Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [71]
Treia asked someone if they knew where she might find Warrior-Priest Raegar and was told he was near the altar, which was at the front of the hall. The warrior-priests served as honor guards to the Priest-General. Treia was in the back, near the door, wedged in among a flock of novices.
Her head began to ache from the noise and the heat of all these bodies packed together. She stopped listening to the sermon and thought about her sister.
Aylaen, always Aylaen! Beautiful, free-spirited, temper-blazing Aylaen. Not Treia the weak-eyed, Treia the dried-up virgin, Treia the homely.
Before Raegar had come into Treia’s life, no man had ever loved her. No man had so much as looked at her. The thought of losing Raegar filled her with dread. She could not bear life without him. She had to think of some way to make him keep loving her. Some way to make him give up his desire for Aylaen.
Treia looked up at the eye in the ceiling staring down on those below. Aelon had permitted her to enter his sacred shrine. He needed her. Well, now she needed him.
She fixed her eye upon his eye and waited. As if in answer, the words of the Priest-General rang clear, as if he were speaking directly to her.
“None of the other gods, certainly not the gods of Raj or the worn-out gods of the Vindrasi, have the power of bringing the dead back to life,” said the Priest-General. “Only Aelon!”
“Praise to Aelon!” cried the worshippers.
Raise the dead, Treia repeated to herself. She smiled. If that was truly possible, her problem with Aylaen was solved.
After what seemed an eon, the service ended. The faithful filed out, their faces glowing, basking in the light that shone on them from above. Treia kept near the entrance. Time passed and Raegar did not come. Eventually she was the only person in the building, which seemed immense now that it was empty.
At last, she saw Raegar come striding across the floor toward her, tall and imposing and handsome in his priestly robes. His bald head gleamed in the light; his eyes glistened with excitement.
“My love!” he said, and he greeted Treia with a kiss on the cheek and took her by the arm.
“What happened last night?” Treia asked. “With Skylan and the others. The tattoos of Aelon,” she added, seeing Raegar looking blank.
“Oh, that.” He snorted and made a dismissive gesture. “Skylan tried to fight the god’s will, of course. He paid dearly for his rebellion. Over time, he will learn. Or the god will kill him,” he added with satisfaction.
“What of Aylaen?” Treia asked.
“She tried to defend that daemon spawn, Wulfe, but gave up in the end when she witnessed Aelon’s power. As for the boy, my priests took him into custody. I have not received their reports this morning, but presumably the boy is being held in a prison cell especially designed to resist the foul magicks of the fae. I will deal with him later today, after our meeting with the Priest-General.”
Treia forgot about Wulfe and Aylaen. “We are meeting with the Priest-General?” she asked, as shocked as if he had said they had been invited to meet with Aelon himself.
“The Priest-General does us both a great honor,” said Raegar.
Treia looked up at the eye as she walked beneath the hole in the domed ceiling. The light shone steadily and she was reassured.
They walked past the altar, which was probably beautiful. She had no idea. She was too nervous to pay heed to it. Behind the altar, double doors made of bronze on which was engraved the winged serpents led to the offices of the Priest-General. Two Temple guards stood in front of this door. Other guards ranged along either side. At Raegar’s approach, the two guards crossed their spears to block his entrance.
“The Priest-General is expecting me,” said Raegar.
One of the guards told them curtly to remain where they were and entered. Another guard immediately took his place. Treia had her hand upon Raegar’s arm and she could feel him trembling with excited anticipation. She trembled, too, but not with anticipation.
The guard returned and told Raegar they could enter. He and his fellow stepped