Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [61]
Gods in heaven, Acronis thought, his heart aching, how he loved her!
All around him, women tossed roses. Men cheered.
“Die now!” they cried, an ancient blessing, which meant that Acronis should die now, at the height of his glory, rather than go on living with the knowledge that he would never be as happy as he was on this day.
Acronis, being in extremely good health, went on living.
CHAPTER
3
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BOOK TWO
Acronis’s estate was a sprawling complex consisting of the beautiful villa that had been in his family for many generations, barracks for the soldiers, outbuildings that included stables, bakery, smithy, and bath houses, all surrounded by a brick wall. The villa graced the top of the highest hill in this part of Oran. From the portico, Acronis could see his olive groves, his fields of grain, the green hills dotted with sheep and cattle, and the compound in which he would house his newly acquired slaves.
Beyond, the River Cydron wound about at the foot of the hill. He could trace the river’s sparkling meanderings to the sea. Acronis loved the river. He liked to think that it represented the past, life as it had been lived in his youth—placid, slow, refined, and dignified.
The living area in the marble and granite villa was built around a central atrium—a paved courtyard open to the air. Adorned with marble fountains, bronze statues, ornamental trees, and fragrant flowers, the large and spacious atrium served as a reception area for guests.
The doors and windows of the central rooms could be opened to the atrium, receiving the benefit of the cooling breezes, perfumed by the flowers. The largest and prettiest of these rooms belonged to Chloe. The dining room and the room Acronis used as his office also looked out into the atrium. The only rooms in the villa that were not attached to the atrium were the bedrooms for the house-slaves, the lavatory, and the kitchen, which was located at the far end of the house, near the bakery.
The Palace of the Empress, the Shrine of Aelon with its garish light, and the city with its noise and stench and crowds were many miles distant, separated from his villa by the surrounding hills.
The weary captives saw the villa—its white walls stained pink with the setting sun—only from a distance. The villa was so different from their own long houses that they had no idea it was a dwelling. Nor did they care. The Torgun were exhausted and disheartened when they straggled onto the spacious grounds, dragging their ship behind them. Their high spirits, their defiance, was gone. Their song had come to an end.
Muscles cramped. Their hands were raw, their hearts ached. When told that they had arrived at the compound they would henceforth call home, they were so tired most collapsed, never bothering to look at their surroundings.
Skylan looked and his brow furrowed. “This is odd,” he muttered.
The compound looked like an old pen that had once been used to hold sheep. A stone wall, squarish in shape, enclosed a large grassy sward located at the bottom of a hill. A rusty iron gate had been set into the wall. Inside the compound, a few wedge-shaped tents made of goatskin were being set up by the soldiers. Skylan could see, in the distance, the waning sunlight drifting on the surface of a body of water, probably a river.
What was odd was that the wall came only to Skylan’s thigh. He could easily hop over it. What sort of prison was this?
They hauled their ship into the compound. Acronis had been going to mount his trophy in front of the villa, but not until the dragon’s head prow had been repaired. Until then, the Venjekar was also a prisoner.
The warriors sat on the ground like men stunned.
Wulfe appeared suddenly at Skylan’s side and settled himself down on the grass. Skylan had been wondering all day what had become of the boy.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Hiding in the ship’s hold,” said Wulfe. Edging closer, he said, “I hate this place. When are we leaving?”
Skylan looked at the boy and looked away.
Aylis, the Sun Goddess, was giving