Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [131]
“I have to go speak to your father.” Zahakis added earnestly, “I would take it as a personal favor, Mistress, if you would return home.”
“Don’t be silly, Zahakis,” said Chloe. “I’m going to see a fury fight in the games.”
“I could command my men to take you—”
“And I would sulk for a week and make everyone’s life miserable. Come now, Zahakis, stop fussing over me. You are worse than my old nanny.” She pulled him close to whisper, “You know very well that if anything bad is going to happen to me, it will happen whether I am here or at home. And I would much rather be here with you and my father. At home, I would be alone.”
She looked at him, making certain he understood her.
“I am not afraid, Zahakis. I’m not.”
“You are, in truth, your father’s daughter,” said Zahakis. “I will send one of my soldiers to stay with you.”
“Not Manos,” said Chloe, wrinkling her nose. “He farts.”
Acronis was walking on the field, side-by-side with the opposing player, taking part in the opening ceremony, which involved determining which “Mirchan,” as the players were known, was to have the first move. (In ancient times Mirchan was the name of a goddess of the Oran the Vindrasi knew as Mirchana, one of the Norn who controlled the fates of men. The name had since come to mean something akin to “puppet master.”) The fury had gone to join the Empress’s team meekly enough and the crowd was starting to relax. After the initial shock had worn off, the people were enjoying the excitement. A rustle of anticipation swept through the stands.
The fury had passed close by Skylan in her triumphal circuit of the arena. The blood-oozing eyes stared directly at him, seemed to pay particular attention to him. The beautiful lips parted in a smile made hideous by the crimson tears that rolled down her cheeks and dribbled into her mouth. Her snakes hissed, uncoiled.
Skylan felt his stomach clench. He clasped the amulet of Torval and averted his eyes. He saw Sigurd’s face go rigid. He felt Bjorn, standing beside him, shudder. Erdmun made a sound that might have been a whimper, and Farinn gave an audible gasp. Aylaen stared at the ground, twisting her hands. Keeper was holding some sort of charm, rubbing it and muttering to himself. Skylan had thought Owl Mother’s wyvern a fearsome beast. The wyvern was a tame crow compared to the fury.
“Who is that man with her?” Aki asked, his voice harsh with fear. “Is he one of the foul faery folk, as well?”
“No,” said Skylan. “He’s a druid.”
Wulfe had told him that of all the Uglies, the druids were the only humans the fae trusted.
The druids Skylan had encountered on the Druid Isles feared the Southlanders, who were threatening to take their beautiful island home away from them and cut down their sacred trees to build cities of stone. So what was a druid doing here in Sinaria? Was he a slave, a prisoner? And what was he doing in company with the fury?
The druid turned to look directly at Skylan, almost as if he could hear his questions and wanted to answer them. Skylan had no idea what the druid might be trying to say. Skylan tried to remember if he had seen this man before. He didn’t think so. The druids he had encountered had been elderly graybeards. This man was young, in his twenties.
The druid kept his gaze on Skylan. Obviously, although Skylan did not recognize him, the druid recognized Skylan. Remembering how shamefully he had treated the druids, Skylan felt his heart sink.
“The creature looked straight at me!” Grimuir was saying in a shaking voice. “I saw in her face the face of that old woman I killed in a raid. Her death was an accident. I was aiming for a warrior and the old woman got in the way. My spear went clean through her! I saw her face. . . .”
Acronis and the other Mirchan were climbing up the stairs to the platforms that overlooked the field of play. Keeper thrust his charm in a pouch and told Skylan and the other players it was time.
The Para Dix was about to begin.
Skylan and his friends would be walking out onto the field to fight in a game they did