Shadow War - Deborah Chester [46]
“Sir—” Caelan began.
Without warning, the prince struck Caelan a harsh blow across the face.
Caelan went staggering back, and managed to catch himself against the hut. He straightened slowly, his cheek throbbing with pain. He could feel a hot trickle of blood down his jaw, and guessed he had been cut by the prince’s signet ring.
Tirhin advanced on him and struck him again. “You followed me. You deliberately disobeyed my orders.”
He lifted his hand a third time, but Caelan brought up his sword and held the point between them.
Caelan’s own temper was running hot now, and he let it show in his eyes. “I came to help you. To protect you from what has followed you tonight.”
Illuminated by the torchlight spilling outside through the open door, the prince kept a wary, furious eye on the sword in Caelan’s hand. “The only one who has followed me is you, you filthy spy. This is the end of you!”
Caelan refused to back down. He intended to drag Tirhin back to the palace and denounce him before the emperor for his crimes. But if he said so, Tirhin would fight him. Better to lie and be crafty for now.
“Your highness promised me I should be your protector,” Caelan said. “That is why I am here.”
“Stop being so damned noble. I am sick of your honor. Sick of your loyalty. You are like a dog that is kicked but still comes cringing back for more.”
“Where is the priest?” Caelan asked, interrupting. “We must go, and quickly. There is danger here. It—•”
A shriek, similar to the one he had heard before, but much closer, cut across his sentence. The hair on the back of Caelan’s neck stood up. For an instant his bowels were water. He did not know what it was, but it was not of the earth.
The prince whirled around, his eyes bulging. “Shyrieas!” he said in a strangled voice. He made a clumsy sign of warding and stumbled back into the hut. “Sien!” he shouted. “Sien!”
Caelan followed him, and stood blinking on the threshold. The priest was gone as though he had never been there. Even the cup that Tirhin had thrown on the floor had vanished. The fire on the hearth had been put out. Only the torches still burned.
The prince was buckling on his sword with a wild look in his eyes. “Damn him,” he muttered, thrusting his dagger into his belt sheath. “This is his way of punishing me.”
Caelan barely listened. He was eyeing the hole in the roof where the earthquake had broken it. Kicking the debris across the floor, he circled, feeling edgy and trapped. “This could have been a refuge. Better than taking our chances outside. But with that hole, I don’t think we should stay here.”
Prince Tirhin nodded grimly. He glanced at the door and swallowed. “They hunt in packs. The blood on you will draw them.” As he spoke, he gave Caelan a second look and blinked. “In fact, you’re covered with blood. What is all that?”
“I killed something,” Caelan said shortly, picking up a torch. “I don’t know what it was.”
“Something that was following me?” Tirhin asked.
Nodding, Caelan tossed the torch to Tirhin, who caught it deftly, and picked up the other. “Ready?” Caelan asked.
“These torches will help, but they won’t last long.”
“It’s less than an hour till dawn,” Caelan replied grimly. “That is our hope.”
Shoulder to shoulder, armed with torches and drawn swords, they left the hut and began to run.
It was crazy, running like this, struggling up the steep hill, stumbling over the sharp, cold lava that sliced through footgear. Ducking tree branches and avoiding puddles of hot bubbling mud, Caelan ran until his lungs began to heave, until his stomach felt as though it would spew the evening’s rich dinner, until his freshly healed side ached. He ran, hearing the prince’s breath sounding harsher and more ragged. He wondered if he was a fool to fear so much, when as yet he had seen nothing.
Yet they were coming, the dreaded guardians of the Forbidden Mountain, and all his instincts knew it. Fear filled him, clouding his mind. He remembered the night he’d been