Part 42 (1/2)
Hurt, Caelan stared after him. ”It's me, Orlo. Caelan. Don't you have-”
Cold water came splas.h.i.+ng through the window, hitting him in the face and driving him back. Sputtering, Caelan wiped his eyes and found a bearded face glaring in at him.
”Shut up!” the guard said. ”Or the next bucketful will be dung. We'll put a muzzle on you if we must.”
Caelan stepped all the way back to the far wall, saying nothing. He knew what a muzzle was, a terrible torture device that was fitted over a man's head and slowly tore out his tongue by the roots.
Not daring to move, he waited until the guard walked on. There was a brief murmur of conversation between the guard and Orlo; then the guard's footsteps gradually faded. Only then did Caelan venture back to the window and peer out.
Orlo had gone around the corner and was no longer in sight. Caelan waited a long time, hoping, but Orlo did not return.
Someone moaned in a cell farther down the row. Another man coughed constantly, as though he had a rotted lung. Those were the only sounds.
Orlo had been his trainer, gruff and brutal at times, relentless as he drove Caelan through his drills. But he had taught Caelan how to fight and how to survive the ring. He had made Caelan a champion, and eventually the two men had become friends. But that had all ended the night that Caelan was wrongly accused of attacking and injuring Prince Tirhin. Orlo had believed the accusations, and until now Caelan had never seen him again.
It seemed Orlo had not softened. Caelan waited, but his former trainer did not come back.
Hours went by, enlivened only by occasional light earthquakes that shook the walls but did not bury Caelan alive. With nothing else to do, Caelan paced and bleakly looked into his own future. So much for destiny, he thought. So much for carrying Exoner against the dark G.o.d.
A commotion in the pa.s.sageway sent him to the rear of his cell, out of reach and out of trouble. A face peered inside.
”You! Stay back!”
It was an unnecessary command. Caelan knew they were about to open the door. He could smell food, and his stomach growled urgently. This wasn't the time to make a break for freedom. He could hear the other guards grunting and clanking their weapons restlessly. They were just hoping for a prisoner to try something stupid. A dead prisoner was a prisoner who did not have to be fed.
A scrawny boy came stumbling inside. He set down a pail of water, slos.h.i.+ng half the contents over the sides, and slammed down a bowl of food beside it. Then he backed out, and the door was bolted shut.
A face watched Caelan from the window, but he did not venture forth to get his food until the guards gave up and moved on to the next cell. Then Caelan rushed forward, picked up his food and the water pail, and retreated with them. He knew about prison life and the cruelty of the guards.
The occupant of the next cell was not as lucky. Caelan heard the sloppy splash and a cry of anguish. The guards laughed. Caelan knew they had just emptied a dung bucket over the hapless inmate when he tried to get his food.
Angrily Caelan picked over his own food. He drank his water after sniffing it. Then he tapped his stale bread against the wall to drive out the weevils and ate with all the control he could muster, chewing thoroughly, giving his stomach a chance to accept the unpalatable food. The rest of it was greasy and cold. He ate it anyway, knowing the rats would steal it if he didn't.
A faint sc.r.a.ping noise from behind him made him turn around. Instantly alert, he listened a moment, watching as a block of stone in the wall was carefully removed by someone on the other side.
Caelan crouched by the hole and said nothing.
Another block was removed, then a third. He squinted through the gloom, trying to see who it was.
”Giant?” the voice whispered softly.
”Orlo!” Caelan whispered back. Joyfully he gripped another block of stone and found it loose. He pulled it away and grinned through the opening. ”I thought you had abandoned me for certain-”
Orlo's fist smashed into his face, catching him right under the eye. Grunting with pain, Caelan reeled back. As soon as he could see again, he found Orlo glaring at him.
”What-”
”That is for almost getting me killed,” Orlo whispered furiously. ”You're under an order of silence, on pain of death. What in h.e.l.l's own flames were you doing yelling at me like that?”
Contrite, Caelan probed the swelling knot under his eye and grimaced. ”Sorry. I was glad to see you. I didn't think-”
”You have never thought. That's why you're in jail.”
Caelan didn't mind the tongue-las.h.i.+ng. Orlo had always criticized him. ”What are you doing in the dungeons?”
”This was was the arena, remember?” Orlo replied scathingly. ”My responsibility.” the arena, remember?” Orlo replied scathingly. ”My responsibility.”
”So you came back here after leaving Tirhin's service?”
Orlo snorted. ”Murdeth and Fury, do you think I'd serve that prancing fop and traitor one moment longer than I had to? I only went to his household for you.”
”I know.” Caelan reached through and gripped Orlo's arm. ”I never did thank you.”
”Bah. Swallow that nonsense. It made me richer than before. I cared for nothing else.”
”You tried to warn me about Tirhin, and I didn't listen.”
”No, you have a head like a block of wood and about as much sense.”
Caelan grinned. ”You should have fled the city.”
Orlo snorted. ”And go where? This d.a.m.ned blight that is upon us, it spreads everywhere.”
”Can you get me out?”
”Of your cell? Aye. If you can get those big shoulders through this hole.”
Caelan reached out, but Orlo suddenly hissed a warning.
”Not now,” he said and started stacking the stones back up.
Caelan listened but heard nothing. ”What?”
”This isn't the time.”
”But what is it? I don't-”
”Shut up!” Orlo stuck his hand through. ”Hand me that last stone on your side. Quick!”
”Orlo, I have to get out-”
”Later.”
Orlo put the last stone in place and was gone, as though he had never been, with no explanation.
Only then did Caelan hear the steady tramp of booted feet in the pa.s.sageway. There were more than usual. He could sense a change, a quickness in the way they walked. He heard the cras.h.i.+ng fists of salutes, along with low, respectful voices.
Then one voice lifted above the others, a sleek baritone full of arrogance.
Recognizing Tirhin's voice, Caelan rose to his feet. Grim satisfaction filled him. So the prince had come to him at last. He was going to have his chance after all.