Realm of Light (14 page)

“I’m sorry,” she
whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. “Everything feels so wrong. I
am afraid.”

Her hair felt like
silk against his cheek. “We will meet this challenge,” he said softly to her.
“We will find a way back to Imperia.”

She glanced up at
him, doubt and hope chasing across her face. “But you are home. Will you not
stay here?”

He felt the icy
kiss of the falling snow clinging to his hair and shoulders, heard the wind
blowing through the pine boughs. “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “It has
become strange to me. My path lies with you.”

Elandra tilted up
her face and kissed him. Her tears dampened her lips, making them taste salty
and sweet.

A fresh wave of
dizziness swept him, robbing him of breath. When he could breathe again, when
he could see, he found himself on his knees.

Elandra crouched
there with him, gripping his shoulders. “Caelan, what is it?” she asked
anxiously. “What is wrong?”

He felt strange
and light, as though he was floating. The world around him seemed wavery and
insubstantial, like a dream.

“Can you speak?”
she asked. “Are you hurt?”

Pain hit him then.
He bent over. “Yes,” he managed to gasp. “My chest.”

It ached as though
a hammer had struck it. Every breath brought more pain. He tried to straighten,
then groaned and bent over again, clutching himself.

“How can I help
you?” she asked anxiously, hovering over him. “What can I do?”

The pain eased,
and he was able to straighten again. He drew in several shallow breaths,
grateful for even a small respite. His clothing felt hot and restrictive.
Reaching into his pocket, he felt his emerald, only to flinch. Its surface was
flaming hot.

“Your chest?”
Elandra said. She swept aside his cloak and reached for the buckles of his
breastplate.

He gripped her
fingers to stop her. “No,” he said, drawing in another cautious breath. “No,
that won’t help.”

“It will. Your
armor is so heavy. Removing it will ease you.”

“No.” He lacked
enough breath to make her understand. Another wave of pain covered him, driving
him low. When he emerged, shuddering from it, he found her kneeling before him,
gripping his hands. Her face was white with alarm.

“It isn’t me,” he
said. “Isn’t—”

He groaned again
and dug into his pocket. Wincing against the heat that scorched his hand, he
drew out the emerald and dropped it into the snow.

“Is it growing
larger?” he asked, shuddering.

“What?”

“The emerald. Is
it growing?”

“I see no emerald.
This rock is—”

“Don’t touch it!”
he said as she started to pick it up.

Elandra jerked
back her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he
said, still struggling for enough breath to talk. “It’s hot. It will burn you.”

She stared at him
in concern. “You’re not making any sense. It isn’t hot. It isn’t growing
larger. Rocks don’t change their size.”

He stared at the
emerald, seeing clearly its polished surface and natural facets. Were the sun
shining, it would flash with fiery radiance, but now it lay there, a dull, dark
blue-green. In all the years he’d carried it as his talisman, it had magically
concealed its true appearance to everyone but him. Even Elandra was fooled.

“You have a magic
stone,” he said. “Your topaz.”

With a little
gasp, she touched the embroidered pouch hanging around her neck on a silk cord.

“Yes,” he said. “I
know it has power. I saw you use it to ward off the shadows.”

“Oh,” she said
quietly, her eyes dark with memory. “Yes.”

“Does it grow?”

“Grow?”

“Yes, increase its
size.”

Her eyes widened,
but she shook her head.

He was feeling
better now. The pain had diminished as soon as the emerald left his possession.
For years he had carried it as a memory of Lea, and it had never hurt him. But
lately that had changed. He did not understand why. He was not sure he could
continue to keep it with him.

“When Lea first
gave me the emeralds, they were no larger than the tip of my finger,” he said.
“Then they joined into one stone, and it keeps getting larger. I don’t
understand what it is.”

Elandra looked at
the stone. “It doesn’t look like an emerald to me.”

“What, then?”

“A chunk of
granite.”

Doubt flickered in
his mind. Maybe Elandra and the others saw true. Maybe he was the one fooled.

But no. He
remembered the nine emeralds Lea had found in the ice cave, the emeralds that
were to have been her dowry one day. Had she lived, she would be old enough now
to need that dowry. Fresh grief caught him unexpectedly. It was sharp, like a
spear lance, and he thought he saw the emerald glow just for a second before it
lay dull and lifeless in the snow again.

He reached out
with an unsteady hand and picked it up. No longer was it hot to the touch.
Sighing, he tried to return it to his pocket and found it now almost too large.
He had to force it.

Never had he heard
of magic such as this. He did not know whether it was beneficent or evil. He
did not know how to use it, or even if it could be used. He did not want it,
and yet he knew he could not throw it away. He was bound to it, and it to him.

“Don’t look so worried,”
he said now to Elandra. “I will be well again in a few moments.”

But as he spoke he
started to shiver. It was more reaction than cold. He knew that from his years
in the arena where he had seen brave men shake after combat. It wasn’t fear.

“Are you cold?”
she asked worriedly. “You’re shaking so.”

“I’m all right,”
he tried to tell her, but she pulled off her cloak and threw it around him.

“This will give
you strength,” she said.

Alarmed, he tried
to pull off the golden cloth. “This is your protection. You mustn’t—”

“Hush,” she said
with a smile, pulling the cloak once more over his own. “Let me wrap you up.
Let me care for you this time, as you have always cared for me.”

He surrendered to
her tenderness, letting her draw his head to her breast and hold him. Her
fingers smoothed his hair back from his face, and he closed his eyes at her
touch, taking her comfort as the pain seeped from him and he began to breathe
normally again.

They couldn’t stay
out here in the open like this. Already he was thinking of where to find
shelter for the night. They were close to the hold. Whatever was left standing
might be sufficient protection; they could always go into the storage cellar
below ground.

Opening his eyes,
he kissed her cheek and reluctantly pulled away. “We must get inside before
dark. It’s too cold to stay out here.”

“It certainly is.”

Elandra jumped to
her feet, shivering herself, and held his arm to steady him as he got up.

He smiled at her.
“I am well now. Here, take back your cloak before you—”

A screech came
from overhead, their only warning as something large and black burst from the
treetops and swooped at them. Whirling around to face it, cursing himself for
letting down his guard so completely, Caelan had a confused impression of misty
wings and reaching talons. Its stench clogged his nostrils, nearly making him
gag.

Even as he shouted
a warning and reached for his dagger, his mind was reeling with surprise. How
came a
shyriea
to be here? Had it followed them from the realm of
shadow? To his knowledge, none of the creatures had never appeared in Trau
before. Or had things changed so drastically during his absence?

Elandra screamed
and darted away from him toward the trees. The
shyriea
followed her.
Caelan ran at it, shouting in an effort to distract it, but it attacked Elandra
first, its female face contorted as it slashed at her. With bared fangs, its
head darted at her in a swift strike.

Elandra screamed.

Rage flashed
through Caelan. Screaming a curse at it, he hurled his dagger. All his fury
went into the blade so that it glowed as though with fire.

It struck the
demon true, and the
shyriea
exploded into black ashes that rained down.

Clutching her
bleeding arm, Elandra sank to the ground.

Caelan rushed to
her, fear like a hammer in his temples, and caught her in his arms. She was
white-faced, trembling with shock. Her forearm bled heavily.

“It bit me,” she
said.

“Hush, my darling.
Hush,” he said hurriedly, hardly aware of what he was saying. He used handfuls
of snow to clean the wound. The bite itself looked deep and nasty. Already her
skin around the edges of the wound looked black and withered. As he handled
her, he used
sevaisin
lightly to determine how much of the venom had
entered her body.

The answer stilled
his hands for a moment. He closed his eyes, agonized to think of Elandra
tainted by this evil. The venom would spread through her, poisoning her blood
until it was black and vile. She would become a creature owned by the darkness,
commanded by it as General Paz had been.

Once again, Caelan
saw his sword blade slice through the general’s arm, saw again the black fluid
gush forth, saw again the infant
shyrieas
forming in it.

Sweet mercy of the
gods, this could not, must not, be Elandra’s fate.

Opening his eyes,
he ripped the lining of his cloak into strips and bandaged her arm with swift,
deft motions. Then he used more handfuls of snow to wipe blood from her wrist
and hand. She sat there like a child, unflinching beneath his rough
ministrations. Her eyes stared into the distance.

“My price,” she
said dully. “I didn’t believe it could happen. Am I going to die?”

“No,” he said,
picking up her cloak and flinging it about her shoulders. Swiftly he tied it at
her throat and pulled up the hood over her snow-sprinkled hair.

If he could find a
way to stop the progression of the venom through her bloodstream, there
remained a slim chance of saving her. But how? He felt hopelessness drag
through him, and angrily battled it away. This was no time for despair. He must
get her to shelter first, and then he would try to think of what else could be
done.

“Caelan,” Elandra
said. Her fingers reached for his and clamped hard. Her eyes were wide with
fear, and now and then her lips trembled. She was breathing hard, trying not to
panic. “You must tell me what is wrong. Am I going to die?”

With an effort he
forced himself to conceal his own fears. He gave her a little smile. “No, of
course you are not going to die. It is only a little bite. I am sure it hurts,
but you—”

She raised her
hand to silence him. “No lies. I need the truth. Do you understand?”

Worry lay on him
like a thin sweat. Still, he knew he must keep the truth from her for as long
as possible. He could not afford to let her panic. He reached for
severance,
but she grabbed his wrist and pulled herself to him.

“Tell me!” she
cried, her eyes flashing with fear. “Don’t turn to stone. Don’t shut me out. I
deserve better than that!”

It was like being
plunged into the past, hearing her voice echo his own pleas to Beva. Appalled,
Caelan wondered,
Am I like my father?

He stroked her
cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to be like him.”

“Who? You’re not
making any sense.” Her eyes clawed at his, holding his gaze when he tried to
look away. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

The lies and
assurances died on his lips. “Yes,” he answered in a hollow voice. “It is bad.”

Fear leached the
remaining color from her face, making her eyes huge and vulnerable. She started
trembling, but she didn’t falter. “What will happen to me?”

“I—”

“The worst,
Caelan!” she commanded. “Tell me the worst.”

“The venom is in
you. In time, if its work is not checked, you will become like General Paz.”

Her mouth opened,
but nothing came out. Her hand dropped from his arm, and despair filled her
face.

“But there is time
yet,” he said hurriedly. He pulled her to her feet and put his arm around her
to steady her. “While there is time, there is a chance. We must hurry.”

“Where?”

“We’ll go to the
hold. It isn’t far. We need shelter, and I may be able to find something in
Father’s writings.”

He led her
forward, holding to her unsteady pace when he really wanted to scoop her into
his arms and run. He had to keep her walking and thinking. If she kept talking
to him, then he would know she was still with him.

“Walk, Elandra,”
he commanded. “Walk faster. Keep your blood strong.”

Her feet moved
slowly. After a moment, she glanced up at him. “Is there a healer nearby? A
neighbor? Anyone who can be sent for?”

He frowned. It was
as though she couldn’t comprehend that his home had been destroyed and all who
lived there had died or been sold into slavery. The same had happened to
neighboring holds. Whether anyone had returned or rebuilt, he did not know. But
he would not deny her this small hope.

“Perhaps,” he
said. “We will get shelter, and then we will see what can be done.”

His dagger lay on
the ground at the edge of the clearing, its blade blackened. He hesitated over
it, hating to be weaponless yet not certain whether it was tainted.

“Take it,” Elandra
said faintly.

He bent and
scooped it up, opening himself to
sevaisin.
There was death in the
metal, nothing more. Relieved, he wiped it and put it back in his belt, then
led Elandra on with a quick glance at the sky.

Beyond the
clearing, the trees grew thick and tangled. Their boughs were turning white
with snow, and the mist seemed to hang more thickly here, obscuring the way.
Shouldering a path through,

Caelan pushed on
at a steady pace, his face grim and set against the lash of snow.