Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [44]
Life in Sinaria was not easy for a freed slave. Raegar had turned to Aelon out of desperation and Aelon had picked him up out of the dust and rewarded his hard work and dedication. Raegar strove to open the eyes of these people. What he did, he did for them. Yet, because he had blond hair and blue eyes, the brown-eyed, brown-skinned Southlanders saw only a barbarian, a man who had once been a slave.
“What is the matter, my love?” Treia asked, seeing his face darken.
The soldiers were having some difficulty with the awning, giving them time to talk.
“Look at those two,” Raegar said. “They should have listened to me. They will be sorry. I warned the Legate about my cousin.
“Aelon warned me that Skylan and the others were a danger to the faith,” continued Raegar in a low voice.
“Aelon speaks to you?” Treia asked.
“Not in words,” Raegar said, “but in feelings. When Skylan Ivorson first told me he was Chief of Chiefs of the Vindrasi, I felt in my heart and my soul that he had to die.”
Treia raised her eyebrows. Her eyes widened.
“I have experienced such strong feelings before and the Priest-General says they come from Aelon and that I should act on them. I told the Legate he should kill Skylan and the others. Not Aylaen,” Raegar added hurriedly, glancing around for her. She had gone off by herself, was standing at the rail, gazing out to sea. His voice softened. “I have hope your sister will become a convert to Aelon as you have.”
Raegar had strong feelings for Aylaen, though these feelings did not come from Aelon. He had always thought her beautiful and desirable, but he knew she was in love with Garn and he could never hope to win her away. Garn was dead now and Raegar thought he might have a chance with her. He was careful not to mention his hopes and his plans. Not yet. Treia was jealous of him. He would have to ease her into his way of thinking.
“If Aelon is so powerful,” Treia said, “why is he afraid of Skylan?”
He gave her a frowning glance and asked sternly, “Do you mock the god?”
“Of course not,” said Treia hurriedly. She closed her hand over Raegar’s in apology. “I meant only that Skylan is a mortal. He is your slave. Aelon is a god and all powerful. . . .”
“I do not question,” said Raegar. “I only know what I felt. If you think I am wrong—” He started to pull his hand away.
“No, no!” Treia clutched him. She looked at her stepfather and the other men, chained hand and foot, and her lips tightened. She said abruptly, “I think you are right.”
“I warned the Tribune about these men. He laughed at me. He walks in darkness, Treia,” Raegar said earnestly. “I seek only to try to bring him into Aelon’s light. Yet he has no respect for me. Why is that?”
“You are an outsider. No matter that you have lived among these people for years, you are not one of them and you never will be. I know,” Treia said bitterly. “They treat me the same way. Forget about trying to help them and concentrate on helping yourself.”
Raegar thought about the insults, some veiled and others not. He thought about the fact that he—a high-ranking priest—was never invited to the homes of the nobles. When Raegar had wanted to marry again, he’d sought the hand of a well-born woman. She had laughed in his face.
Raegar brought Treia’s hand to his lips. “You are a wise woman, my love.”
Treia flushed in pleasure.
The soldiers finally completed the task of raising the awning. The Legate’s servant had brought the collapsible stool and placed it in the shade. The Legate sat down; Zahakis took his place next to him.
The soldiers unlocked Skylan’s leg irons and freed Sigurd from his leg irons and manacles. Accustomed to walking with the heavy weight on his ankles, Skylan took a step and almost fell over. Sigurd stood chafing his bruised wrists. Skylan searched the deck for Wulfe and was worried, at first, that he couldn’t find him. Then he realized that he was probably hiding in the hold, away from the swords and the fighting.
Acronis indicated he was ready to begin. “I understand that the Bone Priestess will be the