Doom of the Dragon Page 10

  Raegar was pleased. After a bad start, this meeting was going well. They were playing into his hands.

  Glowering at them, he said angrily, “You arrive late. Our time is valuable and we have been kept waiting and for what? I see no tribute, no chest full of gold and jewels.”

  The Stormlords regarded him with the expressions of men who have found dung on their shoes, then they both clapped their hands. In response, an enormous chest made of polished wood, decorated with gold and jewels, appeared on the floor in front of them, seeming to drop out of the air.

  The watching crowd gasped and murmured.

  Treia cast a startled glance at Raegar, who glowered at them. He was being upstaged. He began to applaud, loudly and mockingly.

  “Well done, gentlemen. All of us enjoy a good show. Priest-General, open the chest.”

  Laurentius hurried over to the chest, motioning one of the other priests to help him. Folding their arms, the Stormlords waited in silence. The box was large and so elaborately decorated that it took Laurentius a moment to find the clasps. Raegar could only imagine the vast amount of gold and silver it must contain. And however much it was, he was going to ask them for more.

  He leaned forward, eager to see the wealth, as did Treia, her eyes sparkling. The crowd pressed near to view such a wondrous sight. The two Stormlords stood unmoving.

  Laurentius and his fellow priest together lifted the heavy lid, looked eagerly into the chest, and stiffened in shock. Treia gasped and put her hand to her mouth and averted her eyes. Raegar gazed into the box and his stomach turned. Instead of seeing shining mounds of gold and silver, he looked on the mummified remains of two men, both of them wearing the robes of priests of Aelon.

  The skin was stretched tight over the skulls, but there was enough left of the two men that Raegar recognized the priests he had sent to spy on the Stormlords. The faces of the corpses were frozen in terror, contorted in agony.

  Word spread rapidly through the crowd. People began to cry out in shock and dismay and anger, and started shoving and jostling, trying to get a closer look.

  “Silence!” Raegar thundered.

  The crowd quieted, though there were angry mutterings. Rising to his feet, Raegar glared down at the Stormlords. “These men were holy priests of Aelon, to be treated with respect!”

  “These men were spies masquerading as priests,” said one of the Stormlords.

  “By the terms of the treaty we pay tribute to live our lives in peace,” said the other. “By sending your spies among us, you have broken the treaty.”

  “You murdered these men!” Raegar said harshly.

  “We did not touch them,” said the first Stormlord. “They brought their fate on themselves. They were warned to keep out of certain areas that are guarded by magical defenses. They did not heed our warnings, and death was the result.”

  “You lie!” Raegar roared. “The priests discovered your secret. We have their reports. You found out and you killed them. We know how to enter your hidden city and, by the might of Aelon, we will tear it down stone by stone and see the blood of your people running in the gutters!”

  Raegar detected a flicker of uncertainty, unease in one of them. The flicker was gone in an instant.

  “We return their bodies as a courtesy,” said one of the Stormlords. “We will no longer pay tribute to Oran.”

  The Stormlords drew their cowls over their heads, then turned their backs on Raegar to face the crowd that was now blocking their way out of the temple. The two men said no word, but stood calmly, their hands folded in their sleeves, their eyes dark and shadowed. They began to walk toward the temple doors and the crowd, as though spellbound, parted to make way for them.

  Raegar knew he should do something to stop the murdering wizards, but he was shaking with fury, so choked by rage he could not speak. Treia saw his red mottled face and the foam flecking his lips and leaned near to whisper.

  “You cannot let them insult you like this! Order the guards to seize them! Send their heads back to their people!”

  “Guards!” Raegar shouted. “Bar the doors! Arrest those men!”

  His shout broke the spell. Guards shut the doors and stood before them, spears leveled. Raegar’s bodyguards and the Warrior Priests drew their swords and ran after the Stormlords while bystanders closed in around the two wizards, brandishing their fists. The Stormlords fell beneath the onslaught. Raegar watched with satisfaction.

  “Don’t kill them! I want to see them hang!” he called.

  Commander Eolus and his soldiers charged into the mob, striking with the flat of their blades to drive them off their prey and came upon a tangled, bloody heap of men pummeling each other. The guards dragged the combatants apart.

  Underneath, Eolus found two black cloaks trimmed in gold, trampled and torn, lying on the temple floor. He jabbed his sword into one of the cloaks and lifted it up for Raegar to see. An awed and frightened hush fell over the crowd.

  Raegar looked at the empty floor and then back at Eolus.

  “Where are they?” Raegar demanded, feeling his skin crawl.

  No one had an answer. Eolus hastily shook the cloak off his sword and left it lying beside the other one. The crowd backed away.

  Raegar looked at the doors, but they remained closed with soldiers standing guard. There was nowhere to hide. The two thrones, the dais, and the chest containing the bodies of the priests were the only objects on the temple floor. The wizards were taller than most of those present, and with their pale skin, long gray braids, and shining golden robes, they could not very well lose themselves in the crowd of short, swarthy Sinarians.

  “They must be here!” Raegar cried. “Find them!”

  Some of the Warrior Priests, led by Laurentius, searched the temple, including his own office, the chamber of the Watchers, and even the treasure room, while others ordered people to exit one at a time and took a good look at each as they walked out the doors.

  Raegar sent Eolus to call out the city guard, ordering them to blockade the harbor and search every ship. Guardsmen combed the city, going from house to house, without result. No one had seen the Stormlords arrive, apparently, for no ship had brought them. No one had seen them depart.

  The Stormlords had vanished without a trace.

  Raegar ordered Treia’s guards to accompany her back to the palace, then he went to the Watchers to ask for the final written account of the reports the spies had sent back. After that, he retired to his office in the temple to read them.

  He went over them several times; he had learned to read only late in life and he wanted to make certain he understood. Throwing them back on the desk, he began pacing the room, muttering to himself.

  “The priests claim they found a traitor, one of the Stormlords. This man told them the secret, how to enter the hidden city. He provided directions on how to remove the magical traps. Why would the priests lie?”

  “The priests told the truth,” said Aelon.

  Raegar turned to find her seated at his desk, reading the reports.

  “So it was the Stormlords who lied,” he said. “They did murder them.”

  Aelon looked up from her reading. “The Stormlords are a peace-loving people who believe that no mortal has the right to take the life of another. Their defensive magicks are not lethal.”

  “I beg your pardon, revered Aelon, if I seem obtuse, but if the Stormlords did not kill the priests and neither did the magic, who did? Was it the traitor?”

  Aelon dropped the report and languidly rose to her feet. “If you must know, Raegar, I killed them.”

  Raegar gaped at her. “Your own priests?”

  She shrugged. “They grew careless. The Stormlords began to suspect them and searched their quarters where they found these same documents and drawings. They arrested the priests. I feared they would talk, and we couldn’t take that chance.”

  Raegar tried to conceal his shock, but apparently he failed.

  “Oh, don’t look so horrified, Raegar!” A
elon said in scathing tones. “How many men have you killed in my name?”

  Raegar licked dry lips. What she said was true. Still, the men he had killed had been enemies. They hadn’t worshipped him, trusted in him …

  “Revered Aelon, I didn’t mean—”

  She silenced him with an irate glance. “And what possessed you to tell the Stormlords about the priests’ report?”

  “I am sorry, revered Aelon,” said Raegar. “I was angry. I saw the bodies … I knew these men…”

  His voice trailed off.

  Aelon glared at him, then she sighed. “Perhaps, after all, your indiscretion was for the best. The Stormlords are afraid, and frightened people make mistakes. As for the traitor, he will be in contact with you. His name is Baldev. He is a powerful man; one of their governors—those they call ‘Lords of the Storm.’ Unlike his fellows, he is not a pacifist. He believes the Stormlords should exert their power in this world. He could prove to very useful to us.”

  Raegar could hear mournful chanting outside the office, and a shuffling sound. He opened the door a crack to watch a procession of priests walking slowly and solemnly past the office, bearing caskets containing the two corpses. He waited in silence until the priests and their sorrowful burden had proceeded down the hallway. Shaken, Raegar hurriedly closed the door.

  “The people will be clamoring for war,” he said.

  “Then by all means, give it to them,” said Aelon. “That was our goal all along.”

  “Yes,” said Raegar.

  He kept his back to her, so that she would not see his face. He had been eager for war. Reading the reports of the priests, he had been exultant. He knew the secret of the hidden cities, he knew how to defeat the Stormlords. He no longer felt the same thrill, however.

  Aelon walked over to him, put her arms around him.

  “Don’t sulk, Raegar. I did what I had to do. Look at me.”

  Trembling at her touch, Raegar slowly turned to face her.

  “Our people are enraged. They will give you anything! And so will I, my love,” said Aelon softly. “You will march at the head of an army that numbers in the tens of thousands.”

  Her beauty, her words, her touch rekindled the fire within him. He saw thousands of soldiers clashing their swords against their shields, calling out his name. He saw walls falling as the stones from his war machines crashed into them.

  “Assembling such an army will take time,” he said. “We have the ships, but I did not expect to sail until spring. I don’t see how we can be ready.”

  Aelon gazed into his eyes, pierced him to the soul.

  “Have you so little faith in me?” she asked him. “The world will stand in awe of your might. And so will I.”

  Raegar seized hold of her and kissed her and, to his astonishment, she let him. He would have kept on kissing her, but she slid out of his grasp.

  “You must be faithful to your wife,” said Aelon.

  “So you keep telling me,” Raegar growled.

  “Our time will come. Be patient. For now, I must leave you,” she said. “I have located your cousin, Skylan, and the fourth spiritbone, and I have found his wife, the Kai Priestess, who has the other three. You will bring me the fifth. And now … your wife is looking for you.”

  Aelon left him. Raegar stood quite still after she had gone, lost in his thoughts. He was roused by a knock at the door. Opening it, he found Treia.

  “I thought I would find you here. Who were you talking to?” she asked suspiciously. “I heard a woman’s voice.”

  Raegar glared at her. Treia looked particularly unlovely at this moment.

  “You are not supposed to be in this part of the temple, woman,” he told her coldly. Turning away, he strode over to the desk, pretended to be searching through some papers. “Go back to your chambers.”

  Instead of obeying, Treia followed him into the room and shut the door.

  “I will summon the guards—” he began, then he saw the golden serpents on her necklace fix him with their sparkling eyes.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “What are you doing hiding out in this office?” she countered. “People are looking for you! Important people!”

  “I am busy,” he said curtly. “If you must know, we are going to war.”

  “Good,” said Treia approvingly. “Aelon will be pleased. You have all winter to prepare—”

  “Now!” said Raegar, his voice grating. “This instant.”

  He didn’t really mean that. He needed a few weeks, despite Aelon’s promise of a miracle. Still, his words sounded well and they certainly left Treia speechless.

  “Aelon has been insulted,” said Raegar, his voice harsh. “Her priests murdered. The murderers will be punished.”

  “My love, you can’t sail now!” Treia protested. “The storms of autumn are coming. The seas will be rough.”

  “Aelon has promised us a smooth voyage,” said Raegar.

  Treia drew in a deep breath. “Then I am coming with you. I can summon the Dragon Fala. You need me.”

  Raegar had to admit that was true. Fala was a wayward beast who did not respect him and paid little heed to him.

  He shook his head. “I cannot permit you to come. The voyage would be too dangerous for both you and our son.”

  Treia came close to him and clasped her hand over his. She looked up into his eyes and said softly, just for the two of them to hear, “Our son is Vindrasi! He will be born at sea, born to flame and blood and battle! What better or more fitting birthright?”

  Raegar gazed at Treia. Her belly pressed against him, and he could feel his son kicking lustily. He remembered now why he had once loved her. He kissed her.

  “Start packing.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Night fell on the Isle of Revels. Aylis, the Sun Goddess, had fled, leaving Skylan to think she was as disgusted by the sight inside the hall as he was. Torches, mounted in iron sconces on the walls, burned in a desultory manner, creating more smoke than light and leaving the cavernous interior of the building in darkness.

  The fighting had devolved into a drunken brawl. Warriors staggered about, swinging their weapons wildly, spilling more ale than blood. Eventually, when it grew too dark to see, the fighting petered out. All Skylan could hear were moans, retching, and cursing.

  Taking a torch from the wall, he made his way among the upended tables and broken benches, stepping over drunks, heading for the corner where he had left Sigurd and Keeper with orders to find the rest of his friends.

  He located Sigurd, who had been sleeping with his head on the table. Wakened by the torchlight, he squinted, trying to see.

  “Who the devil is that?” he mumbled.

  “It’s me. Skylan.”

  Sigurd grunted. “You came back.” He sounded surprised.

  “I told you I would,” said Skylan, annoyed. “Where are the others?”

  “They’re here,” said Sigurd. He jerked a thumb toward his fellows.

  Skylan placed the torch in a rusty sconce on the wall near the table and grimly regarded the warriors who were supposed to go up against the army of a god.

  Grimuir had passed out and was sprawled on the floor beneath a bench. He was Sigurd’s best friend and supporter; the two even looked much alike, with black hair and beards. Erdmun was green around the nose and mouth, but at least he was upright. His older brother, Bjorn, sitting beside him, was the most sober of the lot. He smiled when he saw Skylan, who was pleased to see him. They were the same age, and Bjorn had been his friend in days when everyone else had seemed to desert him. Both brothers had fair hair and both looked defeated and dejected.

  Keeper rose from another table where he had been talking to some of his fellow ogres and came to greet Skylan. Between them, they managed to lift Grimuir up off the floor and heave him onto a bench, propping him up with his back against the wall.

  “What did Joabis say?” Keeper asked. “Will he free us?”

  Grimuir raised
his head to fix his bleary eyes on Skylan. Erdmun swallowed hard to try to keep from retching. Bjorn patted his brother’s shoulder. Sigurd belched.

  “He has promised to return our lives on one condition,” said Skylan.

  The others exchanged grim glances.

  “What is that condition?” Sigurd growled.

  “Joabis is in peril, like the other Vindrasi gods. He fears his island will come under attack, which is why he brought all these warriors here. He wants us to fight for him.”

  “Fight? For Joabis?” Sigurd grunted. “Who are we fighting? A fearsome host of baby chicks?”

  Grimuir made cheeping sounds and flapped his arms like wings and Sigurd roared with laughter.

  Skylan waited until their mirth had subsided, then said, “We will be facing the army of Aelon.”

  The others stared at him, frowning, uncomprehending.

  “Aelon?” Keeper repeated. “Fight a god?”

  “And a god’s army,” Bjorn said. “What sort of army?”

  “Winged serpents as big as rivers. If you cut off the head, two sprout in its place. And hellkites. According to Garn, these are the souls of men who were so cruel and depraved no god except Aelon would take them.”

  Erdmun got up the from the table and staggered off, clutching his stomach. They could hear him heaving. When he returned, he was quite pale and looked very miserable.

  “Serpents and hellkites.” Grimuir repeated, then shrugged. “Still, I could use a good fight. I grow bored slaying ogres.”

  He winked at Keeper, who said calmly, “As for us ogres, we never tire of killing humans.”

  The others laughed. Skylan did not.

  “What’s wrong, Skylan?” Bjorn asked. “Why the dark look?”

  “There is more you must know. If anyone dies by the sword of a hellkite, Aelon will claim his soul,” said Skylan. “Garn told me when I saw him in the Hall of Heroes.”

  “Torval would not allow another god to take souls that belong to him,” said Bjorn.

  “Torval and the other gods and heroes are fighting their own battles in heaven,” said Skylan. “They can do nothing to help us.”