Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [154]
Hevis had not specified that Aylaen had to die by Treia’s hands. When Raegar and the Priest-General devised their plot to kill Skylan and the other Torgun, Treia had simply added her sister to the mix. True, she had promised Raegar she would keep Aylaen from going into the accursed catacombs with the others. Treia would much rather break a promise to her lover than break a promise to a god.
Aylaen should be here with the others. But she was not, for some reason, and now Raegar was planning to save her.
Which meant that Raegar needed to be somewhere else.
Treia tried to think of a plausible excuse to send him away and could not come up with any.
Hoarse cries and screams of terror echoed from inside the catacombs. The Spirit Priestess shook her head and began to chant.
“What is she doing?” Treia asked, alarmed. “Why does she summon the dead? It is too soon! Skylan is not here!”
Raegar said something to the Spirit Priestess, who halted her chanting a moment to reply, then immediately resumed.
“She is not summoning the dead,” Raegar said. “She is trying to calm them. Unfortunately, the lemures who guard the tomb are angered by the invasion and will not be appeased. The spirits of the dead have seized the men’s bodies and are forcing the warriors to attack each other.”
“All except Skylan and Aylaen,” Treia said frantically. “Where are they?”
As if in answer, blobs of firelight gleamed in the night. Skylan’s voice shouted out that this was a trap. He came crashing through the trees. The ogre, Keeper, pounded along at his side.
“Here he is,” said Raegar with satisfaction. “Just in time to die.”
“But where is Aylaen?” Treia asked, peering into the bright torchlight that hurt her eyes. “Is she there? I can’t see her!”
“Here she comes! And that demonic boy is with her,” Raegar said. “Go to her, Treia.”
Treia ground her teeth. She had no choice. If she refused, Raegar would be furious. Even now, he was fuming at her hesitation. “What are you waiting for? Don’t let her enter the catacombs!”
“Hevis!” Treia prayed in desperation. “You want this as much as I do! Help me!”
She felt Raegar’s hand suddenly tighten on her shoulder. His fingers dug into her flesh. Afraid of his anger, Treia raised her eyes fearfully.
He was no longer paying attention to her. He stared into the darkness, his eyes unfocused.
“Raegar,” said Treia, but he could not hear her. He was listening to another voice. The Watchers were speaking, summoning the faithful in Aelon’s name. The Spirit Priestess ceased her chanting abruptly and turned her head in the direction of the Temple.
Treia watched the two in growing alarm. Raegar’s jaw sagged, his face darkened. The priestess Semelon’s customary calm was shaken. Her lips quivered, then tightened.
Raegar looked at Semelon.
“You heard?” he asked.
The Spirit Priestess nodded and said softly, “We must have faith in Aelon. We should return to the Temple—”
“What is wrong?” Treia demanded.
“We can’t leave,” said Raegar. “Not until we know the barbarians have been killed.”
“What is going on?” Treia demanded loudly, annoyed at being left out of this conversation.
“The ogre fleet has been sighted rounding the point,” said Raegar.
Skylan, Keeper, and Aylaen were pulling on the bronze door, shouting to the men trapped inside. Wulfe had apparently run off.
“But . . . that can’t be!” Treia gasped. “The Priest-General said it would be weeks before the ogre ships arrived. His spies said—”
“His spies were wrong,” Raegar said. “Instead of making landfall on Ardon, the ogres kept sailing. Their foul gods gave them a favorable wind and fine weather and now they are here, by the thousands, and our defenses are not ready!”
“But we are,” Treia said in low, fierce tones.
Raegar turned to her with a puzzled look. She glanced sidelong at Semelon, and drew him away out of earshot.
“What are you talking about?” Raegar asked.
“The Vektan dragon!” said Treia,