Bones of the Dragon (34 page)

“Where are you going, lord?” Draya asked, startled.

Skylan continued to arm himself. Perhaps he was preparing to return to his own homeland! The Torgun were slated to leave today, and Skylan might well have decided to sail with them. Draya was panic-stricken. His sudden departure would look very, very bad.

She was about to press the issue, demand an answer, when he said abruptly, “I had a dream last night. Torval came to me. He ordered me to go to Hammerfall.”

Skylan looked at her directly now, and his blue eyes were ice cold. “I have to seek the god’s forgiveness.”

Draya flushed in shame. A dream sent by the god must be acted upon, of course, but what would people think? She was about to tell Skylan he could not go, he could not possibly leave her now, but then she checked her words. Might not his departure be best for both of them?

Hammerfall was one of the most sacred sites of the Vindrasi. When Torval had finally won his battle over the Dragon Ilyrion, he had been so exhausted that his blood-covered war hammer had slipped from his hand. It had fallen an immense distance through the heavens until it struck the ground. The hammer’s head gouged out a huge crater that was perfectly round with high walls and a smooth floor of black shining rock where nothing would grow. Warriors often traveled to Hammerfall to ask Torval’s blessing before going to war or to dedicate a new sword or battle axe. Those who had told lies or done something else dishonorable went to Hammerfall to seek the god’s forgiveness.

Hammerfall was located south of Vindraholm. The journey would take Skylan a fortnight, at least. Time spent alone, time to cool off, think things over. When the young man returned, he would feel better, and they could start over.

“I think that is an excellent idea, lord. Though, of course,” Draya added in a low voice, “you must keep your reason for going a secret.”

Skylan’s lip curled. “If anyone asks, madam, I will say that I am traveling to Hammerfall to thank the god for the very great favor he has bestowed on me by giving you for my wife.”

Draya flinched at his piercing sarcasm.

“I have a meeting with the Clan Chiefs this morning,” Skylan continued, gathering his things. “Then I must bid farewell to my father and my clansmen. I will depart immediately after that.”

Draya noticed Skylan was limping—his wound pained him. She knew better than to offer to help him. She could give him another kind of assistance, however.

“The journey is a long one. Too long for you to make on foot. If you go to the horse pen, lord, you will find another of my gifts to you: the black stallion
with the white blaze. He is battle-trained and very fast. According to Sven, who bred him, he can run a hole in the wind. His name is Blade.”

Skylan stopped in his work. A horse was a valuable and treasured gift. He frowned, as though considering whether or not to accept it. He obviously did not want to be beholden to her.

“As Chief of Chiefs,” said Draya, seeing his dilemma, “it is right and proper that you have a fine mount.”

Skylan thought this over and nodded. “I thank you,” he said stiffly. “Your gift is . . . most generous.”

“What will you and the Chiefs discuss?” Draya asked, trying to make conversation.

He seemed about to tell her it was none of her business. Then he shrugged. “What do you think, madam? We must make plans to recover the Vektan Torque from the ogres. While I am on my journey, the Chiefs will gather their warriors. On my return, they will be ready to sail—”

“—to the Hall of Vektia,” said Draya. She dared not look at him. “You must have forgotten, Husband. First we sail to the Dragon Isles. You must present yourself as Chief of Chiefs to the gods—”

“The gods know me well enough already!” Skylan said angrily. “You are Kai Priestess! Do
you
want to leave the Vektan Torque in the hands of the ogres?”

“No, lord, of course I do not,” said Draya. “But you have no idea where the ogres’ lands are located!”

“I will find them,” said Skylan.

“At the Hall of Vektia, we could ask Vindrash—”

“You can ask her now!” Skylan flared, glaring at Draya. “Why sail all the way to the Dragon Isles to speak to her?”

Skylan started to leave.

He is young and impatient, Draya counseled herself. He doesn’t understand.

“My lord,” she said, “we will first sail to the Dragon Isles. Together. While we are there, we will ask the gods’ blessing for your voyage to the ogre lands.”

Skylan didn’t wait to hear the rest. Muttering something she was thankful she could not hear, he banged out the door, letting it slam shut after him.

Draya felt faint. She tried to reach a stool, but her legs gave way and she sank to the floor.

“Vindrash,” she prayed, clasping her hands, “you know the reason I committed this terrible crime. You know I did not kill Horg out of hatred or revenge, though you also know no woman ever had better cause! What else could I do, Vindrash? He was threatening to destroy the Kai, and with it the faith, which is all that keeps our people alive! I did what I had to do!
You know that, Vindrash! I had no choice. Do not abandon me, Goddess! Do not!”

Draya listened tensely, waiting to hear the soothing, sibilant whisper of the goddess. She heard the fussing of robins, the sigh of the wind in the trees, the distant crashing of waves on the shore, but no sound of the goddess’s voice.

Draya shuddered. Sighing deeply, she rose to her feet, gathered her robes around her, forced her lips to form a smile, and made her way to the Great Hall of the Gods.

Skylan left the house seething, half-blinded with rage. He was Chief of Chiefs! How dare she order him about? Now, instead of sailing off to battle and glory, he would have to endure a voyage with her! Skylan had considered defying her, but he knew that would never work. He was dependent on the Bone Priestesses. No dragon would sail without them. Draya had only to say the word, and his voyage to the ogre lands would end before it began.

Skylan could not bear to face the Clan Chiefs. He decided to go to the pen where the horses were kept. He was still of two minds whether to accept the horse or not. He disliked the thought of taking anything from his wife. Yet, Draya was right. As Chief of Chiefs, it was proper and fitting that he should have a fine mount.

He spotted Blade immediately. With his shining black coat, he stood out from the others in the community horse pen. The white mark on his forehead, shaped like a sword’s blade, had inspired his name. Several young boys hanging about the horse pen were glad to help Skylan catch Blade and escort him out of the pen.

Blade was a proud animal who did not take kindly to being ridden, undoubtedly believing that having a man on his back was an affront to his dignity. When Skylan tried to put the saddle on him, Blade kicked and bucked, sending the small boys scrambling. Skylan laughed. He was glad the horse had spirit.

He was pleased with Draya’s gift, though that did not mean he felt kindly toward the giver. Skylan had relived the battle over and over during the long night. Writhing in shame, he saw Horg collapse in agony, clasping his gut, and Skylan saw himself, triumphantly stabbing a dying man. Skylan hated Draya more now than he had when she’d first confessed, if that were possible.

I will take her gift, Skylan decided. Though not for love. She owes me reparation, and this will be part of her payment.

He offered Blade an apple, in token of friendship, and rubbed his nose and made much of him. Blade appeared inclined to think better of Skylan, and
the horse deigned to allow him to mount, though he kept a wary eye on him.

Though Skylan did not own a horse, he knew how to ride. When he was young, his father had captured a horse in a raid, and he had taught his little son to ride. The horse had died a few winters ago, and Norgaard had not replaced it, much to his son’s disappointment. Now Skylan himself owned a horse, a fine animal, one any man might envy.

Skylan rode Blade to the Chief’s Hall, where the Clan Chiefs were already assembling. He was a bit late, for he and Blade had a dispute over which of them was going to be the master. Blade at first ignored Skylan’s commands and took off at a gallop, heading straight for a low-hanging tree branch in an effort to dislodge him. Skylan flattened himself down over the horse’s neck and hung on grimly. Blade tore over the fields and jumped a creek. Then, worn out, the horse came to a halt and stood blowing and puffing. He swiveled an eye around to Skylan, bowed his head, and shook his mane.

Skylan, who was thankful he hadn’t broken his neck, patted the horse to show that all was forgiven. From then on, Blade did as Skylan commanded.

The Chiefs’ Meeting went well, better than many of the Chiefs had expected. The men were skeptical about their new Chief of Chiefs, viewing him as an arrogant young pup, all swagger and bark, which is certainly how he’d appeared on his wedding day.

Skylan’s guilty secret and his own inner turmoil served him well, forcing him to consider carefully every word before he spoke it. Skylan had never undergone anything so agonizing. He expected any moment that someone would stand up to accuse him. When no one did so, Skylan began to breathe easier. He still had to keep up his guard, with the result that he gave thought to what he said, and came across as far more mature and less reckless than he might have been. He saw Norgaard had been on edge, worried that Skylan might make a fool of himself. Norgaard relaxed and gave his son one of his rare smiles.

The Chiefs were keen to go to war against the ogres, and they were ready to give Skylan dragonships, warriors, silver—whatever he needed. Skylan said he had to postpone the war. He must first sail to the Dragon Isles. He secretly hoped the Chiefs would be upset by this. If the Chiefs showed a united front to the Kai Priestess, he could insist that they first go after the ogres. The Chiefs were content to wait until he had returned from this voyage, however, and Skylan could only fume silently at the delay.

The meeting was coming to a close when Skylan announced that he was traveling to Hammerfall and that he would be leaving this day.

That news caused considerable astonishment. Skylan told them that Torval
had appeared to him in a dream, commanding him to go to Hammerfall, there to thank the god for his manifold blessings.

The Chiefs discussed this. All agreed that Skylan had much to be thankful for. Torval had made the young man Chief of Chiefs at the age of eighteen years, rewarding him with riches and a wife. The fact that Skylan was undertaking such a journey after having spent only a single night with his new bride was proof of his piety and devotion.

The meeting broke up soon after this discussion. Now that the Vutmana and the wedding celebrations were over, the Chiefs were eager to return to their clans. Several who were heading north said they would be honored to have Skylan accompany them. He thanked them, but told them he needed to perform his journey alone. Since this journey had been commanded by Torval, the Chiefs understood and wished him well.

Norgaard waited until the others had left; then he drew his son aside and regarded him shrewdly. “Torval appeared to you in a dream?” he said.

“Yes, Father,” Skylan answered. He was pleased with himself. He had gained the Chiefs’ admiration and respect.

Norgaard’s brows came together. He fixed his son with a troubled gaze. “You never dream, Skylan. You always boast of that.”

Skylan’s tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. He did not know what to say. The truth was, he had dreamed no dream. Skylan had been wide awake when he concocted his plan to go to Hammerfall; he’d lied when he said the god had commanded him. He had been quite proud of his own cleverness. As a Priestess, Draya would have to honor the god’s wishes and let Skylan go. And by traveling to Hammerfall, Skylan could escape his wife’s loathsome presence. He’d forgotten all about the blasted voyage to the Dragon Isles. And he’d forgotten all about the fact that he always boasted of never dreaming.

“There is a first time for everything, Father,” Skylan said at last.

Norgaard eyed him, then let the matter drop.

“You did well with the Chief’s meeting, my son. I am proud of you.”

“Thank you, Father,” said Skylan, grimacing.

His lies gnawed at him, tearing at his insides like carrion crows feasting on a corpse.

“Is something wrong?” Norgaard asked, concerned.

“I did not get much sleep last night, that is all,” said Skylan.

He abruptly changed the subject, calling upon his father to admire his new horse, and asking for advice on how best to care for the beast. Norgaard said he had never seen a finer animal, and their talk centered on horses all the way to the beach.

They arrived at the
Venjekar
to find the Torgun ready to sail. The warriors were already on board, their colorful shields lining the bulwarks. They
grinned when Skylan came into view and shouted the customary crude remarks regarding his prowess and staying power that always greeted a new bridegroom the morning after.

Treia had not yet gone aboard. She was still onshore, the gods alone knew why. She looked dour and grim as always, and she said nothing to Skylan, though he greeted her politely. He wondered where Aylaen was, assumed she was on the ship. Just as well. Seeing her now would be too painful.

He cast a swift glance about for Garn and did not see him either. Skylan gave an inward sigh of relief. He could lie to all the world and get away with it, but he could never lie successfully to his friend and brother.

“You truly intend to go to Hammerfall?” Norgaard asked.

“Torval has given me so many blessings, I would be lacking in duty and respect if I disobeyed his command,” Skylan answered glibly.

“What does Draya say to your leaving?”

“My wife”—Skylan had to work to speak without gagging—“supports me in my decision. Where is Garn?”

“He went into town hoping to meet you,” Norgaard replied. “We must have missed him—Ah, look.” Norgaard gestured. “Here he comes now.”

Skylan turned to see both Garn and Aylaen hurrying across the beach.

“Here you are!” Aylaen called. “We went in search of you. Draya said we should find you here.”