Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [165]
He did not ask questions.
Shrugging a little, he said, “The dream walker offered me a lesson. What must I learn?”
“You are quick, Lord Caelan.”
“I am not a lord,” he said, thinking of his humiliation among the Gialtans. He had learned he could not invent a rank for himself and expect other men to accept it.
Impatience crossed her face. “If the gods grant you a title, will you refuse it?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “The gods?”
She nodded.
He frowned and dropped his gaze, not sure what to think. “I believe such a reward should wait until it has been earned. I have not yet—”
“And Will you tell the gods what they may or may not do?” she rebuked him with visible amusement.
His frown deepened. Embarrassed, he said nothing.
“You need our help,” the Magria said, switching subjects swiftly. “The Choven unleashed you on the world, but they enjoy their secrets and mysteries. Now you are in trouble, and where are they? Off busy with forges and chisels, more concerned with creation itself than with what should be done afterward.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No. Will you accept the help of the sisterhood?”
“Gladly. What—”
“Then pay heed. Tirhin is not the enemy you must defeat.”
Caelan looked at her. “I know.”
“Good. Then I need not explain.”
“Will you tell me how to kill a god?’
Her eyes flashed. “Where is your faith?”
“I don’t know,” he said, refusing to be intimidated. “My faith has always been in my ability to fight. But this is not about physical strength, is it?”
She gestured, watching him closely. “Have you other questions?”
He sighed. “Exoner has been taken from me. It is a sword, forged by the Choven.”
“You will need more than a sword to face the darkness,” she said severely.
“But this is no ordinary—”
“So your faith lies in a metal blade and your own muscle,” she said scornfully. “Little indeed with which to face a god.”
Caelan’s temper began to fray. They could circle, parrying words, forever and come to nothing. “Or perhaps the dark god hasn’t broken free. Perhaps he isn’t coming. Wouldn’t he have come forth by now if he—”
“You have seen the darkness,” she said sharply. “Do you doubt?”
“No,” he said, seeing that slim hope sliced away.
“I say again to you that Tirhin is not your enemy. Remember my warning when you go back.”
He frowned impatiently. “Why should I forget it?”
“Because Elandra is to marry Tirhin today.”
Fury ignited in him with such heat and violence he felt as though he had been torched. At the thought of Tirhin daring to put his hands on Elandra, he wanted to break the prince in his hands, sever his threads of life, one by one, until Tirhin screamed for mercy.
“I warn you a third time,” the Magria said. “Tirhin is not your enemy. Do you hear my words? Will you heed them?”
Caelan clenched his fists and with difficulty brought his rage under control. He could not fight unless he could think. And he could not think as long as his wrath consumed him. But by the gods, he would pick a hole in Tirhin’s hide, and he would—
“Stop it!” the Magria said forcefully. Her blue eyes flashed at him, and it was almost like a physical blow. “Will you be a fool at the last hour?”
“She is mine,” Caelan said.
“She is her own,” the Magria said, and every word was sharp and punishing. “Elandra does what she must do, what she was meant to do. You must do the same.”
He felt trapped and increasingly frantic. What kind of insane sacrifice was expected of him and Elandra? That they should be apart forever? That he should stand aside and let her pass into Tirhin’s hands? That cowardly pig of a traitor was not worthy to lick Elandra’s slippers, much less proclaim himself her husband.
The wind ceased to blow, and all grew still and hushed as though the world held its breath. Overhead, the sun went behind a cloud. Thunder rumbled out over the sea, like an omen.
“Will you submit?” the Magria asked him.
Caelan lifted his head.