“What is this plan?” Sigurd asked. “Let us hear it.”
“There is an ancient shrine in the old part of the garden. Beyond that shrine are catacombs—they are like tunnels,” she explained. “The catacombs are very old and were created to allow the inhabitants of the villa to escape should they ever be attacked. These tunnels lead from the villa to the sea where, in the event of an emergency, the Legate would have a ship waiting to carry him and his house hold to safety. I can tell you how to find the shrine. The Legate has the key to open it.”
“It’s not likely he’ll just hand it to us,” Sigurd said.
“That is true,” said Treia calmly. “You will need to kill the Legate and his guards and take the key from him.”
“Give us weapons and we’ll deal with the Legate. But what about this?” Sigurd pointed to the tattoo. “How do we stop your foul god from burning off our arms?”
“Aelon would not weep if the Legate were to meet an untimely demise,” said Treia.
“In other words, we do the god’s dirty work for him and the god allows us to go free,” said Bjorn.
“Not such a bad bargain,” said Treia. “The Legate enslaved you, remember. Our men died because of him.”
Most of the men glanced at each other and shrugged, ready to go along with the scheme. Farinn looked doubtful; Bjorn shook his head. Aylaen had said nothing the entire time. She regarded her sister with a puzzled frown.
“Once you have entered the catacombs,” Treia continued, “all you have to do is follow them to the sea.”
“Will there be a ship for us?” Erdmun asked.
“Raegar cannot do everything for you,” said Treia tartly. “In the matter of a ship, you must fend for yourselves.”
“We could steal a fishing vessel,” said Aki. “I saw hundreds of them docked in the bay when we sailed in.”
“It sounds simple,” said Sigurd.
“Too simple,” said Bjorn. “I don’t trust Raegar or his god. I think we should wait for Skylan, talk it over with him.”
“If you want to do so, that is fine with me,” said Treia. “Although you know he will be opposed. I have heard that the Legate has promised Skylan his freedom if he serves him. I don’t suppose he has shared that news with the rest of you. . . .”
“Skylan wouldn’t do that,” said Bjorn.
Sigurd grunted and shook his head. Treia turned to Aylaen. “Let the men discuss it. You and I need to talk privately.”
Aylaen agreed and while the men conferred, she and Treia walked some distance away.
“We need to talk about the Vektan dragon,” said Treia.
“I don’t know the secret,” said Aylaen. “Skylan doesn’t know it.”
“Say rather he refuses to tell you,” said Treia.
“I believe him, Treia. He wants to help—”
“You didn’t tell him about Garn, did you?” Treia asked, alarmed.
“No, of course not. How could I? I am too ashamed. . . .”
Treia breathed a sigh and took her sister’s hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. “You do not need to be, Aylaen. You acted out of love. I understand. I would do anything for Raegar.”
“But I don’t understand, Treia,” said Aylaen. “If you help Skylan escape, the secret of the Vektan dragons will go with him.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” said Treia. A flush of pride mantled her cheeks. “I know the ritual.”
“You do?” Aylaen was astonished. “How did you find out?”
“I prayed to Vindrash,” said Treia. “She has no love for Aelon, that is true. But our goddess hates and fears the Gods of Raj more than she does Aelon. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ as the saying goes. Vindrash has granted me the power to summon the dragon to destroy the ogre fleet.”
“But what about Garn?” Aylaen said, dismayed. “I cannot leave his spirit bound in chains.”
“You need not worry. Garn has been set free. I promised Vindrash that I would help all our people gain their freedom. That included Garn’s spirit. Vindrash would not teach me the ritual other wise. What’s wrong? I thought you would be glad.”
“I am,” said Aylaen slowly. “I want to speak to Garn. See for myself.”
Treia was hurt. “You don’t trust me.”
“I trust you, Treia,” said Aylaen. “But this is too important. Please, take me to the shrine, let me talk to him. I want to ask him to forgive me—”
“Impossible,” said Treia. “The Spirit Priestesses would be certain to suspect something. You would jeopardize the escape plan, put the lives of our men at risk.”
Aylaen was troubled. “I would not want to put the others in danger.”
“Garn is with Torval, Aylaen,” said Treia. “He wants you to be free yourself now. I swear, Aylaen, by my love for Vindrash and for you, my sister. You must leave with our friends and kinsmen and you must make certain Skylan goes with you. The Legate is not to be trusted. If Skylan stays here, he will die.”
“I wish you would come with us, Treia,” said Aylaen, relenting. “I only just found you. I can’t bear the thought of being separated again. Maybe forever.”
“I love Raegar as you love Garn,” said Treia. “I would sacrifice anything for his sake.”
Aylaen embraced her, pressing her wet cheek against her sister’s. Treia returned the hug stiffly.
The conference among the men did not last long. Sigurd had proclaimed himself Chief of Chiefs and he was in favor of the escape plan. Bjorn wanted to wait to hear what Skylan said, but Sigurd reminded them that Skylan had led them into disaster, which was why he was no longer Chief. When Aylaen returned and said that she was prepared to go along with the plan, Bjorn gave way.
Treia told them where to find the shrine.
“What about the Legate’s soldiers?” Sigurd asked. “He posts guards on our compound and he must have fifty men standing guard around his villa at night.”
“You do not need to worry about the soldiers,” said Treia. “All is arranged. Only a few will be standing guard and you can deal with them easily enough. A wagon will come this evening to deliver supplies. Your weapons will be hidden inside.”
“We’ll have to find somewhere to hide them,” said Sigurd, rubbing his jaw.
“No need,” Treia remarked coolly. “The escape is set for tonight.”
“Tonight?” Sigurd repeated, displeased. “That’s too soon. We have to make plans. Farinn is half-blind—”
“Everything is arranged for tonight,” said Treia. “Do you think the Empress is going to wait to kill you? Either you go tonight or”—she shrugged—“you stay here and die. The choice is yours.”
They agreed to go. Aylaen embraced her sister again and bid Treia goodbye. Treia kissed her sister and bid the rest of them a cold farewell.
As she was walking across the compound, Treia glanced up into the heavens.
“I have done what you required of me, Hevis,” she said softly. “This night you will have your sacrifice.”
CHAPTER
7
* * *
BOOK THREE
Skylan and Keeper stood outside Chloe’s bedchamber, waiting to be summoned. The house was unnaturally quiet. People crept about, speaking in whispers. Death walked the halls, and everyone, from soldier to slave, was hushed with awe in that dread presence.
“Where is Acronis?” Keeper asked in a subdued voice.
“With her,” Zahakis answered. “He won’t leave her side.”
“Is she . . . in pain?” Skylan asked gruffly.
“The physicians gave her poppy syrup. To ease her suffering, so they say.” Zahakis gave a thin smile. “I think the true reason was to keep her from pestering them.”
The door opened and Rosa came out. Her eyes were red from weeping. Flute music played softly somewhere. The room was dark and stuffy, the doors to the atrium shut. The time might have been night instead of mid-morning.
“She is not dead yet, to be sealed up in a tomb,” said Skylan. “She loves
the fresh air, sunlight. The doors should be open.”
“So she kept insisting,” said Zahakis dryly. “One reason for the poppy syrup.”
Chloe lay in her bed, looking very small and frail beneath her silken coverlets. Skylan could not see Acronis from this angle, but he guessed her father was not far from her. She seemed to be asleep, but, hearing Skylan’s voice, Chloe roused and opened her eyes. She smiled to see him and Keeper and called weakly, “I want to talk to my champions. Bring them in.”
A physician hastened to her side, clucking and fussing. “No visitors. You must rest.” He held a cup to her lips.
“Oh, go away, you old fart,” Chloe said crossly. “And I won’t touch a drop of that horrid stuff.” She knocked the cup from the man’s hand. Syrup spilled over the coverlet. “I won’t drink it anymore, do you hear me! The only pain I feel is in my backside and you’re the cause of that.”
Acronis could be heard trying to remonstrate with her. Chloe raised her voice.
“I want to see them. My champions. They were wonderful yesterday, weren’t they, Father? They were all wonderful. My Para Dix team. I want all of them here. I told you, Father, send for all of them, right now.”
The physician’s eyes widened. He seemed likely to pass out from shock. Zahakis turned away, his hand over his face, either to hide his laughter or his tears, or perhaps both. Keeper shook his head. Skylan swallowed and was about to enter when a shocked voice sounded behind him.
“What are those heathens doing here?”
Skylan turned to see a short, stocky man wearing ceremonial robes striding importantly toward the door. The man eyed Skylan and the ogre with disgust, then said to Zahakis, “Tribune, remove these slaves.”
Keeper growled dangerously. Skylan gripped the ogre’s arm, silencing him.
“Priest-General Xydis,” said Zahakis, amazed. “What are you doing here?”
“I am here at the request of the Legate,” said Xydis. “Ask him, if you don’t believe me.”
Acronis stood in the door. He was grim-faced, his skin gray beneath his tan. He had not slept. His chin was dark with a day’s growth of beard.
“Let him in, Tribune,” said Acronis.
Chloe gave a shrill cry.
“Send him away! I don’t want him!”
She tried to sit up in bed, but she was too weak. She dragged the coverlet over her head. The physician came hurrying forward, another cup in his hand. He pulled off the coverlet and held the potion to her mouth, forcing her to drink. Chloe gagged and spit most of it out, but some of it must have stayed down, for her head drooped. She sank back on the pillow. Her defiance dwindled to an incoherent murmur.
“Legate,” said Xydis, “I passed a large contingent of soldiers on my way to the villa. You should send them away. This sweet child should be surrounded by nothing but the love and peace of Aelon.”
“Dismiss the house hold guard, Zahakis,” said Acronis. “Give the men a seven-day furlough.”
“You can’t be serious, my lord!” Zahakis said.
“That is an order, Tribune,” said Acronis in hollow tones. He glanced at Skylan and Keeper. “And take these men back to camp.”
“Chloe wants to see us, Legate,” said Skylan.
“My daughter is asleep,” said Acronis, and he shut the door.
“What is he doing?” Skylan asked Zahakis as they walked through the silent house.
“He is desperate,” said Zahakis, shaking his head in sorrow. “He will try anything to save her—even praying to a god he hates.”
The moment Skylan entered the compound, he knew something was wrong. His friends stood together, talking in low tones.
“What’s happened?” Skylan asked tensely. His first thought was that the soldiers had found Wulfe.
Conversation ceased. Everyone, including Aylaen, looked to Sigurd to be their spokesman. Sigurd was smug, pleased with himself. Skylan was immediately wary.
“Where is Wulfe?” he demanded.
“Who gives a crap?” said Sigurd. “He’s here, Skylan,” said Aylaen. “He’s safe. Don’t worry.”
“Then what’s going on?” Skylan asked, relieved.
Sigurd glared at Keeper. “Send the ogre away.”
“He’s a slave like the rest of us,” said Skylan. “And he’s our friend. You can trust him.”
Sigurd looked the ogre up and down and shrugged.
“Very well. He might come in useful at that. We’re getting out of here. We’re going to escape.”
“Escape . . .” Skylan looked from one of his friends to the other. He would have expected them to be jubilant. Instead they were watching him distrustfully. They were expecting him to oppose this. By his half smile, Sigurd was hoping Skylan would oppose it.
“What’s your plan?” Skylan asked.
“It’s not our plan,” said Bjorn with a dark glance at Sigurd. “It’s Treia’s plan.”
“Treia!” Skylan said, shocked. “Treia has a plan to help us to escape?”
Sigurd heard the disbelief in Skylan’s voice and glowered. “It doesn’t matter whose plan it is. It’s a good one.”
He explained how Treia had discovered the Empress’s plot to have them killed and she was going to help them escape. They would storm the Legate’s villa, kill him, and take the key to the shrine. The hidden tunnels would lead them to the sea.
“You’re going to break into the villa,” said Skylan. “What about the soldiers?”
“There won’t be any soldiers there tonight,” said Keeper. “Remember? They were given leave.”
“By the Priest-General,” Skylan said, thoughtful.
“No soldiers?” Sigurd grinned. “This is perfect!”
“Isn’t it,” said Skylan. He shook his head in disbelief. “Treia came up with this scheme. How can you trust her? She is Raegar’s lover!”
“And she is my sister,” said Aylaen. “I trust her. She cares about us.”
Skylan appealed to his friends. “Think what you’re saying. For the Empress to murder someone she has to first acknowledge that the person exists. We are slaves. We are beneath contempt, lower than ants in the honey jar! Raegar, on the other hand, has said more than once he’d like to see us dead.”
“Treia would never let us come to harm,” cried Aylaen angrily.
“What if Raegar lied to her, Aylaen? He’s lied to her before this.”
Even as he spoke, Skylan could tell he was wasting his breath. His friends had seen the dazzling light of hope. They would not go back to the darkness.
And what if they are right? he asked himself. What if, for some strange reason, Raegar is giving us the gift of freedom? Treia might be a cold and callous bitch, but she loves Aylaen. Treia would not send her sister to her death.
“What do you think?” Skylan turned to Keeper.
“I know of these catacombs,” said Keeper. “I have been inside. I was there when Acronis laid to rest the body of his wife. His family is buried there, going back for many generations. They are sacred places.”
“Buried?” Erdmun’s voice quavered. “You mean, the catacombs are filled with corpses?”
Sigurd cast him a scathing glance. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a few moldy old bones?”
“I’m not,” said Erdmun defensively. “But such places are sacred, like he said. The gods might not like it. . . .”
“Sacred or not,” said Sigurd, “do these catacombs lead to the sea?”
Keeper shrugged his massive shoulders. “I suppose it is possible. I don’t know.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Sigurd. “We leave tonight.”
“Tonight!” Skylan shook his head. “Impossible.”
“Why?” Sigurd asked.
“We need weapons—”
“We have them. Swords and axes. Treia told us they would be hidden in a cart filled with supplies and they were.”
“Well, then, what about the guards at the entrance to the compound? Acronis didn’t give them leave.”
/>
“The wine with their meal tonight will be drugged.”
“And these tattoos? Won’t Aelon have something to say about our escape?”
“This Aelon is a weak-stomached god, it seems. He doesn’t sanction murder. He’s letting us go. If you want proof, we unpacked the weapons and none of us felt so much as a twinge.”
Skylan didn’t like it, but he didn’t know what to say. It was perfect. All too perfect.
“Our plans are made,” Sigurd added. “Either you are with us or you’re not.”
Skylan looked for help to Aylaen. He could not tell them about the Vektan spiritbone. He had taken his vow to Torval. But she could.
Aylaen understood him. She stood with her arms folded, her lips compressed. She met his gaze with a blank stare.
“I am with you,” said Skylan reluctantly. “But we cannot attack the villa tonight.”
“Why not? You want to have time to warn your friend, the Legate?”
Skylan regarded them grimly. “Acronis is a soldier. He can take care of himself. It is his daughter. The girl is gravely ill. She is dying. She should die in peace.”
“That’s true,” said Farinn. “I heard one of the soldiers talking. The girl is not expected to live through the night.”
“We have our own children to think about,” said Aki dourly.
Skylan had lost and he knew it.
“I said we would all escape or none of us. Will you come with us, Keeper?”
“He doesn’t have a choice,” said Sigurd. “He knows too much for us to let him go. Maybe we should kill him—”
“Don’t be an idiot. He knows where to find the shrine,” said Bjorn. “He can show us.”
“I can show you,” said Keeper. He shook his head. “But I won’t help murder the Legate. He has been good to me. Maybe too good,” he added sorrowfully to Skylan.
“I don’t like this,” Skylan said. “It’s happened too fast. No one has time to think. I still believe it’s a trap. You shouldn’t go, my friend. You should wait here until your people come.”
“You lit the fire in my belly,” said Keeper. “As for my people, I’ve heard nothing. They’re not coming.”
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