Reign of Shadows

by Deborah Chester

  He bowed hastily and moved back a step. “Yes, Deputy Anas.”

  “At the base of the mountain is plentiful grass for the horses and forage for the elephants. You will find excellent camping sites near the stream. Please do not allow your men to ascend the mountain again until it is time for these sisters to depart from us.”

  He bowed again. “As you wish.”

  Turning smartly on his heel, he strode away. Orders rang out. The elephants were unwilling to move, but with much shouting and noise they were turned about and the guardsmen headed down the road. The mound of luggage stood abandoned and forlorn.

  “That will be seen to later,” Anas said. Stepping aside, she gestured gracefully. “Come.”

  Bixia gathered up her skirts with an ill-natured huff. “Why didn’t you lay out a carpet? These old steps are so rough they’ll snag my slippers. Must we climb all these steps? I would prefer to be carried.”

  Again, Hecati made no effort to correct her. Elandra frowned at the woman, but Hecati seemed lost in thought. It was strange behavior for her. Usually she would be fawning and flattering, doing her best to make sure Bixia charmed everyone.

  Anas seemed impervious to Bixia’s rudeness. “There is no one to carry you. Come.”

  She started up with Bixia at her heels. Hecati was next and Elandra last.

  The cloud still obscured the sun, and indeed it seemed darker than ever. The burning candles in the sisters’ handsflickered and blazed, although the wind did not put them out.

  The steps were very steep and worn. Halfway up some were broken, making the footing treacherous. Trying to get a better grip on her long skirts, which were billowing in the wind, Elandra tripped slightly on her hem and pitched forward. To save herself, she put her hand against the small of Hecati’s back for just a second to regain her balance.

  Hecati jumped as though startled, and two candles in the hands of the sisters on either side of her went out with loud pops. Hecati loosed a low, strange cry—almost a moan. The timbre of the sound made goosebumps stand up on Elandra’s arms.

  At the head of the line, Anas was already turning back. She pushed past Bixia without a word and came gliding swiftly down the steps. Her face was set implacably.

  Elandra tried to back away from Hecati, who was still making that eerie sound like a cornered animal. But the two Penestricans with the wooden staffs stood behind Elandra, crossing their staffs to block the way down. Their faces were harsh and suddenly hostile.

  Alarm ran through Elandra. Not understanding what was wrong, she looked about.

  Another candle went out, and another. The sisters standing farther up the steps now crowded down as close to Elandra and Hecati as they could get.

  A cry of accusation went up: “Witch! Witch! Witch!”

  Anas’s blue eyes were as bright as flames. She glared first at Elandra, then at Hecati. “Worshiper of Mael, you are unwelcome in this place of the goddess mother.”

  Hecati’s face tensed into a knot. She flung an accusing finger at Elandra. “She is the witch!” Hecati cried in a shrill, ugly voice. “The betrayer has already been at work. She destroyed the sacred bridal robe—”

  Anas turned up her palms. A blue globe of truth-light appeared on each of them. She tossed one at Elandra and one at Hecati.

  It was all happening too fast. Elandra opened her mouth to defend herself when the light struck her forehead and shimmered down the full length of her. It felt strange and prickly, but then it pooled at her feet. When it touched the ground it turned into a tiny garter snake that slithered quickly away from the toe of her slipper and vanished.

  Hecati screamed and threw up both hands, crossing her wrists as a shield. The blue truth-light struck her arms and burst in a halo of swiftly changing colors—blue to indigo to purple. A black pool formed on the ground at her feet. Instead of turning into a snake, the black ooze widened, spreading quickly toward Elandra.

  Crying out, she tried to back away, but the Penestricans with the staffs still blocked the steps behind her and would not budge. The stench of something burning filled the air, as always when Hecati worked one of her spells. Only this time, although her face was strained with effort, whatever she was trying to accomplish did not materialize.

  Anas extended her hand toward the ooze, and it stopped spreading. Only a scant inch from Elandra’s foot, the liquid immediately dried to an ugly scum that stained the steps.

  “Mael worshiper,” Anas said again, her gaze locked on Hecati. “Witch!”

  The word was as sharp as a lash. Hecati flinched.

  Anas gestured. “Begone from us, dark creature. Begone!”

  “What are you saying?” Bixia demanded, trying to push closer without success. “My aunt isn’t a witch. How dare you call her that. How dare you—”

  Hecati glanced back and forth angrily. She made no effort to deny Anas’s accusations. Instead she glared at Anas with a mad light in her eyes. “You pious fools, your days on this earth are over. A new era is dawning, one in which the dark pair shall stride the earth and crush it!”

  “No,” Elandra breathed, horrified by this blasphemy.

  Hecati’s terrible gaze turned on her. “As for you, already you dance in the arms of the shadow lord—”

  “No!” Elandra cried. Fear ignited in her. The half-seen figure in her dreams, the unknown lover ... it could not be. “No!” she cried again, denying it with every fiber of her being despite the doubts Hecati had awakened.

  “Think of your destiny, fool,” Hecati said. “You are doomed—”

  “Enough,” Anas broke in. “Go now, before we drive you into the dust whence you came.”

  “You can’t send her away!” Bixia cried, still not understanding anything. “She’s my aunt. You can’t—”

  “Go?” Hecati said, glaring at Anas. “You feeble creature. You dare mock the strength of She Whom I Serve. But you will regret it. We sent the Vindicants to destroy you once. They will do so again.”

  “We survived,” Anas retorted, her jaw set. “We were not defeated. Our path continues, strong in the visionings, no matter how much blood you unleash on this land.”

  Hecati hissed with fury, and now that sound took on a new, far more terrible meaning to Elandra. That she had grown up in the care of this creature horrified her. Hecati represented unspeakable evil. Elandra could feel the taint on her, a cold rottenness, like touching a slimy, decaying piece of fungus in the jungle by mistake.

  “Let her pass!” Anas commanded to the women holding the staffs.

  They reluctantly stepped aside. “Deputy—”

  Anas gestured furiously, and Hecati laughed.

  “They want to kill me, Deputy,” she mocked. “They want to spill my blood. Why don’t you let them?”

  Anas’s blue eyes blazed. “Violence breeds violence. Spill your blood on these steps and let evil take hold practically within our gates? Let her go!”

  Hecati circled around Elandra as though to take the escape permitted her. Then she paused and stared deep into Elandra’s eyes.

  “No!” Bixia called, still unable to get through the press of Penestricans blocking her path. “Aunt Hecati, don’t leave me! I need you. I need you! Please, please. I don’t understand!”

  Hecati did not even glance back. Her evil gaze went on boring into Elandra. “You think you’ve won,” she whispered. “I would have gained entrance here if not for you. Oh, you’re a clever girl. Clever. But the dark goddess will not forget your interference this day. No, she will not forget.”

  As she spoke, Hecati lifted her hand as though to slap Elandra.

  Elandra flinched reflexively, but instead of a physical blow, an intense white light struck and blinded her. Then something else hit Elandra, knocking her into the wall with stunning force. She must have cried out in pain and shock, but she could hear nothing for the roaring blast around her. It was as though the cliffs had exploded.

  The roaring went on and on until she wondered if it was the end of the world final
ly come upon them.

  Then the roaring stopped, and feeling returned to her bit by bit. Her head stopped ringing, although it ached fiercely. She felt the hardness of the steps beneath her, stone edges digging into the side of her left breast and hip. She smelted dust and a scorched scent of magic and some kind of bitter herbs she could not identify. The wind was still blowing, and the women around her were chattering with a mixture of fury and consternation. She could even hear Bixia wailing in the distance.

  But despite all that; Elandra could see nothing. Instead of the shifting shapes and colors of vision, she was surrounded by a strange, unsettling whiteness. Like fog, only bright, like the glare of sunshine off the white walls of her father’s palace in summer. A painful, glaring whiteness. Not the usual dark of having her eyes closed. Not that.

  Gentle hands lifted her and smoothed back her hair.

  “Are you hurt?” It was the voice of Anas that spoke to her.

  Elandra stared at nothing, her wits slowly returning, although what they had to face was too terrifying. She opened her mouth and could not find the words to speak. What would become of her now? How could she live her life, crippled in this way? Could anything be done?

  “Get back. Give her air,” Anas commanded. “The Magria must be informed. Resta, I shall deal with you soon. You were careless, allowing a Maelite so near to us.”

  “But, Deputy—”

  “Hush! We cannot discuss it here. Come to my chambers later.”

  “Yes, Deputy.”

  Footsteps and more chatter. A cool hand on Elandra’s brow was comforting, although nothing could remove her shock and rising panic.

  “Are you hurt?” Anas persisted. “Can you answer, Elandra? The witch is gone. You will not be harmed by her again. I promise that.”

  A promise. Elandra swallowed back bitter laughter. Oh, a promise. She had already been harmed enough; what more did she have to fear from Hecati now? As for this self-pity flooding her, what good was it? Elandra found herself choking on the unwanted emotion, hating it.

  She coughed, still supported by Anas’s kind hands, and felt tears slip down her cheeks. “I—I—” Her mouth was too dry. She choked again and bowed her head.

  Someone else came.

  “Be gentle with her,” Anas said quietly. “It is spell- shock. She cannot yet speak. Take her inside. No, carry her. Speak softly and make no sudden movements. We were careless, sisters. We were all careless, and see what it has cost us. The Magria will be most displeased.”

  No one answered that stinging rebuke. The fact that Anas’s voice carried self-blame as well as censure made little difference to Elandra.

  Two sisters carried her between them. Elandra let them do as they wished. Her mind was filled with memory and a gamut of tangled emotions. Hecati—hate-filled and vindictive—had had the last word as always. With sorcery, Hecati had taken her sight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SLAVE MARKETS WERE all much the same in smell, in noise, in procedure; only the locations changed from year to year.

  Caelan E’non crouched on his haunches in one corner of his holding pen, idly gazing through the bars at the thronging crowd shopping in the marketplace while he flicked pebbles with his thumbnail. It was blazing hot, like sitting in the bottom of a brass cauldron. No breath of wind reached this corner. The only shade came from a narrow oblong cast by a tattered scrap of cloth tied over the top of the large pen next to his. Some of the occupants were huddled there, making themselves even hotter by their own proximity. But most strutted around restlessly, flexing their bulky muscles and eyeing each other with open hostility.

  Grateful to be isolated, since numerous fights had broken out in the larger pens since last night, Caelan pretended to ignore everyone. But his senses were nervously alert.

  Unlike a common auction in which slaves for trades and housework were sold, this was a gladiator sale—held but once a year and always subject to great interest and speculation. Dealers from near and far had come with hand- picked merchandise, hoping to reap good profit from the violent, favorite sport of Imperia.

  Caelan turned his head and let his gaze wander across the pens jammed with men who were tall, men who were muscular, men who were simply heavy and out of shape. Many bore horrific scars of old combats. Ears, eyes, fingers, even noses were missing. A few were young boys, lithe and clean-muscled. Several were old and grizzled; these were usually veterans of wars who couldn’t adjust to civilian life and had been condemned to the games.

  Word had already rustled through the pens: anyone not sold for the games would go cheap for hard labor. The emperor had ordered repair of the city walls, and his agents were waiting to pick up the rejects.

  Caelan rose to his feet and stretched. He didn’t want to break his back hauling stone, to work until his body broke down. As a boy he’d admired the imperial roads and impressive stoneworks. As a man, he’d seen the pathetic creatures who built such edifices. He knew now that imperial stones were laid with blood and suffering.

  He swallowed hard and began to pace back and forth, aware of the distant rattle of chains and slamming of gates. The handlers were fetching the first lots for sale. Already the skilled patter of the auctioneer could be heard over the noise of the crowd.

  Another fight started in the common pen, and was broken up with whips.

  Ubin, his current owner, appeared. Breathless and excited, Ubin reached through the bars of Caelan’s small cage and pulled off Caelan’s jerkin.

  “Stand close, boy.”

  Caelan obeyed, and Ubin began rubbing oil across his sun-bronzed chest and back. The stuff smelled rancid and made Caelan feel hotter than ever. His sweat beaded up through the oil, making the smell worse. Caelan shifted away, but Ubin swore at him.

  “Remember,” he said, looking Caelan over critically, “to look as fierce as you can. Don’t bow your head and mince along meekly like a damned houseboy. Flex those muscles and look like you could tear someone apart barehanded. For once, would you please try not to look so bored?”

  Caelan yawned, indifferent to Ubin’s dreams. The oldman had bought him two years ago, when he was starved and beaten, and paid very little for him. Ubin had fed him decent food and worked him hard, always careful to change him from one oar to another so he would develop his back and shoulder muscles evenly. From the first Caelan had been an investment, bought only for eventual resale to the gladiator market here in Imperia. Caelan had been smart enough not to mistake interest and good care for kindness. For all Ubin’s fussing now, the moment the auctioneer struck the gavel and gold was counted into Ubin’s palm, the old man wouldn’t waste any time missing the property he left behind.

  Caelan’s price plus the sale of his owner’s boat was to be Ubin’s ticket to retirement. Then Ubin was going to buy a small house on the coast and live in modest luxury, never risking his neck in another dangerous ocean voyage. The good life, the easy life, with a couple of servants, a willing little maid for his bed, and plenty of inexpensive wine to make his days sweet. Ubin’s ambitions, all tied up in Caelan’s broad back and strong shoulders.

  In the distance, a crowd roared and cheered. Ubin craned his old neck a moment, then shrugged. “The dealers will get the best prices,” he said. “Damned bunch of thieves. They’ve rigged the sale already. I saw some of them talking. I know what they’re about. Sticking together to drive up prices for themselves, then cutting the throats of any independent person trying to make a decent sale.”

  Caelan tuned him out. He’d listened to the old man’s fussing all the way to Imperia. They’d come in from the sea, and the city had glittered in the hot sunshine like diamonds spread on the sand. Built on cliffs overlooking the busy harbor, the city was larger than Caelan expected. Taller, too, with buildings of several stories, domed on top instead of flat or pitched. Archways spanned wide paved roads. No muddy tracks here like in the provinces. Houses remained hidden and secluded behind walls. Only the branches of trees growing inside fragrant gardens gave any cl
ue as to what might be contained within those quiet enclaves.

  The shops were endless. Merchants of every nationality and description stood outside their booths, bowing and inviting passersby to inspect their wares. The wealth and plenty were staggering, even in the lesser parts of the city where Ubin dragged Caelan along hurriedly down twisting streets to the slave market, chaining him inside the pen with a hasty promise to return in an hour with food.

  Clutching his receipt, Ubin had left and not returned until daylight, apologetic and hung over.

  It would be Ubin’s own stupid fault, Caelan thought sourly, if no one wanted to pay good money for a hunger- stricken rower. As a slave he could make no complaint, although he glared at the old man whenever Ubin wasn’t looking. Ubin was a brainless old fool half the time. But in this, at least, they both wanted the same thing.

  Beneath Caelan’s studied indifference, he was boiling with impatience. As a trained fighter, he would gain skills that would make him valuable anywhere. More importantly, it was said that gladiators entered in the games in Imperia had the chance to fight their way to freedom each season.

  Freedom. Caelan rolled the word silently on his tongue. If he still believed in the gods, he would have prayed for it. As it was, he’d learned a man had only himself and his wits, nothing else in this world. Family could be lost. Security was a lie. Wealth could be stolen. Kindness was deception. The gods did not heed the misery on earth.

  Caelan had no intention of going back to ordinary labor. He’d spent four years of his life enduring just about every degradation and humiliation possible. But even a man at the bottom could hope. His dreams had shrunk to one ambition—to make the games. They were his only chance of escape. To simply run away was to incur death. He did not intend to become an outlaw chased down by bounty hunters with a pack of dreadots. No, he had other plans.

  The first step was to be bought by a trainer. The second step was to drive himself to excel. No matter what it took or cost, he would be the best. He would survive the arena, and he would win his freedom. By next thaw he intended to make his way back to the north country. He would search out the land of the Thyzarenes and strike hard at what they held most dear. He’d had four long years in which to plan his revenge. It was what kept him alive and above despair.