Shadow War (44 page)

Agel sprang up to
run, but he was hampered by his shoe. He went no more than a few paces before
Caelan caught him and drove him full force to the ground.

Crying out, Agel
lay unmoving beneath him. Caelan scrambled up, seizing his cousin by his robes
and hauling him upright. He shook Agel the way a dog would shake a rat.

“Give us the way
in!” he said through his teeth.

Agel moaned
something, reeling bonelessly in Caelan’s grip.

“Damn you to hell
if you do not get us inside! Agel!”

At that moment he
was ready to strangle his cousin from sheer rage if nothing else. He had
nothing to lose now, nothing to care about.

As though sensing
that, in silence Agel pulled a large metal key from his pocket.

Caelan seized it
and turned, dragging his cousin with him as he ran back up the steps.

The Madruns were
less than fifty paces from the main ceremonial steps. They roared at the sight
of him and quickened their pace.

Stepping over
Elandra’s unconscious form, Caelan slammed the key into the lock and turned it.
The heavy door opened with a creak of its hinges.

He shoved Agel
inside and picked up the girl. Her head lolled over his arm, her long hair
spilling down like a curtain. Caelan carried her inside, then propped her
against him while he pulled the door shut and locked it again. A heavy bar
leaned against the wall. He threw that into the brackets as additional
security.

A heavy thump
against the panels made him flinch back. More thuds and kicks resounded off the
door, and he could hear the cries of the enemy outside.

On a pedestal near
the door, a single lamp cast a feeble glow. Caelan turned around and saw a
narrow foyer with an open doorway at the opposite end. The air smelled musty
and unclean. He heard unfamiliar sounds in the distance, and his skin crawled.

Agel stood erect
once more, no longer stunned. His eyes met Caelan’s stonily even as a fresh
barrage of kicks and thumps came from the door.

“That won’t hold
against them long,” Agel said.

“Even with a
spell-lock?”

“I know nothing of
such things.”

Caelan didn’t
trouble to argue. “Lead us below, to the hiding place of the priests.”

Agel frowned in
defiance. “You’ll find no refuge here, disbeliever.”

Caelan’s final
shreds of respect for this man faded. So Agel had joined the ranks of the
blasphemers. His healer’s robes were a sham, his piety fake.

“Liar,” Caelan
said harshly. “You have sipped the blood of the damned.”

Agel’s eyes
flinched slightly, as though Caelan’s knowledge surprised him.

“You belong to
Sien,” Caelan accused him. “Admit it!”

Agel inclined his
head.

Grief knotted
itself in Caelan’s heart, but he stayed remote from it. There was no time to
deal with Agel now. Nor did he intend to discuss Agel’s attempt to kill him.
Instead, he met his cousin’s wary eyes. “In the name of the empress, give her
the assistance you would deny me.”

“The empress has
no authority here,” Agel said sharply.

“What is this?”
Another, deeper voice broke in.

Caelan turned
quickly to face the doorway at the far end of the foyer.

Sien emerged, his
deep set eyes luminous and alert in the gloom. His saffron robes had been
discarded. He wore instead a tunic and leggings beneath a heavy traveling
cloak.

At the sight of
Caelan he checked, stared, then frowned. “You have brought the enemy to us,” he
said. “You fool! Could you not lead them away long enough for—”

Caelan hefted the
girl higher in his arms. “I ask help for the empress.”

Sien’s frown
deepened. “The empress,” he said as though he did not recognize Elandra.

“Great Gault, man!”
Caelan cried. “The empress! Your sovereign ruler.”

“Yes, of course,”
Sien said, blinking. “Her arrival is unexpected. It will alter things—”
Breaking off his sentence, he seemed to recover his court manners. With a
slight bow, he gestured toward the doorway behind him. “This way.”

Caelan strode
forward without hesitation. Beyond the doorway, a flight of steps descended
steeply. He could see a feeble glow of light below, and he went down the steps
as fast as he could with his burden. Behind him, he heard a low murmur of
voices as though Sien was giving Agel a set of instructions.

I am mad to
come here,
Caelan thought, but he shoved his doubts away. There was no
choice. He could not reason with the Madruns, or ask for civilized treatment if
they were to take Elandra prisoner. They would defile and kill her, and the
very thought of such a fate made him tighten his hold involuntarily.

He would not fail
this woman, he vowed silently, still going down steps. He would not.

At the bottom of
the steps, he stopped and gazed around apprehensively. The place was
featureless, swept clean. Aside from the small lamp on its pedestal, he saw no
furnishings. Three doors surrounded him, all firmly shut. The smell down here
was worse, hinting of decay and death.

He could tell
himself that it was only the stench associated with blood sacrifices, that
entrails for the auguries had to be cleaned and disposed of somewhere, that
carcasses of dead animals had to be butchered for daily distribution to the
poor.

But his instincts
knew there was more to the smell than innocent surface explanations. There was
something darker at work down here. Something he did not want to meet, or know.

He swallowed hard,
half-ready to retreat, but Sien joined him and walked across to a door carved
with the faces of unnamed spirits. He pulled it open.

“Through here. Is
she injured?”

“I don’t know,”
Caelan replied, carrying her through.

He found himself
in a narrow passageway, unlit except for the lamplight cast from behind him.
When Sien shut the door, they were plunged into cold darkness.

“Wait,” Sien said,
and a second later a dim radiance appeared. It spread, pushing back the
encompassing darkness.

The light glowed
from Sien’s left hand, faint but steady, just enough to show their way.

Caelan found his
heartbeat thudding too fast. He swallowed again, but it did not ease the
dryness in his throat.

“You were nearly
too late,” the priest remarked. “They will be leaving soon. Or so they intended
before you led the Madruns here. Now there may not be an opportunity. We are
not as well hidden down here as we should be.”

“What do you mean?”
Caelan asked quickly with a sharp look at the priest. “Is the emperor here?”

“Of course.”

Caelan blinked, too
astonished at his luck to speak.

It was Sien’s turn
to frown at him. “Is that not why you brought her to the temple?”

Confused, Caelan
swung his gaze away. “Yes. But I— I thought we were too late.”

“You nearly were.
If she is hurt, I had better examine her. Or let Agel attend her. It will not
do for the emperor to see her in this state.”

Unwillingly Caelan
halted. He knelt and gently propped the girl against his knee, supporting her
while Sien bent over her.

She looked so
young and vulnerable. Even smudged with dirt and soot, she was breathtaking. He
could have gazed at her for hours, marveling at the delicacy of her bone
structure, at the wide, clear expanse of her brow, at the thick crescent of her
dark lashes against her cheekbones. Tall and slender, she lay against him with
no more weight than a feather. Even in her bedraggled clothes and tangled hair,
her high lineage showed plainly in her narrow wrists and ankles, in the
tapering perfection of her hands that all evening had gripped his with such strength
and determination.

Caelan prayed for
her now, worried that the shadow had damaged her irreparably.

“It was choking
her,” he said softly. “I don’t—”

“What was?” Sien
asked.

Only then did
Caelan realize he had spoken aloud. He looked up and met the priest’s yellow
gaze. An unnameable fear took hold of Caelan’s entrails and squeezed, but he
forced himself not to look away.

“A shadow,” he
replied. “A shadow of a man, but unattached to anyone alive or present.”

Sien did not seem
surprised. He went on gazing into Caelan’s eyes as though to probe to his very
soul. “Was it?” he asked.

His voice held
only interest, nothing more.

Suspicion came
alive in Caelan. He frowned. “You—”

“It did not act by
my command,” Sien said, lifting his hand. “Cast no accusations at me.”

His remarks
confirmed Caelan’s suspicions. “So you
can
command these creatures?” he
asked. “You can bring them away from the person who casts them and make them do
your bidding?”

Sien frowned at
the empress, letting his hands hover just above her. “What is this material,
this cloak?” he asked. “I cannot touch her.”

“Her cloak is
Mahiran-made,” Caelan said. He found it interesting that the cloak’s spell
could repel the priest. That alone told Caelan to not trust Sien. Not that he
intended to anyway. He wished she had been wearing her hood. Perhaps then the
shadow could not have reached her throat.

“For someone so
young, she is remarkably resourceful,” Sien said.

“Yes, she is. And
I asked you if you can separate men from their shadows.”

Looking cool and
unruffled by Caelan’s questions, Sien went on gazing at the empress. “You are
an unbeliever,” he replied. “I have no answers to give you.”

“But did you set
this thing loose on her?” Caelan persisted with growing horror.

“No.”

“Do you know
who—or what—did?”

Again Sien paused
to glance at him. “An interesting phrasing of that question. What is your name,
guardsman?”

Caelan was
surprised that Sien had forgotten him. “Caelan E’non.”

“Ah, yes. You were
rejected by this lady as a possible protector. Yet here you are. How
interesting.” There was an idle note of amusement woven in Sien’s tone.

Caelan caught it,
and his lips tightened. “You toy with me, Lord Sien,” he said grimly. “You know
me from before that. You have seen me often at the heels of my former master.”

“Yes, I have. And
now you serve the empress instead. Although you were not her chosen protector,
and you do not wear her colors.”

“Rander Malk is
dead,” Caelan said evasively. “Killed by shadows. Will she recover?”

Sien stared
intently at him. “What will you pay for her recovery?”

Confused, Caelan
reached for his belt. If it was a matter of a healing fee—

“No,” Sien said as
though he had read the thought in Caelan’s mind. “Put away your coinage, fool.
It is answers I want. Where do you come from? What spawned you? Why do you
serve those who are doomed? Why do you resist us? Resist even your own kinsman
Agel? What powers enable you to fight like no other man alive?”

Caelan’s chin
lifted, and his eyes grew steely. “I have no answers for you.”

Sien backed away
from the empress and stood up. “Then I have no help for her Majesty.”

Furiously Caelan
moved on him fast, pinning him with enough force to make the priest’s shaved
head thump against the wall. Eyes narrowed, Caelan glared at Sien. “No matter
what unholy shadows you serve, your duty still lies here. Attend her Majesty
now, or—”

Sien’s long
fingers curled around Caelan’s, and Caelan felt
sevaisin
leap into him
from the other man.

For the first time
in his life, he experienced the joining from the other direction. It was strong
but clumsily done. It was an invasion, a violation. And he could feel himself
shifting also to
sevaisin,
as though to make the link doubly strong.

Horrified, Caelan
held himself back, refusing to cooperate with what called to him.

He could have
snapped the link with
severance
, but caution warned him not to reveal
the other side of his gift.

That left him with
no choice but to endure Sien’s exploration of his feelings and his thoughts,
even parts of his memories.

Then the priest
withdrew with sinuous slowness, his questing coldness fading away. Shuddering,
Caelan broke free of the man, shoving himself back. His legs felt wobbly and
weak. His stomach was roiling. He felt both chilled and hot, as though a fever
had seized him. Most of all, he felt defiled, as though he had been bathed in
slime.

A slow smile of
satisfaction spread across Sien’s face. “Thank you,” he whispered. “That was
very informative.”

Caelan jerked out
his dagger and held it on the man, ready to plunge it deep to end that smirk
forever.

“I have a piece of
you now,” Sien said fearlessly. “If you want it back, you must come to me of
your own free will and ask for it.”

“No,” Caelan said
hoarsely.

“You will come,”
Sien said with soft assurance. “And you will give me the rest of your secrets
in exchange.”

“Never.”

Laughter ghosted
from Sien’s throat. His deep-set eyes glowed at Caelan with a madman’s fervor. “The
shadow god wants you. He knows of you now. You are marked, and you cannot
escape what awaits you.”

“You’re lying,”
Caelan said defiantly. He closed his ears to what Sien was saying, refusing to
believe it. “I know what you serve. You are darkness and blasphemy. You have
betrayed the emperor and brought destruction down on the city. You’ll pay for
it.”

Sien spread out
his arms, the smile still lingering on his lips. “Why not now? Take vengeance
for all those who have died tonight, and strike me down. It will teach you
much.”

Caelan’s hand
tightened on the hilt. Thoughts of the guardsmen, courtiers, women, and
servants who had died needlessly tonight boiled through his mind, igniting his
rage anew. He knew Sien was mocking him now, egging him on as though to test
the limits of his temper. With all his heart he craved the satisfaction of
killing the priest, but he stayed his hand. He would not do it, if only because
the priest asked for it.