Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [123]
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