Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [149]
Tirhin’s dark brows knotted together. He swept a cold look at Caelan and said to the sergeant, “Wait until I am gone, then execute him. Don’t just slit his throat,” Tirhin added as a slow smile returned to the sergeant’s face. “Cut him into quarters and throw him outside to whatever hunts the darkness.”
“A pleasure, Majesty.”
“And, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Majesty?”
Tirhin’s gaze returned to Caelan’s. “Cut out his heart and send it to me. Then I shall know for certain that he is well and truly dead.”
The sergeant saluted.
A chill swept through Caelan. His plan had failed him. If he died here like a dog tonight, Elandra would truly be alone. His promises to her now seemed like idle boasting, deflated wineskins swinging in the wind.
“Your highness—” he said.
But the prince started laughing. It was a low sound without amusement, a sound of madness, a sound of bitter enmity. He paused only to spit in Caelan’s face, then resumed his laughter as he limped out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tirhin’s bodyguards followed him out of the room, leaving only the five prison guards surrounding Caelan.
He knelt on the gritty floor with his fingers tight on the chain, considering his odds, forcing himself to be calm and wait for the moment, however slim. There was always a moment, a slight second of inattention or carelessness, when a guard might glance away or move fractionally too close. If no moment came, Caelan intended to create one.
The links of the chain were stout and well forged. The only weakness lay where the chain had been fastened through the ring bolt. Caelan eyed it, flexing his muscles to keep them loose, aware that his heart was racing.
The sergeant took off his helmet with a grunt of relief and massaged the red marks on his temple where the helmet rubbed it. “Koloth, go watch for when he’s reached the upper levels. That’ll be long enough to wait.”
One of the guards saluted and left. Caelan bowed his head to hide his satisfaction. Only four men now. His odds were improving. He drew in several deep breaths, gathering his strength.
A bestial howl rose in the distance.
The men froze in silence for a moment, then unconsciously drew closer together, holding their daggers. Only the sergeant did not seem concerned.
Tucking his helmet under his arm, he spat on the floor and grinned derisively at his men. “Relax,” he said. “It won’t come this far.”
“We’re very deep in the ground,” one of the guards said nervously. He looked younger than the rest, a stout lad not quite fully grown into his big hands and feet, awkward and gangly in his armor and weapons.
The oldest of the bunch, bearing a puckered scar across his face, rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Maybe the sergeant will let us go lookin’ fer Haggai after duty,” he suggested with a leer.
The boy blanched.
“Shut up, Mox,” the sergeant said. “You know the orders.”
“Aye, but I got me a taste for some—”
Breaking off, he gestured suggestively with his hands and laughed.
Watching them, Caelan realized Mox was a gladiator, or had been. No one he’d fought personally. Strictly second rank, but it explained his lack of military discipline and the sloppy look of him. But even if his armor needed polishing, he would fight mean and he would fight dirty.
As for the sergeant, he was clearly a legion veteran. His ugly face was sunburned and coarse, weathered from long years on the march, his eyes empty of anything except his orders. A little nub of skin and scar tissue was all that remained of one of his ears, and his left cheek was tattooed with the symbol of Faure, the ancient war god. He might command conscripted dregs such as old gladiators and green boys, but he was an imperial soldier, and as such he was one of the toughest, most fearless fighters ever trained.
Caelan made his calculations. Half closing his eyes, he drew severance to him, testing it, knowing that of late his ability to use it had been erratic. The gladiator and the sergeant must be the first to die. The boy would panic and might run. The remaining man looked tough and competent, but Caelan could take him.