Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [143]
“You’re going to break into the villa,” said Skylan. “What about the soldiers?”
“There won’t be any soldiers there tonight,” said Keeper. “Remember? They were given leave.”
“By the Priest-General,” Skylan said, thoughtful.
“No soldiers?” Sigurd grinned. “This is perfect!”
“Isn’t it,” said Skylan. He shook his head in disbelief. “Treia came up with this scheme. How can you trust her? She is Raegar’s lover!”
“And she is my sister,” said Aylaen. “I trust her. She cares about us.”
Skylan appealed to his friends. “Think what you’re saying. For the Empress to murder someone she has to first acknowledge that the person exists. We are slaves. We are beneath contempt, lower than ants in the honey jar! Raegar, on the other hand, has said more than once he’d like to see us dead.”
“Treia would never let us come to harm,” cried Aylaen angrily.
“What if Raegar lied to her, Aylaen? He’s lied to her before this.”
Even as he spoke, Skylan could tell he was wasting his breath. His friends had seen the dazzling light of hope. They would not go back to the darkness.
And what if they are right? he asked himself. What if, for some strange reason, Raegar is giving us the gift of freedom? Treia might be a cold and callous bitch, but she loves Aylaen. Treia would not send her sister to her death.
“What do you think?” Skylan turned to Keeper.
“I know of these catacombs,” said Keeper. “I have been inside. I was there when Acronis laid to rest the body of his wife. His family is buried there, going back for many generations. They are sacred places.”
“Buried?” Erdmun’s voice quavered. “You mean, the catacombs are filled with corpses?”
Sigurd cast him a scathing glance. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a few moldy old bones?”
“I’m not,” said Erdmun defensively. “But such places are sacred, like he said. The gods might not like it. . . .”
“Sacred or not,” said Sigurd, “do these catacombs lead to the sea?”
Keeper shrugged his massive shoulders. “I suppose it is possible. I don’t know.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Sigurd. “We leave tonight.”
“Tonight!” Skylan shook his head. “Impossible.”
“Why?” Sigurd asked.
“We need weapons—”
“We have them. Swords and axes. Treia told us they would be hidden in a cart filled with supplies and they were.”
“Well, then, what about the guards at the entrance to the compound? Acronis didn’t give them leave.”
“The wine with their meal tonight will be drugged.”
“And these tattoos? Won’t Aelon have something to say about our escape?”
“This Aelon is a weak-stomached god, it seems. He doesn’t sanction murder. He’s letting us go. If you want proof, we unpacked the weapons and none of us felt so much as a twinge.”
Skylan didn’t like it, but he didn’t know what to say. It was perfect. All too perfect.
“Our plans are made,” Sigurd added. “Either you are with us or you’re not.”
Skylan looked for help to Aylaen. He could not tell them about the Vektan spiritbone. He had taken his vow to Torval. But she could.
Aylaen understood him. She stood with her arms folded, her lips compressed. She met his gaze with a blank stare.
“I am with you,” said Skylan reluctantly. “But we cannot attack the villa tonight.”
“Why not? You want to have time to warn your friend, the Legate?”
Skylan regarded them grimly. “Acronis is a soldier. He can take care of himself. It is his daughter. The girl is gravely ill. She is dying. She should die in peace.”
“That’s true,” said Farinn. “I heard one of the soldiers talking. The girl is not expected to live through the night.”
“We have our own children to think about,” said Aki dourly.
Skylan had lost and he knew it.
“I said we would all escape or none of us. Will you come with us, Keeper?”
“He doesn’t have a choice,” said Sigurd. “He knows too much for us to let him go. Maybe we should kill him—”
“Don’t be an idiot. He knows where to find the shrine,” said Bjorn. “He can show us.”
“I can show you,” said Keeper. He shook