Shadow War - Deborah Chester [7]
Caelan could have said more, but he didn’t. Already he had crossed too far over the line. Besides, he was choking with his own tangled emotions. How much did a man have to reveal in order to convince another to trust him?
He backed up a step. “Sir—”
But the fire was already dimming in Tirhin’s eyes. He held up his hand to silence Caelan. “You have never been a slave,” the prince said softly. “Even wearing shackles, you have never been a slave. You were born a free man, and you have kept that freedom in your heart always. In that sense, you were never gentled. Even Orlo could not break you. You have served me because for some insane reason you wanted my praise.”
It was Caelan’s turn to grow red. He wanted to look away but didn’t.
“From such a desire grows loyalty,” Tirhin said. “It is what makes men serve their commander through the worst conditions. They will follow him anywhere and give him their all in battle. This is what you have given me. This is what Lord Sien and I have trampled on today.”
He had put his finger on it unerringly. Caelan dropped his gaze and said nothing. There could be no apology from a master to his slave, but there had been an admittance, and that was enough.
“What, then,” Tirhin asked wearily, “is your price? What reward do you want? Better quarters? Another servant? More gold to line your pockets? Special privileges to travel? The opportunity to serve me as my protector when I have the throne?”
How casually he said that last, as though it carried no more weight than the other offerings.
Caelan’s heart dropped inside him. He felt suddenly hollow and adrift, as though he had ceased to exist. Thoughts spun inside his head until he could not grasp them all.
The emperor’s protector... sworn to save the emperor’s life with no heed for his own ... constantly at the emperor’s side .. . awarded rank and privilege ... the highest honor for a soldier to attain ... a lifetime of work that was honorable and true ... no more torn conscience ... no more doubts ... freedom.
He looked into Tirhin’s eyes, seeking honest intention, and found it. His voice seemed to have left him, but he managed to gasp out a simple “Yes. That is a sufficient price.”
Tirhin’s face held a tangle of conflicting emotions, chief of which was worry. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Great Gault, I must be mad to trust you.”
“To escape the ring I will fight with all that I have, and more,” Caelan said.
His voice rang out too harshly, too forcefully, but he didn’t care. His heart was soaring at this chance. The Madrun was doomed. Caelan intended him no mercy.
Tirhin still looked doubtful, but he nodded and headed for the door. Just as he reached it, he glanced back. “Bring me victory, Giant,” he tried to say lightly, and failed.
Caelan faced him with shoulders erect and chin high. “I will. It seems, sir, that this time we must trust each other to keep our word.”
Tirhin frowned. It was as though the temperature in the room grew icy cold. “There can be no failure,” he said harshly. “None. Win a victory for me in the manner I request, or die on the sand. For by all the gods, I swear that I personally will take your life if you fail me today.”
With a swirl of his blue cloak, he was gone, leaving his threat hanging heavy on the air.
Chapter Two
Orlo returned, bustling and flustered. “These damned delays,” he grumbled. “Your muscles will be tight and cold again.”
Rubbing his hands briskly together, he reoiled Caelan’s taut shoulders, massaging deeply, then slung a blue cloak around Caelan, tightened his wrist cuffs, and straightened his fighting harness.
Caelan endured these preparations in grim silence, his thoughts on the arena.
Each of his wins had built up a larger and larger reputation that had to be met or surpassed constantly in order to please. After his first championship, it hadn’t been enough to kill. No, then he was expected to fight with panache, drama, and flair. With each successive