Secret of the Dragon

by Margaret Weis

  The door to the office of the Priest-General stood open. He had called a hasty meeting with his officers and was just finishing.

  “Get your men into position.” Xydis was giving final orders. “The protection of the Church grounds is our first priority.”

  Catching sight of Raegar and Treia, Xydis motioned for them to come into his office and dismissed his officers. After that, a Watcher came with a message, which he delivered in a whisper. The Priest-General listened in silence, his brow furrowing. He looked at Raegar and frowned. The Watcher bowed and returned to his duties. Xydis shut the door and began to pace the room.

  “This is a disaster!” he said. “We have been caught completely unprepared. I am summoned to the Palace. The Empress is furious.”

  He fixed his piercing gaze on Raegar. “Tell me that I can bring her good news.”

  “You can bring her the best, lord,” said Raegar, smiling expansively. “Her Imperial Majesty need have no fear for Sinaria. Aelon will save us. And the Vektan dragon.”

  Xydis quit pacing. “You can summon it?”

  “I can summon the dragon, Worshipful Sir,” said Treia. “I know the ritual.”

  This was Treia’s moment of triumph. Her reward for the hard life she had endured, the sneers and slights and insults, the hardship and deprivation, the hours of kneeling on the wooden floor, shivering in the bitter cold, listening to Draya’s interminable praying to a goddess who had, in the end, forsaken her.

  “The ritual must be performed in a large open area,” Treia continued.

  “We were thinking the arena where they play the Para Dix would be suitable,” Raegar suggested.

  “An ideal location,” said Xydis. “I will inform the Empress. She will want to be present.”

  Treia was annoyed. The summoning was a religious ritual, meant to be performed with solemn ceremony. This was not a game, not a spectacle. She could see Raegar was pleased by the thought of being noticed by the Empress, so Treia bit her tongue and said nothing. She was having trouble enough combating a flutter of fear in the pit of her stomach. She had failed before when summoning an ordinary dragon such as Kahg. She would not fail now; she could not. Hevis was with her.

  She had given the god his sacrifice. Aylaen was dead. The Torgun were all dead.

  “The first ships have been sighted sailing into the harbor,” Xydis said. “We must wait to summon the dragon until the entire fleet is assembled; the dragon can destroy every ship in the ogre fleet and wipe out the ogre army. A great victory for Aelon. A great victory.”

  He rubbed his hands, then frowned at Raegar. “It is fortunate you brought me this good news, my friend, otherwise you would be in my bad graces.”

  “What have I done to deserve your anger, Priest-General?” Raegar asked, startled.

  “Legate Acronis is still alive. The attempt on his life failed. Several Temple guards were killed in the fight. He was warned by that kinsman of yours, Skylan.”

  Raegar’s jaw sagged. “But . . . that’s impossible, Worshipful Sir. Skylan and the other Vindrasi were trapped in the catacombs by the lemures. I saw them myself. They could not have escaped—”

  “And yet they did,” said Xydis testily. “This was the news the Watcher brought me when you arrived. Semelon reported that the barbarians threatened her life if she did not free his men from the lemures. At least”—Xydis turned graciously to Treia—“you will be glad to know your sister survived.”

  “Aylaen . . . alive . . .” Treia stared at him wildly. She had to grasp the back of a chair to keep from collapsing.

  Aylaen . . . alive! Treia saw Raegar and Xydis talking. They were speaking to her. Their mouths moved, but she had no idea what they were saying. Raegar seemed concerned. He took hold of her by the elbow and escorted her out the door, following Xydis. She realized in horror they were taking her to the treasure vault.

  Taking her to the spiritbone of the Vektia and an angry, vengeful god.

  Acronis and his escort rode up to the fane of the Spirit Priestesses at a gallop. They could hear within the fane the voices of women chanting the name of Aelon, calling upon him to protect them from their foes. Acronis dismounted his horse practically before the beast had stopped running and strode swiftly to the door. Two of his soldiers accompanied him. Keeper remained in the shadows, holding the horses.

  Acronis pounded on the door.

  “I am Legate Acronis,” he called impatiently. “Open this door!”

  The chanting ceased suddenly. There was a brief wait and what sounded like voices hurriedly conferring, then a scraping noise as a bar was lifted. The door opened a crack. A young woman peered out. Seeing Acronis in his shining armor and purple cape, accompanied by two soldiers in their winged helms, she gave a sigh of relief and flung the door wide open.

  “Legate, you are welcome. Please come inside.”

  “This is not a social visit,” Acronis said. “The city is about to come under attack—”

  “Yes,” said the priestess calmly. “We were warned. We have been praying to Aelon.”

  “You are in danger here.” Acronis pushed his way past her and walked inside the fane. His two escorts accompanied him. “The other priestesses are gathering in the main Temple. You are to join them there.”

  “We are not in danger,” said the priestess with a serene smile. “I told you. We are praying to Aelon. He will protect us.”

  The other priestesses smiled and murmured their agreement. Acronis regarded the women with exasperation mingled with sorrow. The young priestess could not have been much older than Chloe.

  “Ogres do not believe in Aelon,” said Acronis harshly. “What do you think will happen when ogre warriors find this temple filled with women? They will give praise to their gods. Do you know what ogres do to human females? They rape the young ones and take them captive back to their homeland. The older ones, they rape and then kill.”

  The young priestess paled and cast an uncertain glance over her shoulder at one of the older women.

  “I thank you for your care, Legate,” said the priestess, coming forward. “Aelon will protect us—”

  “Aelon protects those in the Temple, Priestess, by surrounding them with men carrying swords.”

  The women began to argue among themselves. Acronis glanced at his escorts and slightly shrugged his shoulders. They shifted impatiently, their armor rattling.

  “Very well,” said the older priestess at last. “We will come with you. Undoubtedly, Aelon sent you.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Acronis dryly. “And now, you must make haste. The signal fires are lighted. The enemy ships have been sighted in the harbor.”

  One of the younger priestesses gave a frightened cry. The older one frowned at her. As they started to blow out the lights and remove objects from the altar, one of the soldiers cast an alarmed glance at Acronis.

  “Please, Priestess, you must leave now. My men will see to it that all the valuables are removed to a place of safety.”

  As Acronis spoke, he began to shepherd the women out the door, reassuring them in soothing tones that they had nothing to fear, keeping them moving.

  “Be quick, you two!” he ordered Skylan and Aylaen as he gestured toward the altar. “We are going ahead. You can catch up with us on the road.”

  The two saluted and moved toward the altar that was ablaze with lights.

  Acronis finally maneuvered his charges outside the fane and into the garden. The sight of Keeper, an ogre, caused a flutter of panic until one of the women recognized him from the Para Dix games.

  “Get them started toward the Temple,” said Acronis. “Hand them off to the first warrior-priest you see and circle back to us.”

  Keeper nodded. “What is Skylan doing?”

  “He says he is going to talk to a ghost,” said Acronis.

  The Legate waited until he saw Keeper and his flock of priestesses heading off in the direction of the Temple, then walked quietly back to the Shrine. Acronis did not enter. He stood in the
doorway, hidden in the shadows.

  Acronis was a scientist. Invading ogres, assassins, even his soul-wrenching grief for his daughter could not stop his pursuit of knowledge. Chloe would understand, he reflected.

  He watched Aylaen walk to the center of the Shrine. She removed her helm and shook out her red hair. Her face was pale, luminous. Her green eyes were clear. Her voice was steady. She placed four candlesticks in a square, and four in the square to form a circle. Then, standing in the square, she spoke quietly to the empty air.

  “Garn, I have come to ask you to forgive me. I was wrong to want you to return to this life when you have found glory with Torval. I forged the chains that dragged you back, kept you bound. I compelled you to remain in this world when your spirit wanted to go with the gods. I love you, Garn,” Aylaen said, her voice gentle, but not faltering. “I will always love you. But I, too, must go with the gods. We will meet again in Torval’s Hall and there we will embrace.”

  Acronis watched with interest, hoping to see a ghost as he had been promised. But no ghost appeared.

  Skylan removed his helm and came to stand beside Aylaen. He was not as composed as she was. He had to clear his throat before he could speak.

  “Garn, my friend,” he said huskily, “I wish I could say the chains that I used to bind you were forged of love, but they were not. They were made of guilt. I blamed myself for your death. If I had listened to you . . .”

  Skylan had to stop talking. He wiped his hand over his eyes and nose, then drew in a shaking breath and said quietly, “I listen to you now, my friend. Whenever I am about to do anything reckless or selfish, I hear your voice. You taught me patience, forbearance. You gave me the wisdom to understand what the goddess was trying to tell me. You have forgiven me and I forgive myself. We will meet again in Torval’s Hall and there we will embrace.”

  Acronis, from the shadows, said softly, “Chloe, my own dear child, will you wait for me in Torval’s Hall? I may have trouble finding my way. . . .”

  “She will wait,” said a woman’s voice. “She waits to hear the stories you will tell her.”

  Acronis turned to see a woman clad in armor that gleamed in the moonlight like the scales of a dragon. Her helm was adorned with dragon wings. She smiled at him and then left him, trembling and shaken, to enter the Shrine.

  She walked into the circle of candles. Seeing her, radiant and beautiful and awful, Skylan and Aylaen sank to their knees.

  “Vindrash,” said Aylaen, “forgive me for being in the house of your foe. I came to free Garn. . . .”

  “You have already done so. His spirit has joined the heroes in Torval’s Hall,” said Vindrash. She glanced back over her shoulder at Acronis and smiled gently. “The last I saw, he was dancing with a new young friend.”

  Acronis sank to his knees. He did not believe in gods and he was in the presence of a goddess.

  Vindrash turned back. “What about you, Skylan? Do you ask my forgiveness?”

  “I have asked so often, blessed Vindrash,” said Skylan. “I fear you must be weary of the sound of my voice. But I do,” he added, raising his eyes to hers, “with all my heart.”

  Vindrash laid her hand upon his forehead. “Five dragonbones, Skylan Ivorson. Do you know the secret?”

  “I believe so, Vindrash,” said Skylan in a troubled voice.

  “You do or you don’t,” she said.

  Skylan paused, then said firmly, “I know the secret.”

  “Then you know what you must do. Fight well in the Para Dix, Skylan Ivorson,” said Vindrash. “I have a wager with Torval on this game. My fish knife against his shining sword.”

  The goddess vanished, leaving behind the sparkling shimmer of dragon scales in Acronis’s mind.

  “The Para Dix?” Aylaen said, puzzled. “What does she mean? We have to find Treia—”

  “We will find Treia in the Para Dix arena,” said Skylan, rising to his feet.

  “But why would Treia be there?” Aylaen asked. Her tone sharpened. “Skylan, tell me what’s going on. This has something to do with the secret of the Vektan dragonbone. You told the goddess you know the secret. What is it?”

  “Aylaen, I need for you to go back to the ship. Keeper will take you—”

  “You are not getting rid of me,” said Aylaen. “Treia is my sister. I’m coming with you.”

  Skylan heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. He walked out the door and drew up, startled to find Acronis standing in front of him.

  “You said to me, ‘If we can find the spiritbone, we can save the city.’ What did you mean by that?”

  “I don’t have time to explain,” said Skylan, and he added shortly, as he hurried on, “Tell me how to find the arena. Then you and Keeper take Aylaen somewhere safe.”

  “What is going on?” Acronis demanded.

  Skylan hesitated, then said, “Treia has the spiritbone of one of the Vektan dragons. I believe she is going to try to summon the dragon.”

  “I’m coming with you, of course. I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” said Acronis.

  “You don’t understand, sir,” said Skylan, casting an anguished glance at Aylaen. “I can’t allow Treia to summon the dragon! I must stop her—any way I can.”

  “You think you might have to kill her,” said Acronis. “Kill the sister of the woman you love.” Skylan stood, agonizing. Acronis rested his hand on Skylan’s shoulder. “Trust in that god of yours. He’s done well by you so far. I will take you to the arena. You will never find your way through the streets without me.”

  They left the fane. Aylaen was already on her horse, waiting with Keeper, who said he had handed the women safely over to one of the Temple guards.

  Acronis lifted his head, breathed deeply of the night air. He did not know how many breaths he had left, but it didn’t matter. All his life, he had been bound like a slave to something: to ambition, to politics, to wealth. Everything was gone. He had given it all away. He felt now as he felt sometimes upon his ship when he walked the deck in the moonlight and saw nothing around him but the vast dark sea and the vast dark sky and the stars that sparkled like the scales of a dragon.

  He had seen the face of a goddess.

  He could not wait to tell Chloe!

  CHAPTER

  15

  * * *

  BOOK THREE

  Treia stood in the center of the arena near the sacred fire pit, holding the Vektia spiritbone. Sliver moonlight spilled over the empty benches, pouring down onto the field in a cascade that seemed to grow brighter with every passing moment. Treia wished the hateful moon would fall from the heavens. She wanted darkness, needed darkness. She had to talk to Hevis. She had to convince him to give her the ritual, even though she had failed to give him the sacrifice.

  In the palace, the Empress had been pleased to hear from the Priest-General that a dragon was going to come to fight for the Sinarians. The Empress didn’t have to worry any longer about ham-fisted ogres lumbering about the Imperial Palace breaking the porcelain. She wanted to witness this spectacle and sent word that she was going to come to her box in the arena as soon as she changed her clothes, invited her friends, found her little dog, who had run off again, and ordered her slaves to pack the wine and food baskets.

  The Priest-General was already in the arena, thinking of his future. The Empress blamed him for the ogre invasion, and by stopping the ogres and providing her with an evening’s entertainment, he was certain to regain her favor. He had his eye on the Legate’s estates and wealth.

  The unfortunate fact that Acronis was not dead was only a minor impediment to the attainment of Xydis’s goal. Semelon had reported that the Legate had ridden off in company with the barbarians. The Priest-General had men searching for him.

  In the streets, the people, led by Zahakis, were taking upon themselves the defense of their city. Reports came to him that the first ships of the ogre fleet had begun landing their troops. Ogre soldiers were swarming onto the docks and beaches. As
soon as sufficient numbers were assembled, their godlords would storm the watchtowers, deal with any defenders, and open the gates to Sinaria.

  “I’m going to be sick,” said Treia.

  Clutching her stomach, she handed the spiritbone to Raegar and ran toward the latrines, which were located behind the grandstand.

  Treia looked over her shoulder to make certain she had not been followed. Raegar would give her a few moments privacy in case she was truly sick, and then he would come to make certain she was all right. She did not have much time.

  Covered by curtains, shielded from the moonlight, the latrines consisted of a long row of benches with holes cut in them situated directly over a trench filled with running water. The area was cleaned by slaves, but the stench lingered. Treia gagged and covered her mouth and gave way to nausea that had caused her stomach to roil ever since the Priest-General had put the spiritbone into her hands.

  When she was finished vomiting, she gasped out the name of the god.

  Hevis had been waiting for her impatiently, it seemed, for he appeared almost before she finished speaking his name. He was no longer a disembodied face of fire. He was a warrior, clad in armor, and he held a sword in his hand. He was grim and implacable and he said nothing, but waited for her to speak.

  Trembling with terror, Treia kept her eyes lowered, fearing to face his wrath.

  “Aylaen was meant to die,” said Treia through quivering lips. “They were all meant to die! You were supposed to have your sacrifice—”

  “But I didn’t,” said Hevis, and his voice was cold as black winter’s night. “You should have killed her yourself. Knife in the back, poison . . .”

  “I know, I know,” Treia said, choked. “Forgive me. I will . . . next time. . . .”

  “There may not be a next time,” said the god.