Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [172]
And as though chains dropped from Caelan’s mind, he looked at the emperor with deeper severance and saw that Kostimon’s eyes were red, not yellow. The ivy crown upon his head was withered and black. Faint curls of smoke came from his nostrils with each breath.
Fear struck deep within Caelan. This was not the emperor. This was no man who stood before them. He saw no threads of life, but instead a terrible dark aura surrounding Kostimon’s form, an aura that flashed and crawled with miniature streaks of lightning. At his side, Kostimon held a sword with a blade of black metal. Evil swirled across the blade in a constantly shifting pattern of death and destruction. Horror spread through Caelan, and he did not want to believe his own eyes.
“Kostimon!” he shouted with all his might.
The figure did not react. Kostimon’s terrible eyes swept the crowd again, and a slow smile spread across his face. He lifted one hand to the crowd, and fresh cheering broke out.
Caelan could no longer doubt the truth. This creature might wear Kostimon’s exterior form, but the emperor did not live behind those dreadful eyes. What had Kostimon done, in his last moments of life? Had he tried to bargain yet again with the shadow god? Had he given his body to Beloth, thinking he could yet achieve immortality? Instead, Kostimon had only provided Beloth with the final means of stepping into the world from the realm of shadow. The last chains had been broken, and Beloth stood free while these poor fools cheered.
“Beloth!” Caelan shouted, and this time the creature heard his voice among the others.
Turning his head, Beloth looked right at Caelan. His red eyes glowed, and the false smile faded from his face. Beloth started walking across the square, coming straight toward Caelan.
The people surrounding Caelan cried out. Some of them surged forward with outstretched hands. Others drew back, trying to flee.
“No!” Tirhin shouted. Unexpectedly he came rushing out from the pavilion. His face was contorted with rage. “You are dead, Kostimon!” he shouted at the thing that resembled his father. “You are dead! Foul thing, go back to the grave where you belong!”
Beloth’s attention swung back to the prince, and he laughed. The sound boomed loudly enough to drown out the cheering, which faltered and died.
But when he spoke it was with Kostimon’s familiar voice, sounding both amused and contemptuous. “My son, am I spoiling your day of triumph?”
“Damn you!” Limping now as he crossed the square, Tirhin struggled to draw his sword. But something seemed to be wrong with the scabbard, and he was unable to draw the weapon. “You are dead. You cannot live forever. You will not return. I forbid it.”
“But I have returned.”
“No! I’ll see you driven back to hell where you belong!”
Kostimon/Beloth raised his black sword, but Tirhin still could not draw his sword.
Movement from the corner of his eye caught Caelan’s attention. He saw Elandra emerging from the pavilion with a sleeve knife in her hand.
Alarm filled Caelan. He knocked people flying, clearing a path for himself, and shoved past the soldiers into the cleared space. “Elandra, stay back!” he called in warning. “It’s not Kostimon.”
Her eyes flashed to him, and she stopped in her tracks. She stared at him, her face disbelieving at first, then filling with fierce joy. “Caelan!” she cried out. “You’re alive.”
Tirhin whirled around so fast he almost lost his balance. He stared at Caelan with bulging eyes. “Impossible,” he breathed.
“You’re dead. My father is dead.” Flinging his hands to the dark heavens, he shouted, “I deny this! Both of you, go back to your graves!”
Ignoring him, Elandra came running in Caelan’s direction, her face aglow.
Beloth looked at her and shouted. His words were incomprehensible, but