Realm of Light (41 page)

Sunlight shone
through the windows, rare at this time of year. She walked through it, and it
struck fiery glints in her auburn hair and shimmered over the gown of gold silk
that she wore. Her eyes were like fire, and when she met her father’s gaze he
frowned at her in inquiry.

Saying nothing,
she went to stand beside him.

He bent his
grizzled head to her. “Daughter?” he asked quietly.

“He’s coming,” she
replied. Her voice was like glass, smooth and cool, giving nothing away.

Albain’s frown
deepened, but he did not press her further.

By then Caelan was
coming in. He paused just inside the doorway and stood there in unconscious
male magnificence. Dressed like a Gialtan warrior, he still looked foreign and
exotic. His shoulders seemed to fill the doorway. His blue eyes were wary but
assured.

The moment he
appeared, the atmosphere changed. Every warlord present squared his shoulders,
drew himself taller, let his hand fall with false idleness onto his sword hilt.
No one had forgotten yesterday. The air felt male and violent.

Elandra sensed it,
and her scorn grew. They might as well pound their chests and scream at each
other. Or perhaps, like yesterday, they would go outside and fight. Men were
such fools.

It was Albain who
should have made the first move, but Pier stepped forward to face Caelan.
Almost of equal height, the two men eyed each other, their faces giving nothing
away.

Elandra glanced at
her father, curious to see how he tolerated Pier’s actions. Albain was first
warlord of Gialta; Pier was only second. Why must Pier constantly test Albain,
constantly push?

“You enter this
council room by permission, not by right,” Pier said to Caelan. “Is that
understood?”

“Yes.”

Pier looked as
though he would say something else; then he stepped aside.

Elandra glanced at
her father again. His expression was as stony as Caelan’s.

He stood where he
was and let Caelan advance to him. Caelan’s stride was like a
panther’s—graceful, lithe, hinting at explosive strength. In spite of herself,
Elandra could feel her admiration returning. There was no welcome for him in
this room, but he did not seem to care. She told herself that this was a man
\yho had walked into arenas and been stared at by tens of thousands of people.
This was a man who had impressed Emperor Kostimon. A few Gialtan warlords were
no match for such experience.

They had
all—except Albain—witnessed his tremendous strength and fighting prowess
yesterday, although it was only a hint of what he could do. There was not a man
present who did not envy him, who did not long to take him.

He stopped in
front of Elandra and Albain. Not once did his gaze flicker to her.

Respectfully he
bowed to the older man and waited for Albain to acknowledge him. He showed no
impatience when Albain let the silence stretch out. Albain studied him openly,
almost rudely. But if he thought to disconcert Caelan, he did not realize
Caelan had learned to endure worse examinations on the auction block.

Caelan’s indifference
to the scrutiny was the best response he could have chosen, made better by the
fact that it was natural and honest, not an attempt to impress Albain.

“So you are the
man who saved my life,” Albain said.

It was a public
declaration of indebtedness. Elandra caught her breath. Her father was moving
quickly, showing his hand to them all.

“Thank you,”
Albain said.

“You are welcome,”
Caelan replied.

Albain grunted,
still not looking impressed. “I understand you should also be thanked for
saving the life of my daughter, the Empress Elandra.”

“That was my
duty,” Caelan replied in the toneless way of a soldier. “I need no thanks for
that.”

A gasp went
through the room, and even Elandra was startled. In that casual remark, Caelan
had tossed away an incredible debt. Albain offered him everything in that
admission—his wealth, his lands, his political support—and Caelan refused it.

Whether he wanted
to be thought of as a king or not, he was acting like one. The gesture was a
grand one, something most ordinary men would not have been able to make.

Albain’s eyebrows
shot up. He seemed nonplussed and glanced at Elandra with a shrug.

She said nothing.
She was not going to help them.

“Very well,”
Albain said finally, clearing his throat. “Let us get to the point. The empress
has asked me for an army and full support in overthrowing Tirhin’s claim to the
throne.”

An angry buzz went
through the room, but Albain ignored it. He went on, glaring at Caelan. “My
warlords are opposed to civil war. They feel it is in the best interests of the
empire as a whole to accept Tirhin’s coup and allow him to be crowned. I will
say that I think neither solution ideal.”

Someone, probably
Pier, snorted at that last remark.

Albain’s scowl
deepened. “The Madruns must be driven out and kept out. We may have to reduce
our borders until the army is restructured. There are many problems in many
areas. But what is most important is that we do not allow Kostimon’s death to
leave us in chaos much longer. Or we will have no empire to squabble about.”

“We’ve been
through that,” Pier said impatiently. “We’re all agreed on that point.”

Albain ignored the
interruption. His gaze never left Caelan’s. “I have promised my army to the
empress—”

“You have not
promised mine!” Pier said furiously.

“Nor mine!” cried
another man.

Albain held up his
hand in an angry demand for silence; then his gaze returned to Caelan. “If you
have any claims, make them now.”

“Why should he?”
Pier demanded, unable to keep quiet. “This Traulander is no—”

Caelan’s head
lifted. “I know Prince Tirhin well,” he said to Albain. “I witnessed his
plotting with the Madrun ambassador. I know he bribed and suborned officials
and chancellors as well as army officers to look the other way as the
barbarians were let across the border. He also—”

“Tirhin is not on
trial here,” Pier said.

Caelan turned on
him so fiercely the warlord backed up a step. “If you will bend your knee to
the man and call him your emperor, you had better try him!”

Silence fell over
the room. Caelan scowled at each one of them in turn. “Try him to the depths of
his soul before you give him your fealty oath and put him on the throne. Search
out whether his allegiance is to the light or to the realm of .shadow, for this
world depends on the answer.”

Several of the men
frowned thoughtfully, but Pier’s eyes had gone Jiot. “You accuse him of
belonging to the shadows?”

Caelan never
hesitated. “Yes. As you did, until yesterday.”

Pier flushed
scarlet, but his response was lost as the others started talking at once.
Albain leaned over and pounded his fist on the table for quiet.

“Caelan,” he said
gruffly, “where do you place your allegiance?”

“I follow the
empress.”

His blue eyes were
as clear and sure as an eagle’s. Elandra looked at him and felt her own sting
with tears. Hastily she restrained them. Her emotions clawed in her throat, and
for the first time she was grateful for the customs that required her silence.
At that moment she would not have trusted herself to speak. She still did not
forgive him, but she realized she could not stop loving him either.

“Then enough of
this yammering,” Albain said. “You’ve all had your say. Now I will speak.”

“You’ve already
told us where your support lies,” Pier interrupted. “That doesn’t mean I—”

“Where is your
oath?” Albain shouted. His face turned scarlet, and his single eye glared at
the warlord. “Tell me! Where is your oath?”

Pier’s mouth
clamped so tight that the muscles bunched in his jaw. He glared back at Albain,
resentment like flame in his eyes. “In your service,” he said at last.

“Aye! Renar! Where
is your oath?”

The smaller man’s
gaze fell. “In your service.”

“And the rest of
you?” Albain said, his voice hammering at them. “In my service. My decision
stands for all of you. I would prefer you serve me willingly, but by the gods,
I’ll force each and every one of you if I must. Well? Will you now break your
oaths of fealty to me? Do any of you dare?”

No one spoke; then
Pier cleared his throat.

Beside her father,
Elandra closed her eyes with dread. She did not want Pier to challenge her father
for supremacy of the province. Not now, not when Albain was still not fully
recovered.

“Well, Pier?”
Albain said gruffly. He stood there like an aging bull, showing no fear. “Has
the time come?”

An urgent knocking
on the door interrupted them. The door opened without permission, in itself a
grave breach of orders, and a captain appeared, saluting smartly.

Albain roared in
fury and kicked over his chair. “What in blazes do you mean, coming in here
like this? Get out! I’ll have your rank for this, you fool!”

The captain turned
white, but he didn’t flinch. “My lord, I am sent by the general. You must come
at once.”

“The devil I will.
Get out!”

“My lord.” The
captain swallowed hard. “My lord, the imperial army is outside our gates. You
must come at once, or we fear they will break in.”

“What?” Albain
stared for a moment, then blinked and seemed to recover from his astonishment.
“What the blazes are they doing here? They are supposed to be headed for
Imperia!”

“The general says
to tell you they are demanding the empress.”

Silence gripped
the room. Elandra felt as though she could not breathe. A smile spread across
her face. “At last,” she said in relief. “They have come to offer their
support.”

A fearsome scowl
creased Albain’s face. Ignoring Elandra, he went on glaring at the captain. “Is
it true? Have they come to support her? Or arrest her?”

The captain’s gaze
darted to Elandra even as he shook his head. “I know not—”

“Bah!” Muttering
curses, Albain headed for the door. Glancing at each other, the other warlords
fell in behind him.

At the doorway,
however, Albain paused and looked back at Caelan. “Protect her,” he said.
“Until we know where they stand, be prepared to get her out of sight.”

Caelan nodded, but
Elandra stepped forward. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Albain swept on
without answering, his expression very grim indeed.

Elandra turned on
Caelan. “They would not dare arrest me!” she said indignantly, incensed by her
father’s assumption. “Father is too suspicious. The Lord Commander has come to
give us his aid, and if Father angers him—”

“I have heard the
talk,” Caelan said, breaking in. “Remember what the Thyzarenes said about a
reward for you?”

Elandra shook her
head. “They would not dare!”

“No? And Kostimon
thought that Tirhin would not dare betray him, either.”

Elandra felt cold.
Her hand stole to her throat. “Then we are finished,” she whispered. “If the
army has turned against us—”

“My guess is that
Tirhin wants you—”

“You mean to kill
me?”

“No, Elandra,”
Caelan said in gentle rebuke. “Kostimon himself gave you lessons in strategy.
What do you think?”

She drew away from
him, hating the suspicions rising within her. “You are saying that he wants me
as a prize? Great Gault, not as a bride!”

Caelan nodded
grimly.

“Damn him!” she
said in sudden fury, clenching her fists.

“If Tirhin marries
you, he will avoid the threat of civil war. It is the neatest solution, from
his viewpoint.”

“No!” she shouted,
shoving a chair out of her way. “I won’t be handed over like chattel. I won’t!”

“Elandra—”

Blindly she rushed
from the room and went running down the long gallery, up the stairs, and
outside onto one of the balconies. The bright sunshine made her blink, and she
clutched the stone parapet, gazing out at the imperial army surrounding the
walls in silent menace.

Elandra stared in
disbelief. She had never seen so many soldiers. Their armor and helmets glinted
in the sun; their banners flew; they bristled with weapons. The officers on
horseback with leopard skins behind their saddles rode back and forth, keeping
order. The army stretched up the road as far as she could see, apparently
endless, impossible to count. In row after row, they spread from the walls,
back to the fields, nearly to the very edge of the jungle.

She could not
begin to count them. How many legions? How many tens of thousands of soldiers?
From her vantage point she could see a man in resplendent armor, long crimson
plumes flowing from his helmet to his shoulders, his cloak glittering with rank
stripes, a lion skin behind his saddle, a standard-bearer beside him with the
imperial banner flying above the crossed-spears insignia of the Lord Commander.

Kostimon’s
greatest living general, the supreme leader of the entire imperial force, stood
at Albain’s gates. She could just glimpse her father standing before the Lord
Commander, arguing with vehement gestures.

Her heart sank,
and she knew that her hopes were indeed over.

While the walls of
Albain’s stronghold were immense and tall, impossible to scale, and a symbol of
her father’s considerable power, the infinity of the army diminished it,
threatened it as nothing ever had.

The army had seige
machines and catapults of fire. They could assault the stronghold, batter it
and hold its inhabitants pris- oner until starvation decimated every person
within these walls. Worst of all, with all the warlords of Gialta trapped
inside, the rest of the province was vulnerable.

Elandra wiped away
tears of bitter defeat. How had they marched here without a warning being
given? Had her father’s sentries and scouts all failed in their duties? Or, if
warnings had come while Albain had lain ill, who had received them in his
stead? Lord Pier?