Realm Of Light Part 41

"Cities can be rebuilt," Iaris said.

Elandra pushed herself up on one elbow and glared at her mother. "Stop it," she said angrily. "Stop trying to meddle."

"You must think positively. The empire will go on-"

"We are being swallowed by darkness, the darkness that Kostimon and Tirhin have unleashed on us," Elandra cried. "We face our doom, and ignoring the problem does not solve it."

"You are fretting for a man who is condemned. You are being excessively dramatic and exaggerating everything."

"Didn't you hear the soldiers?" Elandra asked her. "It's dark even when the sun rises. The dark G.o.d is coming-"

"Stop it!" Iaris said, jumping up from the edge of the bed. "I will not hear such blasphemy."

"Then stay away from me!"

"It is my duty to help you."

"No," Elandra said curtly. "You hope Tirhin will reward you if you persuade me to marry him. Dear Gault, the man's arrogance knows no bounds. He acts like a bridegroom already."

"But, Elandra, is that so awful? Yes, you're infatuated with this Caelan. But that must end. Your rank, your lineage all forbid anything more than a mere dalliance. It's time you thought about your future, and the future of your family."

"Meaning you," Elandra said in a tight voice.

"Albain and Pier will both profit from this alliance, if they negotiate carefully."

"There will be no alliance," Elandra said through her teeth. "I will not consent."

"Your actions tonight were foolish. Tirhin is clearly besotted with you-"

"No!" Elandra stared at her in amazement. "He is not."

"I saw him, child. He was beaming until you were rude to him. That is unwise, no matter what your feelings."

"You forget that I know him all too well," Elandra said. "He could barely tolerate me while Kostimon lived. This is nothing more than an act, part of his hypocrisy."

"More drama. More exaggeration," Iaris said with a sigh. "Look at this room which he has given you. The best in the villa, obviously. Food, flowers, and a good fire have all been provided for your comfort. He is-"

"What else could he offer me?" Elandra asked coldly. "I am the empress, and he is only my stepson. At the moment, most of his consequence lies in his imagination. Without me, he has nothing."

"Then take care how you deal with him," Iaris said in exasperation. "You are in an excellent position to negotiate. Few women are given this opportunity. Make the most of it."

"I do not want to hear anything more from you," Elandra said, averting her face. She was too tired and ill to go on arguing. The whole discussion was futile.

"You are putting all of us at risk!" Iaris told her. "If you care nothing about yourself, then think of your father at least."

"I am. But I am not for sale."

Iaris glared at her. "You have no choice."

"No. I had no choice the first time my father arranged a marriage for me. This time is different. He cannot force me. You cannot force me."

"As your mother-"

"You forfeited that status when you sent me away!" Elandra said. "Besides, I have given my vows to Caelan. I will not take them back."

Rage spread through Iaris's face. She slapped Elandra hard across the face. "You fool!"

The crack of her hand stung mercilessly. Elandra lifted her fingers to her cheek. Enraged and shocked, she stared at her mother.

Iaris glared right back. Her eyes were wide and furious. "Do you carry his child?"

Rising from the bed, Elandra said nothing.

"Do you?"

Elandra still did not speak. Inside, however, her mind was spinning at the thought of it. Perhaps that was why she was so p.r.o.ne to crying of late. Perhaps that was why she wanted no food, why she felt so tired. She suddenly wanted to clutch her stomach in fierce joy and triumph. Caelan's child. Oh, blessed G.o.ddess mother, let it be true. Let her have some hope in this.

But she refused to show anything to Iaris. Nor would she answer.

"You will not tell me," Iaris said, pacing back and forth in front of her. "Insolent, stupid girl. If you are breeding, then you will ruin everything. Tell me the truth!"

"I will tell you nothing," Elandra said.

"You look green enough to be quickening," Iaris said. "And by Gault, if you are, then you have put all of us in jeopardy."

"No more than we already are."

Iaris uttered a sharp, short laugh and tossed her head. "Really? Then think on this, my girl. If Tirhin entertains even the most remote suspicion that you have lain with that gladiator-"

"And what if it were Kostimon's child?" Elandra said.

Iaris stopped in mid-stride and stared at her. Conflicting emotions chased themselves across her face. "The Penestricans ordered you to bear his child, did they not? They taught you how to seduce him. They gave you exact instructions as to-"

"If I bear Kostimon's child," Elandra said coolly as though she did not see the naked ambition in her mother's face, "then the empire is his. The child would outrank Tirhin, whose mother was only a consort, and Tirhin's claim would be futile."

"Take care with your lies, my girl," Iaris said suspiciously. "Everyone in your father's palace saw how you looked at that gladiator. No mourning for Kostimon. No veil of widowhood. This wanton behavior-"

"I know exactly which man is the father," Elandra said wickedly, "for I have lain with only one of them. But the rest of the world will have to wait until the child is born to know."

Iaris glared at her, too angry to find a retort.

Elandra turned her back. "Leave me. I wish to be alone."

She stood there, exhausted by the scene, but glad that for once she had left her mother speechless. laris's footsteps crossed the room, then returned. "Forgive me, Majesty," she said with mock courtesy, "but I cannot obey you. The door is locked. It seems we are prisoners together."

Sighing, Elandra started to speak, but just then the floor trembled beneath her feet.

The bed hangings swayed, and a crack ran up the wall from the corner of the fireplace.

Iaris cried out in fear. "Merciful G.o.ds, what is happening?"

Elandra glanced up, saw the ceiling cracking, and dodged a piece of falling plaster. She grabbed a bedpost to keep her balance, and the motion stopped. The room was silent, except for the hiss of the fire.

Iaris stood white-faced with terror. "What was it?" she asked. "Where is your jinjaT' jinjaT'

The tiny creature popped out from beneath the bed and began to explore. Elandra brushed plaster dust from her hair.

"Stop shrieking, Iaris," she said. "It was only an earthquake." "It is the return of the G.o.ds," Iaris said. "The world is ending. We are all going to die, consumed in-"

Elandra poured a cupful of water and threw it in her mother's face.

Sputtering, Iaris stared at her.

"Now be quiet," Elandra said. "I want my rest."

Chapter Twenty-Five.

The public dungeons lay beneath the ruins of the old arena, converted from its underground warren of training rooms and quarters. Torches burned at the rubble-strewn entrance, and gaunt-faced soldiers in tattered cloaks huddled around a roaring bonfire for warmth.

Beyond the firelight, furtive glowing eyes watched from nearly every nook and cranny. The soldiers talked loudly and nervously, pretending to ignore the watchers. Now and then there came the abortive scream of a hapless victim out in the darkness.

Riding through the terrible streets, Caelan held himself tightly severed, severed, fearing any contact with the darkness that now ruled Imperia. The smell of death sickened the air, along with the scorched, fetid stench of forbidden magic. fearing any contact with the darkness that now ruled Imperia. The smell of death sickened the air, along with the scorched, fetid stench of forbidden magic.

Tightly guarded by men who rode with drawn swords in their hands, Caelan soon gave up any attempt to keep his bearings. With the city destroyed, nothing looked as it should. But when they reined up at the dungeons, Caelan gasped in surprise.

How well he recognized the public square and entrance to the arena, with its stone pillars and a ma.s.sive lintel carved to show a stylized border of swords laid end to end. The arena itself towered there no more. Only a single section of seats remained, the top half broken away. The rest lay in rubble that filled the ring.

"Get off," ordered a weary voice.

Caelan dismounted, the shackles on his wrists clanking softly. He still wore the mail s.h.i.+rt Elandra had given him, and during the past few days he had been grateful for it. The long sleeves had protected his wrists from being rubbed sore by his chains. As his mount was led away, he stretched himself carefully, taking care to make no sudden moves that would get himself beaten. It felt good to stand on the ground again.

The soldiers exchanged information. Caelan learned he was a special prisoner of the emperor-elect, to be kept in a solitary cell until he was sent for. No visitors. No one was to talk to him, on pain of death.

The irony of it made Caelan smile without amus.e.m.e.nt. Some men walked a path of life that progressed in a straight line from birth to death. Others meandered, finding what accomplishments they could. Still others walked in a circle, ending up where they had started. Thus it was for him. He had begun life in Imperia as a slave, chained and beaten, imprisoned beneath the arena with his only future seeming to be a quick death in the ring. Now he had returned, once again in chains, once again under the dominion of Tirhin.

His head lifted, and he gazed out into the darkness. Tirhin would not own him long this time, for indeed the world was ending. Time was running out for all of them.

The tip of a spear prodded him in the back. "Get moving."

"Watch him!" another said in warning. "He's a big brute."

"Aye, Giant was always dangerous."

Their fear made them nervous and sweaty. Caelan had fears of his own. Imperia was no place to be shackled and weaponless. If anything attacked, the guards would protect themselves, not him.

Nervously, he flexed against his chains, but they were well forged and held him.

Something that sounded suspiciously like a shyriea shyriea shrieked nearby. One of the soldiers flinched, and nearly ran his spear through Caelan's side. The rings of his mail protected him, but Caelan turned on the man. shrieked nearby. One of the soldiers flinched, and nearly ran his spear through Caelan's side. The rings of his mail protected him, but Caelan turned on the man.

"Have a care, you fool!" he said angrily.

Another soldier stepped between them and rammed Caelan in the chest with the b.u.t.t of his spear. "Quiet!"

Caelan drew in a painful breath, his temper hot, but he restrained himself, knowing that to argue would only bring on another beating. He'd had enough of those.

"I want to see Prince Tirhin," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "I am a member of the Crimson Guard. I demand-"

The spear shaft swung again, cracking him across the jaw and knocking him down.

Caelan lay there, stunned, his head ringing.

They kicked him. "You're a deserter. Now get up! Get moving!"

They stripped off his mail, then kicked and pummeled him, thudding into the sore places. He pulled himself to his hands and knees, swaying as his head spun. Blackness dipped and swooped at him. By the time he drove it away, they had yanked him forward by his arms and were shoving him down a ramp into a torchlit maze of pa.s.sageways. He walked past beat-up wooden doors banded with iron. The smell was even the same-musty and damp, sour with old sweat and blood.

He was shoved into a dark cell, hard enough to make him stumble into the back wall. The door slammed, and he heard the bolts shoot home. Caelan clung to the wall, fighting off his dizziness. Pain was still exploding in his jaw. He felt it gingerly, decided it wasn't broken, and spat out a b.l.o.o.d.y tooth.

He stumbled over an object that went skidding across the dirt-packed floor. A stool, he thought. The door had a narrow opening set with bars. Meager illumination from the torchlight in the pa.s.sageway barely reached into his cell. Exploration told him he had a stool and a pile of dirty straw, but nothing else, not even a pail of water.

Ignoring his thirst, he sat down on the stool and bent over with his elbows on his knees. The bruises were nothing. He would mend ... if he lived long enough.

No one brought him food or water. He listened as the guard was changed about sunset. Shortly thereafter someone came through with a barrel of pitch. The man replenished the torches, keeping them burning brightly, as though light alone could hold the demons at bay. Caelan remembered his boyhood conviction that warding keys could drive away any attacker, even Thyzarene raiders. He had learned that day that evil came in many guises, and often it laughed at the protection mustered against it.

Still, it would do no good to tell this worker that his efforts were in vain. If the shadows decided to come creeping into these dungeons, they would do so whether the torches burned or not.

Needing something to do, Caelan watched the man work. There was something familiar about the man, something in the set of his shoulders, the way he moved. He wore a long leather ap.r.o.n to protect his clothes from the pitch. His head was concealed by a hood, worn presumably for warmth. Caelan could not catch a glimpse of his face. Yet his hands were powerful and broad. He swirled a torch in the barrel of pitch, then lifted it and lit it.

As he set it in a sconce near Caelan's door, his uplifted face was partially illuminated for a second.

"Orlo!" Caelan said eagerly. "Orlo, it's you!"

The man looked around as though startled, then backed away hastily into the shadows.

"Come here, you old donkey," Caelan said, glad to see his former trainer. "It has been too long."

Orlo glanced up and down the pa.s.sageway, as though making sure no one overheard them.

"No talking!" he said sternly. "You're under a rule of silence."

Caelan obediently lowered his voice to the merest whisper. "Come and let me look on your face. I am glad to see you."

Orlo, however, hunched his shoulders and pulled his barrel and cart down the pa.s.sageway. He set to work busily with the next torch, ignoring Caelan completely.