Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [139]
“I should stay, hear what she says—”
Zahakis looked at him and then looked at the six soldiers marching behind them. Skylan heaved a sigh.
“What does the Legate want with me?” he asked irritably.
“Not the Legate. Chloe. She has asked for you. She’s not well, Skylan,” Zahakis added abruptly. “Too much excitement, the physicians say. They also say we should do whatever she wants. Give her anything she asks for.”
“She’s dying?” Skylan asked, shocked.
Zahakis shook his head.
Skylan was filled with a sorrow that startled him. He had only known Chloe a short time, but her wyrd had wrapped closely around his in a knot that could not be broken without pain.
Treia was no longer important. He forgot about her.
Seeing Treia approaching their ship, the Torgun warriors rose angrily, even Farinn, who was still half-blind from the fury’s attack. Their expressions dark and grim, they stood together in a line, shoulder to shoulder. Aylaen cast the warriors a nervous glance and hurried to intercept Treia, draw her away.
“I am glad to see you, Sister,” said Aylaen. “We should talk in my tent—”
Treia pulled free of her grasp.
“I came to talk to all of you,” she said loudly.
“Next time, bring along your traitor lover,” said Sigurd. “I’d like the pleasure of ‘talking’ to him.”
“Where is Skylan?” Treia demanded.
“I am Chief now,” said Sigurd. “As for Skylan, he’s a slave like the rest of us. He has to obey his master.”
“And who’s responsible for us being slaves, I wonder,” said Grimuir, folding his arms across his chest.
“I am not, if that is what you are implying,” Treia said sharply. “As for Raegar, he did what he did for your own good.”
“If you are here to preach at us—” Bjorn began.
“I am here to help you escape,” said Treia.
The Torgun regarded her in startled and distrustful silence.
“And why would you do that?” Sigurd asked, frowning. “You have made it clear you despise us.”
“And what about me?” Treia cried. Her face was pale, pinched with bitterness. “My mother as good as sold me into slavery when I was a child, giving me to the Kai so that Vindrash would spare her husband’s life. And then he died anyway. No, I did not weep to see the rest of you made slaves.”
“If that’s how you feel about us, why would you want to help us?” Sigurd asked, still suspicious.
“I know you will never believe this, but Raegar brought you to Sinaria to try to make you see reason. He believed in the old gods as you did. He was taken into slavery and he found Aelon, and since then his life has been blessed. He wanted the same for you.”
“I’ll give him a kiss next time I see him,” Erdmun said, and the men laughed.
Treia gave a shrug. “I told Raegar that you will never give up your barbaric ways. He sees now that I was right. But he does not want your blood on his hands and neither do I.”
“Blood?” Sigurd asked. “Who’s going to kill us? The people love us—”
“The Empress doesn’t,” said Treia bluntly. “She is furious. You made her look ridiculous before the people. Never mind that she broke the rules or that the fury could have easily turned on the crowd if you had not stopped her. The Empress cares nothing about that. She cares only about appearance. She was angry to see the crowd make heroes of you at the expense of her players. And so, she has arranged for you to die.”
The Torgun stared, amazed.
“Her soldiers can try to kill us,” said Grimuir. “They may not find it that easy. We will fight—”
“Fight!” Treia scoffed. “Her Imperial Majesty won’t let her soldiers soil their hands by fighting slaves! She has far cheaper and easier means of destroying you. The bread you ate this morning. Did it have a strange flavor? Perhaps the ale was more bitter than usual.”
“You mean she’d poison us?” Erdmun looked queasy.
“Poison is one means. She has many others. Aylaen is my sister. You are my kinsmen,” said Treia. “You are Raegar’s kinsmen. Neither he nor I can stand by to see you foully murdered. We have devised a plan for you to escape.”
“What is this plan?” Sigurd asked. “Let us hear it.”
“There is an ancient shrine