Treia gave a strangled sob.
Hevis stirred, his hand flexing on the hilt of his sword. He shifted his gaze in the direction of the bay where the ogre fleet was gathering.
“But I find I cannot pass up this chance to strike a blow at our foes.” Hevis raised his sword and shook it at the heavens. “Do you hear me, Aelon? Do you hear me, Gods of Raj? Do you hear me, Torval, as you sit sulking in your great Hall? Look at me and see true power!”
Treia drew in her breath and, greatly daring, raised her head. “Do you mean . . . you will help me summon the dragon?”
“The sacrifice will be mine to take when and where I decide to take it,” said Hevis, turning his fiery gaze upon her. “Are we agreed?”
“Yes, yes!” Treia cried, sinking to her knees, faint with relief. She barely heard him and did not understand him, but it didn’t matter. She was desperate and would have agreed to anything he asked of her. “What is the ritual?”
“ ‘The air blows on the fire that consumes the earth that boils the water that douses the fire. When the smoke rises, throw down the bone.’ ”
Hevis disappeared. Treia rose shakily to her feet, using a wall for support. She stood a moment in the darkness to collect her thoughts, imprinting his words on her mind. Then, feeling stronger, she walked back out onto the playing field. Raegar was already coming to look for her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, regarding her with concern. “You are white as milk.”
She gave him a reassuring smile. “I prayed to the god. All is well.”
“Thanks be to Aelon,” said Raegar.
Skylan had impressed upon Acronis the need for haste, and at first they made good time. The road that led them through the Temple grounds was almost deserted. The sounds of chanting and prayers to Aelon could be heard rising from the Temple.
But when they reached the city streets, their progress slowed almost to a crawl. The streets were clogged with people and barricades, noise, light, and confusion. Seeing the Legate, resplendent in his armor, the people cheered him. He told them he needed to reach the harbor and ordered them to clear a path for him and his escort. They were eager to obey, but it took time to dismantle the barricades.
Skylan kept trying to reassure himself that Treia would not summon the dragon before dawn, but he was frantic with impatience to reach the arena. He sat on his horse, fretting and fuming at the delays. Everywhere they stopped, people begged the Legate for news. He would tell them that all would be well; the enemy would most certainly be driven back. They cheered him and his soldiers again when they left.
No one cheered Keeper. At one barricade, a rock struck the ogre on the back of the head and he swayed in the saddle, almost falling. Skylan rode to his side, but the ogre waved him away.
“I have a hard head,” he said.
Skylan saw blood flowing down the back of the ogre’s neck. Acronis looked very grim, and after that, they took the side streets, though the going was slower.
Just when Skylan thought they would never arrive, he saw the vast, open playing field through a break in the cluster of buildings. He noted with astonishment people in the grandstands and more people gathered about the fire pit in the moonlight. He recognized one of them, a man far taller than the others. Raegar was there, which meant Treia must be there as well.
Skylan was breathing a sigh, thinking they would be in time, when Acronis suddenly reined in his horse.
“What is it?” Skylan asked. “What is wrong?”
“Listen,” said Acronis.
Skylan yanked off his helm and then he heard it—a dull, roaring sound that was like waves pounding on a distant shore. But they were far from the ocean and Skylan was trying to figure out what could make such an odd sound, when he saw an orange glow light the sky. Not dawn. He was facing west, not east. The orange glow grew brighter and then he knew.
The sound was from waves, but not of water. Waves of ogre warriors roaring their battle cries to the rhythmic beating of drums and blasting horns.
“They’re burning the warehouses,” said Acronis. “And the harbor fortifications. After that, they will set fire to the houses—”
Skylan didn’t wait to hear more. He kicked his horse in the flanks and rode on. He needed no further guidance. The arena lay directly ahead of him. If he could see the flames, Treia would be able to see them as well, and she would know that the ogres were not going to wait for the dawn.
And neither would she.
Aylaen caught up with him, and rode beside him. “Thank you for coming to save Treia. I know you don’t like her and that you’re doing this for me.”
Skylan saw fire burning in the fire pit. He could see Treia reflected in the light of the leaping flames and Raegar standing beside her along with other warrior-priests. They were pointing at the orange glow in the sky.
“I’m not trying to save Treia!” Skylan dragged his horse to a halt and turned to Aylaen. “You want to know the secret to the Vektan dragon? I’ll tell you!”
He raised his hand, five fingers spread wide. “Five dragons. The only way to control one is to control five. All five at once. All five together. Five dragonbones at the start of every game.”
Aylaen stared at him in bewilderment. “What are you saying?”
“Treia is going to summon one dragon. She won’t be able to control it, not with the help of Hevis or Aelon or Vindrash or all the gods in the universe. Because it is only one dragon.”
Aylaen went livid. “You’re not going to save her! You’re going to kill her!”
“If Treia summons the Vektan dragon, she will destroy us and everything around us. I have to stop her, Aylaen. Any way I can.”
Skylan rode on. He topped a rise and galloped down it, only to find, to his dismay, another barricade blocking the highway. Men were stacking tables and barrels and chairs in a large heap. Skylan saw a gap and guided his horse’s head toward it. Men yelled at him, waving their arms, trying to stop him. He kept going and they flung themselves out of the way of his horse’s hooves. Lying low on the beast’s neck, he urged the horse to jump.
He thought of the many times back in his homeland when he had ridden his horse, Blade, a wedding present from Draya. He had loved that horse. Together, they had jumped creeks, fallen logs, and hedgerows, running for the pure pleasure of feeling the wind in their faces.
The horse lifted its legs and made the jump, landing on the pavement beyond with a clatter of hooves. Gathering itself, the horse raced ahead. Skylan looked back to see that he had lost Aylaen. She was a good rider; he’d let her ride Blade sometimes, but she had never taken a jump.
He heard her calling his name, pleading with him to wait. He kept riding. It was better this way. She would hate him forever, but at least he wouldn’t add to that the burden of forcing her to watch. Behind him, Acronis was yelling at the men, ordering them to dismantle the barricade to let them pass.
The row of buildings came to an end. The highway continued, leading to the Para Dix arena. On game day, the highway would be jammed with people hurrying to the arena, carrying their children in their arms.
This night, the highway was empty. Skylan urged his horse on. The bowl of the arena spread out before him. The fire burned in the fire pit in the center. He could see Treia reflected in its light.
He didn’t know the ritual to summon a Vektan dragon. All he hoped was that it was long and complicated. He glanced again over his shoulder to see that Acronis, Keeper, and Aylaen had made their way through the barricade and were riding behind him.
He reached the outer row of seats, those that had been carved into the hillside. Skylan did not stop, but urged his horse down the stairs.
The war horse, trained to negotiate steep, rocky terrain, had no difficulty. As they reached the smooth grass of the arena, Skylan began to shout, calling Treia’s name.
She was standing on the edge of the fire pit directly above the flames. She held a pitcher of water in one hand and an object that gleamed golden in the mo
onlight. Jewels flashed and sparkled.
Treia heard him shout and she turned her head. She probably couldn’t see him, with her weak eyes, but she would know the sound of his voice.
Skylan yelled again with all the power of his lungs.
“Treia! Stop!”
She stared at him. Raegar, sword drawn, walked over to stand protectively beside her. Soldiers wearing the uniform of the Imperial Guard streamed out of the grandstand. The Priest-General pointed at Skylan and commanded someone to slay him.
Skylan saw the soldiers and dismissed them. They were on foot. They would never reach him in time. He kept his eyes on Treia and begged her, willed her, pleaded with her silently to stop.
She turned away from him, and, lifting the pitcher, poured water on the fire, partially dousing the flames. Smoke roiled up around her.
Skylan was weak with relief. Flinging himself off the horse, he hit the ground running. He was on one side of the fire pit. Treia stood on the other. She looked straight at him and gave a thin smile. Her lip curled slightly. She threw the spiritbone into the fire.
Skylan gasped in horror and jumped into the fire pit. Raegar started to leap in after him. Treia laid a restraining hand on his arm.
The spiritbone lay on top of a smoldering log. The fire burned hot. The water had doused part of the blaze, but tongues of flame licked the spiritbone.
“Too late,” said Treia.
CHAPTER
16
* * *
BOOK THREE
Skylan, looking up, could not see the stars. The gods, looking down, could not see the world.
The bright moonlight disappeared. The ogre warriors were plunged into darkness. They could see nothing beyond the fires of destruction, and they looked fearfully to their shamans, who stared uneasily at the black and starless sky.
The light that beamed from Aelon’s temple went out. The people in the streets and on the barricades might as well have been struck blind. They, too, stared into the sky.
On board the Venjekar, the only light was the red fire in the eyes of the carved head of the Dragon Kahg. Sigurd hung the spiritbone from the nail on the masthead where it belonged. Sheltered by the trees along the shore, the ship bobbed gently on the rippling surface of the river. The Venjekar had been hiding in the shadows, but now all the world was in shadow. The air was still, the heat oppressive. A pall of smoke from the burning buildings on the waterfront hung over the water.
“A storm must be brewing,” said Sigurd.
In the arena, Treia was ecstatic. She had summoned the darkness. This was her doing. The fire in the fire pit still burned, and by its light, she could see that Xydis was impressed, Raegar awed.
A hot wind stirred her hair. She lifted her arms to the heavens and raised her voice.
“Dragon of the Vektia! You are mine to command!” She spoke the words, but no words came out.
Treia shivered. Where was her voice? She could feel the words in her throat, feel herself shouting them, but once they left her throat, they were swallowed by the darkness like the moon and the stars.
A sliver of terror pierced her. She tried again, concentrating all her being on the dragon.
“You are mine to command. . . .”
Empty nothings. Raegar was now staring at her in alarm. Xydis was starting to look worried. In the royal box, the Empress had applauded at first, charmed to see the moon and stars disappear, but as time passed and nothing else remarkable happened, she grew bored.
“We are leaving,” she said, and picked up the little dog.
Wings, gray as smoke, trailed glowing sparks. Blue flame crackled and rippled over blue scales. Eyes, cold and pitiless and soulless, gazed down upon the world and saw a void that must be filled.
The Vektan dragon spread its blue fire wings. Rain fell in torrents. The dragon breathed and cyclones twisted out of its mouth. Lightning flared from its claws and thunder cracked from its mouth.
The wind began to rise and rise and kept on rising.
Panic welled up inside Treia. She could scarcely keep her eyes open for the rain blowing in her face. The wind smote her, trying to knock her down. She had to find the spiritbone. She had to hold it in her hands. Then, perhaps, she could gain control of the dragon.
“Hevis, help me!” she screamed.
But the god had fled, fearing Torval’s wrath. It was Raegar who heard her. He turned to her, his face contorted with fear and rage. Beside him, Xydis was calling upon Aelon, demanding that the god seize the dragon and send it to fight ogres.
Aelon did not answer. He, too, was lost in the dark.
The rain deluged the fire, putting it out. The fire pit began to fill with water. Lightning flared and Treia saw the spiritbone and Skylan standing over it, reaching out his hand.
As Treia jumped into the fire pit, a bolt of lightning struck the touchstone boulder very near where she had been standing. The boulder shattered. Splinters of rock, sharp as spears, flew through the air. The shock wave rolled over the ground, knocking Treia down. She landed on her hands and knees in the water at the bottom of the fire pit.
The raindrops sliced flesh like lances, hailstones left bloody gashes. Then there was a shattering crash and the sounds of twisting lumber. The grandstands had collapsed. She heard screams and cries, but she couldn’t look to see what had happened. Skylan had picked up the spiritbone. Treia leaped at him, smashing into him, fingernails tearing at his hand.
Strong hands closed over Treia’s wrists and dragged her off Skylan.
“Treia, stop!” Aylaen begged. “There’s nothing you can do. We have to reach the ship—”
Treia screamed and lashed out at her. “This is your fault. You should be dead! Why aren’t you dead?”
Aylaen gasped and let go. Treia could not see Skylan for the rain and the darkness. He must have escaped. Treia tried to crawl out of the fire pit but the sides were made of brick that was wet and slippery. She caught sight of Raegar and cried out for him to help her.
Raegar stood staring at the body of Xydis. A splinter of the boulder had pierced the priest’s chest. Blood and rain ran down his ceremonial robes. His eyes were wide open, glaring accusingly at the god who had failed him.
Hearing Treia’s call, Raegar turned to her. She reached out her hands to him.
“Raegar, please!”
He looked at her and he looked down at Xydis and he looked back over his shoulder at what was left of the grandstands.
Raegar turned his back on her and ran, head down like a bull, through the rain and buffeting wind. He was leaving the arena, leaving her.
“Raegar!” Treia screamed, but her cry was torn to shreds by the wind.
A piece of debris picked up by the wind struck Treia in the head. She felt herself falling and she didn’t care. She gave herself to the darkness, praying as the water closed over her it would be eternal.
CHAPTER
17
* * *
BOOK THREE
Help me with Treia, Skylan!” Aylaen cried from the fire pit, where she was holding her sister’s limp body, trying desperately to keep Treia’s head above the rising water. “Something hit her! She’s hurt!”
Aylaen had lost her helm in the wild ride from the city. Her red hair, plastered against her head, streamed like blood down her face.
“Skylan, she’s my sister!” Aylaen said. “This is not her—”
“—fault?” Skylan asked grimly.
Aylaen opened her mouth and shut it again. She said nothing, but gazed at him with pleading eyes.
Skylan had hold of the spiritbone by its golden chain. Not knowing what else to do with it, he flung the chain over his head and thrust the dangling spiritbone beneath his armor. He took hold of Treia around the waist. She hung limply in his arms, dead weight.
“Give her to me!” yelled Keeper above the tumult of the storm. The ogre’s childlike face glistened in the flashes of lightning. Blood poured from a jagged cut on his cheek. The cut on the back of his head was
still bleeding. Between him and Skylan, the two hauled Treia out of the pit. Keeper dumped her on the ground, then came back for Skylan and Aylaen.
Aylaen held up her arms and Keeper plucked her out. Skylan felt around his neck to make certain he had the spiritbone, then reached up a hand to Keeper. Placing one foot on the side of the fire pit, Skylan propelled himself upward. Keeper’s heaving yank brought him the rest of the way.
The wind slammed into Skylan. The rain streamed down his face, blinding him. He grabbed hold of Aylaen and, clinging to each other, they fought their way through the driving rain and pounding hail, trying to reach Acronis, who was holding onto the horses. At times, they were blown to a standstill and could do nothing except try to keep their footing. Then the wind would lessen somewhat and they lurched on. Keeper came staggering after them, carrying Treia.
Skylan could not see the dragon, but he could hear its awful voice, howling and shrieking and rumbling. There was nowhere to hide from it. Death might come slamming into him at any moment. He had one thought in his mind and that was reaching his ship.
“The Venjekar!” he bawled at Acronis, moving close to be heard. “We have to reach the Venjekar!”
“And I must go home to Chloe!” Acronis yelled.
Fighting the wind, they managed to drag themselves onto the horses. Treia was starting to moan, regaining consciousness. She opened her eyes, staring around dazedly.
“Give her to me!” Aylaen had to shout to be heard.
Keeper glanced uncertainly at Skylan, who shrugged, knowing it would be useless to argue. The ogre hoisted Treia up into the saddle behind Aylaen. She grabbed her sister’s hands and drew them around her waist, holding them fast.
Treia blinked her eyes and stared about in confusion. She had no idea where she was or what was going on. Aylaen kicked the beast into motion and Treia nearly tumbled off the back. She grabbed hold of Aylaen more out of terror than because she knew what was happening.
Secret of the Dragon Page 40
