Realm of Light by Deborah Chester Read Free Book Online Page A

from
his own palace, with the very seat of his power wrested from him, a refugee
forced to run for his life, where would Kostimon go? Who would support him? Could
he rejoin the main forces of his army? Could he drive the Madruns from his
borders? Could he recover from this coup? Could he summon the wits and the
strength to lead the men still loyal to him?
    The man was
ancient, at the end of his time. Even if he drove his enemies back, he could
not beat his own fate. Age was finally conquering him, a man who had not
surrendered to mortality for nearly a millennium.
    How long did the
old man have?
    His threads of
life were thin and weak. He might have days. He might have hours.
    And when he died,
what then?
    Caelan’s eyes
narrowed. What would it be like to seize power in Kostimon’s stead?
    What would it be
like to ride at the head of the imperial army, to hear the roaring shouts of
acclaim? What would it be like to have absolute command over the lives of
everyone? To have wealth, glory, and possessions?
    What would it be
like to travel from one end of the vast empire to the other, ruler of every
scrap of earth beneath one’s boot soles? What would it be like to change laws,
to effect reforms, to free slaves, to abolish slavery altogether? He could
drive out the evil Vindicants, close temples, put an end to forbidden rites and
practices.
    A surge of
confidence and ambition swept through him before he tried to thrust his thoughts
aside. He was a fool to think such things. Yet he felt ambition burning bright
inside him. Prince Tirhin had no more right to rule than any other man. There
had been no prophecy cast to indicate a successor. The future of the empire lay
open like an arena, with no rules, ready to be taken by the best and strongest.
    I am that man.
    But was he? Caelan
frowned at himself in self-ridicule. He was a former slave, an ex-gladiator, a
provincial nobody from nowhere.
    But Kostimon had
been a nobody from nowhere, Caelan reminded himself. No one could remember
where Kostimon had come from originally. What clan? What tribe? What region of
the empire? The scrolls of history had been rewritten many times, whenever
Kostimon wanted to reinvent his past. A strong man could take the reins of
power, if he dared.
    A sharp pain
flared in Caelan’s chest without warning, making him gasp and double over. His
fingers slackened on the bridle, and Elandra’s horse pulled free and trotted on
without him.
    Alarmed by the
thought of becoming separated from her in the darkness, he called, “Elandra,
wait—”
    The pain hit him
again, and he could not finish his sentence. Gritting his teeth, he staggered
forward a step, then sank to his knees. He had to call out to her, had to stop
her, had to stay with her. But the pain was too great. It consumed him, and he
had not even the breath to cry out.
    For a moment he
thought he had been wounded by some mysterious force coming at him from the
darkness. But his groping fingers found no cuts, no blood. Nothing tangible had
attacked him.
    Gasping through
another burst of pain, Caelan fought to hold himself upright. He would not
fall, he told himself grimly, struggling to hang on. He would not die here in
this evil place, alone and forgotten.
    The pain grew more
intense, stabbing and hot, until his face dripped with sweat and he thought he
must scream from it. Then it ebbed enough for him to catch his breath. He
opened his eyes. As his senses came back to him, he realized the pain was
focusing itself now into one central spot just below his throat.
    The emerald . . .
    He loosened the
thong holding his amulet bag and pulled it over his head in a swift yank. Then,
with fumbling, unsteady fingers, he opened the bag and poured out his talisman.
Originally there had been two emeralds, one thumb-sized, the other smaller.
They had been given to him by his younger sister Lea shortly before he had been
captured by Thyzarene raiders, never to see her again. Later, on the hillside
of Sidraigh-hal,