Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [24]
Wulfe had said that if Raegar caught him, he’d be dead here by himself and Skylan had told the boy to hide in the sea chest. Wulfe was slightly built and could bend his lithe and skinny body as if he were made of willow branches, and he had no trouble fitting into the chest. But he’d been there a long time and he was probably finding his hiding place cramped, hot, and uncomfortable.
“Be quiet,” Skylan told the boy in a low voice. “Something’s about to happen.”
Raegar ordered one of the soldiers to give the signal. The man blew a blast on the trumpet. Once he had everyone’s attention, Raegar began to speak in a booming voice designed to carry over the water to the galley, loudly expouding upon the glories of Aelon and how they would witness those glories by seeing that even a dragon known to serve the Vindrasi gods would bow to Aelon.
He spoke with conviction. Skylan, glancing around, saw that his men were grim-faced and downcast, as men look when they have no choice but to concede a bitter truth.
What did Raegar hope to accomplish? Skylan wondered. Raegar must be confident that this god of his could exert control over the dragon, otherwise he would not risk summoning Kahg, who could reduce the Light of the Sea to the Blazing Heap of Ashes. Skylan felt a nagging doubt. Farinn was right. The gods did appear to have abandoned their people. He did not believe the gods were dead, but it could be that Torval and Vindrash were not strong enough to intervene. What if this god, Aelon, was able to compel the Dragon Kahg to obey?
“Then that will be a sign,” Skylan said softly.
Raegar continued with his exhortation. The soldiers were well-disciplined and stood unmoving beneath the merciless sun. They all wore their best armor, the helms with the cheek flaps, the leather skirts, and they must be broiling. Their faces and bare arms glistened with sweat. Skylan more than once cast a longing glance at the cool seawater, rolling beneath the keel of the Venjekar.
Skylan wondered if the soldiers were wishing they could jump into the water or wishing they could throw in Raegar. There was no telling how long the warrior-priest would have gone on praising Aelon. He was interrupted, cut off mid-sentence by the Legate.
“I trust Aelon will forgive me for rushing him,” Acronis called out from the deck of the war galley, “but we are all slowly roasting to death. Get on with it.”
Raegar frowned, deeply offended. “One of you men fetch the Bone Priestess,” he said with what dignity he could muster.
Skylan looked intently at Raegar, searching for any sign that he was at all doubtful or nervous. To the contrary, Raegar appeared smugly confident.
Skylan sighed, and hearing a growling noise coming from the sea chest, he kicked it again.
Down in the hold, Treia was dressed in her ceremonial robes, which she wore over the apron dress, wearing that over the linen smock. She was sweating profusely in the close, confined area of the hold. Aylaen remained in bed.
She could hear Raegar’s loud voice coming from above deck, going on and on about his god. The droning put her to sleep. She was awakened by the sound of someone coming down the ladder.
“Priestess,” said the soldier curtly, pointing at Treia and gesturing to the deck above. “You are summoned. Make haste.”
Treia looked at Aylaen, who made no move to rise.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” Treia asked, startled.
“Why?” asked Aylaen. “You have the spiritbone.”
Treia cast a glance at the soldier. “Tell Warrior-Priest Raegar I will attend him shortly.”
She waited until the soldier had gone back up the stairs, then she hurried over to Aylaen and knelt beside her. “We should both pray to Vindrash to summon the dragon. Just to be safe.”
Aylaen thought of the dream, of Vindrash casting her out into the cold. She shook her head.
“The goddess isn’t interested in hearing from me.”
“Treia!” Raegar shouted