Shadow War - Deborah Chester [87]
“I spent extra time there,” Agel broke in defensively. “Since I was denied my apprenticeship with Uncle Beva—”
“And now you are newly arrived in Imperia, a wise man, a trained man, a man used to the ways of the world.”
Agel was growing wary now. He watched Caelan and said nothing.
“Therefore, with all your tremendous travel and experience, the wide range of your encounters, the expansion of your innate wisdom, you are able to make judgments about all manner of things, whether you know aught of them or not.”
Agel drew himself erect and tucked his hands inside his sleeves. “I have severance to guide me.”
“And harmony?” Caelan asked.
Agel nodded. “Yes, the ways of harmony.”
“And balance?”
“Yes.”
“No!” Caelan shouted. “You lie! You denounce sevaisin, and without it there is no balance. You live in a onesided world, cousin. You see through one eye. You understand so very little, and as long as you live in fear, denouncing everything that is strange to you, you will understand less and less.”
The prince shifted his head and moaned.
At once Agel turned to him, but instead of touching the prince with a reassuring hand, Agel eyed him a moment, then backed away.
Caelan hurried to the other side of the prince’s bed. “He is coming around. He is better. Help him!”
Agel backed even farther and shook his head.
Annoyance swelled inside Caelan. “You fool. He won’t hurt you. The evil is gone from him.”
“You are the wise one,” Agel said in a tight, spiteful voice. “You are the one who can sever without using a mantra. Why don’t you heal him? Just reach in and sever him from his illness.”
“Please,” Caelan said.
The prince moaned again, and Caelan gripped the man’s hand tightly to offer comfort. It was an action done without thinking, and Caelan realized that even if he had lost respect for Tirhin he had not yet lost his compassion.
“Agel, help him.”
“You have the gifts. You have the goodness. I am only a second-rate healer from a school of evil blasphemers.” Agel shrugged. “What can I do?”
“This is unnecessary,” Caelan said, his frustration rising. “You were the one who insisted on coming here to attend the man. Why don’t you help him now?”
“I have done all I can.”
“No, you haven’t!”
“And I say I have.” As he spoke, Agel looked past Caelan at the doorway. An unreadable expression flickered in his face; then he smiled very slightly at Caelan. “What his highness needs now is rest... and perhaps some water. There is a ewer in the other room. Fetch it, please.”
Puzzled by his sudden switch of mood, Caelan turned and walked into the antechamber. There was a ewer on a stand, but it was empty. Even as Caelan picked it up, Agel slammed and bolted the door behind him.
Whirling, Caelan realized he had been neatly trapped. He hurled the ewer at the door, where it clanged loudly.
He tried both doors, pushing against them with all his strength, but they remained firmly bolted. Swearing to himself, Caelan paced rapidly back and forth.
The window was too small for him to climb through. He went back to the door that led to Tirhin’s chamber and pounded on it with his fist.
“Agel!” he shouted. “Agel!”
But his cousin did not respond.
Chapter Twelve
Enraged, knowing his arrest was imminent, Caelan went on a rampage in the tiny room, smashing and destroying. When at last he heard a commotion of voices outside and the tramping of boots, he straightened and faced the door. Breathing hard, he held a broken chair leg in his hand for a club. Slaves could not offer a defense when accused of crimes, however falsely. He would be considered guilty as charged. So he had nothing to lose by fighting. By Gault, he would not go tamely to his doom.
The outer door opened with a bang.
Caelan expected a pair of common foot soldiers under the command of an arrest sergeant. Instead, five armored men in the helmets and red cloaks of the Imperial Guard rushed inside with drawn swords and war clubs. Yelling, Caelan swung his club, only to see it splintered by a sword. Caelan dived