Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [54]
Skylan listened in wonder. He had never heard words such as “slum” or “palace,” “Imperial” or “Empress.” He stared until his eyes ached at the Shrine of Aelon and its surrounding gardens and fountains and the other structures that dotted the hillside, white against the green of the clipped lawn. He could not comprehend such wealth, such magnificence. The Hall of Vindrash, which was the largest and most beautiful building Skylan had ever seen, could be dropped down whole into the Shrine of Aelon and go unnoticed.
Skylan could not comprehend such wretched poverty either.
We may not build such grand and imposing structures, but we do not let our children grow up in pigsties, he thought.
The Light of the Sea crept forward at a crawl, mainly to avoid running down the flotilla of boats that had swarmed out to greet her. Some of these now brought men of prominence, who came on board to speak to Acronis. Skylan thought they must be merchants or nobles, but Zahakis laughed and said that, no, they were fellow scientists, eager to hear about his voyage. He pointed to Raegar, who stood apart, frowning at them in haughty disapproval.
“The priests do not approve of thinking,” said Zahakis wryly. “People who think begin to question. Aelon does not like questions.”
“You speak of the old gods,” Skylan said, eyeing Raegar balefully. “What were they like?”
“From what you have told me, our old gods were much like yours,” said Zahakis. He shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps our gods were your gods. Just called by different names.”
Before Skylan could make a cutting remark, Zahakis was hailed by Acronis’s scribe, shouting from the deck of the trireme.
The ship dropped anchor at last, some distance from the docks. Word of their arrival had spread, including word that they had brought back a dragonship filled with barbarians. Raegar had gone ashore, saying he had to report to the Priest-General.
While he was gone, Aylaen transferred to the war galley at Raegar’s insistence. She argued against going, but not very hard, Skylan noted. He could not blame her. She had lived alone in the hold on board the Venjekar and undoubtedly missed her sister, unworthy as that sister was. Treia waited impatiently for Aylaen and, putting her arms around her, hustled her belowdecks.
Raegar was gone for almost the entire day, returning at night with word that the Empress had decreed that a parade would be held in the Legate’s honor, the chief feature of which would be the fearsome dragonship he had captured. Unfortunately, the Venjekar, to the Legate’s vast disappointment, did not look all that fearsome.
Carpenters from the Light of the Sea had worked diligently throughout much of the voyage to try to restore the dragonhead prow. For some reason that they could not explain, whenever they tried to mount the dragon’s head on the stump of the prow, the head fell off.
The first time, the head of the Dragon Kahg splashed into the sea and had to be fished out. The attempt to retrieve it cost the Legate a day’s sailing. The second time, the head toppled onto the deck, nearly killing the carpenter’s son. The carpenter told Acronis he could not work properly while they were at sea. He would mount the dragon’s head once the ship reached land.
The stubborn refusal of the Dragon Kahg to cooperate did much to lift the spirits of the captive Torgun. Skylan knew what his friend, Garn, would have said. That the prow was only a piece of wood carved to resemble a dragon, that it did not have a mind or a will of its own, that a log could not rebel.
Skylan honored Garn’s memory, but he knew in this regard his friend was wrong. Perhaps somewhere the Dragon Kahg was being held captive. Perhaps the dragon was fighting back the only way he could. The wooden eyes of the dragon no longer