Realm of Light (2 page)

“Rander is also
dead,” she told him. “My life I owe to him and to another guardsman who saw me
safely across the compound.”

“No one could get
across,” General Paz said. “We saw it overrun. And her part of the palace was
on fire. I tell your Majesty that this miraculous arrival of the empress now is
part of some devious trick. Do not trust her-—”

“Take care, Paz,”
Kostimon snapped. “You are accusing your empress of infamy. Without proof, you
will see your tongue cut out if you continue.”

Suddenly pale, the
general shut his mouth and frowned.

Despite Kostimon’s
rebuke, Elandra knew the general would go on dripping poison into the emperor’s
ear at every opportunity. He was anxious to conceal his own duplicity and
incompetence by accusing her. That he should even be allowed to utter his
slander infuriated her; by now his head should have been struck from his
shoulders. But Kostimon remained lenient with him. That in itself was a warning
to her that she must do something to thwart Paz’s deviltry once and for all.

Lifting her chin,
she said, “I will submit to truth-light, if the general will do the same.”

Consternation
flashed across all the men’s faces.

“Ela!” the emperor
said in exasperation. “Would you act like a peasant on top of all our problems?
You stand here in rags, your hair looking like—like I know not what—and
announce you will submit to examination? Are you guilty, that you should abase
yourself this way?”

“No, I am
innocent,” she replied defiantly. “And I am impatient with this hypocrisy. Why
not throw the truth-light over me?

If this coward is
allowed to denounce me, why can I not prove my innocence and loyalty?”

“An empress does
not need to prove her—”

“Yes, yes, so says
the law, but you listen to him, Kostimon!” she said in fresh anger. “You listen!
Is there humiliation to exceed that? I will endure the examination.” She swung
around and pointed at the general. “Will he?”

Paz glared at her.
“Am I not of high rank?” he retorted. “Why should I submit when—”

“Silence!” the
emperor shouted. “Vysal, pass the word for Lord Sien to attend me immediately.”

Vysal saluted and
hurried away.

The general glared
at Elandra, then sniffed in disdain. He focused his gaze on the far wall, where
ancient gruesome faces were carved in the stone like silent watchers.

She started to say
that Lord Sien would not be available, but something in Kostimon’s expression
silenced her.

The emperor turned
away from Elandra and began to pace back and forth among the stacks of boxes
and bundles. She glimpsed money bags and jewelry cases of exquisite woods.
Clothes chests with travel straps stood nearby. Even though everything had been
hastily assembled and was far from representing Kostimon’s usual amount of
baggage when he traveled, there was far too much for someone fleeing into exile.
She saw no pack animals, no servants. Who was to carry it all?

She counted the
milling men and horses and realized there were not even enough mounts for
everyone. Who, then, was to be left behind?

Elandra stood
there, tired and dirty, and began to understand that she was now a refugee. Her
home was burning. She had no servants, no clothing save what was on her back,
no goods, no money or jewels, no property.

All of it suddenly
overwhelmed her. She saw again faithful Rander Malk, so anxious to please in
his new post as her protector, dying almost at her feet as the shadow demon
strangled him. She felt again the heat of the flames and smelled the thick
smoke filling her bedchamber. Her ears rang with the war cries of the Madruns
as Caelan fought them down the stairs. She remembered the hideous touch ofthe
shadow’s fingers upon her throat, the metallic taste of blood on her tongue
where she bit herself in her struggles.

Her lips trembled,
and she pressed her fingers to them, swaying as she fought her own exhausted
emotions.

Sergeant Baiter
came running up and saluted the general. “Five minutes until the men are ready,
sir.”

Paz nodded. “The
emperor’s horse?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve
attended to it myself. And my own mount will go to the empress.”

Elandra swung around,
the tears on her face forgotten in her gratitude. “Sergeant—”

“Nonsense,” Paz
snapped as though she had not spoken. “We need all the able-bodied fighting men
possible. Keep the assigned order. Sergeant. Make no changes. And tie on the
emperor’s saddlebags for him.”

“Sir!” Saluting,
Baiter cast Elandra a swift, apologetic glance before he strode to the
emperor’s side.

Still sunk in
thought, Kostimon looked up at the sergeant. “Lord Sien has come?”

“No, sir. Which
saddlebags have you selected to take?”

“Am I to run for
my life like a pauper?” Kostimon roared loudly enough to make everyone pause
and look. “Great Gault, is it not enough that I was convinced to fall back when
I should have held? Is it not enough that I was persuaded to save myself when
my men have died without me? Is it not enough that I abandoned wife and
concubines for expediency? Is it not enough that I cower down here in a hole
like a damned mouse while those murdering brutes pillage and sack my own
palace? And now, am I to flee without the means of preserving anything I have
built all these centuries? Am I to run like a beetle seeking a new crevice,
without my treasures, without my maps, without my literature, without my
possessions? Be damned to you! I shall not go!”

“Perhaps, Majesty,”
Baiter ventured nervously, “if each man were to strap one item behind his
saddle—”

“No,” Paz said.
“Begging your Majesty’s pardon, but fighting men cannot be burdened with
nonessentials—”

“Nonessentials!”
the emperor shouted. “Murdeth and Fury, man, why don’t you say
I
am a
nonessential? These foolish objections do nothing but delay us. Where is Sien?
Sergeant, see that he comes at once.”

Saluting, Baiter
hurried away as though glad to escape.

Vysal reappeared,
hurrying through the cluster of guardsmen. He looked increasingly pale beneath
his bandage. Concerned for him and his injury, Elandra wished the others would
have more consideration than to send him running back and forth like an errand
boy.

“Majesty,” he
said, saluting the emperor and sounding out of breath. “Lord Sien is—is not at
leisure to come. And I think the Madruns are in the temple.”

Kostimon received
this news with a deepening scowl, but Paz stepped forward.

“I told you she
would lead them to us, and she has!” Paz said, glaring at Elandra as he spoke.
“There is no time to spare. Captain, mount the troops.”

Vysal swung away
and beckoned to Baiter, who came running back. “Mount the troops.”

“Sir!” Saluting,
Baiter spun about and bawled orders at the men with such vigor his voice echoed
from the ceiling.

The men scrambled
to line up, each one standing at attention with his hand on his mount’s bridle.
Fifteen men, not counting the emperor or her or the officers, and only twelve
horses. Elandra counted them again to be sure, and with a sinking heart
wondered who was to be left behind.

Baiter’s
experienced eye ran along his meager troops, and he nodded in curt
satisfaction, then walked over to personally check the emperor’s saddle. He
tightened the girths another notch, retied the strings holding the heavy
saddlebags, and next turned his attention to the general’s mount.

By the time he’d
finished this, the emperor was coming with Paz in tow.

“Mount up!” Baiter
shouted, and the men with horses obeyed. The rest stood by, impassive and ready
for war, their gauntleted hands resting on their sword hilts.

“Here, Majesty,”
the sergeant said to Elandra, leading a raw-boned sorrel up to her. He handed
her the reins. “I’ll shorten the stirrups for you.”

“Thank you,” she
said.

But the general
pointed his whip at the sergeant. “Stop that!” he commanded. “Captain Vysal,
withdraw this man.”

The captain’s face
tightened visibly beneath the bandage. It was plain to Elandra how loathe he
was to become caught in this conflict. The guardsmen’s eyes were shifting in the
torchlight, watchful. From her father, Elandra knew that such disagreements
among the commanding officers always led to a loss of morale in the fighting
men. They could not afford to be seen bickering, yet Kostimon was making no
effort to stop it. Did she dare try to intervene?

“Vysal!” the
general said sharply. “You heard my order. Obey it.”

Saluting in
response to the general’s command, Captain Vysal snapped his fingers at the
sergeant, who stepped back.

Paz glared at
Elandra first, then at the emperor. “I’ll leave not one able-bodied man behind.
I need fighters, not wailing women.”

Astonished,
Elandra stared at him and wondered if he had gone mad. “I am your empress,” she
said in outrage.

“You are a
traitor!” he shouted, red-faced. He jerked the reins from her hand, making the
sorrel horse shy back nervously. “You could not have crossed the palace
compound alone, by natural means, and arrived here alive. That means you are in
league with the enemy. You led them here. You have betrayed us!”

Furious, Elandra
looked at the emperor, who stood frowning and silent. “Will you not defend me?”
she asked.

Kostimon frowned
at the general. “Say no more against the empress.”

Elandra waited for
more, but Kostimon fell silent again. In astonishment, she realized he intended
to say nothing else in her defense. Did he think it enough, this mild rebuke?
As support of her, it was paltry indeed.

Her face went
stiff; her eyes burned. She clenched her fists down at her sides, hiding them
in the folds of her skirts. So she was to be abandoned, like unwanted chattel.
The promises, the ceremonial words, the crowning itself were all as dead leaves
blown away in the wind.

She wanted to
rage, to throw things, to weep. But she must not give way to her emotions now.
She must act like an empress, not a woman.

“Sergeant Baiter,”
she said quietly, her voice so tightly regulated it sounded dead. “I shall not
require your horse.”

Frowning in
dismay, Baiter took the reins from the smirking General Paz. The sergeant’s
face told all that lay in his heart. “But, Majesty—”

Elandra’s gaze
moved to Kostimon, old and half-confused, his mind alternating between bouts of
imperial temper and indecision. He remained emperor still, but now he ruled a
lost empire. He was no longer capable of defending himself or her or his
domain.

Fresh tears burned
her eyes, but she swiftly blinked them back.

“Go quickly,
husband,” she said. “Ride to safety while there is still a chance. I bid you
well.”

Looking
bewildered, Kostimon snapped his fingers impatiently. “Get on the horse. There
is no time for such—”

“You have an
empire to defend,” she said, trying to keep her tone steady and noble while
Paz’s smirk widened. “As the general has said, it’s swordsmen you need beside
you, not an ineffectual woman.”

“Don’t be absurd,”
Kostimon said. “Fauvina—I mean, Ela, come here at once.”

But she turned her
back on him, not certain she could control her composure much longer. She
walked away, ignoring his call, her head held high and her back straight.

“Who serves the empress
sovereign?” called out a strong, masculine voice over the general noise.

Sudden silence
fell over the cavern. Men’s heads turned. They craned to see.

Recognizing
Caelan’s voice, Elandra stopped in her tracks and stood still. Her breath came
raggedly in her throat. She dared not glance back at the emperor.

“What?” said
Kostimon from behind her. “What? Who said that? Who speaks?”

“Who serves the
empress sovereign?” Caelan called out again. His voice rang off the walls.
“Without both emperor and empress to rule, this land is fallen. Which man of
you will leave her behind? Which man of you is both traitor and coward?”

A growl of assent
broke out among the soldiers. Sergeant Baiter and Captain Vysal exchanged
glances, then looked at the emperor. Elandra herself stepped aside as Caelan
came striding forward from the shadows.

He carried his
drawn sword in his hand. His cloak swirled about his ankles with every step. As
he walked into the circle of torchlight, he looked somehow taller, leaner, and
more fierce than he had ever appeared before. His blue eyes blazed with a wrath
that was all the more terrible because of its coldness. Elandra saw something
bleak and deadly in his face. It was the same look he had worn when he refused
to serve as her protector. Yet here he came, to save her once again.

Triumph blazed
inside her, and her head lifted higher in renewed confidence. This man served
her. No matter what he said, he was her protector.

The soldiers
parted at his approach. Even Balter stepped back. Caelan strode past Vysal,
then past Elandra without glancing at her. A few feet short of the emperor, he
stopped and stood towering over Kostimon, fierce, proud, and grim.

The emperor
stepped back. “Who are you? How dare you bring a drawn sword into my presence?
Hovet—”

Kostimon’s voice
choked off abruptly. He glared a moment, his jaw working. Chagrin warred with
anger in his face.

Then his gaze
snapped to General Paz. “Who is this man? How dare he speak to me unbidden?”

The general glared
at Captain Vysal. “Identify this man at once.”

“You know me,”
Caelan said before Vysal could respond. Caelan’s gaze never left the emperor’s.
His youthful strength and vigor made Kostimon look shrunken and almost feeble.

Glaring, Caelan
said, “You know by what right I speak unbidden. I brought your Majesty warning
of this attack, and you heeded it not. I told your Majesty the Madruns were
coming, and you ignored me. You had time to send for your armies, but you did
not. I told your Majesty there were traitors close to you, men who would open
the secret ways of the palace to your enemies. You sat and did nothing.
Nothing,
until now when your throne has been shattered and your palace
burns. Your Imperial Guard has been massacred, and you bleat like the coward
you are.”