Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [126]
“The Torgun Bone Priestess—”
“—refused to heal me. She hates me,” said Skylan, shrugging. “Though that was not the reason she wouldn’t heal me. As it turned out—”
He stopped. He had been going to tell his cousin about the death of the Goddess of Healing, but he was afraid that the dire news might get back to the Southlanders, who worshipped their own gods. Perhaps evil gods, like the Gods of Raj.
“Tell me about Draya. What did she do to you?”
“She accused me of loving someone else, a charge I denied. She didn’t believe me. One night when I was alone in my dwelling, I drank some mead with my meal, as was my usual custom. I noticed the mead had a strange taste, but I thought nothing of it. And then my head began to swim. My vision blurred. I tried to stand, but my legs would not work. The next thing I knew, I woke to find myself lying in my bed. I had been stripped naked. Draya was beside me. She was naked, too. She was drawing runes on my bare breast in blood, and singing strange words.
“She was startled to see me wake up. The potion she fed me wore off too quickly, I guess. She tried to make love to me, but I ordered her to dress herself, and then I threw her out of my dwelling. I should have publicly proclaimed her a witch, but she begged and pleaded with me to spare her.”
Raegar sighed deeply. “I said I would, if she would swear to cease practicing her foul magic. She promised she would. Obviously she lied. Horg was her next victim.”
“What do you mean by that?” Skylan asked, alarmed. He thought Raegar was referring to the poisoning.
“Only that Draya wanted to be the ruler of the Vindrasi,” said Raegar. “When Horg refused to give in to her demands, she used her spells to steal his manhood. Rumor has it that after he lay with her, Horg never fathered a child. Not with Draya or with any woman.”
Skylan sat staring gloomily into the fire. It all made perfect sense.
Raegar eyed him. “I fear my warning comes too late. Has she cast a spell on you?”
“Not on me,” said Skylan, shaken.
“I have upset you. I am sorry,” Raegar said. “I should have kept my mouth shut. Here, this will settle your nerves.”
He poured more wine. Skylan stared into the red liquid, then downed it at a gulp.
Images swam in his head: the raven with its black eyes and Draya pulling off her gown and Horg doubled over, clutching his gut . . .
Skylan groaned and let his swimming head sink into his hands. His cousin put his arm around his shoulders.
“One of the female slaves knows something of love charms,” said Raegar softly. “Tell me what Draya did to you, and perhaps she can remove the charm—”
“She didn’t do anything to me,” Skylan said.
Raegar frowned. “Perhaps she did and you didn’t know it. If you lay with her—”
“I didn’t!” Skylan cried vehemently. “Something warned me against her. I left her bed.”
“On her wedding night? Draya must have been furious. You are lucky you are still alive!” Raegar said.
“You do not know how lucky!” Skylan said in a shuddering whisper. “She poisoned Horg!”
Raegar drew in a hissing breath; then he cast a swift glance around the camp. “Keep your voice down, Skylan!”
Skylan picked up his cup to take another drink, only to find it was empty.
“You fill me with horror, Cousin,” Raegar added, pouring more wine. “I won’t press you, but if you want to talk about it, I swear by Torval’s beard that anything you say to me I will hold in strictest confidence.”
Skylan wanted to talk. He had to talk. He told his cousin everything. Like lancing a boil, the ugly pus flowed out. He talked about the battle with Horg, Draya’s confession, his own horror and his determination to travel to Hammerfall and beg Torval’s forgiveness. He talked about the raven who had blocked his path.
“And now I don’t know what to do,” Skylan said miserably. “If I accuse Draya, I accuse myself. I could be sent into exile or even hanged! Torval has cursed me!”
“You must do something to seek his forgiveness,” said Raegar.
“I could bring back the Vektan Torque,” said Skylan. “That is what I believe he wants me to do. But Draya insists