Bones of the Dragon

by Margaret Weis

  It took him a moment to realize this. He won. He had beaten the draugr. She gazed at him and gave a nod, then went away.

  “Garn was right,” Skylan said. “Five bones. Five Dragons of Vektia.” He started to go tell his friend, and then he remembered.

  He had no friend.

  Skylan lay down on deck. He stared into the stars and saw Aylaen’s face and heard her voice. He saw her with Garn, the two of them making love, and his vitals curled with shame and burned with jealous rage. Only when the stars began to fade did he fall into a frayed-edged sleep to wake with a start from a dream of horror he could not remember.

  The sun rose out of the sea, red and angry as Skylan’s soul. The night had been hot and the morning was hotter. No wind blew. The men said the sun had swallowed it. Skylan went onshore to rouse everyone, shouting and kicking at any who were reluctant to rise. He could not find Wulfe. Bjorn said he had seen Wulfe run off down the beach.

  The air was humid, hard to breathe. Clothing stuck to the body. Clouds of gnats appeared, flying into faces and into mouths. Pelicans flew over the waves in a straight line, their wings dipping and rising as one. Gulls circled overhead.

  The men hurried on board the ships, all eager to go back out to sea, hoping to find a cooling breeze. Skylan saw Garn standing on board the deck of Martegnan’s dragonship. Skylan pointedly looked away. He roamed the shore, searching for Wulfe.

  Skylan shouted for him, a little worried that Wulfe might have run away. Skylan could not take time to go hunt him down. The men would not tolerate hanging about waiting for the boy to turn up. Most would be glad to hear he was gone.

  Skylan gave one last shout.

  “Here I am,” said Wulfe, coming up behind him.

  “Where have you been?” Skylan demanded. He seized hold of the boy by the arm, hurrying him along.

  “Talking to my friends,” said Wulfe.

  “What friends? Never mind. You can tell me later. The ship is ready to sail.”

  “It can’t,” said Wulfe, shaking his head. “You have to stay here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Skylan said.

  Wulfe grabbed Skylan’s arm, hung on to it. “We can’t go out there! The oceanaids warned me!”

  Skylan grunted in disgust.

  “I know you don’t believe me—”

  “You’re right,” Skylan said. He hauled Wulfe up the gangplank. He made a swift head count. Everyone was on board.

  Treia had her hand on the spiritbone, communing with the Dragon Kahg. Aylaen stood beside her, presumably learning the ritual. Aylaen was not paying attention, however. She was haggard, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. She cast one pleading look at Skylan. He met her look with a stone-cold gaze. She flushed. She had felt sorry for him, but now she was growing angry.

  The three dragonships bobbed in the shallow water. Skylan waited impatiently for the Dragon Kahg to lead the ships out to sea. When nothing happened, Skylan walked over to see what was wrong.

  “The Dragon Kahg will not leave unless you order him,” Treia reported.

  “What? Why?” Skylan asked.

  Treia shrugged.

  “I think I know why,” Aylaen said. She gazed out over the water, seemed to look a long way off. “The Sea Goddess seeks revenge for the death of her sister. Akaria blames Torval and wants him to suffer as she suffers. Torval is angry and he is afraid, for Vindrash, whom he loves, has vanished and he fears she is lost to him forever.” She glared at Skylan as she spoke.

  Treia shook her head and brushed all that aside with a gesture of her hand. “What do you want to do, lord?”

  “I want to sail!” Skylan said, exasperated, and the men cheered loudly in agreement.

  Treia nodded. “The Dragon Kahg wants to know if you will take the responsibility for ordering him out to sea.”

  “I am Chief of Chiefs,” Skylan said. “The decision is mine.”

  “Very well,” said Treia, and she placed her hand upon the spiritbone.

  The Venjekar set sail, gliding over the smooth and rippling water. The other dragonships followed.

  The storm struck them shortly after High Sun.

  The storm bore down upon them rapidly, giving them no time to head back inland. No man had seen anything like it. Black clouds shot through with purple lightning boiled up from the horizon and surged over the sea. The water went from calm to frenzied in the time between one beat of the heart and another.

  The ship plunged and rocked. The seas broke over the hull and flooded the deck. Skylan ordered the men to carry their sea chests, their shields, and weapons and armor below so they would not be washed overboard. This proved difficult, for the men lost their footing on the canting deck. Some could do nothing but groan with seasickness and heave their guts over the side.

  A gust of fierce wind spewed forth from the Storm Goddess’s angry maw and came straight at them. The wind tore off the tops of the waves and spit foam into the air. The gust struck the Venjekar amidships, causing it to keel over. Men cried out and grabbed hold of ropes or the mast or each other, struggling to keep from falling off the deck that was almost perpendicular to the water. Skylan had nothing to hang on to, and he crashed up against the hull. Erdmun hurtled into him. A barrel rolled across the deck and slammed into them both.

  For a terrifying moment, the ship seemed to hang between wind and water, and then the wind suddenly abated, like a sucked-in breath, and the ship abruptly righted itself, sending men and equipment sliding over the deck in the opposite direction.

  “Did anyone fall overboard?” Skylan shouted, fighting to make himself heard against another blast of wind laced with stinging rain.

  Not that it mattered, he thought grimly. If anyone did fall into that sea, he would be lost.

  Skylan clung to the rack that held the shields and stared across the heaving, churning waves, trying to catch a glimpse of the other two ships. He could not see them due to the lancing rain and the sea spray and towering waves. Or perhaps he could not see them because they had gone under.

  He glanced across the deck to the prow where Treia and Aylaen had been standing. They were gone, and his heart stopped. Then Raegar picked himself up and helped both the women to their feet. The big man must have caught hold of the two of them as they had gone flying, and he had managed to hang on to them, saving them from the waves.

  “Take them below!” Skylan bellowed, and he jabbed his finger at the cabin.

  Raegar either understood or he knew what he had to do. Fighting the wind, holding each woman around the waist, he struggled across the deck. Skylan, bent double, half-blinded by the pelting rain, went to help.

  Lightning sizzled and thunder cracked. The wind fought them like a berserk warrior, coming at them from every direction. The Dragon Kahg would not allow the ship to sink, but he could not keep it from being tossed on the waves. Water crashed onto the deck, pulling and tugging at men’s legs, seemingly intent on dragging them to their deaths.

  Skylan managed to reach the hold. He tried to lift the hatch. The wind buffeted him, and he could not manage on his own. Raegar let go of his charges. Treia crouched on her hands and knees, her wet hair streaming over her eyes. Aylaen started to join her sister, and then she gave a wild cry and ran to the ship’s side.

  “Garn!” she screamed, leaning perilously over the rail.

  Skylan looked out and saw Garn’s face and arms and hands riding the surface of a rising wave. And then the white water broke over him and he was gone.

  “Garn!” Aylaen cried again, and Skylan realized she meant to dive into the water. He leaped to stop her. The motion of the ship sent him careening into her, and he dragged her off the rail.

  “Keep hold of her!” Skylan shouted at Raegar.

  Skylan stared into the blue-black, foam-flecked waves. He saw nothing for long moments, and then Garn, gasping for air, burst out of the water. Garn saw the dragonship, and in the space between one wave and another, one lightning strike and another, he tried to swim toward it.r />
  Skylan marked Garn’s location. Climbing up onto the rail, Skylan dived into the water.

  He plunged into sudden quiet, an almost soothing contrast from the chaotic noise of roaring wind and booming thunder. The water was dark and murky, and he could not find the surface. He floundered beneath the waves, not knowing if he was on his head or his heels, his lungs burning. Then he saw lightning flare, and he swam toward it. His head broke free of the water. He gasped for breath and searched for Garn.

  Men lined the rail, shouting and pointing. Skylan began to swim in that direction. A wave carried him up, and he saw Garn below him. The wave flung him down on his friend, practically right on top of him. The two grappled, each trying desperately to hold on to the other. The sea dragged them both below.

  Skylan managed to grab a tangle of Garn’s hair. He wrapped his arm beneath his friend’s chin and kicked toward the surface. Garn’s strength was flagging. He was almost finished, and he had sense enough to go limp in Skylan’s grip, not struggle against him in a panic that would have drowned them both.

  Skylan’s lungs seemed ready to burst. He was going to have to breathe, even if it meant breathing in his death—when his head broke free. He gulped air. Keeping Garn’s head above water, Skylan plowed doggedly through the waves. He seemed to be making little progress. If he managed to claw his way forward by an arm’s length, a wave dragged him back six.

  And then a wave carried him and Garn so near the ship that Skylan’s outstretched hand touched the hands of men leaning over, in peril of their own lives, to grab hold. The sea swept them apart and water closed over his head. Skylan despaired. His arms ached and his legs and lungs burned. He could not hold on to Garn much longer.

  He surfaced again, hauling Garn out of the water with him. Garn had lost consciousness. His eyes were closed, his mouth open. He was dead weight in Skylan’s arms.

  Perhaps he was dead in Skylan’s arms.

  I should let him go, save myself, Skylan thought. Anger raged inside him. This was a battle with Akaria, and he’d be damned if he was going to let the goddess win. He began, once more, to swim toward the Venjekar, though it seemed farther away now than ever.

  Then a wave lifted the two men up and, as if in a fit of pique, hurled them toward the ship. Skylan feared for a horrible moment that he and Garn were going to be smashed against the hull. The wave carried them up and over the rail and cast them like immense fish onto the deck. Skylan slammed painfully into the mast and came to rest in the water that was sloshing over the deck. Garn lay beside him. He was not breathing.

  The men seized hold of Garn and carried him below. They laid him on his belly and began the task of pounding his back and pumping his arms to force the water out of his lungs.

  Skylan crawled across the deck to the rudder, with some idea of trying to steer the ship inland. But the rudder was gone, broken off. Only a stump of jagged wood left behind jutted out.

  Skylan wished in that moment that the gray waves had closed over his head. He reminded himself that he was Chief of Chiefs and he was the one who had ordered the ship to sea. He staggered across the deck awash with water up to his ankles. Grabbing hold of the men, he told them to find rope and tie themselves to the mast, the prow, anything they could find. He sent men who were severely injured—and there were many of those—down to the cabin for Treia to treat.

  Finally, Skylan went below himself. Water kept running into his eyes, blinding him. He wiped it away and saw that it was blood.

  Lightning flared. The ship rocked wildly. Skylan shut the hatch and made sure it was sealed, then descended the ladder and looked around the cabin. It was hard to see in the darkness.

  “Garn?” Skylan called out. His mouth was parched from the salt water; his throat hurt.

  “Here,” Garn answered weakly. “You saved my life. Thank you.”

  “You’re one of my men,” Skylan said shortly. He could make out Aylaen, crouching near him. “Wulfe?”

  “I’m here!” Wulfe’s voice quavered. He was terrified.

  “Treia?”

  “I am safe and well, lord,” Treia replied, cold and calm as always. Skylan could not help but smile, though his smile was grim. At least some things did not change.

  Fifteen men were on the deck, tied to anything that would hold them. He took a count of the men down here and discovered, to his relief, that they had not lost anyone.

  Skylan was not feeling grateful to the gods, however. He was bitter and resentful, and he wondered if what Aylaen had said was true. The gods should be united against the foe. Why were they wasting time fighting among themselves? He and his men were nothing more than bones tossed down onto some heavenly game board.

  The Five Dragons of Vektia. Five pieces thrown onto a game board. A heavenly game. Five dragons. Moving the pieces about the board. It was like . . . it was like . . .

  Skylan frowned. He’d had a flash of understanding. If only he could think . . . but the thought slid away from him—or rather, was washed away.

  He went back up on deck and lashed himself to the mast. He crouched on the deck and listened to the creaking and groaning of the ship’s timbers. He and his people would be safe on board until the planks began to give way under the constant battering. And then not even the dragon could save them.

  Skylan had no idea how long the storm lasted. There was no day, only one horrible night that seemed to go on and on. The ship rocked and tossed and swooped up and plunged down and wallowed and foundered, and after a time Skylan came to wish that the ship would simply sink and put an end to the misery.

  He was wet and shivering. His head hurt and the old wound in his leg throbbed. Periodically he risked standing up and fought his way down to the cabin. The stench was horrible. Men were seasick, lying in their own vomit. The cabin stank of waste. They were drinking rainwater that poured down between the cracks from the deck above, catching it in drinking horns that were handed around. Skylan checked on those who were injured. Treia reported dourly that they were alive and that was the best they could hope for. He glanced at Aylaen, who sat beside Garn. They were asleep in each other’s arms.

  Skylan looked at them for a long time as the ship lurched beneath him. He finally went back up on the deck, tied himself again to the mast. He slept and woke and slept and woke. Once he found Wulfe curled up at his side like a mongrel dog.

  And then one day Skylan woke up abruptly. He lay a moment, confused, wondering what had wakened him.

  Silence.

  No howling wind. No crashing waves. No booming thunder. He looked into the night sky and saw stars.

  The storm was over. The Venjekar had survived.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Skylan scrambled to his feet. His limbs were stiff from disuse, his feet numb and cold. Around him, other men were rousing, peering around in the darkness, whispering their heartfelt thanks to Torval. The sun rose, a pale orb, pinkish red, floating in and out of tendrils of mist that writhed about the surface of the sea and made the dragon’s head ghostly.

  Skylan was uncomfortably reminded of his voyage back from Apensia, except then the fog had been dark and thick, and these mists were airy, almost ethereal, and tinged with glowing light.

  The people emerged from the hold. They stood on the deck and stared out at the mist-covered sea that was smooth and calm.

  “The goddess is still angry,” said Aylaen. “She is just worn out.”

  Skylan tried to see the other dragonships, but he could not see past the dragon’s head. The mists parted as the ship sailed into them, closed behind. He ordered the men to call out, and they hallooed across the water and banged their weapons on their shields.

  No one answered. Skylan posted a lookout. Raegar quickly volunteered. He stood at the rail most of the day, staring into the mists, trying to penetrate them. Once he offered to climb up the dragon’s carved figurehead to try to obtain a better view. Skylan refused, saying that he doubted it would bear Raegar’s weight, especially after the poun
ding it had taken during the storm. Wulfe offered to make the climb, but Raegar said that he didn’t want to risk the boy’s life.

  Skylan thought no more of this until he happened, a short time later, to see Raegar peering out into the mists. Raegar turned around, a worried expression on his face, and caught Skylan watching him. He shrugged, shook his head, and walked off. Skylan found this concern odd. If his ship had survived, there was a good chance the others had. It was not surprising they had been separated. They would meet again at the rendezvous. Perhaps Raegar was concerned about some friend, though as far as Skylan knew, Raegar had not made friends among the other clans. Skylan doubted Raegar could have named a single man. Why, then, was he taking the loss so hard?

  Skylan asked Treia to speak to the Dragon Kahg, ask him what had happened to the other dragonships. He also needed to know if the dragon knew their location and where they were bound, for the ship was sailing on a course that, according to the position of the sun, was taking them to the east.

  Treia tried to talk to the dragon with no success. Kahg would not respond. Skylan asked if the Dragon Kahg was angry with him, and Treia replied in wry tones that she considered it quite likely.

  The Venjekar had survived, but just barely, and Skylan was not sure how much longer the ship could remain afloat. They were taking on water; they had lost the rudder. The men could drink their fill of rainwater, but the food had either washed overboard or was soaked in brine and inedible. Their bellies were empty and cramping. They managed to assuage the worst of their hunger by catching a few fish. The fish were bony, and they had to eat them raw. Warriors could not survive long on such a diet.

  Treia begged the Dragon Kahg to take them inland. Again the dragon refused. He did not alter course, but continued sailing in an easterly direction. Kahg was taking them somewhere, and wherever that was, he was making haste. Seawater churned beneath the bow and flowed around the keel in a long creamy wake.

  Skylan was frustrated, but there was nothing he could do. He paced the deck or stood by the prow, staring into the mists. His men, who had been overjoyed to survive the storm, were now grumbling and muttering. Some remembered that it was Skylan who had ordered the dragon out to sea.