Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [145]
Caelan rushed to his door and peered out, but all he saw were the backs of the soldiers, marching down the passage. Swearing in frustration, he slammed his fist against the door, making it rattle.
In the next moment, it was being unlocked. Caelan backed up just in time to avoid the door as it was slammed open. Guards filled the doorway, shining torches in his face and nearly blinding him.
“You! Come with us!”
They grabbed Caelan and dragged him forth, herding him down the passageway and around a corner. Several daggers were held against him. Had he tried to break free, he would have been spitted instantly.
Down they went, going lower into the older regions. Many of the bracing timbers showed signs of rot and neglect. The stone mortar was crumbling, allowing some of the walls to bulge from the press of the earth. Caelan saw some ramps and passageways choked with fallen debris, probably from the frequent earthquakes. He swallowed hard, thinking about being crushed to death down here.
“Where am I going?” he asked.
One of the guards struck him hard on the ear, making his head ring. “To die.”
They all laughed, but Caelan could not share the joke.
Lifting his head, he gazed around, taking note as they descended another ramp. A series of doors along the passageway told him they were in the old gladiator quarters. Men stayed down here for entire seasons, never seeing the sunlight until they went into the ring. Most of them died minutes later, to be returned forever into the darkness.
Ghost voices .. . the faint ring of swords . . . the roar of the crowd. Caelan shook off the memories. When they went down a short flight of worn steps, he recognized another scent, faint and fading now but unforgettable.
It was the smell of Haggai. Those loathsome creatures, part woman and part monster. It had been a long tradition in the arena that gladiators could sport freely with the witches the night before their combat. And if the Haggai had lived deep below the complex under the arena, did that not mean there was a physical passageway into the realm of shadows itself? Just as there had been a portal beneath the Temple of Gault in the palace compound?
Caelan studied the men around him. He had an escort of five guards, well armed and alert. Their weapons were drawn, which made seizing a spare dagger from someone’s belt almost impossible. He narrowed his eyes, thinking about odds and possibilities.
The passageway ended at a closed door. One of the guards knocked perfunctorily, then swung it open. Caelan was shoved inside.
The room was circular and empty of furnishings other than a brazier supported by a tripod. A small fire burned in it, smoking heavily as though it had just been started. Torches blazed in sconces. On the wall opposite the door, a demonic face was carved into the stone. Its snarling visage caused two of Caelan’s guards to make furtive warding signs with their fingers.
Caelan barely noticed the carving, however. His attention was locked on the occupants of the chamber.
Besides Tirhin, two bodyguards stood by the wall. Agel, wearing a white healer’s robe beneath his dark blue cloak, hovered near the prince.
Caelan saw his cousin and frowned. He had thought Agel had died during the Madrun invasion. It seemed he was wrong.
Agel gazed at him with an equal lack of affection and handed a wine cup to Tirhin, who gulped the contents.
“Secure him well,” Tirhin commanded between swallows.
One of Caelan’s guards ran a length of stout chain through a massive ring bolt set into the stone floor, then looped the other end through Caelan’s shackles. He secured the chain and gave it a strong yank.
“He is secure, Majesty.”
Tirhin gulped down more wine and grunted. “Get out.”
The guards bowed and shuffled outside, shutting the door.
Tirhin gestured at Agel. “You. I wish you to go.”
“That is unwise,” Agel said. His voice was the same as ever, slightly grave, holding a note of warning and counsel.
Hearing him, Caelan shut his eyes a moment. As boys, he and Agel had been as close as brothers.