Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [29]
“He asked me if the Dragon Kahg was dead. He thinks I should know,” Treia told her sister.
“Do you?” asked Aylaen.
“No,” said Treia bitterly. “Do you?”
Aylaen shook her head.
Their captors escorted them to a freshwater stream to perform their ablutions. The women had no privacy; the soldiers kept close watch on them. Aylaen laved her face and neck with the cold water and then sat on the bank of the stream, shivering in the waning light.
Treia rinsed her long hair and wrung it out. She scrubbed her face and washed her body as thoroughly as she could, given the fact that she could not take off her clothes.
She is trying to make herself pretty for Raegar. Aylaen did not know whether to weep for her sister or slap her.
Once their bath was finished, the two returned to camp. Treia gripped Aylaen’s arm and, keeping an eye on their guards, whispered, “If the spiritbone comes back to you as it did the last time, you must tell me!”
Aylaen turned to her, eyed her coldly. “I swear to you, Treia, that if the spiritbone came back to me I would crush it to powder beneath my heel.”
She broke loose from her sister’s grasp and walked off. Treia hesitated a moment, then hurried after her.
“You don’t mean that,” said Treia. “Raegar says—”
“Raegar!” Aylaen repeated angrily. “Raegar is a traitor to our people. He is a traitor to you, Treia! Can’t you see that? How can you still love him?”
“Raegar has the good of our people at heart—”
“His god wants to destroy our gods, Treia! Why is that good?”
“Our gods brought their doom upon themselves,” said Treia. “They were careless of their creation.”
Back in camp, a bright fire burned. A hunting party must have been successful. They smelled roasting meat.
Aylaen’s stomach turned. “I’m going back aboard ship.”
“You have to eat,” said Treia.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ll make yourself sick. . . .”
“Good!”
“Sister, I know you are angry with me, but think about this.” Treia paused, then said abruptly, “How can you believe in gods who let Garn die?”
The sky was gray. The sea was gray. A light rain began to fall. Drops splattered on the burning logs and hissed and sizzled. Aylaen lifted her face to the rain, let it run down her cheeks. She tried to weep for Garn, but the tears would not come. She had no more tears left.
The sky wept for her.
Skylan and the others did not receive a share of the roasted meat. They were forced to sit and smell the tantalizing aroma that made their stomachs growl and their mouths water. They were given a noxious paste of ground fish known as garum, bread, fresh water, and the fruit of Oran known as olives. Skylan ate the strange food, even choked down the fish paste, determined to keep up his strength.
After the meal, those soldiers not on duty guarding the slaves held a wrestling match. They drew a crude circle in the sand. Two of the men stripped naked and, stepping into the circle and sweating and heaving, each tried to force his opponent to step out of the circle or pin the opponent so that he could not move and was forced to give up.
Punching was not permitted. The men had to rely on strength and quickness and agility. Zahakis acted as the judge. When a man broke one of the rules, Zahakis separated them and forced them to start over. Acronis was an honored guest, and he clapped and called out when one of the wrestlers did particularly well. The Legate made wagers with his soldiers and crew, laughing good-naturedly and paying up when he lost, waving away his winnings when he won.
The Torgun warriors at first tried to pretend they weren’t interested. But wrestling matches were extremely popular among the Vindrasi. Men and women both took part (though they did not fight naked, which the Torgun found shocking). Eventually the warriors gave up the pretense and began to watch.
Aki, a renowned wrestler himself, was so impressed that when one of the wrestlers flipped the other over on his back with a skilled maneuver, he gave a shout of approval.