Treia caressed his chest and said, “For my bride gift, I would like the spiritbone of the Dragon Fala.”
Raegar grunted and tried to roll over. “It is early to be talking of bride gifts.”
Treia kissed his ear. “You know nothing of dragons. You summoned a fire dragon over water!”
Raegar stirred in displeasure, but he was too tired to argue.
Treia continued, soft and persuasive. “I have spent my life studying dragons. I thought all those years studying to be Bone Priestess were wasted, but now I know differently. This was Aelon’s plan.”
Raegar opened one eye, half-turned his shoulder.
“Marry me, my love,” said Treia. “Give me the Dragon Fala, and nothing and no one can stand in your way.”
Raegar gazed at her intently. As she playfully traced the serpent tattoo on his head with her finger, she could follow the thought process going on beneath it. He saw the wisdom of her words. He didn’t know anything about dragons and now the Dragon Fala was off sulking somewhere. He had no idea how to get her back. What was more, he was flattered by the idea that Aelon had planned this union all along; that Aelon had been grooming her, making her ready for him. Marrying her would ensure her loyalty, bind her to him. And marriage did not mean that he had to remain faithful. Treia understood that, though she did not like it.
“The dragon will be your bride gift, my love,” Raegar said. “And now, let me get some sleep.”
He closed his eyes and nestled his head on her breast and was soon snoring. Treia held him close and gloried in her triumph. She thought, a little sadly, how easily he could be manipulated.
“This could be a problem,” Treia said to him as he lay deep in slumber. She kissed his cheek. “But don’t fear, my own. I will watch out for you. I will protect you from those others who would flatter and seduce you.”
The wedding would be simple, she decided. And it would be soon.
CHAPTER
14
Following the disaster that had befallen their city, the Warrior-Priests of Aelon went out among the people and tried to help. They found to their dismay that no one wanted their help. In fact, many wanted them dead. Searching for someone to blame for the catastrophe, the people latched on to Aelon, the god who had failed to protect them from the ogres and the terrors of the Vektia dragon. The survivors turned their rage on the priests, who were forced to retreat beneath the onslaught and take refuge in their enclave.
Trapped inside their own Shrine, the priests of Aelon looked at each other and wondered what to do now. Warrior-Priest Raegar had taken charge at the height of the terror. They had welcomed his swift, decisive leadership and many had spoken of him as being the next Priest-General. Raegar had been absent several days now. He had purportedly taken a war galley to sea to finish off the ogres and some said he was most likely dead. Among the loudest of these was a young Warrior-Priest named Thanos, who had been Xydis’s closest friend, his confidante, and his bastard son.
Xydis had been grooming his son to succeed him as Priest-General. Thanos would have been in the arena with Xydis and the Empress that fateful day Treia summoned the Vektia dragon and might well have died there with his father and so many others, for he had been invited to sit with the Empress in her box which had collapsed on top of her. He had been suffering from a severe head cold, however, and had been forced to decline. The Empress disliked being around sick people.
As it was, Thanos had been knocked unconscious when the roof of his father’s house collapsed, but he had escaped serious injury. When he came to his senses some time later, he had been forced to dig his way out of the rubble. Once free, he went immediately to the Shrine, arriving shortly after Raegar had left to chase ogres.
Thanos found the members of the Council of Warrior-Priests in a state of confusion bordering on panic. Xydis was dead. The Empress was dead and had left no heir. They were quarreling over what to do. Some said they should go among the people to help, whether the people wanted them or not. Others said they should stay where they were and pray to Aelon for guidance. Still others advocated they should take up arms, to be ready when the mobs attacked.
Everyone was relieved to see Thanos. They were all glad to turn to him with their problems, eager to hear his council. Thanos was an attractive man, tall and well-built. He had the good fortune to resemble the statue of Aelon that stood in the rotunda of the public Shrine. His face was chiseled, his brow prominent. He was Xydis’s son, born out of wedlock, though since his mother had died birthing him, her identity was only rumored, not known. Thanos had been raised in the church. He knew all its secrets. He confidently expected to succeed to the position of Priest-General.
Thanos was fond of good food, good wine, and bad women. He had the ability to keep his appetites under control, however, hidden from the public eye. He was a well-spoken young man, good-looking, charming, shrewd, and ambitious. Thanos was fortunate that his own faith in Aelon had not been shaken by the terrible events, because he had no faith to shake. Thanos did not believe in Aelon or any other god. He believed in himself.
Thanos apologized for being late. His excuse was that his house had fallen down on top of him. The priests were shocked to see the great gash in his head and urged him to go back to his bed. Thanos said the pain was nothing. He was here because he was needed. They told him, sadly, of his father’s death. He bore up well at the news, saying that grief would come later, they must now deal with this terrible emergency. All of them were talking at once, arguing and yammering. Thanos listened as best he could through the throbbing pain in his head. His glance strayed to the bronze doors that led to the private offices of the Priest-General. No one was permitted to enter the bronze doors without the Priest-General’s knowledge and permission. Beyond those doors was the dark and mysterious chamber of the Watchers and the treasure vault.
The bronze doors were wide open.
“Where are the guards?” asked Thanos, alarmed.
The priests all turned to follow his gaze. Not a guard in sight.
The Warrior-Priests, led by Thanos, rushed in a body through the bronze doors only to find themselves in pitch darkness. The halls were always shadowy, dimly lit by thin shafts of sunlight slanting down from skylights in the ceiling. Today the sky was dark. The smoke of burning obliterated the sun. Aelon’s blessed light had gone out. Thanos sent men back for torches.
He crept through the dark hallway until he came to the room of the Watchers. Aelon’s light still burned in this room, as small fires sputtered atop the water bowls. The Watchers still occupied their places, receiving messages from Aelon’s chosen who had gone forth to bring the light of the god to the benighted world. Thanos and the Warrior-Priests stopped to stare in amazement at the Watchers, who were continuing to work in quiet calm, as though nothing had happened.
“Do not disturb them,” said Thanos softly.
He continued down the hallway until he came to stand in front of the steel doors of the treasure vault. A Warrior-Priest guarded this door day and night. Anyone wanting to enter had to ask Aelon for permission.
The steel door was smooth, unadorned. The door had no handle, no means to open it except by Aelon’s grace. When the god granted the supplicant’s prayer, the door would rise noiselessly into the rock wall above. When those inside the vault departed, the door dropped down and sealed shut.
Thanos and the other priests stood in the light of the torches, staring at the steel door and at the body of the Warrior-Priest that lay in front of it.
“I know this man,” said one. “Kleitos was on guard duty the night the dragon struck.”
“How did he die?” asked another. “He wasn’t attacked. His sword is still in his scabbard. There’s no blood, no wound.”
“I know,” said the first priest grimly. “See how he lies with his hand stretched toward the door. He was trying to break inside. Aelon struck him down!”
Thanos eyed the body. He had no doubt that the priest was right. Kleitos was going to take advantage of the confusion and terror to help himself to some jewels and a golden chalice or two. Thanos did not believe that Kleitos had suffered from heavenly retribution. Far more likely he’d set off the trap meant to deter thieves. If they searched the body, they’d find a poisoned dart lodged in his belly or a poisoned needle in his finger.
“We should open this door,” said a priest. “Check to see if we have been robbed.”
Thanos looked up expectantly at the others only to find them looking at him.
“You must pray to Aelon, Thanos,” said one of the Warrior-Priests. “Xydis meant for you to be his successor. All of us know that. Aelon will open the door for you.”
Thanos sneezed. The sudden violent movement caused his head to throb. He pressed his hand to his pounding forehead and wished he had stayed in bed where he belonged. Now they were all expecting him to fall to his knees and pray and the door would open.
Thanos had seen Xydis standing in front of the door, praying to Aelon. He had seen the door open for him. Xydis had claimed this was the god’s blessing. Thanos had outwardly agreed. Inwardly he’d been offended. Did his father truly think him that simple? Thanos had done a little investigating on his own and discovered the hidden mechanical device that opened the door, though he could not find out the secret to how it worked. Thanos had known better than to ask his father, for Xydis either was or pretended to be a pious man and Thanos did not want to suffer through yet another sermon on his sins.
He had kept his eyes open and whenever he had entered the vault in company with his father, Thanos would surreptitiously nudge stones to see if any were loose, press his foot on various tiles, look for tiny latches or other mechanisms concealed in the wall. He had never found anything, but he knew such a device existed. Thanos looked at the corpse and was thankful he had never given in to the temptation to go poking about the door in search of it.
The others were waiting impatiently for him to begin to pray. Thanos heaved a sigh and shook his head, a motion that caused boulders to roll around the inside of his skull.
“Only the Priest-General can open this door,” he said.
“But there is no doubt, Thanos—”
“You will certainly be chosen—”
Thanos started to shake his head again and stopped himself in time. “It would not be right. Aelon must not be robbed of his choice.”
The others agreed, except for one who insisted that the treasure might have been stolen.
“I believe we can rest assured that the treasure is safe. As the unfortunate Kleitos discovered, Aelon stands guard here,” said Thanos. “We have our own work to do. We must tend to our wounded and bury our dead.”
He apportioned out duties. When the priests had all departed, only Thanos and the Head of the Council of Warrior-Priests, a middle-aged man named Atemis, stood in front of the steel door. The priests had carried off the body of Kleitos, taking him to the mass grave they were digging for their dead. Thanos would have liked to have examined the corpse, see if he could discover the cause of death, but he feared the others would grow suspicious. The cause of death, in their eyes, was the wrath of the god.
“You should go to your bed, Thanos,” said Atemis kindly.
Thanos thought longingly of his bed, gave it up with regret.
“Someone must enter my father’s office,” said Thanos. He would not ordinarily have referred to Xydis as his father, but he could trust Atemis, who had been his father’s best friend. “Examine his papers. Burn any that are private or … um … potentially damaging.”
“That can wait,” said Atemis. He was a good man, but a dull one, not particularly quick to catch on.
“Not if you fear the Shrine will be attacked,” said Thanos.
Atemis understood at last. He cast Thanos a grave glance. “I would say you would be the best suited to that delicate task, but you are in pain—”
“I will undertake it,” said Thanos, and he added with a wry smile, “I am not being noble or heroic, I assure you, sir. My head hurts as much lying down as sitting up and the work will distract me.”
“You are a wise young man, Thanos,” said Atemis. “You will make an excellent Priest-General.”
“When will the Council meet to make the selection?”
“After your father’s funeral.” Atemis looked uncomfortable. “The deliberations might take some time.”
“Why?” Thanos asked, surprised. “Has someone else stepped forward to claim the position?”
“You have no rivals, but there are those who think you are too young and others who question your dedication to the Church. You have been frequently absent from Sinaria—”
“Traveling on the business of the Church,” said Thanos. “I was my father’s emissary on such occasions.”
“We are all aware of that, but there are those who will bring that up.” Atemis gave a meaningful cough, then added, “If, for example, someone searching his office were to find a missive in which Xydis made his wishes regarding his successor known—a letter to a friend, perhaps. There would then be no question.”
Thanos smiled. “Thank you, Atemis. I am certain such a document might be found.”
Atemis departed with a prayer that Aelon would restore Thanos to health. Thanos lit an oil lamp and entered his father’s office and gazed in some dismay at the myriad scrolls stacked on racks, tucked in baskets, nestled in cubbyholes. He thought with a groan of reading through them all in search of a letter naming him heir and was momentarily sorry he’d volunteered for this duty.
Far easier, as Atemis had obliquely suggested, to forge the letter. His father had relied on a number of scribes, so Thanos did not even have to copy the handwriting.
“But what will that gain me?” Thanos muttered to himself. “I could be named Priest-General tomorrow and then what? Everyone will expect me to pray open that damn door.”
Thanos did not for one moment believe that Aelon could reach down from heaven and open that door. But if that was true … If beyond all rational thought and logic, there happened to be an Aelon, the god was not likely to open the door to the treasure vault for Thanos, a nonbeliever.