Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [68]
She wandered from room to room. In one, scribes sat at desks, copying the teachings of Aelon onto papyrus scrolls. Treia had no idea what they were doing and was not interested enough to ask.
Raegar was in an ill humor when he finally returned to her, meeting her in the Temple’s private room. After his triumphant return from a perilous voyage, he had expected the Empress to invite him to dine. She had invited the Legate Acronis and the Priest-General, but she had not chosen to include Raegar.
“Someday she will take notice of me,” he raved. “My time is coming.”
Treia blinked, confused. “What do you mean by that, my love?”
Raegar shook his head. “All your questions will be answered tomorrow, my dear. You are tired and I have work yet to do this night. I will take you to your sleeping quarters.”
Treia was disappointed. She had been alone all day and she had looked forward to spending time with her lover. He led her from the Temple into the enclave, which was walled off, closed to the public. The gates were guarded by Temple guards in segmented armor similar to that worn by the Legate’s soldiers. Their helms were different, lacking the cheek flaps, and they wore short caplets adorned with serpents and suns. The guards saluted Raegar, who gravely returned their salute.
Inside the wall, she could no longer hear the noise or smell the stench of the city. All was quiet. Priests and priestesses walked paths of crushed stone that connected the various buildings to each other. They sometimes spoke quiet greetings to Raegar, but for the most part people went about their business in silence. The sunlight reflected from the top of the shrine of Aelon caused it to seem to glow with holy radiance.
“What work do you have to do?” Treia asked.
“Aelon wants me to bring his light to our benighted people,” said Raegar. “The Priest-General believes these men are a danger. He spoke to the Empress about putting them to death, saying it was Aelon’s will. Legate Acronis had already talked to her of fighting them in the Para Dix. She refused to heed the Priest-General’s advice. He needs the means to control them.”
Raegar described the tattoos, the crushed gemstones that were mixed with the ink and then ground into the arms of the Torgun warriors. “The gemstones embedded in the flesh allow the god to communicate his thoughts to his priestesses. They, in turn, can speak directly to the god. They are most blessed!”
“And Aelon intends to do this with Skylan and Sigurd?” Treia asked. She almost laughed, but then realized Raegar might be offended.
“Of course not,” Raegar assured her. “As if they would be so honored!”
Treia noted that some of the priestesses smiled at Raegar, and she wound her hands around Raegar’s arm, walking closer to him. She saw, too, that some of the women were staring at her strange clothes and whispering and giggling.
“I am sorry Aylaen has to undergo such pain and humiliation,” Treia said, “but the discipline will be good for her.”
“You need not worry, my dear. Aylaen will be spared,” said Raegar. “Despite the fact that the Legate has insisted on retaining her as his slave, I have hopes that she will yet come to us.”
A certain tone in his voice caused Treia to cast him a sharp glance. “What you mean is that you hope Aylaen will come to you,” she said coldly. She withdrew her hands from his arm.
“I am certain we both hope she will stand in Aelon’s blessed light,” said Raegar in reproving tones.
“You don’t deny it,” said Treia, overcome by jealousy. “You are in love