Shadow War - Deborah Chester [117]
Caelan dropped his gaze hastily. “No, Majesty,” he whispered.
“No,” the emperor said more calmly. “No, you do not. So you fought without magic. You fought with valor and courage and skill. You fought like a damned fool. And you used the Dance of Death, you, a mere slave, with no military service behind you. I know it is believed by some that my son taught you that move. But I happen to know that Tirhin is unacquainted with it, except in theory. It was never taught to him. How did you know it, slave?”
Caelan swallowed hard and had no answer.
“How did you know it?” the emperor demanded more harshly, forcing Caelan to look at him. His yellow eyes bored in. “A Traulander, bred to peace, the son of a master healer committed to pacifism.”
Caelan’s mouth dropped open. “You knew my father?”
“I did,” the emperor said grimly. “The proud fool refused my offer of an appointment. How did you learn that sword move?”
Caelan’s gaze shifted away, then came back to his. He said nothing.
The emperor leaned closer. “Was it the sword?” he asked in a scratchy whisper. “A blade of many combats. Did it sing to your blood? Did it share its secrets?”
Caelan’s eyes widened.
The emperor laughed at him. “Do you think I don’t recognize sevaisin when I see it? Do you think Sien would not know?”
Caelan’s mouth was suddenly dry. “It is a great shame in my country.”
“So is using severance to kill.”
Caelan felt jolted. The denial rose to his lips, but he held it back.
“But, no, you fight fair,” the emperor said. “Always you fight fair, although there are no rules in the arena. You have won the championship every time, and by rights my son should have freed you for that. You do not drink excessively. You do not sport with the Haggai. You do not spend the gold my son has given you. Except for being a slave, you conduct yourself with honor and honesty. Rare qualities rarely seen these days.”
Caelan had no answer. He waited, hoping for the emperor’s mercy.
“What did Tirhin do to destroy your loyalty?” the emperor mused. “Was it treachery alone?”
Hope filled Caelan. “Then your Majesty does believe me?”
“Hah!” Anger returned to the emperor’s face. He spun on his heel and strode away, trotting up the steps and sweeping out past the soldier at the door, who stiffened to attention.
Caelan watched him go, chilled with dismay. It was over. His chance had come and gone. He had failed to convince the man, and with him went Caelan’s last hope.
His consciousness of his surroundings returned. The wailing sawed on his nerves, and he could once again smell the filth and despair. Like a beetle, the torturer came scuttling forth from the shadows and grimaced in his face.
“Speak plenty now!” he said petulantly, and struck Caelan.
The pain and gray misery swept through him again. He was choking, coughing, balanced halfway between oblivion and agony when he heard the rattle of his shackles. One of them opened, and his right arm dropped to his side.
Fire lanced through him, piercing straight through his shoulder with such intensity he could not find enough breath to scream. His left arm dropped too, borne down by the weight of the shackles and the chain that thumped him a glancing blow on the side of his face. He tumbled to the floor, unable to catch himself, lost in the fire of his wrenched shoulder sockets.
The torturer kicked him, grunted, and scuttled away. After a moment the intense pain abated slightly, only to flare again when a pair of turnkeys grabbed him by his elbows and lifted him.
Caelan bit off a cry, sweating and unable to walk. They propelled him forward, shoving him across the chamber and up the steps into the hands of some soldiers.
Barely conscious, Caelan glimpsed their cold eyes and taut mouths and knew they were taking him to execution. He’d been a fool all his life. He would die a fool. He should never have spoken the truth, not even to the emperor. What good had it done him but bring him to this misery and shame?
“Come on, get on your feet,” one of the soldiers snarled at him. “If you can’t get