Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [171]
“I’m not trying to save Treia!” Skylan dragged his horse to a halt and turned to Aylaen. “You want to know the secret to the Vektan dragon? I’ll tell you!”
He raised his hand, five fingers spread wide. “Five dragons. The only way to control one is to control five. All five at once. All five together. Five dragonbones at the start of every game.”
Aylaen stared at him in bewilderment. “What are you saying?”
“Treia is going to summon one dragon. She won’t be able to control it, not with the help of Hevis or Aelon or Vindrash or all the gods in the universe. Because it is only one dragon.”
Aylaen went livid. “You’re not going to save her! You’re going to kill her!”
“If Treia summons the Vektan dragon, she will destroy us and everything around us. I have to stop her, Aylaen. Any way I can.”
Skylan rode on. He topped a rise and galloped down it, only to find, to his dismay, another barricade blocking the highway. Men were stacking tables and barrels and chairs in a large heap. Skylan saw a gap and guided his horse’s head toward it. Men yelled at him, waving their arms, trying to stop him. He kept going and they flung themselves out of the way of his horse’s hooves. Lying low on the beast’s neck, he urged the horse to jump.
He thought of the many times back in his homeland when he had ridden his horse, Blade, a wedding present from Draya. He had loved that horse. Together, they had jumped creeks, fallen logs, and hedgerows, running for the pure pleasure of feeling the wind in their faces.
The horse lifted its legs and made the jump, landing on the pavement beyond with a clatter of hooves. Gathering itself, the horse raced ahead. Skylan looked back to see that he had lost Aylaen. She was a good rider; he’d let her ride Blade sometimes, but she had never taken a jump.
He heard her calling his name, pleading with him to wait. He kept riding. It was better this way. She would hate him forever, but at least he wouldn’t add to that the burden of forcing her to watch. Behind him, Acronis was yelling at the men, ordering them to dismantle the barricade to let them pass.
The row of buildings came to an end. The highway continued, leading to the Para Dix arena. On game day, the highway would be jammed with people hurrying to the arena, carrying their children in their arms.
This night, the highway was empty. Skylan urged his horse on. The bowl of the arena spread out before him. The fire burned in the fire pit in the center. He could see Treia reflected in its light.
He didn’t know the ritual to summon a Vektan dragon. All he hoped was that it was long and complicated. He glanced again over his shoulder to see that Acronis, Keeper, and Aylaen had made their way through the barricade and were riding behind him.
He reached the outer row of seats, those that had been carved into the hillside. Skylan did not stop, but urged his horse down the stairs.
The war horse, trained to negotiate steep, rocky terrain, had no difficulty. As they reached the smooth grass of the arena, Skylan began to shout, calling Treia’s name.
She was standing on the edge of the fire pit directly above the flames. She held a pitcher of water in one hand and an object that gleamed golden in the moonlight. Jewels flashed and sparkled.
Treia heard him shout and she turned her head. She probably couldn’t see him, with her weak eyes, but she would know the sound of his voice.
Skylan yelled again with all the power of his lungs.
“Treia! Stop!”
She stared at him. Raegar, sword drawn, walked over to stand protectively beside her. Soldiers wearing the uniform of the Imperial Guard streamed out of the grandstand. The Priest-General pointed at Skylan and commanded someone to slay him.
Skylan saw the soldiers and dismissed them. They were on foot. They would never reach him in time. He kept his eyes on Treia and begged her, willed her, pleaded with her silently to stop.
She turned away from him, and, lifting the pitcher, poured water on the fire, partially