Shadow War - Deborah Chester [24]
He fell silent, lost in his own tormented thoughts, turning the knife over and over in his big, callused hands. No sound disturbed the quiet.
Watching him, Caelan had no words. He understood revenge. And although he had never killed in cold blood, he had thought of it. There had been many sleepless nights in his bunk, thinking of Thyzarene raiders and how to torture them into hell.
Finally Orlo seemed to come to himself. Still staring at the dagger in his hands, he said, “I might have burned over the injustice for years, without acting, but the prince gave me the means. He bribed the door guards and obtained a way for me to enter the man’s house. He promised me leadership in the army he would reorganize.”
Orlo snorted and sheathed the dagger. “For fledgling conspirators, we were lucky. The only part of the plan to succeed was mine. No one else carried out their orders. In the hue and cry over the unsolved murder of the Lord Commander, the prince’s plans fell apart. His supporters lost courage, and he departed for the border to fight the Madruns.”
“And you?” Caelan prompted.
“I barely escaped with my life and hid for days, terrified of arrest. His highness abandoned me.”
“But he—”
“Don’t defend him!” Orlo snapped. “By the gods, you will not find excuses for him in this.”
“You weren’t caught,” Caelan pointed out. “Did he not have you protected?”
“No. He was long gone by then, anxious to cover his trail. I spent a year in hiding, skulking around the provinces, until I was caught for army desertion and flogged. I spun a believable tale. I wasn’t connected to the murder. At the end of my term, I didn’t re-enlist. Instead, I took employment in a run-down gladiatorial arena out in Sarmina. That led to a better job in a bigger town with a bigger arena. Finally I returned to lmperia.”
“And the prince made you one of his trainers.”
Orlo’s expression filled with contempt. “The prince had nothing to do with it. I gained the job on my own.”
“But you trained me. You trained his other fighters.”
“I worked for the public arena,” Orlo said coldly. “When the prince was informed of my skills, he came to interview me for his service.”
“And he had forgotten you,” Caelan guessed.
Orlo’s mouth twisted. “You love a tale, don’t you, boy? No, he had not forgotten me. Recognition lay in his eyes the moment we looked at each other. He was shocked and cautious, but he knew I could never denounce him without destroying myself. I took his money to train occasional fighters for him, but I did not reenter his service until you came.”
Caelan stared at this man, who had once been his enemy and who had slowly become a friend. To see Orlo so vulnerable, so open, disturbed Caelan. He understood now the cynicism and bitterness, and most of all, the distrust.
“Why did you help me?” he asked now. He had tried to ask before, but Orlo would never give him an answer. “Why do this for me? Why trust me now with your secret?”
Orlo frowned and finally looked away. Something helpless and bewildered lay in his face. “I—I don’t know,” he said at last. “I cannot explain why I should care what befalls you. But. . . Ah, gods, what lies in a man, that he can convince others to help him? Why do the gods give one man qualities that they deny to others? Why have you succeeded in the arena beyond anyone else? How have you survived, and how have you kept your spirit that will not be tamed? What makes you different and unique?”
His expression deepened into a scowl. Suddenly he looked angry and embarrassed. “I’m a fool,” he said gruffly.
Caelan was touched. He reached out, but Orlo flinched away from his hand.
“Why,” Orlo asked heavily, “did you have me train you?”
“Because you’re the best trainer in Imperia. You could keep me alive.”
“No. I meant, why ask for me when you have never heeded anything I’ve said to you?”
“I heed you when what