Shadow War (10 page)

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 sunshine, 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
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 fashionable 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 fashionable
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 punishing 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 god. 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,
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 shiver 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 passing 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 passed 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.