the sword was a strange-looking weapon, quite long but scarcely thicker than a knitting needle. It was designed for thrusting only, no edge to it at all. One stroke of a broadsword would shatter it. Caelan considered it an overly dainty weapon, useless and silly. Still, all the fas.h.i.+onable courtiers wore them now.

"Caelan, there you are," the prince called out. "Attend me."

Startled from his thoughts, Caelan realized he was staring like a half-wit. The prince had stopped partway down the steps and stood waiting. Caelan hastened to him and bowed low.

The prince gestured for his friends to go on, and waited until they were under the portico at the foot of the steps before he returned his attention to Caelan.

Only then did the prince allow his pleasant expression to become grim. He looked Caelan up and down. "That will do. The clothes fit better than I expected."

"They are very fine, sir. Thank you."

"Heed me. I have your instructions for the evening," the prince said in a low, curt tone.

Caelan knew his moods well. This was a dark one. With his heart sinking, he bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

"We shall attend several parties, but Lady Sivee's is the important one. When we arrive there, do not stay close to my side. Circulate among the guests. Go and come as you please."

Caelan blinked in surprise. This was indeed a treat and a privilege, but he did not understand why the prince looked so somber. "Thank you, sir."

"I want you to be visible among the guests. Don't go off and hide yourself the way you usually do. Stand about and talk to whoever will give you permission."

Caelan frowned slightly. "Usually those are men wanting to make offers to buy me."

"I don't care what you discuss or what you do, as long as it's within permissible bounds."

"No, sir." Caelan hesitated a moment, then seized his courage. "Sir, I wish to-"

"No questions now. We're late already." The prince swung away, pulling on his gloves. Then he paused and sent Caelan a hard look. "You are well? Up to this excursion?"

"Quite well, sir."

The prince nodded. "The emperor's healer is new at his post, I understand. A stiff-necked Traulander like yourself. Still, they are the best healers in the empire. I trust he was satisfactory?"

Caelan felt his face go stiff. "Yes, sir. Quite satisfactory. Also, may I please ask forgiveness for not being able to attend your highness last night?"

The prince frowned. "The last thing I want from you is phony courtier pleasantries. You could not attend me because you were near death. All because of your exhibition of audacity and bravado which has offended the Imperial Guard, and possibly alienated some I may need to rely on most."

The rebuke stung. Caelan dropped his gaze in humiliation. "Yes, sir."

Tirhin's eyes were dark and stony. "I did not order you to kill yourself, or to let yourself be killed."

Caelan swallowed. "No, sir."

"You are a reckless fool. You could have cost me-" The prince broke off and slapped his palm with his gloves. "But you did not. It has worked, I think. Thus far, at least. And because there is a rumor that you are dead, your appearance tonight should be precisely the type of distraction I want."

"Distraction?"

"Enjoy yourself, Giant," the prince said, ignoring his puzzled question. "Take pride in the accolades that will be thrown your way. You've earned the attention."

As praise it was much less than usual, hardly anything. Yet it seemed odd coming after the prince's sharp reprimand. More puzzled than ever, Caelan wondered at the manipulative game his master was playing. Only one thing seemed clear; the reward Caelan had hoped for would apparently not be forthcoming.

Anger surged into his throat like hot bile. Furiously, Caelan struggled to block it. If he forgot himself and lost his temper now, he would find his head on a wall spike before morning. With all his might, he fought back resentment. He had made a mistake, and this was his master's way of punis.h.i.+ng him.

Orlo had been right. A promise made to a slave wasn't binding.

Trembling started in the pit of Caelan's stomach and traveled up. Clenching his fists at his side, he swallowed hard and knew he had to control himself. He mustn't think about it now. If he was to get through this evening, then he could not feel and he could not think. There would be time later tonight, after he was finally dismissed from his duties, when he could decide what to do.

A shout from the courtiers at the bottom of the steps caught Tirhin's attention. A smile of acknowledgment appeared on his face, but there was nothing jovial in it.

"Come, then," the prince said and walked on.

Silently, Caelan followed. His eyes felt hot in the coldness of his face. His gaze burned into the prince's spine. How he would like to seize this handsome, privileged man by the neck and shake him the way a weasel shakes a rat. How he would like to say, "You cannot toy with lives. You are not a G.o.d. There are consequences for what you do, and someday you will pay them."

Over his shoulder Tirhin added, "Mind that you understand me. This is to be your night. Do not tag at my heels. Do not attend me. I need no protection. I need no service. Am I clear?"

Scorn filled Caelan like lava. The prince was still playing his game, still taking Caelan's loyalty for granted. Let him lay his mysterious intrigues, for all the good they would do him.

This evening the prince looked keyed up and bright-eyed, his outward gaiety a thin, brittle layer over irritation. He looked as though he was up to mischief. Anyone who knew him well could see it.

The prince snapped another look at Caelan. "I asked you a question. Are you paying heed to me?"

"Yes, sir," Caelan replied at once, his tone flat. "Forgive me. Your highness has been quite clear."

"Good. I want no more trouble from you. No straying from your instructions. No surprises. Do only what you are told. No more. No less."

"I shall obey your instructions precisely, sir," Caelan said, and his voice was flatter than ever.

The prince did not seem to notice. He strode down the steps to join his friends and resumed his strange, thin smile. He quickly added a quip of his own to their jokes and merriment, and everyone laughed. All were sons of the finest families in Imperia. Well-born, well-dressed, wealthy, they might have simply been a group of comrades ready for an evening of festivities. Yet there was a faintly dangerous air about them, an air of bravado and defiance that indicated trouble to come. You will make a good distraction, You will make a good distraction, the prince had said. Caelan frowned to himself. Distraction for what? the prince had said. Caelan frowned to himself. Distraction for what?

Servants came down the steps with tray of tall silver cups. Caelan could already smell the sweetness of honeyed mead on the men's breath, but they drank deeply and with gusto, then climbed onto their mounts. There was a momentary milling about with horses prancing and men flinging back fur-trimmed cloaks over their shoulders; then they were off at a gallop.

Caelan rode as one of them, galloping down the mountain road that wound through the hills overlooking the western crescent of the city. There were no servants along, and no soldiers for protection. The prince and his friends feared no brigands.

It was a sweet night, crisp and still in the way of Imperia winters. The hills stretched and rolled down toward the sea that was inky black in the indigo twilight. Stars began to glitter in the sky, except to the north, where a black cloud spread dark fingers across the horizon. A storm must be coming in, although it was strange to see one approach from that direction. Just looking at it gave Caelan an involuntary s.h.i.+ver he could not explain.

Owls flew on silent wings, eerie hunters among the trees.

Something in all the quiet stillness unsettled Caelan. He had the feeling of being followed, of being watched, a niggling uneasiness that he could not dismiss. He glanced back several times, but nothing came behind them. He gazed into the sky, wondering what seemed amiss. Were he in Trau, he could dismiss his fears as simple nervousness about the wind spirits that hunted at night. But there were none here. Men came and went freely in the darkness. During the blistering Imperia summers, residents left the windows of their houses open all night long with a fearlessness that left him amazed.

He told himself to stop imagining things. They were unlikely to be set upon by robbers. They were not being followed. Yet his fingers itched for a dagger hilt. And his heart beat faster with every pa.s.sing minute. It was forbidden for a slave to carry weapons, but if necessary he would appropriate arms from one of the men around him.

Yet his worries proved groundless. Without incident, they rode past quince trees marking the property boundaries of expensive villas. Here and there lights glimmered in the distance, and the distant strains of lute music or merrymaking could be heard.

Caelan glanced back yet again, and one of the others looked his way.

"Is something following us?"

"No," Caelan said. "I see nothing."

The other man shrugged, and Caelan told himself to stop imagining things.

Every gate and every house they pa.s.sed flew the red imperial banner tonight in honor of the empress. Red could be seen everywhere, fluttering from rooftops, windows, gates, and walls. A full week of festivities was still to come; then the coronation would conclude the celebrations.

Caelan had noticed when they left tonight that no imperial banner flew at the prince's gate. Only Tirhin's banner hung over his house. It was a deliberate slight, a deliberate defiance. It was bound to cause trouble.

Tirhin had always seemed to be an easygoing prince, apparently content to let nature take its course with his long-lived father. If he desired the throne, he seemed patient about it. He defied the emperor in small ways, typical of any son with fire in his veins, but politically he had always been loyal.

But since what was obviously to be the last marriage of Emperor Kostimon barely a year past, the prince's mood had grown progressively darker, his temper more brittle. The announcement that the lady would be crowned empress sovereign instead of merely empress consort had snapped something in the prince. In recent days he had been showing his disgruntlement openly. His conversations were impatient and not always discreet.