Treia’s shock and bewilderment increased immeasurably when she was taken on board the Southlander’s galley. The soldier escorted her up a ramp. The moment she set foot on the deck, she heard her name.
“Treia! Thank Aelon you are safe!”
The voice was Raegar’s. The eyes were Raegar’s, but she did not recognize any part of the rest of him. He had shaved off his blond hair and beard, leaving his scalp and the lower part of his face white with a suntanned strip across his nose and eyes. He sported the tattoo of a serpent on his skull. He wore the same segmented armor as the soldiers, with the addition of a red capelet, adorned with serpents stitched in golden thread around the hem.
This strange Raegar strode toward her, his hands extended. He spoke to her as though nothing was wrong, as though the world had not changed.
“I am so glad to see you. I feared you would catch the flux. And Aylaen. I heard she was ill, but that she recovered, thank Aelon! I prayed for her.”
Treia recoiled from him as she would have recoiled from a daemon.
“What does this mean?” she cried, upset and confused. “What has happened to you? Don’t touch me!”
Raegar raised his hands and backed away from her.
“I am sorry, Treia,” he said coolly. “I thought you understood.”
“Understood what?” she asked, bewildered.
“Who I am.”
Raegar ordered the soldiers to take her below.
“This is a war galley. We do not have facilities for women,” Raegar explained. “I have made arrangements for you and your sister to berth in the storage room. It has a lock on the door.”
The soldiers took her away. She stumbled down a ladder, tripping over her wet skirts, that led to a narrow corridor. They took her to a large, dark room filled with two-handled jars that, she would later learn, held oil and water and wine, and sacks containing corn, grain, beans, smoked and salted meats, and fish. Someone, probably Raegar, had made a bed of sacking. The soldiers gave her food and water and then left.
The smell of the fish made her gag, but she drank some of the water. She had been offered dry clothes, but had refused. She crouched on the blanket, shivering in her wet chemise. She was like a person stunned by a blow.
The soldiers then brought in Aylaen and shut the door behind her. Aylaen peered about in the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine. Seeing Treia, she hurried to her.
“Did you see Raegar? That whoreson! He betrayed us! He’s one of them!”
Treia didn’t answer.
“Treia, did you hear me?”
Treia made no response.
Aylaen regarded her sister in silence, then she said quietly, “I’m sorry, Treia. I know you loved him.”
Treia sat staring into the darkness that smelled of fish until weariness overcame her and she slept.
Treia woke suddenly, wondering if she had heard the sound of footsteps or only dreamed them. She glanced over at her sister. Aylaen was asleep. Treia heard a key rattle in the lock to the door, and she rose stiffly to her feet. The door opened. Sunlight, flooding into the darkened storage room, blinded her. Squinting, she saw a large man wearing long robes.
“Who are you?” she asked tensely. “What do you want?”
“Treia, it’s me, Raegar—” he began, but before he could get another word out she had flung herself at him, striking him with her fists. He caught hold of her arms.
“Hush, Treia. I’m not going to hurt you. I love you,” Raegar said, and he kept saying it until she relaxed and broke into wrenching sobs.
“There, there.” Raegar soothed her like a child, stroking her hair and rocking her gently. “There, there. You’re safe now, my love.”
When she had grown quiet and quit trembling, he said softly, “I need to talk to you.” He glanced at Aylaen, who was still asleep. “We must speak in private. Will you come with me? You must be quiet. If you make a fuss, you will bring the soldiers down on us. Promise?”
Treia nodded. Hearing his voice, feeling his touch, warmed by his embrace, she was with her lover once more. The strange Raegar was gone. Well, almost gone. She still found it hard to look at him; he was so different. She could get used to him, but it would take time.
He led her from the storage room and closed and locked the door behind them. They went to another room nearby; a small cabin. The only furnishings were a desk, two chairs, and a crude bed.
“This is the Legate’s cabin,” said Raegar, shutting the door and locking it from the inside. “Don’t worry. Acronis won’t disturb us. He has gone ashore to inspect the repairs on the Venjekar, which are taking longer than he first supposed. We will be alone.”
He began to kiss her passionately. Treia resisted him at first, but her body truly yearned for him and she returned his passion with passion of her own. She took off her damp clothes. He flung off his robes and they made love on the crude bed, carefully, for the cot creaked beneath their weight. Raegar cautioned her to silence when she moaned by putting his hand over her mouth.
Sated with pleasure, his body covered in sweat, he rolled off her and stood up and began to dress himself. She gazed up at him, reluctant to move.
“I brought you some dry clothes,” he said. “I don’t have a chiton, which is the proper dress for a woman of Oran, so you will have to wear one of my long tunics.”
The robe was plain, without adornment, and of fine wool, smooth to the touch. Treia put it on. The tunic was far too big, but she didn’t mind.
“It smells of you,” she said, and she twined her arms around his neck.
“Sit down,” he said, gently withdrawing from her embrace. “I have to tell you what is going on and we don’t have much time—”
“Before you lock me up again!” said Treia angrily. She sat down on one of the odd-looking chairs and looked up at him, trying to see past the bald head, the snake tattoo, and his now unfamiliar face.
“You lied to me!” She glanced over at the bed. “Was our lovemaking also a lie?”
“I swear, Treia, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you,” said Raegar. “I longed to tell you the truth, that I was a warrior-priest of Aelon. I did tell you some of the truth when we were together in the temple. I had hoped you would understand—”
“I understand that you are a traitor!” Treia cried, rising to her feet. “You betrayed your own people. You betrayed me!”
“Hush! Keep your voice down.” Raegar caught her by the wrists. “I did what I did for your own good, my love. I’m trying to save you, Treia.”
“By making me a slave?”
“Not you, my love. You will not be a slave. Neither will your sister. I swear. If you will trust me and listen to me, you and Aylaen will be loved and honored. As for the others,” Raegar continued, his voice hardening, “Skylan and your stepfather, Sigurd, and the rest, do you care what happens to them?”
Treia said nothing. He took hold of her hands, kissed them, and clasped them in his.
“They have no respect for you, my love,” said Raegar. “I have often heard them make jokes about dried-up old virgins. . . .”
Treia stiffened. She had often heard the laughing and sniggering behind her back. She was twenty-eight years old and unmarried in a society where most girls were married by the age of sixteen. After several failed attempts to arrange a marriage for her, her stepfather, Sigurd, had told her he had taken her off the market.
If she had been ugly, she might have understood why no man wanted her. But she wasn’t ugly. Her brown hair was thick and luxuriant. She was slender with a good figure. Her eyes were large and dark; though due to their weakness, she had developed a squint. Treia couldn’t understand it. Ugly women got husbands all the time, and she could not.
“You are right,” she said harshly. “I don’t care.”
He kissed her and she pressed against him. He held her close and whispered softly, his breath brushing her cheek, “There is one thing you must do for me.”
“Any
thing, my love.”
“When the Venjekar is repaired, you will use the spiritbone to summon the Dragon Kahg and order him to sail the ship to Oran.”
Treia pulled away from him and shook her head.
Raegar eyed her with displeasure. His voice was cool. “What’s wrong, Treia? You are not going to refuse to do this for me, are you?”
“I want to please you,” Treia said confusedly. “It’s just . . . What if . . . for some reason . . . I can’t summon the dragon? . . .”
“Then I would be very displeased with you, my love,” Raegar said, his voice growing colder still.
“I want to!” Treia said fervently. “But you know the Dragon Kahg is obstinate and sometimes he won’t come. . . .”
“He came when you summoned him to fight the giants. The Legate watched from the ship. He saw the dragon battling the giants. Acronis was most impressed.”
Treia shivered. She had not summoned the dragon. She had not even been there. She had been with him in the temple. She opened her mouth to say this, but her courage failed her.
“You will summon the dragon,” Raegar told her.
Treia gave him a smile that she hoped didn’t look as false as it felt. She tried desperately to think of some lie, some way to put him off. A thought came to her. Before she could tell him, she was startled to hear the blaring of a trumpet.
“The Legate has returned,” Raegar said. “I must take you back.”
Treia grabbed her wet chemise from where she had dropped it on the floor, and he took her back to the storage room.
“I am sorry I have to leave you locked up in here,” said Raegar. “When you summon the dragon for me, perhaps I will be able to prevail upon the Legate to release you.”
“I would do anything for you, Raegar,” she said. “You know that. But I am afraid for you; the Dragon Kahg will view you as a traitor. He might take out his fury on you.”
Raegar smiled. “The dragon has no power to harm me. I don’t have time to explain now. I will come back to you this evening.”
He shoved her into the storage room and shut the door.
“My love! Raegar!” Treia pleaded. She heard him drop the bar that locked the door, heard him turn the key in the lock, heard him walk away.
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the door. She had no choice. Somehow she had to find a way to do what he wanted. She could not lose him. She turned and fell over an amphora she had not been able to see due to her poor eyesight.
She caught herself and waited until her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light that filtered through the chinks in planking of the ship’s hull. When she could see well enough, she groped her way through the storage room to where Aylaen lay, fast asleep.
“Aylaen, wake up!” Treia said urgently. “Aylaen. I have to talk to you. It’s important.”
“What? I’m awake.” Aylaen sat up, staring about in confusion. “What is this place? I don’t—”
Her voice died. Her eyes darkened. “I remember. Raegar! We’re prisoners—”
“Listen to me, Aylaen,” said Treia sharply. “This is about Raegar. I need the spiritbone. You must give it to me. Now.”
Aylaen looked puzzled. “But I don’t have the spiritbone, Treia. It fell into the sea when the Dragon Kahg was wounded. You know that. You helped me search for it.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Treia flatly. “I think you are lying to me. You have the spiritbone. You’ve had it all this time, hidden away. You want to keep it for yourself.”
“Treia, you’re wrong. I swear to you—”
Treia slapped her across the face. “Give it to me!”
Aylaen put her hand to her stinging cheek. Tears flooded her eyes, and she turned away from Treia and lay back down.
Treia fell on her, grasping her, holding her close. “I am sorry, Aylaen! So sorry! Please forgive me. I am frightened of what might happen to us. You know what men do to captive women! Give me the spiritbone, and I will summon the Dragon Kahg to come save us!”
Aylaen rolled over and looked up sadly at her sister. “I wish for your sake and mine and for the sake of our friends that I had the spiritbone, Treia. But it is lost. You must believe me. I’m not even sure the Dragon Kahg is still alive. He was badly injured. He may have gone away to die. . . .”
“Don’t say that!” Treia said fiercely. “He is alive. The dragon is alive!”
“You believe me, don’t you?” Aylaen said wearily.
“I suppose I have to,” Treia said churlishly.
“I think I’d like to go back to sleep now, Treia. I’m not feeling well.” Aylaen lay back down with a sigh.
Treia walked away and tripped over a sack of something and hurt her toes. Behind her, she heard the sounds of Aylaen shifting her body about on the hard floor, trying in vain to find comfort.
Treia sat down on a pile of sacking and calculated how long she had to wait until Raegar returned.
Raegar came to her that night, as he had promised. Treia stood by the door. She’d been standing there since the last rays of the sun vanished and left the storage room in pitch darkness. He lifted the bar, opened the door, and drew her out into the corridor, which was as dark as the hold. He had not brought a light; he spoke in a whisper.
“You’ve had time to think, Treia. Will you summon the dragon for me?”
Treia braced herself for his displeasure.
“I can’t. Hear me out, my love,” she said, feeling his body grow rigid with anger. “I don’t have the spiritbone. Aylaen has it and she is keeping it from me!”
“Aylaen,” Raegar repeated, startled. “Why would she have the spiritbone?”
“I gave it to her before the battle. I thought you were dead! I didn’t care what happened anymore. Aylaen was the one who summoned the dragon to fight the giants. She claims the spiritbone is lost, but I know she is lying.”
“Why would she keep it from you?”
“Out of spite. Jealousy. Because I have you and she has no one now that her lover, Garn, is dead.”
“I will speak to her, persuade her—” Raegar said. He looked as though he might enjoy the persuasion, and Treia felt a twinge of jealousy. She had sometimes seen Raegar’s gaze stray from her to her more attractive younger sister.
“Aylaen is stubborn. But there is a way.”
“Yes, what is that?” Raegar looked dubious.
“We must trick her,” said Treia.
CHAPTER
3
* * *
BOOK ONE
Aylaen slept because being asleep was better than being awake. She felt no pain in her sleep. Garn was alive in her sleep. She was back home in her sleep. Waking was a horrible dream. Sleep was blissful peace.
Until the gods intruded.
Aylaen was walking with Garn on the beach, basking in the warmth of the sun of a late spring day. Suddenly, without warning, the wind changed, shifting from a warm spring breeze scented with sage and flowers, to a fierce, bone-chilling blast. The gray waves crashed onto the shore.
The wind brought with it snow, a few flakes at first, and then a howling blizzard. The snow was so thick it blotted out the foaming sea. Aylaen was dressed for summer in a linen smock. The fierce, cold wind pierced the thin fabric. She was wet through and shivering. She reached for Garn, but he was gone. She could not find him in the heavy snowfall. She called to him. The wind flung her cry back into her face.
Aylaen had to seek shelter or she would perish in the storm. The sea was before her. The village of Luda lay behind her, and she turned her footsteps that direction, slipping in the snow that was already starting to whiten the ground. The wind pummeled her. Ice pellets stung her skin. Her hair was caked with white. The cold made her fingers ache and burn. Her toes were numb. She could not feel her feet and so stumbled and fell.
She staggered on through the raging storm, but could not find the village. She should have reached it by now and she knew, in despair, she must have gone the wrong way. She was so cold and
so tired. She longed to drop to the ground and not get back up, to let the snow cover her like a soft wool blanket. She would go to sleep and never wake. She was just about to sink down onto the frozen ground when she saw lights ahead of her.
She recognized the Chief’s Hall, ablaze inside and out with flaring torches. Voices came from within. There were no sounds of revelry, though. No laughing or singing. Not a wedding, then, or there would have been raucous merriment. Perhaps a funeral, honoring the dead. No matter. For her, there was warmth, light, life. She fought her way through the snow toward the hall. With every step, the bitter wind seemed intent on pushing her back.
Finally, she reached the door and it opened to her touch. Light flooded out of the hall, dazzling her. Warmth embraced her. Aylaen hurried inside the hall and the door slammed behind her, shutting out the cold, keeping out the night.
A man sat in the Chief’s place at the head of a long table. The man was old with long gray hair that fell over his shoulders. He was accoutered as though for battle, wearing plate armor and chain mail. His helm was adorned with dragon wings. His shield, painted blue and gold, stood against the wall behind him. His hand rested on the hilt of an enormous two-handed great sword.
The man had a beaked nose and a far-seeing gaze, a strong jaw and jutting chin. His eyes were blue and piercing. He was a mighty warrior. His breastplate and helm were dented. His sword was red with blood. His expression was grim and dour. He glared at her in anger.
Aylaen did not know what she had done to deserve his wrath, but she felt guilty and she looked from him to the other people in the room.
A woman stood beside the man, her hand on his shoulder. The woman wore armor that sparkled in the light. Her armor had been wonderfully designed to resemble the scales of a dragon. Her helm was adorned with dragon wings. Her face was familiar. . . .
“Draya!” Aylaen exclaimed, astonished.
Draya had been Kai Priestess of the Vindrasi. Aylaen had seen the woman only once, after the Vutmana, when Draya and Skylan had been wed. Treia had claimed that Draya and Skylan had conspired to murder Draya’s first husband, Horg, during the Vutmana. Which meant that Draya must be abhorred by the gods, especially Torval, for she had taken away his judgment.
Secret of the Dragon Page 3