Realm of Light

by Deborah Chester

  Without waiting to see if he followed, she opened the door and stepped outside, walking away rapidly with her guards at her heels.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The guards outside the council room threw open the double doors as she came striding up, her eyes snapping, her head high. She swept inside and found the men on their feet, chatting idly.

  They had the air of having reached a decision. Their conversations faltered as they all turned to look at her.

  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?

  When she was finally able to drag her gaze away from the army, she looked up at the sky and saw a wall of black cloud stretching across the horizon—something she hadn’t seen since she left Imperia.

  Fresh fear swept through her. It suddenly seemed to her that this massive, silent force that had come from nowhere was in fact the army of Beloth, risen at last from the realm of shadow.

  As she stared, their crimson uniforms changed to vestments of black. She stared down at the snorting, pawing horses and instead saw terrible steeds that snorted flame and reeked of destruction.

  “It has come,” she whispered, her voice raw with panic. “It has come at last!”

  She pushed herself back from the balcony, her gaze still mesmerized by the vision. Her heart thundered inside her. She felt dizzy and cold as though she might faint.

  “Elandra!” Caelan’s hands gripped her shoulders from behind. Spinning her around to face him, he shook her until she regained her wits. Once again the soldiers looked like ordinary soldiers, mortal men in crimson and steel.

  She shivered and pressed her face against Caelan’s chest. For a moment he held her tight, murmuring reassurance into her hair, and she could pretend that all would yet be well, that they still had a chance, that they could get away and find refuge elsewhere.

  But her fantasies were in vain. If she ran away, she would not be able to live with herself. She would carry with her the guilt and shame of her own cowardice. There could be no refuge from that. If she ran away, the imperial army would label her father a traitor and tear his palace down. He would die in disgrace, stripped of everything because of her. Gialta itself would be plundered and burned, the peasan
ts dragged away into slavery, the land impounded under imperial ownership.

  How well she knew the imperial wrath.

  “Pier must have known they were coming,” she said hollowly, shivering. “While Father lay unconscious, Pier—”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Caelan said. “They are here.”

  “Is no one loyal any more?” she asked. “Has all honor and courage vanished from the world?”

  “Men are afraid,” Caelan said. “Their minds are twisted and rendered confused by things that should be simple and are not. The darkness comes. Look at the jungle, Elandra. Look at the river.”

  Only now did she look past the army to see birds streaming out of the trees in huge flocks as though driven. Monkeys on the move chattered, teeming in the trees. Animals, even the large predator cats, fled to the river, swimming across to bound out on the other side into the paddies and fields.

  The jungle was one of the most savage places she knew. The predators were fearless. Every creature in it was a master of survival. But animals fled their natural habitat only in times of great disaster, such as fire or annihilation.

  She looked again at the cloud, awed and afraid of the menace it represented. “Does it stretch all the way from Imperia?” she whispered.

  “Yes.” Caelan lifted his head high, his eyes studying the cloud. “I feel its power. I hear the whispers within it. The darkness comes, Elandra. It is engulfing the light and all that lives in it. We are running out of time.”

  She clutched at his surcoat. “What are we to do?”

  “Meet our destiny,” he replied in a grim voice.

  “To Imperia, then?” she asked quietly.

  He nodded. “It is the quickest way. All of this is centered there.”

  “I must be their prisoner, but you can evade the soldiers,” she said. “You must stay free. Quick! Let me show you the hidden passages—”

  “No.” Caelan gazed down at her. His eyes were gentle upon her, loving her, already telling her farewell.

  She clutched him, wanting to cry out. “You must not argue. You are the hope of—”

  “I am to be arrested,” he said. “I lingered behind you long enough to overhear some of the terms. The Lord Commander is here on Tirhin’s direct orders. You are to be escorted back to the capital in your full sovereignty, and I—”