Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [173]
The raindrops sliced flesh like lances, hailstones left bloody gashes. Then there was a shattering crash and the sounds of twisting lumber. The grandstands had collapsed. She heard screams and cries, but she couldn’t look to see what had happened. Skylan had picked up the spiritbone. Treia leaped at him, smashing into him, fingernails tearing at his hand.
Strong hands closed over Treia’s wrists and dragged her off Skylan.
“Treia, stop!” Aylaen begged. “There’s nothing you can do. We have to reach the ship—”
Treia screamed and lashed out at her. “This is your fault. You should be dead! Why aren’t you dead?”
Aylaen gasped and let go. Treia could not see Skylan for the rain and the darkness. He must have escaped. Treia tried to crawl out of the fire pit but the sides were made of brick that was wet and slippery. She caught sight of Raegar and cried out for him to help her.
Raegar stood staring at the body of Xydis. A splinter of the boulder had pierced the priest’s chest. Blood and rain ran down his ceremonial robes. His eyes were wide open, glaring accusingly at the god who had failed him.
Hearing Treia’s call, Raegar turned to her. She reached out her hands to him.
“Raegar, please!”
He looked at her and he looked down at Xydis and he looked back over his shoulder at what was left of the grandstands.
Raegar turned his back on her and ran, head down like a bull, through the rain and buffeting wind. He was leaving the arena, leaving her.
“Raegar!” Treia screamed, but her cry was torn to shreds by the wind.
A piece of debris picked up by the wind struck Treia in the head. She felt herself falling and she didn’t care. She gave herself to the darkness, praying as the water closed over her it would be eternal.
CHAPTER
17
* * *
BOOK THREE
Help me with Treia, Skylan!” Aylaen cried from the fire pit, where she was holding her sister’s limp body, trying desperately to keep Treia’s head above the rising water. “Something hit her! She’s hurt!”
Aylaen had lost her helm in the wild ride from the city. Her red hair, plastered against her head, streamed like blood down her face.
“Skylan, she’s my sister!” Aylaen said. “This is not her—”
“—fault?” Skylan asked grimly.
Aylaen opened her mouth and shut it again. She said nothing, but gazed at him with pleading eyes.
Skylan had hold of the spiritbone by its golden chain. Not knowing what else to do with it, he flung the chain over his head and thrust the dangling spiritbone beneath his armor. He took hold of Treia around the waist. She hung limply in his arms, dead weight.
“Give her to me!” yelled Keeper above the tumult of the storm. The ogre’s childlike face glistened in the flashes of lightning. Blood poured from a jagged cut on his cheek. The cut on the back of his head was still bleeding. Between him and Skylan, the two hauled Treia out of the pit. Keeper dumped her on the ground, then came back for Skylan and Aylaen.
Aylaen held up her arms and Keeper plucked her out. Skylan felt around his neck to make certain he had the spiritbone, then reached up a hand to Keeper. Placing one foot on the side of the fire pit, Skylan propelled himself upward. Keeper’s heaving yank brought him the rest of the way.
The wind slammed into Skylan. The rain streamed down his face, blinding him. He grabbed hold of Aylaen and, clinging to each other, they fought their way through the driving rain and pounding hail, trying to reach Acronis, who was holding onto the horses. At times, they were blown to a standstill and could do nothing except try to keep their footing. Then the wind would lessen somewhat and they lurched on. Keeper came staggering after them, carrying Treia.
Skylan could not see the dragon, but he could hear its awful voice, howling and shrieking and rumbling. There was nowhere to hide from it. Death might come slamming into him at any moment. He had one thought in