“Then, of course, you are planning to withdraw, Legate,” said Raegar, peering over Zahakis’s head, talking to Acronis. “Do not worry about your ranking. I will undertake to mention this serious infraction of the rules to the Priest-General—”
Acronis looked questioningly at Keeper, who said loudly, “Skylan is right. I do not like to be branded a coward.”
“I will not withdraw.” Acronis added with a sly smile, “If, as you say, the rules have been broken, Raegar, then I trust Aelon will look with favor on us and give us his blessing.”
Raegar knew quite well Acronis was mocking him, but he had come here for a reason.
“I am worried about the Torgun. I am one of them. They are my kinsmen—”
A rock struck Raegar on the forehead. Raegar glared angrily around for the culprit, but the Torgun stood bunched together, and Raegar could not see who threw it.
“I know you will never believe it,” Raegar told them angrily, “but I brought you here for your own good. I want to save you from gods who are old and useless and bring you to the knowledge of Aelon, who is young and powerful.”
The usually quiet and taciturn Farinn gave a growl of contempt and lunged suddenly at Raegar, his hands reaching for the man’s throat. Skylan and Bjorn caught hold of Farinn and dragged him back.
“I think you had better go, Raegar,” said Acronis.
“We will,” said Treia, who had been watching in silence. “But first I want to speak to my sister. Alone.”
“I am sorry, Mistress,” said Acronis. “As Zahakis told you, that is against the rules.”
“I don’t understand,” said Treia, blinking. “Why should talking to my sister be against the rules?”
“No one is permitted to speak to the players before the game except trainers and owners. The rule is an ancient one, Mistress, instituted to prevent gamblers from cheating by trying to persuade players to throw the game or slipping players opiates or giving them tainted water.”
“But gambling is forbidden by Aelon,” said Treia.
“True,” said Acronis in solemn tones, with a wink for Zahakis, “but you know as well as I do, Mistress, that there are bad people in this world. People who would do anything for money.”
Treia was clearly upset. “I must say something to my sister.”
“Say it so we may all hear,” said Acronis. “And then take your leave.”
Treia looked at Raegar.
“He is right,” Raegar said. “It is against the rules.”
Treia turned to Aylaen.
“Sister, is there anything you want to tell me?” Treia asked.
“Only that I love you, Sister,” Aylaen said, her eyes lowered.
Treia’s lips tightened. “Nothing more?”
Aylaen shook her head. Skylan longed to ask Treia and Raegar about the spiritbone of the Vektia, but he had sworn an oath to Aylaen, invoking Torval’s name, that he would keep what she had told him secret. He’d broken too many oaths to Torval to break any more.
Raegar saw the referee glaring in his direction and, taking hold of Treia’s arm, he tugged at her. They walked reluctantly off the field.
Skylan tried to catch Aylaen’s eye, but she ignored him. She looked very well in her outlandish armor. Her skin was brown from the sea voyage, her red hair flamed in the sunlight. She stood with her head tilted back, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes gazing out at the playing field, as though her thoughts were centered on the game. Skylan was willing to bet a herd of fine cattle that she was not thinking about the game at all. He wished he could persuade her to share her troubles with him, but he knew her well enough to know that pressing her would only make her more stubborn. She had come to him once. She would come to him again.
Zahakis and Acronis were talking earnestly together. Pretending that he wanted to get a better view of the playing field, Skylan wandered over to where he was within earshot.
“Just to be safe,” Acronis was saying, “you will take Chloe home.”
Zahakis gave a wry smile. “How should I do that, sir? She will not go quietly. And may I remind you, sir, she is the guest of the Empress. She is sitting in the Empress’s box. Perhaps if you spoke to her—”
Acronis shook his head. “I do not have time to argue with her. Ours is the first game of the day and I am already late taking my place on the field. There, you see the stewards are coming to look for me. Zahakis, stay with my daughter. Guard her. No matter what happens to me. Understood?”
“Yes, Legate,” said Zahakis, and, clapping his hand over his sword’s sheath to prevent it from banging against his leg, he broke into a run, heading for the royal boxes and the diminutive figure who was even now being carried to her seat by the fat slave, Kakos.
Skylan looked out at the playing field, the six large boulders standing in a circle, the squares painted on the grass, the bonfire burning in the center of the pit. Across from them, the opposing players were gathered around their captain. They were glum, angry.
“I’m guessing those poor bastards don’t want to be on the field with the fury any more than we do,” Skylan said to Bjorn.
“None of this makes sense. Especially Raegar’s sudden surge of brotherly love for us.” Bjorn glanced over his shoulder. “And something is wrong with Aylaen. Ever since she came back from her visit to the Temple. What did that foul god do to her? Do you know?”
Skylan knew, but he couldn’t tell. Fortunately he was spared from answering by Keeper, who summoned his players and began laying out the game plan.
The Torgun warriors listened to their captain in extreme confusion.
CHAPTER
3
* * *
BOOK THREE
The royal box was unusually crowded for an afternoon game. People were taking their places, ordering slaves to unpack food baskets and pour wine. They hailed friends, laughing and talking and exchanging the latest gossip. Raegar had been ordered to report back to Xydis. The two had to leave the box and move down to the ground level, beneath the grandstands, to find some privacy.
“Aylaen refused to tell us. She is being perverse and stubborn,” Raegar told his superior. “I believe she knows, but she is deliberately thwarting us.”
“We hold her dead lover’s spirit hostage,” said Xydis. “She would do anything to free him. It is this Skylan who is refusing to talk. Did you warn Acronis about the fury?”
“I did,” said Raegar.
“He will withdraw, of course.”
“No, Worshipful Sir, he refuses.”
“The man is an arrogant fool!” Xydis stated.
“The Empress is breaking the rules,” Raegar said, his voice so low Xydis had to strain to hear. “Couldn’t we do something to stop the game from proceeding?”
“She is the Empress,” said Xydis. “For her, there are no rules. Speaking of the Empress, I must be on hand when she arrives to welcome her. We will speak later. Pray to Aelon.”
“Well,” said Treia eagerly when Raegar returned to their seats, which were near the fire pit. As a warrior-priest, Raegar would guard the sacred fire during the game. “Is the Priest-General going to stop the game?”
“He can’t,” said Raegar. “She is the Empress. There is nothing he can do.”
“But what about the secret of the Vektan dragon?” Treia asked, dismayed.
“Xydis says we must have faith in Aelon. Our god knows best,” said Raegar. “Aelon has us in his care. Now I must go attend to my duties.”
He hurried off, leaving Treia on her own.
“Piss on Aelon,” she muttered.
She stood thinking a moment, then, turning on her heel, she shoved her way through the crowd.
Wulfe was determined to keep his promise to Skylan. The boy was glad to be back with his friends, glad that he was free of at least one burden of guilt—the murder of those two guards. Skylan had assured him that he wasn’t angry with him.
“Though some of the others would be very angry,” Skylan had warned him. “Ev
en to the point of wanting to get rid of you. You must keep the secret that you . . . uh . . . have this daemon inside you. Promise?”
Wulfe promised. One promise he meant to keep.
The Torgun had been glad to see the boy return. Wulfe had been touched and astonished by their obvious affection for him. Which made the second secret he knew harder to bear. Skylan and his friends were slaves and Wulfe had the means of setting them free. Or at least the means of giving them a fighting chance.
After the Torgun left for the Para Dix and Wulfe was alone to do what he pleased, he first went to find something to eat. Then he made the long trek to the river and back for a bath.
He played in the water awhile, hoping to find some river sprites to talk to, for he was lonely and bored. There were no river sprites, however. No dryads in the trees, exchanging gossip. The fae in this land had fled or been driven out by Aelon.
After his swim, Wulfe was sleepy and he went back to his tent to take a nap. He woke, terrified, from a dream that a fury was trying to kill Skylan.
_____
The driver of one of the Church carriages had been extremely annoyed when Treia had accosted him and told him to drive her to the villa of Legate Acronis, saying she was going to treat an ill slave. He didn’t want to leave the game. Treia insisted, however, telling him that she was acting on orders from Warrior-Priest Raegar.
Muttering imprecations, the driver obeyed and they rolled off through the streets that were relatively empty, since most people were attending the game. A few children and half-starved dogs roamed the alleys, searching through piles of garbage for food. Slatternly women with babies on their hips looked wearily out of doorways or sat in the shade. The carriage passed a man either dead or dead drunk lying in the gutter.
When they arrived, Treia told the driver not to wait for her; she didn’t know how long she would be. He was glad to go, eager to return to the games.
Treia walked down the hill toward the slave compound.
When Wulfe woke, he remembered clearly the frightening dream. His friends were in danger in this horrible place. They would always be in danger. He had the means to save them and he was going to do it.
Wulfe left the tent and made his way across the compound to the Venjekar. The ship had been removed from the cart and now lay wallowing on the grass like a beached whale. Wulfe pulled himself up and over the side. He felt happy and glad to be home, a feeling that vanished when he saw the dragon-shaped prow propped up against the hull.
Wulfe had always been in awe of the Dragon Kahg—awed and afraid. The dragon’s red eyes glared disapproval, at least in Wulfe’s mind.
Wulfe knew the dragon’s secret. He knew the spiritbone on the Venjekar was not lost. It was hidden away safely in the niche Wulfe had cut into the ship’s hull.
He was going to retrieve the spiritbone and give it to Skylan, but there was the dragon’s head, propped up against the hull right over the hiding place.
Wulfe wavered a moment in his decision, then, getting a firm grip on his courage, he approached the dragon, taking care not to come too close to the mouth with its newly painted white fangs.
Wulfe recalled with a shudder the time the head had broken off and swooped down on him. The head, resting against the hull, had only one red eye visible. That eye was glaring at the boy.
“I don’t mean to bother you, Kahg,” said Wulfe politely. “I would just like to check to make certain the spiritbone is safe. If you could move a bit to the left . . . ?”
The dragon did not move. Wulfe could have shoved the prow to one side, but he would have sooner thought of shoving a real dragon. He was going to plead, when he noted that the red eye was no longer looking at him. Wulfe followed the dragon’s gaze and saw someone walking toward the ship, walking fast and purposefully.
Wulfe gulped. “Treia!”
He knew at once she was coming for him. If she caught him, she’d hand him over to Raegar and that would be the end.
Wulfe muttered a word of thanks to the Dragon Kahg for the warning and raced for the hold. He pulled open the hatch and dove down the stairs, searching frantically for a place to hide.
His usual hiding place was the wooden chest where Treia and Aylaen kept their clothes. But Treia knew that he always hid there. That would be the first place she’d look.
A pile of blankets was more inviting. He pulled the blankets over his head, curled up among them. When he heard steps on the deck, he froze, hardly daring to breathe. His heart thudded as the footsteps came nearer and nearly leaped out of his chest when the footsteps descended the stairs. Treia was going to search the hold.
Wulfe huddled among the blankets, waiting fearfully for her to find him. His daemon began clawing at him, urging him to attack her and rip out her throat. Wulfe considered this, but he was fairly certain the Dragon Kahg would not approve of him murdering Treia and he didn’t want to anger the dragon.
Wulfe kept firm hold on his daemon and, after a moment, he was glad he did, for Treia didn’t come over to the pile of bedding. He heard her rummaging about and he peeped from under a corner of the blanket. Treia had opened the lid to her chest and was looking for something inside. Wulfe went limp at the thought that he’d very nearly hidden in there.
______
Treia began to undress, taking off the gown of a priestess of Aelon and tossing it to the deck. She took from the chest the ceremonial robes of a Kai Priestess, put them on, and then knelt down awkwardly.
The interior of the hold was dark, the air cool and moist. Treia thought she heard a sound coming from a pile of blankets and she turned to stare in that direction. Her weak eyes saw nothing. The sound was not repeated.
Probably a rat.
Treia clasped her hands together, her fingers pressing against the knuckles. She was nervous. She had never before spoken to the god, Hevis, but she knew the ritual prayer.
Once a year, the Kai Priestesses dedicated a day to Hevis, not so much to honor as to placate him. Hevis was the god of fire and smoke, deceit and hidden acts. The son of Volindril, the goddess of spring, and the five dragons of the Vektia, Hevis was devious and dangerous, treacherous and destructive. He was also necessary to the very survival of the Vindrasi. His fire cooked their food and kept them warm in the harsh winters of their land.
“Hevis, creator and destructor, I bring to you my prayer of supplication.” Treia unclasped her hands and traced on the deck a rune symbolizing fire. “I beg you come to me, Hevis. I am in need.”
Treia waited in the darkness. The wooden floor of the deck bruised her knees and she thought back to the many times she had been forced to kneel on the floor of the Hall of Vindrash during Draya’s prayers.
The voice, when it answered, burned her soul.
“You are a woman of few words, Treia Adalbrand. I like that. You can’t imagine how the other Bone Priestesses used to bore me.”
The face of the god blazed in the darkness like a lump of charcoal with orange and red and yellow flame flaring through the cracks, shooting from the mouth, and glowing in the eyes. His hair was fire. He had no body, no limbs, no trunk. His heat beat on her, seemed to suck the air from the hold. She gasped and shrank away to keep from being burned.
“I find it strange that you pray to me, since your allegiance is now to another god.” Hevis paused. The flame eyes seared her heart. “A god whose foul name will not pollute my mouth. A god who is my enemy.”
Treia trembled. A god of lies and deceit might be won over by the truth. Or he might destroy her. She had to take the risk. Sweat beaded on Treia’s forehead and ran down her face and trickled down her breasts.
“My allegiance is not to Aelon or any god, great Hevis,” said Treia in a voice that was barely above a whisper. She raised her eyes. “My allegiance is to myself.”
His fire flared.
“A truthful response. What do you want of me?”
The god was detached, uncaring. He was here out of curiosity, nothing more. He would soon grow more interested,
of that she was certain.
“I know a secret,” Treia said. “A valuable secret. I am here to share it with you.”
Hevis scoffed. His heat scorched her. “You, a mortal, claim to know something we gods do not?”
“I do,” she said with more confidence than she felt.
“Tell me and I will be the judge,” said Hevis.
“I risk my life bringing this secret to you. I want something in return.”
Fire raged around her and Treia feared she would die. She smelled the sickening odor of burnt hair, her own hair, and saw flaming ash dropping on her robes, burning holes in the cloth.
“I must first decide if this secret is worth the price of your miserable life,” said Hevis. “What do you know?”
Treia cowered before him and gasped out, “The god, Sund, has given Aelon one of the spiritbones of the Five Vektia, one of the spiritbones of your fathers!”
The flaring light of Hevis dimmed, the hold cooled. Treia sighed in relief. She was right. The gods of the Vindrasi did not know that Sund was a traitor.
“How do you discover this?” Hevis asked.
“The priests of Aelon showed the spiritbone to me. I have seen it, touched it.”
“How do you know it is one of the five?”
Treia described the spiritbone, its golden setting, its beautiful emeralds.
“Yes,” said Hevis, and his voice was bitter. “That is the spiritbone given to Sund for safekeeping. You say that Sund gave it to Aelon? Voluntarily? What was his reason?”
“Sund looked into the future and saw that Aelon would win the war. Torval and the rest of you would be defeated. Sund gave the spiritbone to Aelon in exchange for his own survival.”
Hevis’s flames hissed and crackled, but not in anger. He seemed to be laughing. “Torval loves Sund. This will break his heart and is indeed valuable information. What do you want in return, Treia Adalbrand? Request what you will. I am in a generous mood.”
“Teach me the ritual to summon the Vektan dragon.”
“Why do you want to know?” Hevis asked, flames flickering.
Secret of the Dragon Page 29
