Realm of Light

Gloom shrouded the
cavern beneath the Temple of Gault. Torches flared everywhere, yet their ruddy
light revealed little. Hurrying through the shadows in the wake of Sergeant Baiter,
the Empress Elandra felt as though she walked in a dream. Her life had been
turned completely upside down. She was a refugee now, with no home, no guards,
no protector, and possibly... no husband. She had come here for safety, but
this was no sanctuary.

Perhaps fifteen
guardsmen in armor and crimson cloaks milled about, engaged in various tasks. A
couple of servants, pale-faced with fear, crammed provisions into saddlebags
under the gimlet eye of a square-faced sergeant. Half the guardsmen were checking
saddles and gear. The rest were piling stones from what looked like dismantled
benches across a doorway in the distance. The remaining granite benches stood
in an eerie semicircle about an altar surrounded by empty copper cauldrons
tipped on their sides. All the men moved with haste, but there was no panic,
and relatively little disorder.

The torchlight
flickered up the soot-blackened walls, casting shifting, ruddy illumination
over the scene and glinting off the rolling white of the horses’ eyes, the sharp
rowels of men’s spurs, and the wire-wrapped hilts of swords as their scabbards
were buckled to saddles. The air smelled of sweat—from horse and man—a pungent,
honest odor overlaying a lingering, cloyed fragrance of incense and death.

Glancing again at
the abandoned altar, the Empress Elandra shivered and drew her cloak more
tightly about her shoulders. This was a forbidden place. Blasphemy seemed to
crawl upon the walls, and no priests were in sight. She stumbled after -the
sergeant, consumed with exhaustion, finding herself stupidly near tears.

It was just
reaction, she told herself, struggling to maintain her composure. She had spent
the night fleeing for her life from both creatures of the darkness and savage
Madrun invaders who were now looting and burning the palace.

Her home ...
ablaze in the night.

She choked again,
and the sergeant glanced back at her in swift concern.

“It’s not far,
Majesty. Stay close to me.”

She nodded and
quickened her step although her legs felt leaden. They were heading to a part
of the cavern where officers were standing among haphazard stacks of boxes,
scroll cases, and misshapen bundles. No doubt these were the scant items that
had been salvaged from the palace. Elandra herself had managed to save nothing.
She had only the dirty, torn clothes she was wearing beneath her cloak and the
magical topaz jewel that she carried in a small embroidered bag strung around
her neck. Even her dagger had been given away to the guardsman Caelan E’non,
who had saved her life and brought her safely to this place beneath the temple.

At the thought of
Caelan, however, her fear returned. She glanced back over her shoulder, but did
not see him for the confusion around her. A horse, overly excited by the
commotion, broke away and went shying sideways through the men, kicking and
squealing before it was brought under control again.

“Majesty!” the
sergeant said in alarm, holding her back.

Elandra looked at
him, and hastily he released her arm. His square, honest face turned as red as
his cloak.

“Forgive me,
Majesty,” he said, aghast. “I thought only of your Majesty’s safety.”

Wearily she
thought of the imperial protocols. A man like him could have his hand cut off
for having dared touched her. She was an empress sovereign—by law, equal to the
emperor himself. By law, she could appear only in the midst of her ladies in
waiting, with chancellors in attendance, her protector at her back, and her own
specially picked guardsmen surrounding her. But the Madrun barbarians had ended
imperial law tonight. The empire was falling, and she did not know whether
anything would ever follow protocol again.

Impatiently she
shook her head. “You are forgiven, Sergeant. Please, escort me to my husband
without delay.”

He saluted her.
“Yes, Majesty. At once!”

They strode on,
Baiter with his chin jutting at the military angle and his hand correctly on
his sword hilt, she with her gown a mess and her hair a tangle down her back.
Her eyes were burning. Fatigue lapped at her, a natural reaction after the
stress and exertion she’d undergone, but she wondered if the shadow that had
attacked her and rendered her unconscious for a time had done her more harm
than she suspected. She still felt strangely unwell and shaken from the
encounter. If Caelan had not been with her to protect her...

With a fresh
shiver of alarm, she drove away thoughts of the Traulander. There was no time
to think of him now, no time to wonder. He was no ordinary man, of that she was
certain. Just remembering his confrontation with the evil priest Sien sent chills
through her. Lord Sien had used dark magic. That alone was terrifying. But
Caelan had countered with something else, something indescribable. For an
instant, he had even vanished before her eyes, as though he was never there.

And when he
reappeared a moment later, it had been as though he had come back from a far,
far place. Ice crystals had glittered in his hair and eyebrows. His blue eyes
had been stony, merciless, implacable. In his eyes, she had looked for the man
she knew and had not found him. Until then, she had trusted him completely,
believing in his loyalty and devotion without question. He had risked his own
life to save hers. He had brought her here to safety against all odds. Yet in
the blink of an eye, he had unleashed powers of the unknown, becoming a
stranger who frightened her. The wrath in his face as he turned on Lord Sien
had been terrible to see, yet Sien was already defeated, already cowering.

If nothing else
this horrible night, she was glad to see Sien the traitor slapped down. He deserved
far worse, but his punishment would be by Kostimon’s order, no one else’s. When
that order came, she would rejoice.

Ahead, Kostimon’s
voice rose in fierce argument. She looked past the sergeant and could not see
her husband clearly for the officers surrounding him. Kostimon’s voice rose and
cracked in anger.

Sergeant Baiter
stopped a short distance behind the officers— one wearing gold and one
crimson—and cleared his throat. “Er, Captain—”

“Get the men
ready,” the captain said without glancing around.

Baiter cleared his
throat again. “Captain, the empress is here.”

The officer
whirled around, his mouth dropping open in astonishment.

Elandra recognized
Captain Vysal despite the dirty bandage that swathed half his face. His
breastplate was splattered with dried blood, and his cloak hung in tatters. A
long weal ran down his left forearm, and he was covered with dust and grime.

Glad relief filled
his face. He saluted her. “Majesty! Thank Gault you are safe.”

At his words, the
officer in red and the emperor broke off their shouting match. The officer, a
general with gold stripes creating a magnificent chevron across the back of his
crimson cloak, spun around. Beyond him, Kostimon was sitting on top of a box,
wearing armor also splattered with dried blood, and a cloak of imperial purple
lined with red silk. One side of his face was smudged with dirt, and his white
curls were standing on end as though he’d been jerking his hands through them.

Staring at her,
Kostimon rose to his feet. His yellow eyes widened in confusion. “Fauvina,” he
whispered hoarsely. “You are safe.”

Elandra’s heart
broke at the slip, and she glanced quickly at the officers to see if they heard
it. Of course they had. Their faces were impassive; their eyes held nothing.

Worriedly she
walked forward to her husband and took his gnarled, dirty hands in hers.

“Fauvina,” he
said, smiling at her in pathetic gratitude, “you have come.”

“I am here,” she
said unsteadily. Fear made her cold. If the shock of tonight’s attack had
broken Kostimon’s mind, what was to become of them? “Come and sit down.”

But Kostimon had
his purple boots well planted, and he refused to move. “You have brought the
army from Gialta?” he asked eagerly. “A counterforce, to smash the enemy?”

With all her heart
she wished she had. But she could not bring herself to lie, not even to comfort
him. “No,” she said softly. “I am Elandra, and I come alone.”

His fingers
tightened on her wrist, digging in. “Ela,” he said suddenly in a changed tone.
“Of course. Ela!”

“Yes,” she said,
forcing a smile through tears. “Your Ela.”

The emperor’s
yellow eyes narrowed and grew fierce. Pushing her away, he advanced on the
general.

“Paz!” he shouted.
“You damned lazy incompetent! You told me she was dead, that all the women were
dead—taken in the first assault. You never checked, did you?”

The general’s
mouth opened, but he said nothing. His eyes met Elandra’s shocked ones, only to
slide away. “The reports came to me. I had no reason to doubt them—”

“What else have
you lied to me about?” Kostimon demanded furiously. “Persuading me to break off
the defense, to run and hide like a peasant afraid of the dark. Bah! Vysal,
tell me the truth. What is left of our forces?”

“Sir!” Snapping to
attention, Vysal said, “They were scattered in the initial assaults, and
deployed in small pockets of resistance.”

“What the hell is
this?” Kostimon roared. “I know how the Madrun devils fight. They surround, cut
off, and massacre. Are you telling me the Guard cooperated like sheep?”

“It was by your
order, Majesty,” Vysal said nervously.

Red flared in
Kostimon’s face. He raised his fists. “I gave no such order! What is—”

“You have been
betrayed on all sides,” Elandra broke in. “Your dispatches were false. Your
most trusted advisers were either misled or have joined the conspiracy. Many of
the Guard have gone over to the enemy rather than be slaughtered.”

Kostimon turned on
her, and the anger in his face sagged away. “Would you also lie to me, my
dear?” he asked more quietly. “Have you been a part of this?”

She gasped, too
outraged at first to deny it. She had come this far, had escaped fire and
demons and the attacks of men. She felt as though she had been running all
night, and she would not be insulted now.

“It is true,”
General Paz said swiftly. “She has conspired from the first with Prince Tirhin
against your Majesty. They plan an alliance with—”

“That is not
true!” Elandra said. “How dare you accuse me of such wickedness?”

The general met
her angry gaze without flinching. A sneer curled his thin lips. “The oldest story
in the world. A son, impatient for his inheritance. A young wife, beautiful and
alluring, bound to a husband so much older. Is it not natural they should turn
to each other?”

Elandra found
herself shaking with fury. The top of her head felt icy cold, while the rest of
her was on fire. That someone could stand before her and utter these bold lies
to her face was unbelievable. And yet the cruelties of her childhood had taught
her how to hide hurt, how to keep her face a mask when she had to, how to stiffen
her lips to keep them from trembling, how to fight back tears. She could see
Kostimon listening, could see the calculating shift in his gaze as he began to
wonder. She wanted to grip him by the arms and shake him. Was he under some
spell that he could swallow such slander? But she must control her emotions if
she was to survive. She must think, and quickly, in order to find some way to
convince him of her innocence.

“Why have I risked
life and limb to come here to you, if what the general says is true?” she
asked.

“No doubt she has
led the Madruns directly here to our hiding place,” the general said.

“Then we have even
less time to make our escape,” Vysal said.

Tears stung
Elandra’s eyes. Was the loyal captain now turning against her too? Was there no
one to believe her?

She glanced about
for Hovet, knowing she could appeal to the gruff old protector. But for the
first time, she realized he was missing. Her gaze shot around the cavern,
darting from face to face, but his sour, weathered countenance was nowhere to
be seen. If he was not here, neither at the emperor’s heels nor within the
emperor’s sight, then he must be dead. Regret passed through her. For all his
surly manners, he had been a faithful man, true and brave all his life.

“Ela,” the emperor
said harshly, “why do you come to me like this, without your attendants,
without your guard? Where is your protector?”

“Where is yours?”
she retorted.

Her defiance
reddened his face again. “Hovet died in battle, saving my life,” the emperor
replied, his tone a rebuke.