Secret of the Dragon

by Margaret Weis

  “Garn!” Aylaen murmured.

  Tears filled her eyes. Semelon placed her hand on Aylaen’s mouth, cautioning her not to speak. The ghostly figure was wispy, wavering, like morning mist rising off the water. Semelon strengthened her incantation; they could hear her words. Her tone was insistent, commanding.

  The ghost became more substantial, flesh and bone. Garn’s wrists were chained, as were his feet. His face was bloodied and bruised, as though he had been struck repeatedly.

  Aylaen gasped and put her hand to her mouth.

  Xydis cast a sharp, questioning glance at Semelon. She remained calm, impassive.

  “You may speak to him,” she said.

  “Why are you in chains, my love?” Aylaen said, agonized.

  “You keep me here,” said Garn and his voice was filled with sorrow. “Because of you, I am a prisoner.”

  Aylaen gave an anguished cry and started to walk toward him into the square of light. Semelon detained her.

  “He speaks to us from the realm of the dead. The living may not enter.”

  “Forgive me. . . .” Aylaen said brokenly. “They said Aelon would bring you back to life!”

  She reached out a trembling hand. “I love you so much, Garn. I miss you. . . .”

  “If you truly love me, you will find a way to set me free,” said Garn. He held up his chained wrists. “Do not let them keep me a prisoner throughout eternity.”

  “How can I free you? I will do anything!”

  “You must tell your sister the secret of the Vektan dragons,” said Garn.

  Treia gave an audible gasp. Raegar stared at the ghost with wide eyes.

  “But . . . I don’t know anything about the Vektan dragons!” Aylaen faltered. “How could I? Only a Kai Priestess knows such things!”

  “Vindrash speaks to you, Sister,” Treia said harshly, “as she once spoke to Draya. If you ask the goddess, she will tell you.”

  Aylaen looked at her sister in bewilderment. “But why would you want to know such a thing?”

  Treia said nothing. The Priest-General was stone-faced, glaring balefully at Semelon. Raegar swallowed. He was finding it difficult to look at the dead man. The fane was silent except for the hissing of guttering candles.

  It was Garn who answered. “The priests of Aelon have one of the five spiritbones of the Vektia. The god, Sund, gave it to them. Treia plans to use it to summon the dragon.”

  “The god, Sund . . . Is this true, Treia?” Aylaen cried, dismayed. “Are you working for our enemies now? Are you a traitor, too?”

  “Do not judge me, Aylaen,” Treia said. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Give your sister the secret and Garn will go free,” said Xydis. He added more gently, “As Treia says, events are transpiring in the world, important things are happening that will affect you and your people and everyone in Sinaria. Your sister is not a traitor and neither is your god. They both do this for the good of your people.”

  Aylaen clasped her hands in anguish. She looked at Treia and then she looked back at Garn. She covered her face with her hands. Her body shook with sobs. She sank to her knees.

  Garn drew near her. He did not leave the circle. He made a motion as if to embrace her. The chains prevented him, held him back.

  “You do not need to ask Vindrash, Aylaen. Someone else knows the secret to the Vektan dragons. Skylan knows. Ask him.”

  “Skylan!” Raegar repeated hoarsely. He frowned. “How could Skylan know? It is a trick. The ghost lies.”

  “The dead cannot lie,” said Semelon.

  Treia drew close to Raegar and whispered, “Draya must have told Skylan. The fool woman adored him. She would have told him all her secrets. Skylan loves Aylaen. He will tell her.”

  Raegar sucked in a breath and said in a mutter, “He lies.”

  “Talk to Skylan, Aylaen,” Garn urged her. “Ask him for the secret. He will tell you.”

  Aylaen regarded Garn sadly. “If I tell Treia, will Aelon set you free?”

  “Ask Skylan, Aylaen,” Garn said.

  A warm breeze wafted through the fane. The candles wavered. The breeze strengthened and the candles went out. The ghost vanished. Aylaen’s strength failed her. She fell to the floor, insensible.

  “She has fainted,” said Semelon, kneeling beside her. “She is overcome with the spirit. This often happens.”

  Semelon took Aylaen in her arms and, holding her close, began to rock back and forth, murmuring soothing words.

  Xydis walked out the door, giving Raegar a commanding look to follow. Raegar hastened to obey him.

  “That did not go as anticipated,” Xydis said, once they were outside and the door had shut behind them. “Still, we got what we came for and that is all that matters. This Skylan . . . will he tell her?”

  Raegar said nothing. His face was livid. Sweat covered his brow.

  “He will tell my sister, Worshipful Sir,” said Treia, wondering what was wrong with Raegar. He looked extremely ill. “He is besotted with her.”

  Xydis grunted his satisfaction and hastened off. Raegar groaned and slumped back against a stone wall.

  “What is the matter?” Treia asked in perplexity. “The news is good. Skylan knows the secret—”

  “That is what is the matter!” Raegar shouted, rounding on her in a fury. “Skylan knows the secret. And I arranged to have him killed!”

  CHAPTER

  14

  * * *

  BOOK TWO

  Zahakis brought Aylaen back to the Torgun slave compound early the following morning. She was wan and upset and refused to talk to Bjorn when he asked her what had happened. She brushed past him.

  Skylan did not make an attempt to try to talk to her, knowing he would be rebuffed, as usual. He was therefore astonished beyond measure when Aylaen walked up to him.

  She did not speak. Her gaze was searching, pleading. If he had said something to her, she might have told him everything, but he was so startled he was tongue-tied and paralyzed. Aylaen sighed, lowered her eyes, and walked away.

  Skylan came to his senses and started to go after her, only to feel Zahakis’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Mistress Chloe wants you.”

  “Not now,” said Skylan brusquely, forgetting where he was, who he was. Forgetting everything. Aylaen wanted him, needed him.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” said Zahakis. “I will tell Mistress Chloe to wait until you are at leisure.”

  The next thing Skylan knew he was rolling around on the ground, groaning from a jab to the kidneys from the butt-end of a spear.

  “Ah, my lord, I see you are at leisure,” said Zahakis, and he hauled Skylan to his feet.

  Skylan stood in the opulent bedroom shifting from foot to foot to try to ease the pain in his back. The female house slave, Rosa, spread a silken coverlet over Chloe’s legs and placed a bowl of chilled grapes within the girl’s reach. Rosa opened the doors to the atrium, filling the room with sunshine. A gentle breeze carried with it the perfume of a multitude of flowering plants.

  “Leave us, Rosa,” said Chloe to the slave.

  The slave bowed and took her place in a shadowy corner.

  Chloe frowned at her. “I said leave us.”

  Rosa seemed uneasy. She did not move.

  “In a minute, I shall grow angry,” said Chloe severely.

  “She can’t leave,” said Skylan. “Your father told her to stay here to see that I don’t harm you.”

  Chloe laughed bubbling, gurgling laughter. “And if you were going to hurt me, Skylan, would Rosa be able to stop you?”

  “No,” said Skylan, smiling in spite of himself. “But she could scream. And then the twenty armed soldiers Zahakis has posted outside your door would come rushing in and kill me.”

  “And would you fight for you life?”

  “Of course,” said Skylan.

  A dimple flashed in Chloe’s cheek. “I’d like to see that. Perhaps I’ll scream. Should we try it?”
r />   “Twenty Southlanders to one Torgun warrior is hardly a fair fight,” said Skylan. “Your father would be angry at me for slaying his soldiers.”

  Chloe laughed. “Rosa, go tell my father that he is a simpleton.”

  Rosa shook her head, terrified.

  Chloe heaved an exasperated sigh and raised her voice. “Zahakis!”

  There was silence, then the inner door that led from the main house into the bedroom opened. Zahakis stepped inside.

  “Yes, Mistress Chloe.”

  “I’m sure you and your men have better things to do than stand guard outside my door. Go away. And take Rosa with you.”

  Zahakis might have said he was not accustomed to obeying orders given to him by fifteen-year-old little girls, but he knew he would only be putting off the inevitable. Chloe would next appeal to her father and her dimpled smile would bring Acronis to his knees and he would end up ordering Zahakis to remove the guards. Zahakis might as well save them all time and effort and humiliation.

  “I can scream quite loudly myself, Zahakis,” Chloe added mischievously. “Do you want to hear me?”

  Zahakis was not amused. “I will remain within earshot,” he told her. He gestured to Rosa, who skittered out after him and shut the door.

  “Now, that is better,” said Chloe. She pointed to a chair. “Sit down. You are fighting in the Para Dix tomorrow and you must keep up your strength.”

  Chloe clasped her hands together and said eagerly, “I am going to the Para Dix to watch you fight! And tonight I am going to the palace for the celebration given by the Empress! My father has said I could go. You and Keeper are to come, too! I am so excited. You are my first champion. Now, you must tell me how your training went. What position are you? The woman, the beautiful one with the red hair. What is her name? My father says she is also going to be on your team. He will dress her as an Ogressa. Do you know what that is? What is her position? Now, I’ll be quiet. Tell me everything.”

  Skylan thought of Sigurd on his knees puking up his guts. Bjorn bashing headlong into a boulder. Grimuir always in the wrong place and Aki and Farinn backing into each other. He did not know what to say.

  “I’m sorry. I ask too many questions,” said Chloe. “My father says I chatter like a magpie. What is your position?”

  “I am a . . .” Skylan hesitated, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. “I am a thing called a pradus.”

  Chloe clapped her hands again. “Pradus! Perfect! The most powerful piece on the board. And the most difficult to play. That’s the right position for you. And the woman . . .”

  “Aylaen,” said Skylan.

  “Aylaen is a loris, right? Of course! The piece of mystic power. My father told me she fights for the honor of her dragon goddess.”

  Chloe asked another question and another and Skylan soon realized that she was truly knowledgeable about the game. She knew far more than he did, that was for certain, and she explained the reasoning behind the pieces and the movements that Keeper had not bothered to tell them.

  After they had exhausted Para Dix strategy, Chloe asked Skylan about his home and his family, the Vindrasi people, and their dragons.

  “My father told me he saw your dragon. I am so jealous of him I could spit,” said Chloe. “But since I will never see a dragon for myself, you must tell me about them.”

  Skylan had always enjoyed an audience. He was a good storyteller, and Chloe was an appreciative and attentive listener. Telling stories about the Dragon Kahg made him recall his battle with the ogre godlord. He related to Chloe how the ogres had come to his village and told the Torgun their gods were dead. How the Torgun had tried to trick the ogres by roasting the boar he had slain, using the smoke as a signal fire to summon their clansmen. How the ogre godlord had arrived at the feast wearing the sacred Vektan torque and how the Dragon Kahg had come to fight in the battle and how Skylan had killed the godlord, only to have the ogre shaman put a magical curse on him and steal the torque from his hand.

  Chloe listened in breathless excitement and sighed when the story came to an end.

  “I wish our god was dead,” she said. “I like your gods better. Tell me more about Torval.”

  Skylan told her about Torval, the god of battle, to whom every warrior dedicated himself. He told her about Torval’s Hall, where the heroes went after they died to spend eternity drinking and carousing and fighting each other if there was no one else to fight.

  “Are there no women in Torval’s Hall?” Chloe asked.

  “A woman who is wife to a hero meets him there when she dies,” said Skylan. “There is singing and dancing and the telling of tales. Warriors meet the heroes who have gone before us, such as the great Thorgunnd. We meet our friends there and our families.”

  “Do you have friends there?”

  “My best friend is in Torval’s Hall,” said Skylan. “His name is Garn. He died fighting giants on the Dragon Isles.”

  “Fighting giants on the Dragon Isles!” Chloe drew in a soft breath. “How wonderful that sounds. I mean, not wonderful that he is dead. I am sorry for that.”

  “You must not be sorry,” said Skylan. “Garn died a hero and he is with Torval. It is what all of us wants.”

  “But you miss him?” said Chloe.

  “I miss him,” said Skylan.

  He stood up and began to roam around the room. He wasn’t used to sitting for so long and his muscles had stiffened.

  “Would Torval mind if I prayed to him?” Chloe asked suddenly. “I know I’m a girl and I can’t walk and I’ll never be a hero, but sometimes I can’t sleep at night and I lie awake, staring into the darkness, and I think this is what death will be like—silent and dark. So very dark. I don’t like the dark. When I think about death, I get so frightened I can’t breathe.”

  She paused, then said softly, “It’s not dark in Torval’s Hall. It’s not silent, either. There’s singing and dancing. If Torval was with me, standing beside me, I don’t think I’d be afraid.”

  Skylan started to tell her that women did not pray to Torval. Women prayed to Vindrash or Aylis or one of the other female goddesses who protected women during childbirth and guarded the home. Then he saw the fear in her eyes.

  “I cannot speak for Torval,” he said gruffly. “But you could try. If the god does not want you to pray to him, he would tell you so himself.”

  Chloe’s eyes brightened. “He could speak to me? What would he do?”

  “Torval would tear the door to your villa off its hinges and come stomping into your room with a sound like thunder, raising the roof with his anger. He would demand to know why a grown-up young lady comes whining to him that she is afraid of the dark. And then he would slam his hammer down on your fine bed and smash it to bits.”

  Chloe laughed. Her room rang with her laughter and the house slave, Rosa, poked her head in the door.

  “And if Torval doesn’t come?” Chloe asked, her dimple flashing.

  Skylan shrugged. “Then he is not angry with you.”

  Rosa glided timidly into the room. “My lady, your honored father reminds you that you must rest if you are going to the palace with him this night.”

  “Yes, Rosa, very well. Go tell my father I will take my nap.”

  She held out her hand for Skylan to shake.

  “Come, you may touch me. I won’t break.”

  He kept his distance, not sure what to do. He knew quite well that Acronis would have seven sorts of apoplectic fits if he saw the barbarian near his beloved daughter. Chloe understood his hesitation and waggled her fingers insistently.

  “I am accustomed to being obeyed,” she said with mock sternness.

  Skylan took her hand, which was small and thin and fragile in his calloused, rough palm. Yet her grip on his was firm. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze in return.

  “You will do well in the Para Dix,” she said.

  Skylan shook his head. “I will be lucky if I don’t fall in the fire pit.”

  Chloe laughed and snugg
led down in her bed. Rosa fussed around her, plumping pillows and arranging the silken coverlet.

  Skylan bowed and turned to leave. He was fumbling at the door, unable to figure out how it operated, when the door slid open of its own accord and he came face-to-face with Acronis.

  The man’s face was grim, stern. He made a sign that Skylan was to keep silent, not give away his presence. Skylan walked out of the room. The slave, Kakos, closed the door softly behind him. Skylan thought he was in trouble, until he saw tears glimmer in Acronis’s eyes. The Legate motioned to Zahakis, who stepped out of the shadows.

  “Make Skylan presentable,” Acronis said. “We leave for the palace at sundown.”

  He turned on his heel and stalked off.

  “He was listening,” Skylan said.

  “Of course,” said Zahakis. “What did you expect?”

  “He heard her ask me about praying to Torval. Was he angry?”

  Zahakis shook his head. The two men walked through the long hallway, past the fish ponds and the fountains, across the marble floors, through the atrium and into the yard, heading for the outbuildings. Zahakis seemed to be trying to make up his mind to say something.

  Glancing around to make certain they were alone, he said, “There is something you should know, Skylan. Chloe doesn’t have long to live. The physicians all say so. They’ve done everything they can for her, but there’s no hope.”

  Skylan felt an ache in his throat and he was angry at himself. A crippled child like her would have never survived in his land. The harsh winters would have killed her. Pampered and showered with wealth, she was lucky to have lived this long.

  “Has her father told her she is dying? Does she know?” Skylan asked.

  “Of course not,” said Zahakis, shocked. “Only a monster would do such a thing. Acronis tells her she is getting better.”

  Skylan remembered Chloe saying she saw death in the darkness.

  She knows, he realized. She knows.

  CHAPTER

  15

  * * *

  BOOK TWO

  Zahakis took Skylan to the men’s bathing house, then to a barber, who shaved him and trimmed his hair. All the champions would be wearing the armor they would wear in the game. Skylan and his team had specially designed clothes and armor made to look like their own.