Shadow War by Deborah Chester Read Free Book Online Page B

people?”
    Nilot’s thin mouth
tightened to a hard line, but he was not deflected. “There’s not a gladiator
alive who would know such a move, or how to execute it properly. Who taught it
to you?”
    “I have an
excellent trainer.”
    “Orlo?” Nilot
snorted. “Excellent for turning third-rate scabs into second-rate fighters. Has
your master been giving you special lessons?”
    Caelan saw the
trap yawning before him, now when it was too late. Inwardly cursing this man,
Caelan sought for a quick answer that would be believed. He found nothing. He
could not say the truth, that he had joined with a sword and learned its
secrets from all the combats it had known. The secret ways of Trau mysticism
were feared here.
    Yet how could he
answer in a way that would protect Prince Tirhin?
    “Masters do not
have time to teach their slaves the finer secrets of swordplay,” he said as
scornfully as possible.
    “Oh, that’s a loyal
answer.”
    Caelan’s gaze
snapped to Nilot’s. “What would you have me say?”
    “The truth. Did
Prince Tirhin teach you that move?”
    “No.”
    “Then who?”
    If insolence would
not work, perhaps arrogance would. “Perhaps you did not know that I was born
free and of good birth. I have not always worn chains and served the will of
others.” Caelan pushed himself forward, praying he would not stagger. “I cannot
linger here.”
    Nilot blocked his
path. “I am not done with you.”
    “Caelan!” came an
angry shout. “What are you doing standing in this cold? Are you mad? Your
muscles will stiffen.”
    It was Orlo,
coming down the passageway at a furious pace. Caelan had never been so relieved
to see the man.
    He glanced at
Nilot and shrugged. “I must go.”
    “But—”
    “I must go.”
    Nilot reached
across him and gripped Caelan by his injured arm. The pain was like a spear
point, impaling him. Caelan sucked in a breath, and felt the world turn gray.
    “By the gods, I’ll
have a straight answer from you yet,” Nilot said angrily. “Tell me the truth!
Was it his highness who taught you?”
    Caelan gritted his
teeth. He wanted to scream from the pain. He knew his face must be as white as
paper, but severance still served him. Coldly, he said, “You speak
disrespectfully of my master. Shall I defend him, here and now, with my bare
hands?”
    Nilot’s eyes
flickered as though he realized he stood unguarded, face to face with an
unchained gladiator. Caelan reeked of sweat and blood. He had just killed in
the heat of combat; his temper still ran high enough for him to risk the
punishment of death or mutilation for threatening a free man like this. Nilot
swallowed, and his grip slackened on Cae-lan’s arm.
    At once Caelan
yanked free. Glaring, he started to speak but Orlo reached them, hastily
interceding.
    “Enough, enough,”
the trainer said, his eyes darting from Nilot to Caelan. “Nilot, what are you
doing, keeping him standing here? For Gault’s sake, let him clean off the gore
first and have his wine. There’ll be occasion enough to talk to him tonight.”
    Nilot scowled and stepped
back. “I think not. There is no reason for me to attend the victory party of
the emperor’s opponent.”
    Orlo sent him an
innocent look. “What a pity. I thought the Madrun was considered everyone’s
opponent.”
    Nilot’s scowl
deepened. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away.
    Orlo gestured at
Caelan to descend the steps. “Get on with you! I thought you’d have enough
sense to get to your bath at once. You can reap your glory later.”
    Sighing, Caelan
turned in silence and somehow got himself moving down the steps. Orlo flanked
him, grumbling and criticizing all the way. He fended off anyone else who
attempted to approach them. “Get back! Let the champion pass!”
    Leaning closer,
Orlo shot Caelan a sideways glance. “What in Murdeth’s name did that snake want
with you?”
    “Nothing,” Caelan
said. “He was angry at the loss.”
    “Angry? Him?”