Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [150]
“It can’t,” said Aylaen stubbornly. “If I don’t tell you now I may never find the courage to tell you at all. It’s about Garn. I was desperate.” She echoed Acronis’s words. “I couldn’t let him go. I missed him so much I thought about . . . about going to join him.”
“Aylaen, I understand,” Skylan said, one eye on Keeper. “I feel the same way—”
“Let me finish!” she cried. She twisted her hands together, wringing her fingers. “Raegar promised me that if I would tell him the secret to the Vektan dragons, his god would bring Garn back to me. Aelon would bring Garn back to life.”
Skylan felt his stomach clench, his mouth go dry.
“And did he?”
“Yes,” Aylaen said, shuddering. “There are priestesses, Spirit Priestesses who can summon the dead. They brought Garn to me, only it was a trick. He wasn’t alive. His spirit was in chains. He was a prisoner. The priestess said that Garn would be a prisoner for all eternity unless I told them the secret of the Vektan dragon. I said I didn’t know it and that’s when Garn spoke to me. He told me you knew the secret.”
“Torval save us!” Skylan breathed.
Aylaen swallowed. “Treia told me she had freed him, Skylan, but I . . . I’m not sure I believe her now. When I asked if I could see him, speak to him, she wouldn’t let me. I’m sorry, Skylan, but I can’t leave Sinaria knowing that Garn’s soul might still be a prisoner.”
Skylan’s skin prickled. Tiny jolts sizzled through his body, as had happened once when he’d been standing near a tree struck by lightning. He was playing dragonbone. He saw his opponent’s pieces and where they were placed and suddenly he saw the pattern. He knew the strategy. The Torgun were playing a losing game.
He broke into a run, crashing through the flowering hedges, knocking down urns. He very nearly knocked down Keeper.
“Where are you going?” the ogre demanded.
“It’s a trap!” Skylan cried.
CHAPTER
10
* * *
BOOK THREE
The shrine was small and old and derelict. Predating the villa, the shrine had once been important to the people of the estate. This was obvious from the fact that it was built out of concrete faced with marble, at a time when the family home had been constructed of wood. The shrine guarded and honored the catacombs where the family laid their dead to rest. But when the old gods began to grow careless of their creation, and men began to lose their faith, the shrine fell into disrepair.
Dimitri Acronis, grandfather of the Legate, had, like his grandson, also been of a scientific turn of mind. He had small use for the gods and visited the shrine only when a family member died. A parsimonious man, Dimitri had wasted no money on the shrine’s upkeep. His son, Theodoro Acronis, father of the Legate, was far more interested in increasing the family’s wealth than in honoring gods. He heard about the new god, Aelon, and his worship, for it was becoming quite popular among the elite of Oran. He had no time for gods of any sort, however. He built his villa and enlarged his estate and bought and traded slaves. His only pastime, other than making money, was competing with his teams in the Para Dix.
Acronis was more like his grandfather than his father. He was an explorer, an adventurer, and a scientist. The day came, shortly after his marriage, when the priests of Aelon visited the Legate’s villa to tell him about an edict that required he tear down his family’s shrine. The priests decreed everyone was to now worship in the Temple of Aelon.
Acronis could have gone along with the demand. He had not visited or even thought about the old shrine since he had buried his father. But when ordered to destroy it, he went to visit it and memories flooded back. As a young boy, he had heard stories about the old gods from his tutor and become enamored of them. He had made boyish sacrifices, bringing them oat cakes and once a small frog, which had kept hopping off the altar.
Perhaps it was his boyhood memories that prompted him to fight for the shrine or perhaps (his wife had said) it was a perverse desire to annoy the priests. He had refused,