Rage of the Dragon (19 page)

“Of course she will,” Thanos murmured.

He rubbed his forehead. The aching had returned.

“I can’t denounce Raegar because I have no proof,” he said softly. “No one will believe me.”

Atemis had gone outside with the other Warrior-Priests to confront the dragon. He returned, looking for Thanos.

“Here you are.” Atemis was displeased. “You should have gone with us. The others will say you are a coward.”

Thanos looked up with a smile. “Does it matter now what they say?”

Atemis regarded Thanos with a grim expression, then shook his head. The sound of cheering shook the walls.

“I assume the dragon flew down from heaven at Raegar’s command and knelt at his feet?”

“Something like that,” Atemis said sourly.

“So Raegar has yet another miracle.”

“A trick! He staged it. That wife of his—”

“Rather like me forging the scroll naming my father’s successor,” said Thanos. He spread his hands. “Don’t you see, my friend. It’s all a trick. The secret to opening the vault door. The dragon appearing at the right moment. There is no Aelon. Never was. Never has been.”

Atemis stared at Thanos in shock. “You can’t mean that!”

“Oh, I do, I assure you.” Thanos shrugged. “Now, my friend. I’ve made it easy for you. You can cast your vote for Raegar with a clear conscience. As for me, I must take my leave. I have packing to do and not much time in which to do it.”

“You’re leaving the city?”

“I am,” said Thanos. He started to walk off, then turned back to say, “You might consider taking a trip yourself. Priest-General Raegar will not look kindly upon those who opposed him. And I know from reading my father’s missives that Raegar knows how to deal with his enemies.”

Atemis, considerably shaken, promised to give the matter thought. He did not think too long.

Later that day, after the dragon had flown away in peace and Raegar had been acclaimed a hero by the populace, he was named Priest-General by a vote of the Council of Warrior-Priests. The vote would have been unanimous, but two members were missing.

That night, men wearing dark cloaks armed with knives entered the dwellings of both Atemis and Thanos.

They found no one at home.

CHAPTER

18

The next morning, Raegar was busy packing, preparing for his journey to the sacred mountain. Treia stood watching him forlornly.

“Please take me with you,” she begged him. “I don’t see why I can’t come.”

“It is forbidden,” said Raegar. “I must go alone. The mysteries of Aelon are revealed only to the Priest-General.”

“You can enter the cavern alone,” said Treia, who had no desire to delve into the mysteries of Aelon. “I could keep you company on the journey.”

“I need to be alone to pray,” said Raegar. “To meditate and commune with the god.”

That was the truth, but not quite all the truth. He and his retinue would be stopping for the night at villages along the way; villages with lovely Sinarian women eager to please the new Priest-General.

Treia knew why he didn’t want her to come. She tasted the bitter bile of jealousy and wanted to spit it in his face. Her calculating mind cooled her passion. She could never win such a battle and she was not about to allow Raegar to ride off with the memory of a shrieking shrew for a wife. That would only make him all the more eager to find solace in the arms of a woman who “understood him.”

Raegar loved her, though not as much she loved him. He needed her. They made a good team. He would always treat her well, never beat her, which was more than her own mother could say. Treia would have to reconcile herself to the fact that there would always be other women.

“But in the end, you will come home to me,” she said.

“Where the hell else would I go?” said Raegar, laughing.

He gave her a smacking kiss. He was in an excellent mood. Treia responded with a strained smile and a stiff-lipped kiss that brushed his cheek. Raegar picked up his gear and was headed out the door when she ran to him and flung her arms around him and kissed him fiercely.

“Be careful!” she pleaded, clinging to him. “Come back to me safely.”

“I will,” he said, startled. “What’s the matter? You haven’t been yourself, ever since our wedding night. You’re not with child, are you?” he asked, teasing.

“Of course not,” Treia said crisply. “Now you had better be going. You have far to ride before the sun sets.”

He bade her farewell and hastened to mount his horse, planning to ride as many miles as he could while there was still daylight. She smiled and waved good-bye as long as she could see him and then she went back inside.

She had a great deal of work to do. She must supervise their move into the palace of the Priest-General and select the fabric for new, elegant robes suited to her high station. Mindful that she and Raegar must continue to court the goodwill of the populace, she had arranged to lead a delegation of priestesses into the city to help alleviate the suffering of the people.

And now that Raegar was leaving, she would be alone to deal with all these responsibilities. True, she had servants to help her now, but they were merely servants. She had no friend in whom she could confide. No one to advise her, help her. Treia was an outsider, a Vindrasi “savage.” The other priestesses obeyed her only because she was the wife of the Priest-General. They had never accepted her as one of them. They had never tried to befriend her. Treia didn’t care. Her own people had never liked her, not even her own sister. Only Raegar loved her, understood her.

Treia had work enough to keep her well occupied. She would wear herself out so that at night, when she went to sleep, she would be so exhausted she would not dream the fiery dreams that had been plaguing her since she had made the bargain with Hevis.

*   *   *

Raegar enjoyed his ride through the countryside. He was riding a splendid horse, with a leather saddle of the finest quality. His one regret was that he was not wearing the resplendent armor of the Priest-General. Raegar was so large the traditional jewel-encrusted ceremonial armor did not fit him. He had to make do with his own plain armor until new armor could be made.

He had no worries about traveling alone. Captain Anker had sent soldiers ahead to make certain the road was clear of bandits and beggars and to apprise the people of the villages en route of the coming of the new Priest-General.

Raegar stayed the nights in the homes of the wealthy. He was flattered and treated to the finest of everything from wine to women. He met with the leaders of the local Church and listened to their complaints and promised he would solve all their problems.

The journey took about a fortnight. He reached the Mount of the Revelation at sunrise, meeting up with Captain Anker and his men in the foothills at the beginning of what was known as the Trail of Deliverance. A marble statue of the god Aelon stood in the center of the trail. The god wore his battle armor and held a spear in his hand. The spear was real, the haft made of polished oak and the spear tip of steel.

“It is said that if anyone tries to walk the Trail of Deliverance without the god’s sanction, the statue will plunge his spear into the man’s heart,” said Captain Anker.

Raegar looked at the spear and at the face of the god, cold, hard, implacable, the marble eyes that stared off into eternity. Raegar’s gut knotted. Aelon had chosen him. Aelon had proved that by sending the Dragon Fala to crawl to Raegar on her belly. Deep, deep in his soul, Raegar knew Treia and the Dragon Fala had plotted this between them. He had known and he could have forbidden it. He had allowed them to go ahead with their plan.

He had tricked Aelon.

If Raegar had been alone, he would have turned around and ridden back home. Captain Anker and his soldiers were all watching him expectantly. If he passed the statue without being pierced to the heart by a spear, they would carry word to Sinaria. If not, they would carry his body.

And if he proved a coward and refused to walk the trail, they would ride off and leave him. He could never go back to Sinaria. He would be jeered, derided, left to beg in the streets.

“After all,” men would say, “what do you expect? He was a slave.”

Raegar thanked the captain and his men for their service. He ordered them to take with them the two pack mules loaded with the valuable gifts he had received from the villages along the way.

The captain and his men prayed with him and then they waited. Raegar’s armor was polished. He had shaved and bathed in a chill stream and dressed himself in his best robes. He wore his breastplate, adorned with Aelon’s serpents, and girded on his sword. He got down from his horse and knelt at the foot of the statue and asked Aelon’s blessing and then, drawing in a breath, he walked past the statue.

Those few steps took a lifetime. He longed to break into a panicked run, but forced himself to walk slowly, with confidence. Sweat rolled down his body and his head and ran into his eyes. He kept walking, every moment expecting to feel the steel tip of the spear slam into his back.

He heard the soldiers cheering and only then did he realize he was safe. He stood at the beginning of the trail that led up the sacred mountain. Aelon had given Raegar his blessing.

Raegar staggered. He almost sank to his knees in relief. He leaned a moment with his hand on a tree trunk and spoke a heartfelt prayer. Then he straightened and turned to wave to Captain Anker and his men. They cheered again and waved back and then they rode off to carry the news.

Raegar was elated. The knowledge that he was Aelon’s chosen filled him with joy. He felt strong enough to run all the way up the mountain. He had a long way to go, however, and he needed to conserve his strength. After a time, he was glad for the slow pace he’d set.

The path was narrow and covered with a layer of brown needles that had fallen from the sheltering pines, which made it difficult to find. The fir trees clustering thick around the trail filled the air with a sharp invigorating scent. The needles pricked Raegar’s flesh. The path was like one of Aelon’s serpents, he thought, winding back and forth upon itself, sometimes rearing upward toward the summit and then inexplicably plunging down into crevices.

Raegar had a good sense of direction, but soon even he was confused as to where he was. He could not see his way and had no idea how far he had to go. He was hot and tired, and the needle scratches on his arms stung. Coming upon a cold mountain stream, he took off the breastplate and unbuckled his sword and dropped them to the ground. He drank his fill, splashed his head and neck with water, and sat down on a boulder to rest and think about what he should do.

The sun had climbed high in the sky. He had been walking this path since dawn and he had no idea where he was, if he was close to his destination or far, far away. He had not brought any food, for he had figured to dine at Aelon’s table. Raegar had the sudden, sickening fear that Aelon had spared his life only to let him die lost and starving on the mountain.

Sighing, he stood up and prepared to go on. He left the heavy breastplate on the ground, slung his sword belt over his shoulder, and slogged up the trail. He grew so tired he paid no attention to where he was going. He could think only of putting one foot in front of the other. And then something hissed.

Raegar stopped dead.

The serpent was in front of him, coiled up on a sun-warmed flat rock on the trail. The serpent hissed again, forked tongue flicking from its mouth.

The serpent was sacred to Aelon. Raegar couldn’t kill it. Yet the bite was deadly. The serpent blocked his way. Raegar had to get past it. The trees and underbrush were so thick, he couldn’t go around. He feared that if he stepped off the trail, he would never find it again.

This was a test. One of the tests set by the god for those who dared ascend the mountain.

Raegar drew his sword. The serpent suddenly raised up and made a darting motion. Its fangs missed Raegar by a finger’s breadth. He was hot and sweating and cold and shivering all at the same time. He prayed to Aelon, repeating the god’s name over and over. And then he had an idea.

He laid the sword in front of the serpent.

The snake’s head sank back down amid the shining coils of its body. The serpent no longer threatened him.

Raegar, quaking, began to slowly and carefully shuffle past the snake. He watched the serpent, who watched him, slit eyes following his every move. The snake did not strike. It let him pass safely. He cast a regretful glance back at his sword lying on the trail, sighed, and kept going.

And there, before him, was a cave.

Raegar was so amazed he stumbled back a step or two, for the cave seemed to have sprung up from nowhere. He approached it warily, expecting to find yet another guardian. He looked about carefully, searching for traps. No one guarded the cave. He found nothing around it but dirt and rock and trees. Raegar’s eyes filled with tears. He paused a moment to thank the god with all his heart and then he walked into the cave, into cooling darkness.

He fell to his knees and sank into a deep sleep.

*   *   *

Raegar woke to light shining in his eyes. He sat up swiftly and looked around. He was no longer in a cave. He was in a chamber such as one might find in the Empress’s palace, sumptuously and exquisitely decorated. Beautiful rugs carpeted the floor. Silk curtains lined the walls. Couches with velvet cushions were placed artfully here and there. Small tables made of rosewood stood beside the couches. The scent of jasmine filled the air.

Raegar rose to his feet. He was so tall his head nearly brushed the ceiling. He searched for a door, but if there was one, it was concealed behind the curtains. Raegar listened, but he could hear nothing. He had no idea what to do. He was uneasy. This was certainly not what he had expected.

He was about to peep behind a curtain, see if he could find a way out, when the smell of jasmine grew stronger. The curtains parted and a woman walked through them.

Raegar sighed as he gazed upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was Sinarian, with long black hair that fell in languorous curls down her back and over her shoulders. She had large dark eyes and her skin was golden brown. She wore a gown that looked as if it had been spun from cobwebs, held by golden clasps shaped like serpents at her shoulders; the gown was of such gossamer fabric as to be daringly revealing.