Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [99]
Pier studied Caelan a long while. “Your sword would not let me hold it,” he said at last. “When my fingers tried to close around the hilt, some force pushed my hand away.”
“It is magic,” another man said.
“The jinjas say not,” Pier said sharply.
“Jinjas can be wrong.”
One of the creatures howled angrily at this comment, but was ordered to be silent.
Pier went on studying Caelan, and finally nudged Exoner back to him with his foot.
Caelan picked up the weapon, feeling it nestle in his hand the way a dog might thrust its head into its master’s palm to be stroked. Caelan slid the sword into its scabbard, and let his hand rest there, drawing strength and confidence from the weapon.
“Only kings can carry Choven swords,” Pier said finally.
“That’s the legend,” Caelan replied.
The round-faced courtier gasped and nudged his neighbor. “He claims to be a king.”
“Outrageous!”
The murmurs rose again, but suspicion was darkening Pier’s face like a cloud.
His eyes bored into Caelan’s. “What are you up to?”
Caelan said nothing.
“You abducted the empress—”
“I saved her life,” Caelan corrected him. He had Pier thinking now. He felt that was progress toward turning the man into an ally.
“Clearly she feels herself in your debt.”
“No.”
“Would you prefer I called it something offensive?”
Caelan’s face burned again. He realized he had been optimistic too quickly. Pier was far from being on his side.
“You think that because you have the empress in your power, and you have paid the Choven to make you a sword worthy of a king, that you can take over the empire and set yourself on Kostimon’s throne? You?”
Caelan said nothing. Pier’s contempt was like a hot brand, burning him.
“Well, well,” Pier said in mock appreciation. “How interesting to see what high ambitions arena trash aspires to these days.”
Humiliation rolled over Caelan. It was exactly as he had feared it would be. He stood there, forgetting all that Moah had said to him about destiny and ability, while these highborn men jeered in his face.
Pier’s face creased with disgust. He gestured at Handar. “General, see that this fool is thrown out.”
Handar, a man almost half Caelan’s size, drew in a resolute breath and started his way, but Caelan was not finished with Pier yet.
“And whom will you give your new oath of fealty to, Lord Pier?” he asked in a ringing voice that carried clearly over the noise in the gallery. “Will it be Tirhin the Usurper, who turned the Madrun invaders loose on his own people? Who was so anxious to have the throne that he could not wait a few days more for his father to die naturally?”
Pier’s face darkened. “We know of Prince Tirhin’s actions. We know he has proclaimed himself emperor. We also know he has driven the Madruns from Imperia, and now they rape and pillage the countryside, a problem for each province to cope with as they march homeward.”
“Who named Kostimon emperor?” Caelan asked them. “Who can remember the legends? His father did not give him the throne.
No, he took it for himself. If you do not want Tirhin, whom will you name instead?”
Shouting broke out, but Pier held up his hand for quiet. “That cannot be decided now.”
“When will it be decided? When Tirhin is finished dividing the empire into weak halves? When the treasuries are completely looted and the army revolts? When the darkness that is coming decides there is nothing to stop it? When will there be a council?”
Pier said nothing. Tight-lipped, he glared at Caelan, then looked at Handar. “I told you to put this man outside.”
“Put me outside yourself,” Caelan said, too furious to care what he said now.
Anger leaped in Pier’s eyes. “Are you challenging me?” he asked in astonishment.
“Does that insult you?” Caelan taunted him. “I am so low, and your lineage is so pure. I am arena trash, as you have said, and therefore I have not even the right to look at you, much less talk to you, least of all challenge you.”
Pier shook his head in disgust. “I will not fight you.”
“Afraid?” Caelan said softly.