Realm of Light (34 page)

“No wonder she
brought him with her.”

The comments ran
on, growing freer and more ribald. Caelan closed his ears, feeling his rage
pulse against his throat. He jerked against the iron rings, ready to yank them
out by the roots if he could. He budged them not at all, but the violence in
him and the loud rattle of the rings startled everyone. Even the man with the
whip stepped back.

Caelan looked over
his shoulder and met Pier’s gaze. “This is not worthy of you,” he said.

“You are an arena
champion,” Pier replied. “You fight well in the ring. You should have stayed
there. Challenging your betters is not worthy of
you.”

Caelan stared at
him in disbelief. Was that all this was? A reprimand to a man Pier thought was
a slave? Did he think he could insult Elandra by publicly whipping her
companion?

The rage boiled
hotter, until Caelan felt his bones would melt. His fists clenched with the
violence he could not unleash.

“You will regret this,”
he said to Pier.

The warlord turned
away with a little shrug, unimpressed. “Forty lashes for his impertinence.
Begin.”

At that moment,
the clouds parted overhead. Sunlight slanted down upon Caelan alone, isolating
him from the crowd, which murmured and shifted back in wonder.

“Look at his
back!” someone shouted.

“Look at the
imperial mark!”

“His brand is
glowing.”

“It’s glowing!”

Some fought their
way clear, running and shouting for their
jinjas
to come. The rest stood
there and stared, open-mouthed.

Caelan could not
see what they were pointing at, but he could feel the place on his shoulder
blade where his slavery mark had been canceled. It burned like fire, as hot as
the moment the hissing brand had been pressed to his skin. His rage boiled
inside him, burning him from the inside out.

They had no right
to do this. No right to commit this act.

And he would not
submit to it.

He strained
against the ring bolts until the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged and
the cords in his neck snapped taut. A shudder went through him as he poured all
his rage into this effort. The sunlight seemed to feed him its heat and
strength.

The wood groaned,
splintered, and cracked. The bolts pulled free suddenly, sending pieces of wood
flying. Shouting aloud, Caelan dropped his arms and whirled around. He broke
the ropes that fastened his wrists to the rings and slung them away. He was
free and savage, his pulse pounding in his ears, his vision a blur.

Men cried out and
fled from him, pushing and shoving each other in panic. Pier and his men stood
fast, looking wary and frightened, but holding their ground.

The sunlight
broadened as the clouds parted more, and Pier now stood illuminated also. For a
moment his light brown eyes changed to black, and he stood revealed as a skeleton.
Black tentacles curled about his bones, thrusting out through the empty eye
sockets in his skull. Then Caelan’s vision faded, and Pier was a man
again—intelligent and dangerous. His hand was on his sword hilt, but he had not
yet drawn his weapon.

He glanced at the
man holding the whip. “Hit him. Drive him back.”

The man shook out
the whip expertly. Seconds later, the braided leather came whistling at Caelan.
Caelan’s gaze was locked on Pier. He didn’t even bother to duck.

But when the lash
struck him, it charred instantly to ashes that blew away in the wind.

More people
screamed, calling on their gods for mercy. They trampled away, and even Pier’s
men backed up.

“Lord, come away.
This is surely a demon.”

But Pier
apparently did not listen. He drew his sword and charged Caelan.

A quick glance to
the side showed Caelan his sword belt lying on the ground. He reached for it,
and Exoner almost seemed to leap into his hand. Caelan turned and barely
managed to parry Pier’s sword.

Metal clanged
loudly, echoing off the stone buildings and silencing the cries of those
fleeing. Many ran all the way across the courtyard to the base of the steps,
but went no farther. Silence gradually fell over everyone. Even the soldiers
kept their distance.

Caelan and Pier
circled each other in the strange circle of sunlight. Pier’s eyes were still
black and unworldly, as though something unnameable had taken possession of
him. Caelan felt only heat and fury. The sunlight burned his skin and seemed to
fill his thoughts until he knew nothing else.

He attacked,
swinging Exoner with both hands. Pier met the blow, and they were at it, swords
flashing rhythmically back and forth to the grunts of the fighters. Sweat flew
in droplets illuminated in the sunlight. The air felt heavy and thick, like
trying to breathe water. Magic crawled through it. Caelan could smell it like a
scorched scent overlaying the fragrance of recent rain upon the pavement.

Someone was
calling frantically, “Bring the
jinjas!
Bring the
jinjas!
Hurry!”

He did not understand
why those peculiar little creatures were wanted, but he could spare no thought
for it now. Normally he judged a man’s intention by the shift in his eyes, but
Pier’s black eyes were like opaque holes, impossible to judge. Caelan frowned
and barely evaded the man’s quick lunge. What possessed him? Either darkness
lurked in this palace, or else Pier had brought it with him. Yet his first
impression of the man had been favorable.

Caelan attacked in
a furious flurry of strength and complex maneuvers that drove Pier back.
Spectators fled before them, and Pier stumbled, barely parried as Caelan drove
him harder, then mistakenly left himself open.

Caelan leaped at
the opportunity, his sword thrusting deep, but at the last second Pier shifted
his weight. Exoner did no more than slice along his ribs. Black blood spurted
forth, and where it touched the Choven-forged metal, flames burst up.

Pier screamed and
staggered back, clutching his side. For a second his anguished eyes met
Caelan’s, and they were their normal color again. Then the blackness engulfed
them once more.

In a second Caelan
realized what he had to do. Even as Pier slowly straightened and lifted his
weapon to fight again, Caelan was charging.

He took advantage
of his greater reach and heavier weight to tackle the man, heedless of Pier’s
sword, which raked across his ribs. Caelan gripped Pier by the front of his
tunic, twisting it hard at the man’s throat, and slammed him into the wall of
the stables, pinning his sword arm beneath him.

Pier swore and
struggled, but Caelan braced his feet and held him bodily. Then he pressed the
flat of his sword against Pier’s wounded side.

Arching his back,
Pier screamed a shrill, piercing cry as though his soul was being torn from
him.

Flames and steam
rose between them as Exoner burned away the poison inside Pier. A terrible
stench filled the air—not from burned flesh but from something much worse,
something inhuman.

A man wearing
Pier’s colors dared grab at Caelan’s arm. “In the name of Gault, desist! Take
me, demon, and let my master go!”

Caelan glanced at
him, and bared his teeth. “Get back,” he said, spitting out the words.

The man turned
pale and backed away.

But by then
someone else was shoving a group of
jinjas
forward. “Stop the magic!
Stop it!”

The small green
creatures stared at Caelan and did nothing.

Relieved, he
turned his attention back to Pier. The screams stopped. When Pier sagged
against the wall, Caelan took his sword away. Pier was as white as the
limestone wall behind him. He looked at Caelan as though he would speak, then
swooned.

Gently Caelan
lowered him to the ground.

Men rushed closer,
but Caelan glared at them. “Stay back!”

“Monster!” one
shouted back.

“Demon!” another
cried.

“Will you eat
him?”

“Lord Pier is
dead!”

“He isn’t dead,”
Caelan said grimly, touching the rapid pulse in Pier’s wrist. “Not yet. Just
stay back!”

But now the
jinjas
approached him. They bared their small pointed teeth and stared at
him with bright eyes.

“No fear, master,”
one of them said. “We protect.”

And they formed a
ring around Caelan and Pier, keeping the others away.

Consternation
seemed to flow through the crowd, but Caelan ignored it. He was grateful to
have the creatures on his side.

Gingerly he tugged
at the burned edges of Pier’s tunic, parting the cloth to look at the wound. It
was well cauterized, the bleeding stopped. Although burned and raw, the skin
looked human. Caelan saw no more black blood.

Hardly daring to
hope, he peeled back one of Pier’s eyelids. Although the eye was rolled back,
it looked a normal color.

One of the
jinjas
crouched beside Caelan and put its narrow hand on Pier’s chest. “My
master,” it said.

Caelan frowned.
“Is the darkness in him gone?”

“Mostly. I will
take the rest.” With that, the
jinja
stretched itself across Pier’s
chest and began to utter an eerie whine that made Caelan wince.

Hastily he backed
away from whatever spell the
jinja
was weaving, for its magic was not
compatible with his own.

Wiping off Exoner,
Caelan slid the sword into its scabbard. The clouds closed over him again with
a muted rumble of thunder, and it began to sprinkle.

Silence stretched
over the courtyard. The crowd stared at Caelan in wonder and fear. He frowned
back at them, not certain what they had seen. There should be something he
could say, to reassure everyone and dissipate the tension that was like a wall
against him. But no words came to his tongue.

Looking over their
heads at the steps rising up to the palace, he saw a woman standing near the
top, her full skirts billowing in the wind. His heart lightened at the sight of
her; then he frowned again.

What would Elandra
say about this debacle? He had not meant to alienate her people. Now they
feared him, and soon that would turn them against her also. He had let her
down, and he was sorry.

His gaze swept across
the faces staring at him. “Lord Pier is not dead. Let me pass.”

They parted for
him and he walked alone, his head held high, his shoulders tense in expectation
of an attack.

But no one dared
move against him this time. He walked up the endless steps as the rain
strengthened to a light patter, cleansing him of sweat and blood. The cut
across his ribs stung, but it was hardly more than a scrape, and he ignored the
discomfort.

A few steps short
of the top, he stopped and stood there so that she could look down at him. A
strange expression lay on her face. She seemed unaware of the rain pelting her,
and her eyes held pain. He bowed his head to her, ashamed.

“I am sorry,” he
said.

“Surely thou art a
god,” she whispered.

His head snapped
up. “No! Elandra, do not blaspheme.”

“I saw everything.
You were a column of light. He was a pool of darkness.” Her eyes shifted away,
then met his again. “It was a prophecy, Caelan. A prophecy of what comes.”

“Whatever
possessed Lord Pier,” Caelan said thoughtfully, trying to pretend he felt no
shiver of fear down his spine, “I think perhaps it possesses Prince Tirhin as
well. My sister is right. I must confront him without delay.”

She nodded, her
frown deepening. “We will go. But you must meet my father first.”

Only then did he
remember the old man was dying. “Beloved—”

“He has asked for
you,” she said. Pleading filled her eyes. “Please ... the physicians are such
fools. Can you heal him?”

“No.”

Her breath caught
audibly, and he realized she was fighting not to cry. “You know more than
they,” she said. “You know many of the arts of healing. You do! At least try.”

He took her hand
in his. “Let us go in out of the rain. You’re getting soaked.”

She shook her
head, but he escorted her back under the portico.

“Try, Caelan,” she
pleaded. “At least try. We need him.”

“I cannot heal
others, Elandra. That is not my gift.”

“Are you sure?”
she asked him. “Oh, please, please try. Have mercy and go to him. Please.”

He frowned, ready
to protest further, but she was not listening to him. He remembered how he had
grieved for his own father, whom he had not even loved as Elandra loved hers,
and he could not refuse again.

“Let me clean up.”

She gripped his
hand and drew him along. “No delays. Come now.”

“But, Elandra, if
you want his blessing, I would look better clean and clothed.”

She wasn’t
listening. “I will have you go to him while the light still shines a little on
your skin. If you could save me within the realm of shadow, and if you have
released Lord Pier from the grasp of darkness, then surely you can also save my
father.”

He sighed. A
physical injury was not the same as an injury to the soul. But Elandra’s
stubbornness was a wall around her.

Together they
walked through the immense palace that rivaled Kostimon’s in splendor and size.
Two Gialtan guards trailed after them, although no one sought to stop them.
Caelan did not think he would impress anyone with rain, sweat, and blood drying
on him, his tunic torn off his back, and his hair hanging in his eyes.

In the
antechamber, the physicians looked startled to see them. One of the men held
open an ancient book with a crumbling leather binding and a lock and chain that
swung freely. He paused with his long index finger still resting on one of the
vellum pages.

Caelan glimpsed
strange, arcane writings, and a sense of magic hovered in the air above the
man’s head.