Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [173]
“Agel!” he shouted. “Send the Vindicants over here. They must work a spell and stop this—”
Beloth strode past Tirhin, brushing him aside as though he did not exist. The god aimed straight for Elandra.
“Elandra!” he shouted. “Empress of mortals, bow to me in acclaim.”
Caelan reached her first and stepped between her and the god. Elandra clutched Caelan’s cloak, breathing hard, her eyes full of emotion. “Is it true?” she asked, drinking him in. “You live? You are not spirit?”
His hand closed over hers, and he brushed her lips swiftly with his. “I live,” he said. “Tirhin lied to you.”
Her eyes grew steely, and she glanced at Tirhin as though she meant to hurl her knife at his chest. But Beloth was almost upon them, and neither of them could afford to ignore him.
“Elandra!” he bellowed. “Bow to me now!”
Elandra’s face turned white with fear. “The vision,” she said fearfully. “It knows my name. I cannot resist—”
Caelan gripped her arm hard. “Don’t bow to it. Don’t bow!”
She twisted, arching back as though struck, and screamed. The knife dropped from her fingers.
“Leave her alone!” Tirhin shouted. He whirled and came running at Beloth’s back, an upraised dagger in his hand, his useless sword swinging at his side.
Just as Tirhin reached him, Beloth turned and swung the black sword. It hit Tirhin at the base of his neck and cleaved him from shoulder to hip. Blood spurted in the air, and both halves of the prince crumpled to the ground.
People in the crowd screamed. On the other side of the square, Albain roared terrible curses and drew his sword, as did the Gialtan warlords. The Lord Commander snapped out orders, but the soldiers were in disorder, breaking ranks, refusing to listen.
Beloth roared and blew flames in a circle around the square. Men and women turned into sudden blazing torches, spinning in their death agony as they screamed and fell.
Others tried to run for their lives. Many of the soldiers threw down their weapons and fled, knocking down men and thrusting women and children aside.
Twisting, Caelan grabbed Elandra and pulled her to the ground, rolling frantically as the flames roared over them. Regaining his feet, Caelan ripped off his cloak and ran straight at Beloth.
“Caelan, no!” Elandra screamed behind him.
He paid her no heed. There was one chance to strike Beloth from behind, while his back was turned and he was busy roasting people alive. Grimly Caelan raised his sword, sharing with the weapon, feeling the death poised in the steel, feeling the lingering touch of Orlo who had owned this blade since it was first forged. It was a worthy weapon, well made, well kept in its long years of service.
Caelan swung it with all his might, but at the last second Beloth whirled to face him and parried with the black sword. Steel clashed against steel, and Caelan’s weapon shattered into a thousand pieces that came raining down.
Beloth bellowed a word, and Caelan was knocked sprawling by the force of it. He landed with bruising force across part of Tirhin’s corpse and lay there, winded and stunned. Pain from his back broke through severance, and he felt his wound reopen. His courage faltered. The Penestricans had not healed him completely; perhaps they had not had sufficient time, or perhaps they had not understood the all-or-nothing roughness of combat.
“Mortal fool!” Beloth shouted at him, and raised the black sword to finish him.
Caelan had no time to think. He rolled over, trying to scramble to his feet, and saw the hilt jewel of Tirhin’s sword flashing above the edge of the scabbard. It was a large, square-cut emerald.
Everything froze for the space of a heartbeat as Caelan recognized Exoner. Tirhin had taken it from him, yet Exoner had been forged for one hand alone. It would not let Tirhin draw it against darkness, and Tirhin had died.
Now, Caelan could hear the song of the sword, calling to him, and his own spirit sang in answer.
But Beloth was