Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [60]
Head ringing, Caelan finally tumbled out of madness and lay still. Tears choked his throat, and his mind felt numbed with shock. Again and again, as though the scene would be forever frozen in his brain, he saw the slash of the blade, the flare of pain in his father’s face, the brief surprise in those gray eyes. In spite of his philosophy, Beva had not been prepared for the ultimate severance after all.
The Thyzarene hauled Caelan to his feet and dusted him off. “Strong and young,” he said proudly.
The leader of the band faced Caelan, looking him up and down. Caelan barely noticed. He was lost in the fire of his own emotions.
The leader asked a question in a language Caelan did not understand.
His captor translated it. “How old?”
Caelan said nothing. They struck him, but he didn’tcare.
“How old?”
There was blood in his mouth. It tasted thick and sweet. His cut face throbbed brutally. “Sixteen,” he replied and felt sick. “Almost seventeen.”
“Ah.”
They discussed him in their own rapid-fire language.
His captor kept shaking his head and pointing to Caelan’s face. “Battle wound,” he announced. “Kuvar clawed him. The nick will heal fast.”
The round of argument continued. Finally his captor grinned and turned to Caelan. “Forty ducats we will ask for you in the marketplace. I am a rich man.”
Laughing, he clapped Caelan on the shoulder.
Another came forward and broke the thong of the medallion around Caelan’s neck. Then he pulled out the pouch from beneath what remained of Caelan’s tunic.
“No!” Caelan yelled in protest, but they ignored him.
Raging, he thought of Lea. She’d said the emeralds were to remind him of her always.
“In the name of the gods, don’t take that too,” he said in desperation. “It’s only my amulet. I—”
The raiders opened the pouch, joking among themselves, and poured out the emeralds.
The fight died in Caelan. Everything was gone. He stared bleakly at nothing.
An exclamation of surprise made him look. Instead of emeralds, two brownish, ordinary pebbles rested on the leader’s palm. The man frowned in disgust and tossed them down along with the pouch.
“Bah!”
As he walked away, trailed by the others, Caelan’s new owner picked up the pouch and the two pebbles. He put the rocks back inside and returned the pouch to Caelan.
“Your amulet, you keep,” he said kindly. “Stupid Traulander bring forty ducats. Me rich man soon.”
Dumbfounded, Caelan took the pouch with nerveless fingers. He didn’t know whether to be more astonished at the pebbles or at the man’s unexpected generosity.
But how . . . what had happened? Was the miracle in the cave just an illusion? Had he and Lea only fooled themselves?
Heartsick, he dug into the pouch and felt the beveled sides of the small, polished emerald.
Astonished, he pulled it out. In the sunlight, it was only a brown pebble. He stared, unable to explain it, then dropped it back into the pouch. Peering inside, he could dimly see the outline of the two emeralds. A glint of green winked out at him.
Caelan opened his mouth, then closed it. Briefly he smelled the soft fragrance of warm earth and blossoms; then it was gone, obliterated by the stench of smoke and death.
The earth spirits were still with him, still protecting the gift they had given him. He did not know why, but he wasn’t going to question it. Hope filtered back through his grief and despair. Only a tiny sliver of hope, but it was more than he’d had a moment before.
Then the Thyzarene put iron shackles on his wrists, and reality returned with all its grim implications. Caelan stared at the chains and could not imagine himself a slave.
His owner grinned at him with admiration. “Plenty tall. Plenty strong. Young. All good things. You best of all those captured. When I am rich, I shall pay dowry for good wife. Best quality wife. See? All good things