Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [63]
The Torgun said nothing. They came together, shoulder-to-shoulder, silently forming a shield wall to face their foes. They had no weapons. They had no shields. They did not expect to survive this encounter, but Torval would smile upon them when he welcomed them to the Hero’s Hall.
Aylaen started to join them. Wulfe gave a low cry and clutched at her hand, holding her back.
“Don’t leave me,” he begged. “Don’t let him take me. He’s going to kill me!”
“Hush, Wulfe, no, he’s not,” said Aylaen, but she stood apart from the others, holding on to Wulfe’s hand.
Skylan thanked her with a smile. She pretended not to see him.
Raegar watched them and shrugged. “You make it all too easy.”
Skylan tensed, expecting Raegar to order Zahakis and the soldiers of the Legate to attack. To his surprise, Raegar gestured to the six priestesses.
“Prepare these barbarians to receive Aelon’s blessing.”
“What about the boy and the woman?” a priestess asked.
“The boy comes with me,” said Raegar harshly. He added, his voice softening, “The woman is under my care.”
Raegar smiled at Aylaen, an ingratiating smile, his eyes glittering. Skylan’s stomach roiled. His hand itched for a sword to cut that smirk off Raegar’s face. Aylaen flushed deeply and, to avoid looking at Raegar, bent down to say something comforting to Wulfe, who crouched, quivering, at her side.
The six priestesses with the serpents coiled about their arms joined hands and began to chant, calling upon Aelon. Wulfe shrieked in terror. Aylaen tried to hold on to him, but he pulled free and started running. Raegar barked a command to his warrior-priests, who ran off in pursuit, armor rattling and clanking.
Skylan did not look to see what became of Wulfe. He could not take his eyes from the chanting women. The words to the prayer slithered into his head like the snakes they wore on their arms and twined about his brain, hissing. He tried to shut out the voices. He wanted to cover his ears, but his arms wouldn’t work.
Skylan was tired, tired of fighting, tired of hoping, tired of hurting. Even drawing in his breath seemed to take more effort than he had to give. Much easier to let go.
Much easier . . .
Skylan was sitting on the grass. Night had fallen and he had no memory of how he had been there. Two of the snake-singing priestesses were kneeling in front of him. One had hold of his hands and was examining both of them by torchlight. Skylan watched with detachment. Why should he care? The hands were not his. They belonged to someone else.
Raegar stood over him. “This one is right-handed. Put the tattoo on his sword arm.”
The priestesses nodded. One of them held a bowl of dark liquid, which she placed on the ground. She drew out a vial filled with tiny crystals that sparkled in the torchlight. Removing the stopper, she carefully measured out a small portion of glittering, multi colored crystals into the dark liquid.
“Pulverized gemstones,” said the woman, noting Skylan staring. “Crystals of quartz, amethyst, and other semiprecious gems, all blessed by Aelon.”
She gestured to her forehead where red rubies gleamed in the light.
“There is nothing to fear, young man,” she said. “We have received Aelon’s blessing ourselves. The god speaks to us as he will speak to you.”
Skylan didn’t like that. In his mind, he was struggling, fighting to escape. His mind could not connect with his body, which wasn’t his body. It belonged to someone else. Someone who was sitting on the grass, watching the gems lose their luster in the dark liquid.
“Squid ink,” said the woman, stirring the crystals into the ink. “The sacred mixture is ready.”
The other priestess drew a slender knife made of silver from a pouch. The blade was decorated with serpents holding suns in their mouths. The handle was made of bone and was old and worn and yellow with age.
Skylan watched as the woman rested the knife’s sharp point against the skin of his right forearm. He watched the knife pierce