Free Shadow War by Deborah Chester

killed General Solon, the Lord Commander of the
army,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “At Tirhin’s order, and in cold blood. The
man was defenseless, asleep in his own quarters. I crept in, and stabbed him in
the heart.”
    Orlo’s eyes
flinched, and a tide of red colored his face. “I stood over him in the
lamplight, this general who had denied me my dream because of tradition. I had
never met him before, never spoken to him, never been addressed by him. Had he
been awake, he would not have recognized me. He did not know of my existence,
and I took his life.”
    Orlo drew his
dagger and held it aloft so that its blade reflected the ruddy dance of
firelight. “This is the weapon. I carry it as my conscience, that I may never
forget the thud of impact, the heat of his blood, or the soft sigh of death
that issued from his lips. This knife is my mark of shame.”
    He fell silent,
lost in his own tormented thoughts, turning the knife over and over in his big,
callused hands. No sound disturbed the quiet.
    Watching him,
Caelan had no words. He understood revenge. And although he had never killed in
cold blood, he had thought of it. There had been many sleepless nights in his
bunk, thinking of Thyzarene raiders and how to torture them into hell.
    Finally Orlo
seemed to come to himself. Still staring at the dagger in his hands, he said, “I
might have burned over the injustice for years, without acting, but the prince
gave me the means. He bribed the door guards and obtained a way for me to enter
the man’s house. He promised me leadership in the army he would reorganize.”
    Orlo snorted and
sheathed the dagger. “For fledgling conspirators, we were lucky. The only part
of the plan to succeed was mine. No one else carried out their orders. In the
hue and cry over the unsolved murder of the Lord Commander, the prince’s plans
fell apart. His supporters lost courage, and he departed for the border to
fight the Madruns.”
    “And you?” Caelan
prompted.
    “I barely escaped
with my life and hid for days, terrified of arrest. His highness abandoned me.”
    “But he—”
    “Don’t defend him!”
Orlo snapped. “By the gods, you will not find excuses for him in this.”
    “You weren’t
caught,” Caelan pointed out. “Did he not have you protected?”
    “No. He was long
gone by then, anxious to cover his trail. I spent a year in hiding, skulking
around the provinces, until I was caught for army desertion and flogged. I spun
a believable tale. I wasn’t connected to the murder. At the end of my term, I
didn’t re-enlist. Instead, I took employment in a run-down gladiatorial arena
out in Sarmina. That led to a better job in a bigger town with a bigger arena.
Finally I returned to lmperia.”
    “And the prince
made you one of his trainers.”
    Orlo’s expression
filled with contempt. “The prince had nothing to do with it. I gained the job
on my own.”
    “But you trained
me. You trained his other fighters.”
    “I worked for the
public arena,” Orlo said coldly. “When the prince was informed of my skills, he
came to interview me for his service.”
    “And he had
forgotten you,” Caelan guessed.
    Orlo’s mouth
twisted. “You love a tale, don’t you, boy? No, he had not forgotten me.
Recognition lay in his eyes the moment we looked at each other. He was shocked
and cautious, but he knew I could never denounce him without destroying myself.
I took his money to train occasional fighters for him, but I did not reenter
his service until you came.”
    Caelan stared at
this man, who had once been his enemy and who had slowly become a friend. To
see Orlo so vulnerable, so open, disturbed Caelan. He understood now the
cynicism and bitterness, and most of all, the distrust.
    “Why did you help
me?” he asked now. He had tried to ask before, but Orlo would never give him an
answer. “Why do this for me? Why trust me now with your secret?”
    Orlo frowned and
finally looked away. Something helpless and bewildered