Shadow War - Deborah Chester [16]
He climbed to his feet, although the effort made him dizzy, and held on. He was too proud now to show any weakness. Nor would he meet the prince’s gaze again, fearing he would not be able to conceal his fury.
The prince stepped back and lifted his arms in a cheerful wave to the crowd. He was still smiling. But his eyes were like stones.
With more waves for the crowd, he walked back up the steps.
Caelan stood there, stunned. That was it. That was all. Whatever he had expected, it was not this. As he watched his master’s retreating back, Caelan’s temper rose. Of all the ungrateful ...
An attendant prodded his arm, distracting him from his furious disappointment. Recalling where he was, Caelan executed a very small, very stiff bow to the prince’s retreating back.
There remained the crowd, chanting his name. Like an endless sea, the faces surrounded him, held back only by the soldiers.
Caelan battled himself, trying to believe there would be more later. He was a fool to expect the prince to free him on the spot.
Yet a little voice in his heart whispered, He could have.
Crossing the arena had never been so difficult. It took an eternity, and despite the crisp winter air Caelan was sweating. He could feel himself weakening with every step, yet he kept his chin high and his shoulders erect, forcing one foot ahead of the next as the guards escorted him to the ramp. Behind him, young boys ran across the arena sand with crimson and blue streamers unfurling from their hands while Tirhin’s slaves threw coins and favors into the crowd as part of the celebration.
Caelan saluted the crowd one final time before going in.
One of the guards stopped him. “By your rights, you can circle the arena again. As long as they shout for you, enjoy your victory.”
Caelan shook his head. His elation was gone. He’d lost the heart for another victory walk. Besides, his knees were growing spongy and he dared not keep up the pretense much longer.
Even now, he could hear voices in the crowd: “He’s fine. Look at him! You only thought the Madrun stabbed him.”
And others: “Who knew a Traulander could fight like that? If they’d all take up arms like Giant, they could help the emperor defeat the Madruns once and for all.”
And someone else: “The prince can pick his fighting men. By the gods, we need a leader like that. I say let him take charge of our army.”
Fresh bitterness flooded through Caelan, and he descended into the torchlit gloom of the subcaverns.
Many of the guards left their posts to cluster around him, eager to slap his back and shake his hand.
“I’ve won a fortune on you today, Giant!” one of them said.
“By the gods, I’ve never seen such fighting.”
“You’re a devil, blessed by the dark one, to fight like that.”
They wanted to talk it over, describing every move in detail as they relived it again and again. Caelan stood with them a moment, longing for Orlo to come and shoo them away. His head was spinning and he didn’t know what he said to anyone. But no one noticed. Finally he brushed past them and went on while they talked and laughed behind him.
With every step, the new gold chain thumped a little against his collarbone. It was a generous gift indeed, heavy, and of extremely fine workmanship.
But to Caelan it was still a chain, put on him by a master who would never let him go.
He felt like he was choking.
Chapter Three
At the steps leading down to his ready room, Caelan found his strength suddenly deserting him. He paused and sagged against the smoke-blackened wall, trying to catch his breath. Another cluster of guards and workers waylaid him, all talking at once. Caelan felt everything blurring, and he panicked. He could not fall; he must not fall. Questions came at him from all sides, but he found he did not have to answer. They were all too busy congratulating each other to care whether he spoke or not.
Then an insolent voice cut across the chatter. “Giant! Ho, there!”
Blinking hard, Caelan managed to rally. With great care, he turned around to face a lanky man wearing