Shadow War - Deborah Chester [123]
It was going to land at the very top of the steps. Practically in the front door of the palace. Caelan took the steps three at a time, his long legs driving him forward.
The sentries at the door saw him coming. He saw their faces in a blur, saw the pikes being lowered from their shoulders.
The wiry Thyzarene rider glanced over his shoulder. The dragon’s snakelike head whipped around, and it hissed, baring its fangs.
Shouts rang out in all directions. More guards were coming from within the palace. They ran at Caelan even as the dragon hopped sideways and lashed out with its barbed tail.
Without a shield to block that blow, Caelan had no choice but to duck. He did so, rolling across the marble pavement too quickly to be caught by that dangerous tail, and launched himself at the vulnerable side of the dragon.
The Thyzarene shouted something furious in his own heathen tongue and leaned over his mount to strike back at Caelan with his sword.
Caelan’s weapon met it, one-handed, and the clash of steel rang out loudly enough to echo off the buildings.
Then the soldiers were upon Caelan, gripping him and pulling him back bodily. He struggled against them, but by sheer numbers they held him back.
Enraged, Caelan swore at them in his own language. “It is my right to kill him!” he shouted. “My right!”
By now Sergeant Baiter came running up, breathless and red-faced. He backhanded Caelan across the face.
“Are you mad?” he yelled. “Come to order now! You, disarm him.”
One of the guardsmen wrenched the sword from Caelan’s grip. Furious, he glared past them at the Thyzarene, who jumped lightly down from the back of his dragon and slung a pouch over his shoulder. The Thyzarene glared back at Caelan and gestured an insult.
Caelan heaved himself forward, but the men held him back once again.
By now the officers had reached them. “What in Faure’s name is the meaning of this?” one of them demanded.
The sergeant whirled smartly on his heel. “I do not know, sir. He saw the dragon and went berserk.”
“Is he mad?”
“Must be, sir.”
“No, I am not mad,” Caelan said in exasperation.
With a smirk the Thyzarene strolled into the palace, and Caelan stopped struggling. Reason was returning to him by degrees. He realized this must be a messenger, coming in with dispatches. He didn’t care. He had seen Thyzarenes turned loose on helpless women and children. He would never forget it. He would never forgive.
“Sergeant Baiter, take this man to detention and sort this out.”
The sergeant saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“Wait,” said the officer in the gold cloak. He shouldered his way forward. “Who is this man?”
“New recruit, sir,” Baiter replied woodenly.
“He looks familiar. Who is he?”
The sergeant glanced at Caelan, still rigid with anger and embarrassment. “Speak your name, but nothing else,” he said to Caelan.
Caelan faced the officer in gold. “I am Caelan E’non.”
Recognition leaped into the man’s eyes. “Of course. The champion of the games. I knew I had seen that speed and that sword swing before. So you’ve left the games.”
“He has. Recruited to the Crimson Guard,” Sergeant Baiter said possessively.
“Freed?”
Caelan raised his chin. “Yes, sir.”
The officer nodded. “Put this man with the other selections.”
“But, Captain Vysal!” protested one of the officers in crimson. “He must go to detention. He’s oblivious to discipline. He would have killed that messenger if he hadn’t been stopped.”
“Yes, General Paz, and a few days ago I saw him kill a Madrun in the arena,” Vysal said, undaunted. “I want him among the selections.”
“But he can’t possibly be—”
“Is there a man in this army with his size and his speed?” Vysal demanded. “He’s a ferocious fighter. You’ve seen him.”
“He’s a savage,” the general said with disdain. “Untrained. Undisciplined. He doesn’t belong in the Imperial Guard at all, Crimson or Gold.”
Around him Caelan heard mutters of assent from the