Chapter Fifteen

“You’re making a mistake,” Caelan said.

“No, you are!” Kupel retorted. Tightening his hold on Elandra, he started backing away.

Caelan followed.

“Don’t follow me!” Kupel said.

Caelan stopped. He glared at the boy, picking targets in the boy’s hide, and wished he had killed him when he had the chance.

Elandra said nothing. Her eyes were big with fear; her face was pale and strained.

He only knew he had to act fast before more Thyzarenes came.

“What makes you think she’s the empress?” he asked.

Doubt flashed momentarily in Kupel’s eyes; then he sneered. “Very clever. Of course she is. Agents across the empire are looking for her.”

“I know nothing about the empress,” Caelan said. “But if you think you can trick such agents into paying good imperial gold for my wife, you are a fool.”

“Watch what you say,” Kupel warned him angrily. “I am not a fool. I hold her, do I not? Eh?”

“You hold her,” Caelan agreed.

“Then I am not a fool.”

“Fine. But she’s still my wife.”

Elandra’s strained expression lightened. For a moment she nearly smiled. He met her eyes and felt his own guts twist in fear for her.

Don’t think about how much you love her, he told himself. He had to concentrate. He could not let his emotions rule him, or he would lose his nerve.

“Wife? Huh, maybe,” Kupel said with a shrug. “But as empress she will bring big reward.”

“If she’s my wife, and she’s also the empress, that must mean I’m the emperor,” Caelan said. He spread out his hands. “Do I look like the emperor?”

Kupel grinned, enjoying the joke, but he didn’t loosen his hold on Elandra. “We see her. We know. All people know empress.”

“Impossible. She’s never been to Trau before. She’s certainly never been to your camp.”

Kupel backed up a few more steps, keeping Elandra tight against him. Then, never taking his eyes off Caelan, he put his knife between his teeth and dug a coin out of his pocket. He tossed it at Caelan, and whipped his knife back into place at her ribs with another quick grin.

“You see,” he said. “You see empress.”

Careful to make no sudden moves that might be misinterpreted, Caelan picked up the coin and turned it over. It was a new half-ducat, very shiny, and pocked with teeth marks near the rim where its owner had tested its value. Elandra’s profile was stamped on the coin, clear and unmistakable.

“Word has gone out,” Kupel said as Caelan’s fingers closed hard over the coin. “Empress missing. Stolen by Traulander. We get big reward.”

His words were nearly drowned out by the twin bugling of dragons. Glancing up into a sky radiant with new sunlight, Caelan saw the two beasts circling high overhead. Kupel’s friends had arrived. Caelan’s heart sank.

Elandra chose that moment to stamp sharply on Kupel’s instep. Howling with pain, he hopped on one foot, and she rammed her elbow hard into his stomach. When he doubled over, she twisted free. He grabbed at her cloak, but there was an arm’s length of distance now between them. Caelan threw his dagger, and it thunked into Kupel’s chest.

An astonished look filled Kupel’s face; then his eyes rolled up, and he toppled over in the snow. Overhead, one of the dragons roared. Caelan raced across the ground, drawing his sword as he ran, and kicked Kupel over on his back to pull out his dagger.

“Take cover!” he shouted at Elandra. “Get back to the cave, if you can. The trees aren’t safe if they start breathing fire.”

She nodded, crouching low to pick up Kupel’s knife. “I should have let you kill him at the start,” she said, then ran in a flurry of long skirts.

He grinned after her, admiring her more than ever. She had been right to stop him; he could admit that now. He would tell her so later, if they survived this. But already one of the dragons was swooping low in her direction. Caelan’s heart nearly stopped. Again, he had to consciously shake off his fear. Somehow he had to distract them from her.

He held up Exoner so that its blade flashed in the rising sun. “Cowards of the sky!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “I have killed your chieftain’s son. I have killed Kupel and Shierfa, his dragon. Come and take the Dance of Death with me!”

One of the Thyzarenes howled with anger, and both dragons soared and wheeled in his direction. Caelan braced himself, knowing he could not fight both at the same time. But at least Elandra would have a chance to reach the cave. As long as she remained hidden inside it, the Thyzarenes would not be able to see it, and she would be safe.

“Dragon riders!” Elandra shouted, her voice shrill and clear. “I am the Empress Elandra, your sovereign. Call off your attack, and you will be well rewarded. I carry much gold, much imperial wealth. This I will share with you!”

Caelan groaned, furious with her for not following orders. He risked a glance in her direction and saw her standing in the open, straight and proud. Her arms were lifted, and the sun rose above the treetops at that moment to bathe her in golden radiance. With her auburn hair and gold-colored cloak, she looked like she was made of fire itself, blazing bright in the snow.

Caelan stared at her, momentarily forgetting the attacking rush of the dragons, even as one of them veered off again in her direction. Something primitive and elemental stirred inside him. The hair prickled on his scalp. What was she, this woman of fire?

Then he was ducking as the remaining dragon swept low over him. Caelan swung his sword, but managed no more than a shallow cut in the dragon’s scaled underbelly. Unlike Kupel, an untried boy, this rider and his dragon were battle-scarred and experienced. The dragon’s talons raked at Caelan, making him duck again, and its long tail whacked him solidly, knocking him off his feet.

By the time he rolled and came upright again, the dragon had wheeled and was making another pass. Caelan tried to see what was happening with Elandra, but that distraction cost him a second chance to attack his own opponent. The sharp point of a javelin tip skidded across his breastplate close to his throat, and woke him up.

Caelan jerked aside with a grunt of surprise. Bringing up his sword two-handed, he lunged upward. His breastplate kept him from being impaled on the javelin, and his sword tip cut the rider’s arm.

The Thyzarene swore at him, and the hovering dragon whipped its head around, baring its fangs in an attack of its own. But a sharp command sent it lifting before Caelan could cut off its head. Again its tail came at him, but this time he parried with his sword, and drew more dragon blood.

Roaring in pain, the beast flapped its huge leathery wings and swept out of reach. The dragon was already coughing, trying to belch flame.

Caelan turned to run for cover, only to stare as he saw the second dragon hovering only a few feet above the ground in front of Elandra as though pinned there.

Elandra was holding her topaz aloft, and the jewel shone with a bright intense light right into the dragon’s iridescent eyes. The creature looked mesmerized, and refused to respond to its rider’s angry commands.

Breathless and soaked with sweat, Caelan felt both astonishment and envy. He reached instinctively for his emerald, only to remember he had left it with the Choven. In the past he had foolishly tried using a warding key against the dragons, and that certainly didn’t work.

But perhaps there was another way.

He whirled around and threw himself flat as the second dragon sailed over him. Its talons just missed him this time, and the Thyzarene jeered at him contemptuously.

“Can you kill only boys and young dragons?” he yelled.

“Great warrior, what are you doing cringing on your face? Stand and face dragon fire like a man.”

The dragon coughed out a spume of fire that would have engulfed Caelan had he not rolled frantically. Scrambling to his feet, he brought up Exoner barely in time to meet a second blast of fire.

Gritting his teeth against the heat, he plunged the blade right at the flames, deflecting them back at the dragon.

Squalling in pain, the dragon flung up its head and reared in panic. It stopped coughing flames, but its beard was on fire, and black burns blistered its hide. Still bellowing, the beast dropped onto the ground and began to run its snout frantically back and forth in the snow.

Its rider kicked and shouted commands that the dragon ignored. Caelan ran at them.

The Thyzarene jumped clear of the harness straps and hurled his javelin. It struck the arm rim of Caelan’s breastplate and skidded off into the meat of his upper arm. The pain burned momentarily and was forgotten as he leaped at the man. Together they tumbled in a gouging, kicking heap.

Caelan dropped his sword, knowing it was no good at such close quarters. Blocking the Thyzarene’s attempt to gouge out his eyes, he drew his dagger and struck hard, but the Thyzarene’s dagger blocked the blow.

Cursing each other, they rolled over and over, each trying for a fatal blow. Just as Caelan was about to get one of his arms around the other man’s throat, the Thyzarene wriggled free and broke away.

Caelan scrambled to his feet in pursuit, only to find the man waiting for him in a knife-fighter’s stance. Caelan at once crouched low, holding his dagger loose and ready in his hand. Intent and wary, they circled each other.

“Caelan!” Elandra cried out.

He glanced to the side, expecting to see her taken prisoner. Instead, the rider of the dragon she held enspelled had jumped off his beast and was running, not at her, but instead to join the fight against Caelan.

He accepted the unfair shift of odds without fear. Clearly in his mind he could hear his former trainer Orlo say, There are no rules in the arena.

The Thyzarenes were much shorter than he, which gave him the advantage of reach. But they were quick, acrobatic, and fearless. Knowing the approaching man would come at his back, Caelan shifted around in an effort to recover his sword from where it lay in the churned-up snow.

No longer was this a simple knife fight. Grinning, the two Thyzarenes exchanged swift comments in their own language. Caelan’s gaze slid again to his sword. If he could get to it, he had a chance.

But they also looked at the sword, plainly determined to keep him from it.

The second Thyzarene had gray streaks in his dark hair. His body was as wiry and tough as leather. He had the cold, empty eyes of a predator, watching Caelan for any move. The other man—younger, slightly heavier—had a wild gleam in his eyes that said he was reckless and enjoying himself. He wanted Caelan’s blood, but he was not as dangerous as the older man.

Caelan circled, feinting when one of them moved, taking the chance to catch his breath, feeling the lag of strength fall through his muscles as time stretched out, feeling the ache of his bruised ribs beneath his breastplate as severance slipped slightly.

And as though his mind had suddenly cleared, he realized he was too much in the habit of fighting for show in the arena, stretching out the contest for the enjoyment of the audience, of using weapon, brute strength, and heart.

Severing more deeply, feeling the sweet, icy cold plunge into the void, Caelan reached for their threads of life.

Suddenly, Lea stood before him.

Without warning, without movement, she was suddenly there. Less than four strides away, she stared at him with disappointment in her blue eyes.

Defiantly he stared back. She did not understand that sometimes killing was necessary.

“And sometimes it is not,” she said in his mind. “Think, Caelan. Reach beyond the simple thoughts of a warrior and use the mind you were given. See in new ways. Use the opportunity before you.”

The men attacked him. The heightened perceptions of severance made them appear to move slowly. Caelan shifted aside to avoid them.

“Would you have me stand here and be killed?” he said to Lea in exasperation.

“Think, Caelan! Look at what you have.”

“I have two dragon riders ready to cut me into ribbons.”

“Dragon riders,” she said. “Think!”

An image filled his mind of the strong beasts sweeping across the sky, used as swift messengers and dispatch carriers. He thought of long distances to cross, of too little time.

The Thyzarenes lifted their weapons to strike. From far away, distorted and slow, came their attack cries.

Caelan glared at Lea. “Get out of the way.”

“Don’t—”

“Get out of the way!”

She retreated, and Caelan reached for the Thyzarenes’ threads of life, grabbing them and jerking them hard.

He did not cut them, and when he jolted back from severance and stood blinking in the sunshine, he found both men lying unconscious at his feet. Swiftly he disarmed them.

“Caelan!” Elandra called. “I can’t hold this much longer.”

He saw her still standing with her jewel held aloft, while the dragon hovered and moaned, dipping and bobbing now as its strong wings faltered.

“Let the dragon go,” he said. “Let it go. It won’t attack without its rider. But stay out of reach of its tail, just in case.”

Elandra lowered her arms, covering the topaz in her palm, and ran backward away from the dragon.

It landed on the ground with a thud and stood on its short, awkward legs, heaving for air, its wings trembling, its head down. The other one had stopped rubbing its burns in the snow and now stood glaring at Caelan, its tail whipping angrily back and forth.

Prudently, he stepped away from the unconscious men, and the burned dragon calmed down slightly.

Caelan hurried to collect his sword and cloak. Wiping the blade dry, he slid it back into its scabbard and looked around.

“Lea!” he called aloud, letting his voice echo into the trees. “Lea, come here!”

His sister did not appear. All he heard was the sound of jackdaws in the distance and the uneasy moans of the dragons. Caelan frowned in annoyance. Why did she have to be so stubborn?

Elandra came to him, and he slung his arm around her to draw her close. “I thought they would kill you,” she said.

“You did not follow orders,” he replied mildly.

She tilted back her head to look up at him. “Would you be alive if I had?”

He did not feel up to arguing, so he kissed her nose instead.

She smiled at him, then looked at the unconscious men. “Are they dead?”

“No.” Caelan frowned. “If I had rope, I could truss them.”

“There are tethers and hobble ropes on the dragons’ harnesses.”

He met the glowering iridescent eye of the burned dragon and shook his head. “We’ll find another way.”

“What do you intend to do?”

A groan from one of the men told him they were starting to wake up. He gave her a brief smile. “Have you ever flown in the air before, my beloved?”

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. “You mean, ride the dragons?”

“Yes. It is very high above the ground and frightening at first, but you would be—”

“Why, Caelan, we would be in Gialta in a matter of days instead of weeks. Perhaps quicker. They can fly like the wind,” she said excitedly, looking not at all afraid. “Can you convince them to take us willingly?”

Gray Hair stirred and slowly sat up, cradling his head in his hands.

Caelan watched him grimly. “Willingly or not, they will take us.”

“Then arrange it quickly,” Elandra said.

Caelan walked over to the Thyzarene and hauled him to his feet. He gave the man a rough shaking to finish waking him up, then shoved him back.

“Your name,” he said.

The Thyzarene blinked at him slowly, his eyes filling with humiliation and hatred.

“Your name!” Caelan barked.

“I am Bwend,” the man replied. His voice was sullen. But his gaze now took in Caelan’s imperial armor and the large emerald in Exoner’s hilt. He glanced at Elandra and came to attention. “Bwend, rider of Nia. Formerly dispatch flier in the Seventh Corps.”

Caelan was pleased. If the man had once had some military discipline pounded into him, he would be somewhat easier to handle. He pointed. “And this other man?”

Bwend didn’t bother to look at his still unconscious comrade. “Fotel, rider of Basha.”

At the sound of its name, the burned dragon lifted its head and roared.

“Are you kin to the boy?” Caelan asked, ignoring the dragon.

“No,” Bwend said curtly.

“You’re lying.”

Bwend shot him a hostile look. Resentment simmered in his lean, weathered face, but he said nothing.

“Are you his father?” Caelan persisted.

Again Bwend said nothing.

Caelan was tempted to let it pass, but he knew this issue had to be dealt with now. “Kupel threatened the life of her Majesty,” he said. “None may do that, whether child or man grown. None.”

He deliberately made his voice harsh and unsympathetic. He knew enough of the customs of these people to understand that they did not respect weakness or compassion.

Bwend frowned, and a flicker of something incomprehensible passed through his face. Caelan hoped he accepted the explanation; he would despise an apology. Not that Caelan intended to offer one.

“You are my prisoners,” Caelan said. “You have attacked her Majesty, and no man may do that and live.”

Bwend’s chin lifted. His eyes grew blank and steely as though he prepared himself for execution.

Caelan drew his sword, letting the sunshine flash along the blade. His face was like stone; his eyes gave nothing away. From the corner of his vision he saw Glandra bring one hand to her mouth. He prayed she would not interfere.

Perhaps she understood what he was doing, for she said nothing.

Caelan slowly extended the sword until the tip rested lightly at Bwend’s throat. The Thyzarene’s forehead crinkled, and he swallowed hard. Otherwise, he stood there stoically, refusing to beg for his life.

Cursing his stubbornness, Caelan let the silence stretch. As he stood there with the man’s life in his hands, he felt anew the temptation to make one quick thrust. In the blink of an eye, there would be one member of E’nonhold avenged.

But he held back the old rage. This was not the place or the time.

Bwend was staring into his eyes, and the Thyzarene’s own had widened at what they read in Caelan’s. Perspiration broke out on his forehead.

“Majesty,” he said, gasping as Caelan eased the sword tip closer against his throat, stopping just short of piercing the skin. Bwend’s eyes flashed back and forth. “Leave to speak,” he choked out.

“Granted,” Elandra said coldly.

Caelan could have kissed her. She was playing the role of an outraged monarch perfectly. For once her haughty tone was exactly right.

She swept Caelan an imperious glance. “Let him speak.”

Caelan lowered his sword.

Bwend dropped to his knees at Elandra’s feet. “Majesty,” he said, his accent blurring his words, his eyes carefully cast down, “have mercy. The beacons have flashed the message across the empire that you are missing. Reward has been offered. We sought only your Majesty’s recovery.”

“You attacked us without provocation,” she said, no mercy in her voice. “You would have killed—”

“No, Majesty!” Bwend protested.

Caelan struck him across the mouth with the back of his hand. “Do not interrupt her Majesty!”

Bwend sank lower, spitting blood on the snow, silent and obedient now.

The other Thyzarene groaned and rolled over.

Caelan spun around and grabbed him by the back of his fur tunic, hoisting him up bodily and shoving him over beside Bwend. Fotel’s dark eyes squinted, then lost focus. He groaned, supporting his head in his hands.

“Let me kill them now, Majesty,” Caelan said.

“Wait,” she replied.

Bwend glanced up in hope, and slowly Fotel also raised his head.

“Tell me the truth,” Elandra said. “Swear on your blood-oath that you meant me no harm.”

Bwend didn’t hesitate. He held out his hand to Caelan, palm up. His gaze never left Elandra’s, not even when Caelan sliced open his palm. Bright blood welled up in the cup of his hand. “I swear I meant no harm to your Majesty. I gave loyal service to the emperor while he lived. I would give loyal service again.”

Tears welled up in Elandra’s eyes. No longer playacting, she gently placed her gloved hand on the man’s head. “I will accept your oath and service. Your help, if you will give it, would do me great service now.”

Hope flashed in his face, swiftly masked. “Anything, Majesty.”

“Fly me and this man to Gialta,” she said.

Bwend looked surprised. “Gialta!”

He and Fotel exchanged looks. Suspicious again, Caelan edged closer to Elandra and gestured for her to move back.

She did not. Her face was very stern. “How swiftly your oath is forgotten.”

“Nay, Majesty,” Bwend said quickly, bowing his head. “I do not refuse. It is only that Gialta is far from here. Very far. There is trouble—”

“What kind of trouble?” she demanded.

“We have heard rumors only. But they are all of Madruns—”

“Madruns in Gialta?” Elandra said, anger rising through her voice.

Caelan took over the questioning now. “What have you heard?”

“That is all,” the Thyzarene said.

Caelan frowned, not believing him. “Do these Madruns come from over the border? Or are they leaving Imperia?”

“The new emperor has driven them from Imperia. They flee into Gialta—”

Elandra clenched her fists. “New emperor be damned! That traitor! I would like to see him gutted and left hanging for the vultures to peck!”

Enraged, she paced away. Both Thyzarenes stared after her with new respect.

“Truly a lady of warrior blood,” Bwend said cautiously to Caelan.

He nodded. “Her father is Gihaud Albain of Gialta.”

Fotel looked blank, but Bwend obviously recognized the name. “A ferocious warrior. Very rich.”

“Yes. A man generous to those who help his daughter.”

“I will fly her there,” Fotel said, his eyes gleaming with avarice.

Bwend’s elbow rammed into his ribs. “Nay, dog. My Nia will have the honor. She knows the softest wind currents, how to be gentle in the clouds. Your Basha is but half-trained and bad-tempered besides.”

Basha roared and grumbled as though understanding every word. Across the clearing, Nia raised her head and trumpeted with a proud beating of her wings.

“Basha is hurt,” Fotel said. “Let me tend him.”

Caelan sheathed his sword and stepped back. As Fotel climbed to his feet, however, Caelan gripped him by the front of his tunic and lifted him onto his toes.

“Remember how I struck you without touch and laid you on the ground,” he said through his teeth, glaring at the man. “Remember I can do it again. There will be no tricks from you. Do you understand?”

Bwend also rose to his feet to intercede. “I gave my blood-oath to her Majesty, Traulander.”

“Fotel gave no oath.”

“He is in my service. My oath binds him.”

Caelan met Bwend’s eyes and wondered just how far he could trust the man’s word, especially once they were high in the clouds.

“It had better,” he said, and released Fotel with a shove.

Fotel frowned up at him. “Are you of Neika blood?”

Before Caelan could answer this astonishing question, Bwend elbowed Fotel aside.

“Fool!” he said sharply. “The Neika do not fight.”

“Neither do Traulanders.”

Caelan looked down at them, and felt suddenly foreign in this land that had once been his. “I am Choven,” he said bleakly.

Both Thyzarenes blanched and backed up. Fotel stared with his mouth open, fear in his eyes. Bwend bowed with almost the respect he had shown Elandra.

“We ask forgiveness,” he said humbly. “We have been much mistaken today.”

Caelan did not unbend. The admission had cost him. He felt as though his identity was being torn away in strips, peeling him down to something he did not recognize.

Giving Bwend a nod, he asked, “Must the dragons feed before they can fly?”

“No,” Bwend answered. He jerked his head at Fotel. “Tend Basha’s burns quickly.”

Fotel sidled cautiously past Caelan and ran to his dragon, who grumbled and butted his head at the man in greeting.

“I have a request, lord,” Bwend said to Caelan.

Not once, in all his wildest imaginings, had Caelan ever expected to someday hear a savage Thyzarene raider humbly call him lord. It was bitter to think these men had instantly believed him Choven, even when he physically did not resemble those mysterious tribesmen. It only confirmed yet again the truth of what Moah had told him.

“What is your request?” Caelan asked.

Bwend pointed at the dead boy lying in the snow. “That we may bury him from the wolves and lurkers that will come.”

Caelan did not hesitate. “I will help you.”