Shadow War (39 page)

Seething, Caelan
stepped onto the precise spot the sergeant was pointing to. “Yes, sir.”

By the end of the
week, the coronation festivities were but a memory and even an unexplained
flurry of war councils had tapered off. Elandra was putting on her cloak and
gloves to go riding, when a chancellor came to her chambers with a low bow.

“Majesty, the
emperor summons your presence at once.”

She nodded and
turned to one of her ladies. “Please send word to the stables to dismiss my
groom.”

The woman curtsied
and went out.

Elandra reached
for the strings of her cloak. “A moment, if you please, sir, while I remove my
cloak and gloves.”

“Nay, Majesty, the
day is cold and you will need them. The emperor awaits you in the armory.”

She glanced up in
quick anticipation, her heart speeding up. A dozen speculations ran through her
mind, but she knew what this meant. Smiling, she said, “I am ready.”

With the man to
escort her, she hurried out of the palace and down the broad steps to the
immense parade ground. Her guardsmen followed close.

It was an overcast
day, gloomy and bitterly cold. Little pellets of sleet hit her face as she
walked. She drew up her hood, huddling inside her fur-lined cloak, and wondered
if winter would ever end. She hated the cold.

But at least on a
dreary day like this she couldn’t see the black cloud that stretched across the
horizon. As an omen, it was bleak indeed. She tried not to think about it, yet
what good did ignoring it do?

As for the rumors
of a Madrun invasion, they had dwindled and were now dismissed as gossip among
the courtiers. Tirhin had not been cast in prison, so Elandra supposed the
whole matter had been a falsehood from the first. She was glad now she had not
involved herself deeply.

The emperor had
been busy and preoccupied. She had scarcely seen him since the coronation. It
was as though she were a detail that had taken much of his attention for a
time, but now could be dispensed with. Her life had changed little from the way
it had been before the festivities, except she could come and go largely as she
pleased.

But where was
there to go? What was there to do?

She was angry at
being barred from the council meetings when the chancellors came daily to
advise the emperor. Thus far, her complaints had not been heeded.

Reaching the
armory, she paused while the sentries saluted and opened the doors for her.
Walking inside, she found the air damp and chilly, not much more welcoming than
the outdoors. The chancellor left her with a bow, and she and her guardsmen
walked up the twisting stone stairs to the upper gallery that overlooked the
fighting arena. The air smelled of men’s sweat, horse droppings, and tangy
sawdust.

This was where she
rode her horse when the weather permitted no other option. She found riding
around the rectangular arena boring exercise, but it was better than nothing.
Sometimes, the Imperial Guard trained in here.

When she reached
the gallery, she saw Kostimon standing at the railing, gazing down at the
activity below. Hovet, looking as sour-faced as ever, paced restlessly about
with his hand resting on his sword hilt. Tirhin, handsomely dressed as always,
stood near the emperor.

Surprised, Elandra
paused. She had heard that Tirhin was in disgrace with his father, but evidently
that was not true.

Lord Sien, looking
bored, was also present. She felt distinctly uneasy at seeing him, and more
than a little displeased. Choosing a protector was her business, not his. She
did not want him here.

But she could not
dismiss the man, and that irked her also.

Masking her
emotions as best she could, she approached the party. Tirhin was the first to
notice her arrival.

His expression was
sullen, and he appeared to have lost weight. He was still pale, and he did not
stand quite as straight as usual. He bowed to her, and she curtsied very
slightly.

Hovet and Sien
turned around, both bowing to her. She nodded her head in response and walked
up to Kostimon.

“So the time has
finally come,” she said softly, not wishing to startle him.

He didn’t look
around. “Yes,” he said.

Both of his hands
were clamped on the railing. He seemed intent on watching the light skirmishing
going on below, but at last his yellow eyes swung around to meet hers.

“It is a special
day, when a protector is chosen,” he said.

Over his shoulder
she could see Hovet lift his chin proudly.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“It must be
someone to whom you can entrust your life,” Kostimon went on. “Someone you will
never doubt.” He pointed at the arena. “Five men. See them? The officers have worked
hard to winnow out all but the very best, in terms of intelligence, ability,
and fighting prowess.”

Her gaze ran over
the men shifting about constantly on the sand. The pattern of their grappling
confused her, but she did not wish to show it.

“And I, Majesty,”
Sien said from behind her, “have brought truth-light by which to seal your
choice.”

She forced herself
to give the man a glance of courtesy. “Thank you,” she replied. “That is extra
assurance, which I shall need.”

Her gaze moved to
Hovet, and she gestured for him to come closer. He frowned nervously and
approached, eying the emperor as he did so.

“You can give me
the most practical advice,” she said, smiling at him in hopes of thawing his
icy heart just a little. “What should I look for? What qualities should I
expect?”

For a moment Hovet
looked almost human. He softened visibly and his chest puffed out a bit.
Nodding, he said, “Look at them, and I’ll show your Majesty. See, now, they’re
all good men. Quick on their feet, well muscled. Look at those two, circling.
See how when one moves, the other anticipates him? That’s what you need,
Majesty. A man with instincts and the good sense to act on them. Someone who
talks himself out of his own intuition is no good at your back.”

“I see.”
Fascinated, Elandra watched a moment.

Hovet pointed. “That
big one, over there. The tallest one, see? Now he’s got good reach on him. But
maybe he won’t move as fast as a more compact man. No, he’s quick. Look at
that!”

A flurry broke
out, and one of the men was thrown to the ground. Elandra watched intently,
wishing she understood what she was seeing.

“Well done!” the
emperor called out.

The tall man
glanced up, and Elandra blinked. Disbelieving, she leaned a little farther over
the railing. He looked like the Traulander slave, the man who had begged her to
get him an audience with the emperor. But it couldn’t be.

“Yes, Majesty, it
is,” Lord Sien said softly over her shoulder.

Startled, she
turned around and found the priest much too close. His deep-set eyes were gleaming
as though at a joke.

He nodded. “Yes,
that is the man.”

Wondering anew if
the priest could read minds, she frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“We have been
talking about that man,” Sien said smoothly. “He looks very like Prince Tirhin’s
gladiator. We are curious to see the man more closely.”

Now she did not
have to pretend she was bewildered, for she truly was. “I do not understand.
How could a gladiator be among our guardsmen?”

At her question,
the emperor chuckled. Prince Tirhin turned red and swung away from the rest of
them.

Elandra frowned. “Are
they not drawn from the elite of our fighting forces? Or have I been misled?”

Her voice was
sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. She was suspicious of all of
them now.

“No, Majesty,”
said a new voice, one she did not immediately recognize.

Vysal, captain of
her guard, walked into the gallery and bowed to them. Wearing his gold cloak,
with her coat of arms half-hidden on his sleeve, he walked forward with a faint
swagger common to military men.

“All of these
candidates are members of the Guard,” he said to her.

Kostimon turned
around to stare at the man. “Are the men ready?”

“Yes, Majesty,”
Captain Vysal said respectfully.

Kostimon grunted. “The
last time I chose a protector, I had the old one fight the candidates, one at a
time. The one who defeated him took his place.” He tossed a grin at Hovet, who
was looking grim again. “That was Hovet, who has been at my side ever since.”

“Is that what you
wish?” the captain asked. “Some kind of trial by combat?”

“No,” Elandra said
quickly before the emperor could reply. “I prefer to talk to the men, one at a
time.”

The men exchanged
glances, and Kostimon scowled.

“Talk!” he said
impatiently. “Ela, for Gault’s sake. That’s no way to choose a protector.”

“Why not?” she
asked. “If they are all equally good at fighting, and equally intelligent, how
am I to choose among them, save one I feel I can trust?”

“Don’t forget.
Majesty,” Sien said smoothly, “that I have the truth-light to determine who you
can trust.”

“It must be my
judgment. No one else’s,” she said with growing vehemence. “How am I to judge
if I cannot see them for myself?”

The prince
murmured something too soft for her to hear, but Kostimon heard it. His face
darkened.

“Tirhin!” he
snapped, and the prince widened his eyes in feigned innocence. “If you cannot
be useful, you may leave us,” the emperor said.

Tirhin bowed, but
did not depart.

Kostimon glared at
his son for a long, tense moment before he returned his gaze to Elandra. “Very
well,” he said grouchily. “If you must, do so. But I do not like it.”

She smiled at him.
“May Hovet accompany me?”

“I would rather
Hovet fought them!” Kostimon snapped.

Something flashed
through the protector’s eyes, and Elandra felt a moment of pity for him. Hovet
was old, a man clearly struggling to maintain his usefulness. How he must fear
that any day Kostimon would decide to replace him with a younger, stronger man.

“Please,” she
said.

“Bah!” Kostimon
said, but he gave Hovet a curt nod.

Hovet seemed
reluctant to leave him, but he followed Elandra down the steps and into the
arena. Her guards trailed behind them.

Picking up her
skirts slightly to keep them out of the dirt, she approached the soldiers, who
were swiftly lined up by the sergeants.

Not exactly sure
how to go about her inspection, Elandra copied her father’s manner of stopping
before each man and staring at him openly, rudely, almost combatively.

The first man was
brawny and built square, with massive shoulders like a bull’s. He was also
hairy and coarse, with a thick, brutish face she disliked instantly.

The second man
looked competent and well bred, but his face was cold and impassive. She
gestured at one of the sergeants.

“Walk him back and
forth, please.”

It was as though
she were buying a horse, or a slave. There was an insult implied in her
request, and the man did not completely succeed in masking his flash of
resentment.

Tight-lipped, eyes
straight ahead, he strode past her, then came back again and resumed his place
in line. He moved well, but he was angry. She did not want a man who detested
her standing always at her back.

The third man had
curly hair and a square, open face. His eyes twinkled, although he kept his
demeanor impassive according to regulations. He was built strong and straight.
He might do very well.

The fourth man was
still sweating, although the others were beginning to dry out after their
exertions. His gaze shifted warily when she stopped to stare at him. He seemed
nervous.

The fifth man
towered over her, blond, deeply tanned, and blue-eyed. It was Caelan E’non, the
slave who had tried to choke her, who had insulted her, who had pleaded with
her. His fancy gold slavery chain no longer hung around his neck. Clean-shaven,
his face free of soot and dried mud, his hair sleeked back from his face, he
looked handsome today ... too handsome.

She glanced away,
biting her lip in consternation. She must not permit herself thoughts like
that.

Steeling herself,
she met his eyes. They were wary but unafraid. A predator’s eyes, she reminded
herself, and shivered.

She wanted to ask
him how he had changed fortunes so quickly, but she could not without giving
away the fact that she had previously met him. That she was not prepared to do.
Her questions had to remain unspoken.

She struggled to
think of something else. “Sergeant, please have this man walk for me.”

Caelan moved
obediently, his long limbs graceful and quick, like a panther’s. If he felt
shamed by her examination, he did not show it. He seemed indifferent, as though
long ago he had reconciled himself to certain indignities. Or perhaps as a
champion gladiator, he was used to being stared at and judged.

His face was lean
and chiseled of feature. She found herself studying the straight line of his
brows, the slant of his cheekbones, the firmness of his chin. How fair he was,
yet how completely masculine.

Again she had to
look away, annoyed with herself.

She turned
abruptly and walked away from them, then remembered she had Hovet with her.

Flustered, she
started over, picking out the three men who had caught her eye and dismissing
the two she disliked. “Hovet?” she asked.

With a respectful
nod, he moved past her and walked up to the cold, resentful man. Hovet looked
old and a little stooped in comparison to these young soldiers, but he was
still tough, still a warrior with more experience under his belt than they
would ever know.

“Name?” Hovet
asked.

The cold man
answered, “Thal Brintel.”