Chapter Eighteen

A strange noise awakened Elandra from the depths of sleep. It was a soft susurration of sound, like the rubbing of cloth across a hard surface, almost inaudible, yet unusual enough to have pricked through the layers of her sleep. At the same time she also became conscious of a disturbing warmth against her chest.

She stirred, burrowing her face deeper against her pillow, and slitted one eye open.

A strange golden glow shone from beneath her, reflecting off the pale surfaces of her pillow and bedclothes.

Puzzled and only semiawake, she groped for the jewel pouch hanging around her neck. When her fingers closed on it, she was startled by its warmth. It was as though the jewel had taken on a life of its own. The light glowing from it spilled through the drawn top of the pouch and grew increasingly brighter.

Elandra raised her head and yawned, wondering what magic was working on the jewel.

Just then, she heard a slight scrape of the bed curtain rings upon the brass rod fitted to the canopy of her bed.

Elandra rolled over and saw a shadow looming over her.

It was like nothing she had ever seen before. In that split second of frozen time, she saw it clearly in the unearthly light cast by the topaz. It was the shadow of a man, yet only the shadow. There was no man standing there to cast it. Dark and opaque, it was thin enough to look almost invisible when viewed from the side.

Elandra opened her mouth, but with impossible quickness it surged closer, engulfing her.

Its ghostly fingers reached for the cord around her neck.

Elandra screamed and flailed against it, trying to drive it back. But her hands passed through it as though it was made of air.

She screamed again, rolling away from its unearthly touch, but it snagged the cord in its fingers and held fast.

She did not know how it could do so, but this was not a time to question what she was witnessing. The tug of the cord around her throat frightened her, and she suddenly feared this creature meant to strangle her.

She screamed a third time, but its dark fingers dug instead inside the pouch for the topaz.

“No!” Elandra shouted, but a burst of light shot forth from the jewel, filling the interior of her bed and almost blinding her.

She heard a scream inside her head, scree-thin and horrifying.

The shadow dropped the pouch. The topaz was blazing now, and Elandra cupped her hand protectively over it as she scrambled back.

She seized pillows and flung them at the shadow, only to see them pass harmlessly through it. Then she was tumbling off the opposite side of the bed, landing in an awkward tangle on the floor, as frightened as she was furious.

Where was her protector?

“Majesty!” Rander cried, crashing into the room. Holding a lamp aloft with one hand, he ripped open the bed curtains just as she picked herself up and came around to the foot of the bed.

“Rander, take care!” she tried to warn him.

The lamp fell from his hands, shattering on the floor and spilling burning oil across the carpets. Little flames danced up like imps, reaching for the floor-length bed curtains. One blazed with a sudden whoosh of fire up to the canopy.

Rander went stumbling back from the bed with the shadow on top of him. It had him by the throat, and he grunted in increasing desperation, hurling himself about in an effort to throw it off.

Chairs went crashing as he flailed and fought.

“Rander!” she called in horror.

The protector staggered and dropped to his knees, gasping and wheezing. Elandra ran for the door, wondering where her ladies were, wondering where the guards were; then she ran back toward him, her long hair flying.

Rander had drawn his dagger, but the weapon had no effect on the shadow that perched on his chest. His body convulsed violently, then went slack. The dagger fell from his fingers.

“No!” Elandra cried.

She dodged the flames that were now roaring in the middle of a fine carpet and knelt at his side. Taking the jewel pouch in both hands, she pulled open the top and touched the topaz to the shadow.

Again she heard that thin scream in her mind. It flew off Rander and went sliding across the floor, flowing up one wall with liquid rapidity.

Elandra bent over Rander, gripping his sleeve. But his protruding tongue and staring eyes told her she had not been quick enough to save him. Protector less than a day, dead already in her service.

“No!” she cried, shaking him although she knew it was futile. “Please, no!”

The shadow leaped onto her back, clinging cold and surprisingly heavy. She nearly fell across Rander from the impact of its landing and caught herself just in time.

The cord around her neck drew tight, and in a panic she twisted around to thrust the topaz at it.

The shadow sprang off her and flowed away.

An eerie sound from behind her made her spin around, crouching low even as she picked up Rander’s dagger.

More shadows spread into the room through the open doorway, sliding across the floor, half-seen against the leaping flames and thickening smoke.

Coughing, Elandra crept backward until her back bumped against the wall. The shadows converged on her, driving her down one side of the room toward the doorway leading to the secret passageway. She thought about plunging into it, realized how easily these things could trap her in the narrow, unlit space, and shuddered in fear. Better to stay here in the smoke and the fire, where she could at least see these things.

One leaped at her, but she fended it off by holding the topaz aloft. The jewel’s fierce glow spread around her like a golden nimbus, protecting her. Its heat nearly burned her hand, but she dared not drop it.

She worked her way back across the room, dodging the fire as best she could, until she reached her clothes chest. Throwing open the lid with one hand, she rummaged swiftly for a gown, shoes, and the golden cloak given her by the Mahirans.

As she pulled it forth, the shadows shrank back, fleeing to the corners of the room.

Elandra tossed the cloak swiftly about her shoulders, ducked her head against the stinging smoke, and fled.

They pursued her, silent and terrifying, moving quicker than thought. Yet the next time one leaped at her, it bounced off the cloak and shriveled to nothing.

Heart pounding in satisfaction, Elandra whirled around defiantly to face the remainder. “Get back from me, things of hell!” she cried, brandishing the glowing topaz. “I am not your prey.”

The shadows fell back as though they understood her threat, and Elandra turned and ran again.

None of her ladies-in-waiting were to be found anywhere in her chambers. And when she burst out into the main passageway, she found her guards slumped on the floor. Dead or unconscious, she had no time to find out.

She stepped over them and looked both ways. In the distance she heard shouts. Her heart leaped with hope, but then she realized they were not sounds of imminent rescue but instead sounds of battle.

Smoke poured from the doorway behind her, reminding her she must not linger.

She brandished her topaz at the shadows following her, and they seemed reluctant to venture forth into the lit passageway. Seizing her opportunity to escape, Elandra ran full tilt past the throne room, where flames were licking around the edges of the doors as though a fire had been started inside it also.

The lamps were not lit in the passageway ahead of her, and she slowed down, renewed fear making her cautious.

Shouting men stormed along a cross-passageway, brandishing torches and drawn swords. They looked foreign, barbaric.

Elandra flinched back, pressing herself against the wall. To her relief, none of them noticed her. But it had been a close call, and her heart would not stop pounding. She dared not continue forward, but she feared to turn back.

Who were those men? Hadn’t Kostimon boasted to her only hours ago that the invading Madruns had been turned back?

“Majesty,” whispered a voice from behind her.

She whirled around with a muffled cry, only to sag with relief at the sight of one of her guardsmen. He was missing his helmet, and his gold cloak was ripped and stained, but he was an ally.

She ran to him, grateful. “Take me to the emperor, at once.”

“Not this way,” he replied, his eyes darting back and forth on the alert. “Come, I must get you to the stables.”

He hurried her back the way she’d come, then pulled her down a short flight of steps into the servants’ corridor. They wound through a series of seemingly endless passageway, sometimes using the main ways, sometimes the servants’.

After several minutes, when Elandra was quite breathless from keeping up with his loping stride, the guardsman abruptly turned and pushed her into the scant protection of a doorway. She stood there beside him, trembling, her gown and shoes still clutched in her arms, and listened to the sounds of approaching men.

He touched her arm lightly. When she looked up, he put his finger to his lips.

He was very grim as he drew his sword, taking care to make no sound. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed to her.

She realized he meant to confront the band approaching. He would fight them, outnumbered, to give her a chance to run. She wanted to weep for his courage, but she could not indulge in her emotions now. She must not waste the gift of his life. She must be ready to run faster than she had ever run before.

His hand gripped her arm above the elbow, tightening too hard. Both tense, they waited.

Then the men were upon them, striding hard and purposefully.

The guardsman shoved Elandra so hard she stumbled and nearly fell, and flung himself in the path of the men.

“Hold!” snapped a voice. “We’re friends, you fool.”

“My lady, wait!”

But Elandra was already spinning around, breathless with relief to see the red cloaks of the Imperial Guard looming out of the shadows. Their swords were bloody. Their eyes were blazing and brutal.

Her guardsman spoke to them rapidly, reporting to the sergeant in command. He pointed at Elandra, who returned to his side with as much dignity as she could muster.

“I must be at the side of the emperor,” she said, making her voice sound far more steady and assured than she really was. “What has happened?”

“We’ve no time to waste on this. Reinforcements must be got through to the eastern side of the palace,” the sergeant said, his gaze sliding past her impatiently to the guardsman. “Can you get us there?”

“Aye, but I’m responsible for her Majesty.”

The sergeant scowled. “Where’s the protector?”

His impatience angered Elandra. She glared at him. “My protector is dead, killed defending my life.”

Their eyes flickered, and for a moment they were human beings again, chastened and respectful.

“Damned savages,” the sergeant muttered. “We’ll have to split up—”

Another group of guardsmen joined them, taut and wild-looking, bringing some of their wounded with them.

“Move on!” one shouted. “We’re falling back. The central part of the palace is lost. They’ve started to loot now.”

Horror spread across every face, and Elandra shared the shame and impotent fury all of them were feeling. To have barbarians in the palace that had stood untouched for nearly a thousand years was a desecration, a nightmare that could not be believed and yet was happening.

“Majesty!” said an accented voice that made her head snap around.

She looked and saw a man pushing his way through the soldiers, head and shoulders above the other men, his blue eyes vivid in the silhouette of his face.

“Caelan!” she said in relief, feeling safe for the first time tonight. “Give me your aid in reaching my husband.”

“She cannot fall into their hands. She must be protected,” the sergeant said, turning about to see who Caelan was. He grunted and jerked his head in an unspoken command.

Caelan stepped clear of the others, and they marched on.

The guardsman in gold lingered behind only to bow to her. “Please, Majesty, give me leave to fight.”

“Go,” she said.

He saluted her and swung around after the departing men, giving Caelan one quick, meaningful glance as though to pass his responsibility into Caelan’s hands.

She faced the Traulander, who was alert, standing high, his nostrils quivering and his eyes keen and bright. He loved this, she realized. The danger, the excitement, the threat of combat... these all combined to bring him alive.

“Is the palace truly lost?” she asked, unable to believe it still.

“It will be soon,” he replied. “We were betrayed. Someone let them in, and they gained a stranglehold before the alarm was sounded.”

Elandra drew in a sharp breath, angry and shamed. “Tirhin?”

He nodded, looking grim. “I saw him leading the opposing forces. The emperor fell back twice, cursing him before gods and men, trying to hold.”

“The emperor has not been taken?” she asked in sudden fear.

“No,” Caelan said grimly. “He has been persuaded to save himself, in order that we can regroup the army elsewhere.”

“But to leave the palace—”

“It has to be done, and you must hurry if you’re not to be left behind as part of the spoils.”

She glared at him, outraged that he would even think it, much less say it, but she didn’t protest. There wasn’t time for an argument.

He gripped her elbow through her cloak, only to release her in startlement. He frowned, started to touch the magic cloth again, then did not.

“It comes from Mahira,” she said. “It has a protective spell on it. I am surprised you could feel it. No one else has.”

“I can do many things most cannot,” he said grimly. “Have you shoes?”

“Yes.”

“Put them on. We’ll be outside in a moment, if the gods favor us. Put your gown on too, over your nightclothes.”

She knew he was right. Hurriedly she crammed her bare feet into her shoes. “Help me.”

“Better that I should stand guard,” he said, and retreated a short distance from her. “Hurry.”

Mouthing a curse to herself, she slipped off her cloak and pulled the gown over her head. It was awkward, doing this alone, not because she was incapable of dressing herself but because the gown’s design made it difficult to handle the lacings alone. It did not fit well over her sleeping robes, but she shook the folds of the skirt down impatiently and put on her cloak again.

“Ready,” she said, trying to braid her hair so it wouldn’t fly into her face.

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. Wreathed in shadow, his face concealed, he stood tall and formidable in his long cloak and breastplate, the sword shifting alertly in his strong grip. His long hair swung free about his shoulders, and she could feel danger radiating from him, directed not at her but at any potential foe, a savage readiness to attack and rend.

Was it fate that continued to cross her path with his? Or something else?

This was not the time to seek answers to those questions. She trusted him to protect her; that was all that mattered.

“Come,” he said.

She joined his side, feeling reassured by his size. “There is something else you should know.”

“Hurry,” he said, striding forward.

She had to trot to keep up. “There are forces of the darkness at work here tonight.”

That got his attention. He stopped in mid-step and stared at her. “Explain.”

She described the shadows and how they had killed Rander and attacked her. “If you have any special means of protection from the gods you believe in, I beg you will call on it. We have more enemies than just the Madruns.”

He was scowling, his eyes deep in thought. Almost absently he touched the throat of his breastplate in the manner of a man who wears an amulet. “Who calls forth the shadows?” he wondered aloud. “Who commands them?”

“I know not. Indeed, I will never see a man’s shadow again and feel safe.”

Caelan’s brows knotted tighter, but he speculated no further. He seemed suddenly remote from her, as though he had stepped into a place where she could not follow.

He reached out and gripped her hand hard in his. It was a liberty that ordinarily she would not have permitted. Right now, however, it was a reassuring link from one human being to another. She gripped back just as tightly.

“No matter what, you must stay close to me,” he said, his voice colder and harsher than usual. “You must follow orders, on the instant, with no hesitation, no argument.”

She felt breathless with fear. Fighting the cowardly urge to retreat, she forced herself to nod. “I will,” she promised.

“Then come.” And he strode forward again.