Chapter Eight

He was cold, terribly cold. Rousing slowly, at first he was conscious only of the stiff ache of his muscles, of how tightly his arms were clamped to his sides in an effort to conserve warmth.

Something feather-light tickled his face. He frowned, struggling against the mist of sleep. A pungent scent of pine needles filled his nostrils, awakening him further. From overhead, he heard the sharp, raucous cry of jackdaws. The sound and scent reminded him of home, except that he used to sleep warm and snug in his chamber.

The tickling sensation came again, brushing his cheek, his eyelashes, his nose.

Opening his eyes, Caelan saw falling snow, the fat wet flakes spiraling down through a gray mist. He was lying outside on the ground, and it was snowing on him. Small wonder he felt so cold.

Then the fragrance of evergreens registered fully in his muddled senses. He blinked and focused on the nearby pines and spruces.

Abruptly he sat bolt upright and looked around.

He was in a small clearing, a recent one by the look of the freshly cut stumps still sticky with golden resin. The ground of spongy forest earth and layers of brown needles looked trampled and scraped by the logs that had been cut and dragged away.

And yet... and yet... he knew this ominous sky that was the color of tarnished silver. Drawing in another breath, he let the clean scents of snow and forest clear his mind. The falling snow, fluffy soft, melting as soon as the flakes landed, greeted him like an old friend.

He was home.

Caelan drew a breath so rapid and sharp it hurt his lungs.

Digging his hands into the soil, he lifted dirt and pine needles to his face and inhaled the moist, earthy fragrance.

Then his hands began to tremble, and the soil crumbled through his fingers. Kneeling, he lifted his face to the sky, blinking a little against the falling snow, and let tears fill his eyes.

To be in Trau again. It was as if years had dropped away and he was a boy again. Just an ordinary boy full of dreams and mischief, not yet tainted by evil or cruelty or betrayal. A boy who had not yet killed. A boy not yet tested to the depths of his scarred soul.

Hope filled him, and he dared believe that by some miracle the shadow gods had returned him to the past, where he could start again, try again, avoid the mistakes that had cost him so dearly.

But then he glanced down and saw the crimson folds of his cloak spread on the ground about him. It looked like blood here in the mist and snow. He drew a deep breath and felt the solid constriction of his armor. There was no going back, ever. There was only the bitter present, harsh and worn. Trau legends said a man carried his sins in a basket on his back, like firewood, and as each man walked his path of life, collecting sticks, the basket grew heavier.

It was true.

“Caelan?”

The voice startled him. Snapping his head around, he saw Elandra threading her way through the stumps. In her cloak of golden wool and cream-colored gown, her auburn hair streaming free over her shoulders, she looked like a maiden of the woods, as golden and vivid as autumn itself. But there was a frown on her face, and as she drew near, her eyes looked puzzled.

She stopped and stared at him, still kneeling with a clot of earth clenched in his hand. “Are you unwell?”

Embarrassed to be caught like this, with his emotions exposed and naked, Caelan hastily shook his head.

“Then rise and tell me where we are. I have never seen such strange trees. And what is this that falls from the sky? Snow?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I was told it could snow in Imperia, but rarely. I have never seen anything like this.”

She looked impatient and wonderstruck at the same time. He gazed up at her, captured anew by her beauty and vitality, and lost his heart to her all over again.

Her presence drove away the ghosts. He felt stronger and more in command of himself. “It will snow all night,” he predicted, suddenly enjoying the opportunity to introduce her to the weather of a real winter. “By dawn, you will no longer see the ground. All will be covered in white snow, as though magic has been worked.”

Her frown deepened, indicating that his description had failed to enchant her. “Magic?” she echoed. “Yes, I would say it has been worked. Where are we?”

“Trau.”

Her mouth fell open, but it was a moment before she spoke. “I don’t believe it.”

Caelan got stiffly to his feet, then stood still for a moment as a wave of dizziness washed over him. As soon as it passed, he opened his eyes and squared his shoulders. “Trau,” he said firmly.

“We are a thousand leagues from where we need to be. What game did the Guardian play with us?”

Caelan had no answer for her. “At least we are no longer in the realm of shadow.”

She gestured impatiently and began to pace back and forth. “Yes, but that hardly matters now. What of Kostimon? What of the army? How am I to join them if I am in Trau?”

Caelan stopped listening. Turning aside, he glanced up and saw the jagged peaks of the Cascades looming high on the horizon. Caelan felt the wind in his face, gentle as yet, but with a threat of sharpness. It had shifted since he first awakened. It was blowing off the glacier now, and that meant a storm was coming. He suspected it was mid-afternoon if not later, and they had little time to find shelter. Then it was as though the sight of the mountain fully registered in his mind. He let his jaw drop open while he stared.

“Caelan!” Elandra said sharply, recapturing his attention. “Are you listening to anything I say?”

He turned to her slowly, feeling stunned and not quite in possession of his wits. “I am home,” he said, and even his voice sounded hollow.

Impatience crossed her face. “Yes, and I am freezing,” she said angrily. “Of course you are home. You have already said this is Trau.”

“No,” he said. A chill that had nothing to do with the falling temperature ran through him. “Home. This is E’non land.”

She stared at him, her eyes slowly widening. “Are you sure?”

He pointed. “There are the mountains. Up there is the glacier I used to ride across as a boy, loving the cold. I called it the top of the world.”

“Did you bargain with the Guardian for this?” she asked. “When you communed with it in silence, so that I could not hear what was said, is this what you asked for? Did you think I would be a willing party to this abduction?”

He stared at her, taken aback by her anger. “What?”

“Are you mad or arrogant or simply a fool?”

His bewilderment grew. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t play the simpleton!” she cried, sending startled jackdaws bursting up from the treetops. “You tried to seduce me. You claimed to love me. Did you think that was enough to make me willing to run away with you?”

Finally he began to understand what she was saying. His own temper sparked. “I haven’t abducted you.”

“Haven’t you? I told you I wasn’t free. I thought that was clear.”

“Very clear.”

“Then why have you brought me here?”

“It was not my choice.” But even to himself, that defense sounded lame and clumsy.

“Wasn’t it?” She glared at him. “Then whose choice was it? We stepped through the gateway, and suddenly we are at the far end of the empire, in Trau, on your family’s land. How convenient. When you made me a part of you, I experienced your emotions. I know you desired to throw me over your shoulder and carry me off. Now you have, but you’ll regret it. You—”

“I didn’t carry you off,” he broke in, equally angry now. “You are wrong about everything.”

“Am I?”

“You witnessed my talk with the Guardian. You heard.”

“Then explain this trickery!”

“I can’t. I thought we would come out on Sidraigh-hal, just as you did.”

“Then why are we here?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted. “In Gault’s name, I don’t know. Do you think I have forgotten your obligations? Do you think I have ceased to care that the empire is under attack by Tirhin’s new friends? I know how important it is to reach the main imperial army and make certain of its loyalty.”

His fist crashed against his breastplate. “Do I not still wear armor? Do I not still wear the insignia of the Imperial Guard? Have I forsworn my oath of service?”

“You said you would not serve me again.”

He saw tears shimmering in her eyes, but her face was still angry, still doubtful. His own temper, goaded now, would not be quelled by a few womanly tears.

“And now you think the worst of me, that I am a barbarian and a liar.”

“I don’t know what to think!” she burst out. “You change and shift, saying one thing, doing another. You insisted I trust you, and now—”

“We escaped the shadows. Isn’t that enough?”

“But look at where we are! Why can’t you understand, Caelan, that I don’t want to be safe, kept far away from the conflict? I want to keep my throne!”

Her words rang loudly on the cold air. A strange expression crossed her face, and she fell silent, pinching her mouth into a thin line as though her own admission had frightened her.

His anger fell away. “I know,” he said quietly. “I understand. But I swear to you I have not betrayed you. I did not bring you here by design. If the Guardian looked into my thoughts and sent me here to cause me more grief and heartache than before, then it succeeded. Believe me, Majesty, this is the last place I would go.”

She stared at him. “You are not happy to return to your home, to your family?”

He met her gaze without flinching. “My family is dead,” he said flatly. “My home was burned to the ground. I have been away six years. What is there to return to, but ghosts and bad memories?”

With a frown, she drew her cloak tighter around her, shivering and saying nothing.

Caelan returned his gaze to the mountains and felt suddenly light-headed, as though the argument had taken all the strength from him. Poor Elandra was frightened, lashing out without thinking. He must reassure her instead of arguing with her. Just then, however, he could find no words.

Gate of Sorrows, he thought. It was well named. And what of Elandra’s unholy bargain that had freed them? It would seem she had sold her soul for this trick. Small wonder she felt so angry.

“We had better go,” he said to her. “There is not much daylight left.”

She did not turn to face him. She did not answer.

“We cannot be outside after dark. It is not safe.”

“What will hunt us?” she asked. “Predators? What of them? You have fought off demons with your powers.”

Stung by her scorn, he said nothing.

She turned on him so fast her cloak whirled around her. “It is said Traulanders are afraid of the dark. You are all so big, so strong, and yet you turn into little children the moment the sun goes down.”

“Trau is not Imperia, or Gialta, Majesty,” he said. “Our nights hold things you do not want to meet.”

“Can there be anything worse than what I have already seen?”

Before he could reply, she thrust out her arms as though to fend him off.

“Do not answer,” she said. “Do not speak. I am sorry. My head is aching. I feel horrible, so full of venom. It keeps spitting from me, and I do not intend it.”

His anger faded at once. “Come,” he said simply.

She ran to his arms, and he held her tightly, shielding her with his cloak.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. “Everything feels so wrong. I am afraid.”

Her hair felt like silk against his cheek. “We will meet this challenge,” he said softly to her. “We will find a way back to Imperia.”

She glanced up at him, doubt and hope chasing across her face. “But you are home. Will you not stay here?”

He felt the icy kiss of the falling snow clinging to his hair and shoulders, heard the wind blowing through the pine boughs. “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “It has become strange to me. My path lies with you.”

Elandra tilted up her face and kissed him. Her tears dampened her lips, making them taste salty and sweet.

A fresh wave of dizziness swept him, robbing him of breath. When he could breathe again, when he could see, he found himself on his knees.

Elandra crouched there with him, gripping his shoulders. “Caelan, what is it?” she asked anxiously. “What is wrong?”

He felt strange and light, as though he was floating. The world around him seemed wavery and insubstantial, like a dream.

“Can you speak?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”

Pain hit him then. He bent over. “Yes,” he managed to gasp. “My chest.”

It ached as though a hammer had struck it. Every breath brought more pain. He tried to straighten, then groaned and bent over again, clutching himself.

“How can I help you?” she asked anxiously, hovering over him. “What can I do?”

The pain eased, and he was able to straighten again. He drew in several shallow breaths, grateful for even a small respite. His clothing felt hot and restrictive. Reaching into his pocket, he felt his emerald, only to flinch. Its surface was flaming hot.

“Your chest?” Elandra said. She swept aside his cloak and reached for the buckles of his breastplate.

He gripped her fingers to stop her. “No,” he said, drawing in another cautious breath. “No, that won’t help.”

“It will. Your armor is so heavy. Removing it will ease you.”

“No.” He lacked enough breath to make her understand. Another wave of pain covered him, driving him low. When he emerged, shuddering from it, he found her kneeling before him, gripping his hands. Her face was white with alarm.

“It isn’t me,” he said. “Isn’t—”

He groaned again and dug into his pocket. Wincing against the heat that scorched his hand, he drew out the emerald and dropped it into the snow.

“Is it growing larger?” he asked, shuddering.

“What?”

“The emerald. Is it growing?”

“I see no emerald. This rock is—”

“Don’t touch it!” he said as she started to pick it up.

Elandra jerked back her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, still struggling for enough breath to talk. “It’s hot. It will burn you.”

She stared at him in concern. “You’re not making any sense. It isn’t hot. It isn’t growing larger. Rocks don’t change their size.”

He stared at the emerald, seeing clearly its polished surface and natural facets. Were the sun shining, it would flash with fiery radiance, but now it lay there, a dull, dark blue-green. In all the years he’d carried it as his talisman, it had magically concealed its true appearance to everyone but him. Even Elandra was fooled.

“You have a magic stone,” he said. “Your topaz.”

With a little gasp, she touched the embroidered pouch hanging around her neck on a silk cord.

“Yes,” he said. “I know it has power. I saw you use it to ward off the shadows.”

“Oh,” she said quietly, her eyes dark with memory. “Yes.”

“Does it grow?”

“Grow?”

“Yes, increase its size.”

Her eyes widened, but she shook her head.

He was feeling better now. The pain had diminished as soon as the emerald left his possession. For years he had carried it as a memory of Lea, and it had never hurt him. But lately that had changed. He did not understand why. He was not sure he could continue to keep it with him.

“When Lea first gave me the emeralds, they were no larger than the tip of my finger,” he said. “Then they joined into one stone, and it keeps getting larger. I don’t understand what it is.”

Elandra looked at the stone. “It doesn’t look like an emerald to me.”

“What, then?”

“A chunk of granite.”

Doubt flickered in his mind. Maybe Elandra and the others saw true. Maybe he was the one fooled.

But no. He remembered the nine emeralds Lea had found in the ice cave, the emeralds that were to have been her dowry one day. Had she lived, she would be old enough now to need that dowry. Fresh grief caught him unexpectedly. It was sharp, like a spear lance, and he thought he saw the emerald glow just for a second before it lay dull and lifeless in the snow again.

He reached out with an unsteady hand and picked it up. No longer was it hot to the touch. Sighing, he tried to return it to his pocket and found it now almost too large. He had to force it.

Never had he heard of magic such as this. He did not know whether it was beneficent or evil. He did not know how to use it, or even if it could be used. He did not want it, and yet he knew he could not throw it away. He was bound to it, and it to him.

“Don’t look so worried,” he said now to Elandra. “I will be well again in a few moments.”

But as he spoke he started to shiver. It was more reaction than cold. He knew that from his years in the arena where he had seen brave men shake after combat. It wasn’t fear.

“Are you cold?” she asked worriedly. “You’re shaking so.”

“I’m all right,” he tried to tell her, but she pulled off her cloak and threw it around him.

“This will give you strength,” she said.

Alarmed, he tried to pull off the golden cloth. “This is your protection. You mustn’t—”

“Hush,” she said with a smile, pulling the cloak once more over his own. “Let me wrap you up. Let me care for you this time, as you have always cared for me.”

He surrendered to her tenderness, letting her draw his head to her breast and hold him. Her fingers smoothed his hair back from his face, and he closed his eyes at her touch, taking her comfort as the pain seeped from him and he began to breathe normally again.

They couldn’t stay out here in the open like this. Already he was thinking of where to find shelter for the night. They were close to the hold. Whatever was left standing might be sufficient protection; they could always go into the storage cellar below ground.

Opening his eyes, he kissed her cheek and reluctantly pulled away. “We must get inside before dark. It’s too cold to stay out here.”

“It certainly is.”

Elandra jumped to her feet, shivering herself, and held his arm to steady him as he got up.

He smiled at her. “I am well now. Here, take back your cloak before you—”

A screech came from overhead, their only warning as something large and black burst from the treetops and swooped at them. Whirling around to face it, cursing himself for letting down his guard so completely, Caelan had a confused impression of misty wings and reaching talons. Its stench clogged his nostrils, nearly making him gag.

Even as he shouted a warning and reached for his dagger, his mind was reeling with surprise. How came a shyriea to be here? Had it followed them from the realm of shadow? To his knowledge, none of the creatures had never appeared in Trau before. Or had things changed so drastically during his absence?

Elandra screamed and darted away from him toward the trees. The shyriea followed her. Caelan ran at it, shouting in an effort to distract it, but it attacked Elandra first, its female face contorted as it slashed at her. With bared fangs, its head darted at her in a swift strike.

Elandra screamed.

Rage flashed through Caelan. Screaming a curse at it, he hurled his dagger. All his fury went into the blade so that it glowed as though with fire.

It struck the demon true, and the shyriea exploded into black ashes that rained down.

Clutching her bleeding arm, Elandra sank to the ground.

Caelan rushed to her, fear like a hammer in his temples, and caught her in his arms. She was white-faced, trembling with shock. Her forearm bled heavily.

“It bit me,” she said.

“Hush, my darling. Hush,” he said hurriedly, hardly aware of what he was saying. He used handfuls of snow to clean the wound. The bite itself looked deep and nasty. Already her skin around the edges of the wound looked black and withered. As he handled her, he used sevaisin lightly to determine how much of the venom had entered her body.

The answer stilled his hands for a moment. He closed his eyes, agonized to think of Elandra tainted by this evil. The venom would spread through her, poisoning her blood until it was black and vile. She would become a creature owned by the darkness, commanded by it as General Paz had been.

Once again, Caelan saw his sword blade slice through the general’s arm, saw again the black fluid gush forth, saw again the infant shyrieas forming in it.

Sweet mercy of the gods, this could not, must not, be Elandra’s fate.

Opening his eyes, he ripped the lining of his cloak into strips and bandaged her arm with swift, deft motions. Then he used more handfuls of snow to wipe blood from her wrist and hand. She sat there like a child, unflinching beneath his rough ministrations. Her eyes stared into the distance.

“My price,” she said dully. “I didn’t believe it could happen. Am I going to die?”

“No,” he said, picking up her cloak and flinging it about her shoulders. Swiftly he tied it at her throat and pulled up the hood over her snow-sprinkled hair.

If he could find a way to stop the progression of the venom through her bloodstream, there remained a slim chance of saving her. But how? He felt hopelessness drag through him, and angrily battled it away. This was no time for despair. He must get her to shelter first, and then he would try to think of what else could be done.