Realm of Light (27 page)

Caelan stared at
her, momentarily forgetting the attacking rush of the dragons, even as one of
them veered off again in her direction. Something primitive and elemental
stirred inside him. The hair prickled on his scalp. What was she, this woman of
fire?

Then he was
ducking as the remaining dragon swept low over him. Caelan swung his sword, but
managed no more than a shallow cut in the dragon’s scaled underbelly. Unlike
Kupel, an untried boy, this rider and his dragon were battle-scarred and
experienced. The dragon’s talons raked at Caelan, making him duck again, and
its long tail whacked him solidly, knocking him off his feet.

By the time he
rolled and came upright again, the dragon had wheeled and was making another
pass. Caelan tried to see what was happening with Elandra, but that distraction
cost him a second chance to attack his own opponent. The sharp point of a
javelin tip skidded across his breastplate close to his throat, and woke him
up.

Caelan jerked
aside with a grunt of surprise. Bringing up his sword two-handed, he lunged
upward. His breastplate kept him from being impaled on the javelin, and his
sword tip cut the rider’s arm.

The Thyzarene
swore at him, and the hovering dragon whipped its head around, baring its fangs
in an attack of its own. But a sharp command sent it lifting before Caelan
could cut off its head. Again its tail came at him, but this time he parried
with his sword, and drew more dragon blood.

Roaring in pain,
the beast flapped its huge leathery wings and swept out of reach. The dragon
was already coughing, trying to belch flame.

Caelan turned to
run for cover, only to stare as he saw the second dragon hovering only a few
feet above the ground in front of Elandra as though pinned there.

Elandra was
holding her topaz aloft, and the jewel shone with a bright intense light right
into the dragon’s iridescent eyes. The creature looked mesmerized, and refused
to respond to its rider’s angry commands.

Breathless and
soaked with sweat, Caelan felt both astonishment and envy. He reached
instinctively for his emerald, only to remember he had left it with the Choven.
In the past he had foolishly tried using a warding key against the dragons, and
that certainly didn’t work.

But perhaps there
was another way.

He whirled around
and threw himself flat as the second dragon sailed over him. Its talons just
missed him this time, and the Thyzarene jeered at him contemptuously.

“Can you kill only
boys and young dragons?” he yelled.

“Great warrior,
what are you doing cringing on your face? Stand and face dragon fire like a
man.”

The dragon coughed
out a spume of fire that would have engulfed Caelan had he not rolled
frantically. Scrambling to his feet, he brought up Exoner barely in time to
meet a second blast of fire.

Gritting his teeth
against the heat, he plunged the blade right at the flames, deflecting them
back at the dragon.

Squalling in pain,
the dragon flung up its head and reared in panic. It stopped coughing flames,
but its beard was on fire, and black burns blistered its hide. Still bellowing,
the beast dropped onto the ground and began to run its snout frantically back
and forth in the snow.

Its rider kicked
and shouted commands that the dragon ignored. Caelan ran at them.

The Thyzarene
jumped clear of the harness straps and hurled his javelin. It struck the arm
rim of Caelan’s breastplate and skidded off into the meat of his upper arm. The
pain burned momentarily and was forgotten as he leaped at the man. Together
they tumbled in a gouging, kicking heap.

Caelan dropped his
sword, knowing it was no good at such close quarters. Blocking the Thyzarene’s
attempt to gouge out his eyes, he drew his dagger and struck hard, but the
Thyzarene’s dagger blocked the blow.

Cursing each
other, they rolled over and over, each trying for a fatal blow. Just as Caelan
was about to get one of his arms around the other man’s throat, the Thyzarene
wriggled free and broke away.

Caelan scrambled
to his feet in pursuit, only to find the man waiting for him in a
knife-fighter’s stance. Caelan at once crouched low, holding his dagger loose
and ready in his hand. Intent and wary, they circled each other.

“Caelan!” Elandra
cried out.

He glanced to the
side, expecting to see her taken prisoner. Instead, the rider of the dragon she
held enspelled had jumped off his beast and was running, not at her, but
instead to join the fight against Caelan.

He accepted the
unfair shift of odds without fear. Clearly in his mind he could hear his former
trainer Orlo say,
There are no rules in the arena.

The Thyzarenes
were much shorter than he, which gave him the advantage of reach. But they were
quick, acrobatic, and fearless. Knowing the approaching man would come at his
back, Caelan shifted around in an effort to recover his sword from where it lay
in the churned-up snow.

No longer was this
a simple knife fight. Grinning, the two Thyzarenes exchanged swift comments in
their own language. Caelan’s gaze slid again to his sword. If he could get to
it, he had a chance.

But they also
looked at the sword, plainly determined to keep him from it.

The second
Thyzarene had gray streaks in his dark hair. His body was as wiry and tough as
leather. He had the cold, empty eyes of a predator, watching Caelan for any
move. The other man—younger, slightly heavier—had a wild gleam in his eyes that
said he was reckless and enjoying himself. He wanted Caelan’s blood, but he was
not as dangerous as the older man.

Caelan circled,
feinting when one of them moved, taking the chance to catch his breath, feeling
the lag of strength fall through his muscles as time stretched out, feeling the
ache of his bruised ribs beneath his breastplate as
severance
slipped
slightly.

And as though his
mind had suddenly cleared, he realized he was too much in the habit of fighting
for show in the arena, stretching out the contest for the enjoyment of the
audience, of using weapon, brute strength, and heart.

Severing
more deeply, feeling the sweet, icy cold plunge into the void, Caelan reached
for their threads of life.

Suddenly, Lea
stood before him.

Without warning,
without movement, she was suddenly there. Less than four strides away, she
stared at him with disappointment in her blue eyes.

Defiantly he
stared back. She did not understand that sometimes killing was necessary.

“And sometimes it
is not,” she said in his mind. “Think, Caelan. Reach beyond the simple thoughts
of a warrior and use the mind you were given. See in new ways. Use the
opportunity before you.”

The men attacked
him. The heightened perceptions of
severance
made them appear to move
slowly. Caelan shifted aside to avoid them.

“Would you have me
stand here and be killed?” he said to Lea in exasperation.

“Think, Caelan!
Look at what you have.”

“I have two dragon
riders ready to cut me into ribbons.”

“Dragon riders,”
she said.
“Think!”

An image filled
his mind of the strong beasts sweeping across the sky, used as swift messengers
and dispatch carriers. He thought of long distances to cross, of too little
time.

The Thyzarenes
lifted their weapons to strike. From far away, distorted and slow, came their
attack cries.

Caelan glared at
Lea. “Get out of the way.”

“Don’t—”

“Get out of the
way!”

She retreated, and
Caelan reached for the Thyzarenes’ threads of life, grabbing them and jerking
them hard.

He did not cut
them, and when he jolted back from
severance
and stood blinking in the
sunshine, he found both men lying unconscious at his feet. Swiftly he disarmed
them.

“Caelan!” Elandra
called. “I can’t hold this much longer.”

He saw her still
standing with her jewel held aloft, while the dragon hovered and moaned,
dipping and bobbing now as its strong wings faltered.

“Let the dragon
go,” he said. “Let it go. It won’t attack without its rider. But stay out of
reach of its tail, just in case.”

Elandra lowered
her arms, covering the topaz in her palm, and ran backward away from the
dragon.

It landed on the
ground with a thud and stood on its short, awkward legs, heaving for air, its
wings trembling, its head down. The other one had stopped rubbing its burns in
the snow and now stood glaring at Caelan, its tail whipping angrily back and
forth.

Prudently, he
stepped away from the unconscious men, and the burned dragon calmed down
slightly.

Caelan hurried to
collect his sword and cloak. Wiping the blade dry, he slid it back into its
scabbard and looked around.

“Lea!” he called
aloud, letting his voice echo into the trees. “Lea, come here!”

His sister did not
appear. All he heard was the sound of jackdaws in the distance and the uneasy
moans of the dragons. Caelan frowned in annoyance. Why did she have to be so
stubborn?

Elandra came to
him, and he slung his arm around her to draw her close. “I thought they would
kill you,” she said.

“You did not
follow orders,” he replied mildly.

She tilted back
her head to look up at him. “Would you be alive if I had?”

He did not feel up
to arguing, so he kissed her nose instead.

She smiled at him,
then looked at the unconscious men. “Are they dead?”

“No.” Caelan
frowned. “If I had rope, I could truss them.”

“There are tethers
and hobble ropes on the dragons’ harnesses.”

He met the
glowering iridescent eye of the burned dragon and shook his head. “We’ll find
another way.”

“What do you
intend to do?”

A groan from one
of the men told him they were starting to wake up. He gave her a brief smile.
“Have you ever flown in the air before, my beloved?”

Her eyes widened,
and she gasped. “You mean, ride the dragons?”

“Yes. It is very
high above the ground and frightening at first, but you would be—”

“Why, Caelan, we
would be in Gialta in a matter of days instead of weeks. Perhaps quicker. They
can fly like the wind,” she said excitedly, looking not at all afraid. “Can you
convince them to take us willingly?”

Gray Hair stirred
and slowly sat up, cradling his head in his hands.

Caelan watched him
grimly. “Willingly or not, they will take us.”

“Then arrange it
quickly,” Elandra said.

Caelan walked over
to the Thyzarene and hauled him to his feet. He gave the man a rough shaking to
finish waking him up, then shoved him back.

“Your name,” he
said.

The Thyzarene
blinked at him slowly, his eyes filling with humiliation and hatred.

“Your name!”
Caelan barked.

“I am Bwend,” the
man replied. His voice was sullen. But his gaze now took in Caelan’s imperial
armor and the large emerald in Exoner’s hilt. He glanced at Elandra and came to
attention. “Bwend, rider of Nia. Formerly dispatch flier in the Seventh Corps.”

Caelan was
pleased. If the man had once had some military discipline pounded into him, he
would be somewhat easier to handle. He pointed. “And this other man?”

Bwend didn’t
bother to look at his still unconscious comrade. “Fotel, rider of Basha.”

At the sound of
its name, the burned dragon lifted its head and roared.

“Are you kin to
the boy?” Caelan asked, ignoring the dragon.

“No,” Bwend said
curtly.

“You’re lying.”

Bwend shot him a
hostile look. Resentment simmered in his lean, weathered face, but he said
nothing.

“Are you his
father?” Caelan persisted.

Again Bwend said
nothing.

Caelan was tempted
to let it pass, but he knew this issue had to be dealt with now. “Kupel
threatened the life of her Majesty,” he said. “None may do that, whether child
or man grown. None.”

He deliberately
made his voice harsh and unsympathetic. He knew enough of the customs of these
people to understand that they did not respect weakness or compassion.

Bwend frowned, and
a flicker of something incomprehensible passed through his face. Caelan hoped
he accepted the explanation; he would despise an apology. Not that Caelan
intended to offer one.

“You are my
prisoners,” Caelan said. “You have attacked her Majesty, and no man may do that
and live.”

Bwend’s chin
lifted. His eyes grew blank and steely as though he prepared himself for
execution.

Caelan drew his
sword, letting the sunshine flash along the blade. His face was like stone; his
eyes gave nothing away. From the corner of his vision he saw Glandra bring one
hand to her mouth. He prayed she would not interfere.

Perhaps she
understood what he was doing, for she said nothing.

Caelan slowly
extended the sword until the tip rested lightly at Bwend’s throat. The
Thyzarene’s forehead crinkled, and he swallowed hard. Otherwise, he stood there
stoically, refusing to beg for his life.

Cursing his
stubbornness, Caelan let the silence stretch. As he stood there with the man’s
life in his hands, he felt anew the temptation to make one quick thrust. In the
blink of an eye, there would be one member of E’nonhold avenged.

But he held back
the old rage. This was not the place or the time.

Bwend was staring
into his eyes, and the Thyzarene’s own had widened at what they read in
Caelan’s. Perspiration broke out on his forehead.

“Majesty,” he
said, gasping as Caelan eased the sword tip closer against his throat, stopping
just short of piercing the skin. Bwend’s eyes flashed back and forth. “Leave to
speak,” he choked out.

“Granted,” Elandra
said coldly.