Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [169]
“The Penestricans don’t lie,” Orlo said suspiciously. “Whatever else they do, they don’t lie. She said—”
“Forget what she said!” Caelan shouted. He wrested the sword scabbard from Orlo’s grasp and slapped the belt around his bare waist. “I’m a fighter, nothing more.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Caelan concentrated on the buckle. “Believe what you like.”
“Tirhin will never fight you,” Orlo said desperately. “Listen to me, just this once. You’ll never reach him before the soldiers cut you down. This revenge is pointless.”
Caelan ran his thumb inside the belt, frowning. The sword’s weight seemed wrong. He could not get it adjusted over his hip the way he wanted. Orlo was completely mistaken about everything, but Caelan did not intend to explain. That would take too long, and he doubted Orlo would believe him.
“You’re getting it wrong,” Orlo said gruffly. He brushed Cae-lan’s hands aside and rebuckled the belt for him. He took extra care to slide the leather belt below the bandage.
Bare-chested, Caelan gripped the hilt of the sword and half drew it, then let it slide back into its scabbard. He felt cold and detached, yet awareness of the shifting stamp and noise of the crowd overhead ran constantly through his mind. A fanfare of trumpets made him jump, his heart suddenly racing.
“Why did I save you?” Orlo muttered angrily to himself. “Why did I fret and worry over your miserable hide? You’re going to destroy yourself.”
Not listening, Caelan picked up a cloak lying across a stool and started for the crude wooden steps leading out of the cellar.
“Caelan!” Orlo called after him.
Without stopping, Caelan glanced back.
Orlo threw him a gladiator’s salute, his face twisted with grief. “Fight long and die well, Giant!”
Caelan smiled and raised his hand in farewell.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Outside, the midday sun hung high over the city, appearing as an orb veiled in gloom. It looked like twilight, the air murky and evil, infinitely depressing despite the torches burning like beacons. The square looked larger by day than it had last night. Much of the rubble had been removed from it, piled instead in tall heaps of stone and wood at the edges. The proud statue of Kostimon on a charger lay in broken pieces atop the rubble. On the east side of the square stood what was left of the arena, with its yawning entrance that led down into the dungeons. On the west side, the square opened into the Street of Triumph, a broad avenue that had once been used for civic parades. The center of the square had been cleared of spectators by the soldiers, who stood at attention in their ragged cloaks and unpolished armor, holding back the motley crowd that had assembled. More soldiers lined the avenue, their faces impassive, their hands on their weapons. People stood huddled in nervous groups, looking pinched with cold and hunger.
A wagon rolled along the street, and a pair of soldiers tossed loaves of bread into the crowd to elicit noise and cheers.
Picking his way over the rubble at the back of the crowd, Caelan wrapped his cloak close around him to conceal his sword and merged with the people. Being in severance, he could see their threads of life as well as follow the furtive movements of shadow creatures lurking in concealment. Despite the pervasive gloom, the demons did not quite venture forth openly at midday.
Caelan looked again at the sky, at the sun so cloaked and veiled, as though Beloth had put it in chains. Once again Caelan felt ashamed of his own selfishness and resentment. If he alone could stand as some kind of sentinel against the dark god’s return, then who was he to shirk from such a task, or even to complain about it in his heart?
The trumpets sounded again, catching his attention. He saw the wedding party approaching on horseback. A tawdry little open-sided pavilion had been erected in the square, and a Vindicant priest waited there in his brown and saffron robes. Smoke from burning incense boiled into the air, adding to the murk. Beyond the pavilion stood a small contingent of Penestricans. Past them were more women,