“Armor made of dragon scales,” said Aylaen.
She had heard tales of such armor in legend and song. The Vindrasi hero Hagbard, who was said to have fought the fearsome monsters that roamed the land when the world was new, had worn armor made of dragon scales.
She found, as well, a white tunic of softest leather to wear beneath the armor, white leather breeches, and matching boots. A wonderful gift and there could be only one giver.
“Thank you, Vindrash,” Aylaen said reverently. “I take this as a sign—”
She was startled by a loud thud, as of something falling, and then sounds of a scuffle and then silence. The sounds had come from the back of the hold.
“Farinn? Is that you?” Aylaen called.
She had left the young man on deck with Acronis, but perhaps he had come down into the hold in search of something.
No answer.
“Wulfe, after you started that fire, I warned you not to come down here,” Aylaen said in stern tones.
She waited to see Wulfe bolt out of the back, making a mad scramble for the ladder before she could catch him.
Nothing happened. Wulfe did not appear.
Aylaen took hold of her sword, slowly rose to her feet and began to pad softly toward the stern, where they stored empty barrels, coils of rope, and the nets they used for fishing.
She heard the sounds again and she was thinking some of the cargo must have shifted when a pile of tangled fishnet gave a heave and started to stand. She could see feet poking out from underneath the net and arms flailing about, trying to cast it off.
Aylaen pointed her sword at the netting.
“I am armed,” she said. “Show yourself!”
A rotund figure emerged, finally managing to fight his way out of the fishnet. He was dressed in fine clothes, such as one might wear to a wedding, but they were filthy and disheveled and smelled of fish. He looked very forlorn and very frightened.
“Joabis!” Aylaen said, amazed and not particularly pleased. “What are you doing hiding on my ship?”
“My island is under attack,” Joabis said, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his tunic. “We must leave at once. Tell your dragon to sail away as fast as he can and take me with you. Oh, and by the way,” he added, regarding her with a hurt expression, “I was the one who gave you that fine dragon-scale armor. Not Vindrash.”
“You! Why?” Aylaen gasped.
“To thank you for saving me—”
“I’m not saving you!” said Aylaen. “Where is Skylan?”
“Off somewhere fighting,” said Joabis. “He was the one who sent me. He said to tell you it isn’t safe and you must flee—”
“Do you have the spiritbone?” Aylaen asked, lowering her sword. “Is that why Skylan sent you?”
“The what?” Joabis asked uneasily.
“The spiritbone of the Vektia,” Aylaen repeated. “I know Vindrash gave it to you. Have you saved it from Aelon? Do you have it with you?”
“No,” said Joabis. “But I left it somewhere safe.”
“For Aelon to find,” Aylaen said, glowering in anger.
“Aelon doesn’t have time to look for it,” Joabis assured her. “The god is busy fighting—”
“Fighting Skylan!” Aylaen exclaimed. She pressed the point of her sword against Joabis’s belly. “That is why you brought him to this island. You flee and leave him to fight your battle!”
“We made a bargain,” said Joabis, gulping. “If he and the other dead warriors drive away Aelon, I will restore their lives. If you could just … remove that sword…”
Aylaen glared at him and then let the sword fall.
“Skylan is fighting the army of a god,” she said. “Can he win?”
“He seemed to think so,” said Joabis.
Aylaen shook her head with a smile. “Skylan has never met the foe he did not believe he could defeat.”
She thought a moment. “If you are right and Aelon is preoccupied with battle, then this would be a good time to recover the spiritbone. Where is the hiding place?”
Joabis recoiled, staring at her in horror. “You’re not serious! Aelon is looking for me!”
“He won’t be looking for me,” Aylaen said. “Tell me where to find it.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just sail away?” Joabis asked plaintively.
“Positive,” said Aylaen. “You did give me that fine armor. This will be my chance to wear it.”
Joabis heaved a deep sigh. “So long as you don’t expect me to come with you.”
The god gave her directions to the shrine and instructed her on how to remove the spiritbone from the statue. Aylaen listened carefully, making certain she understood.
“How goes the battle?” she asked when he was finished.
“Skylan and his forces are outnumbered,” Joabis answered, adding in reassuring tones, “But the last I saw, they were holding their own. Your Skylan is a bold rascal. Torval thinks well of him. Still, you should hurry if you’re going to find the spiritbone before Aelon does. Oh, and don’t tell anyone I’m here. Aelon has spies everywhere.”
Joabis dropped to his hands and knees on the deck and crawled back under the fishnet.
She went back to change into the leather breeches and tunic, and thrust her arms into the dragon-scale shirt, pulling it over her head and shoulders. The shirt was long, extending to her knees, and fit her well. She buckled on her sword, cast an exasperated glance in the direction of the pile of net, and started up the ladder.
“If you must know,” said a sepulchral voice from out of the fishnet. “I lied. Vindrash was the one who sent the armor.”
Aylaen smiled and went up on deck, trying to think what she was going to tell Acronis and Farinn. Acronis was wearing his breastplate and his sword and was assisting Farinn to put on his leather armor. The two stopped what they were doing to stare at her.
“What marvelous armor!” said Acronis in admiring tones. “I’ve never seen chain mail like that.”
“It is made of dragon scales,” said Aylaen, flushing with pleasure. “I need to talk with all of you and the dragon. Where is Wulfe?”
“At the sight of our weapons, he ran off to the stern,” Farinn replied, adding by way of explanation, “The iron.”
Aylaen might not have believed Wulfe’s claim that iron burned his flesh, but she had seen for herself the bloody wounds on the boy’s hands when he had tried to clean Skylan’s sword.
She raised her voice. “Wulfe, I need to talk to you.”
“Take off your swords,” said Wulfe.
“No iron will hurt you,” she promised.
Wulfe refused to budge and at last Aylaen and Acronis laid down their weapons. Farinn drew his sword from its sheath and nervously dropped it; the blade nearly sliced through the bard’s boot. Wulfe made a hooting noise, Farinn blushed, and Acronis cast a resigned glance at Aylaen. He had been trying to teach Farinn to wield a sword, but thus far the young man hadn’t made much progress.
Aylaen walked over to speak to the Dragon Kahg. His eyes were narrowed and hooded, but she could see a slit of angry fire.
“You know Joabis is on board,” she said.
“I know,” Kahg growled. “The wretch begs me to protect him.”
“The task is onerous, but I think you must,” said Aylaen. “Aelon is searching for him and if he finds him, Joabis will reveal all he knows.”
The Dragon Kahg snorted. His gaze shifted, and Aylaen’s new armor shone red in the glow of the dragon’s eyes.
“A gift from Vindrash,” said Kahg.
“I believe so, yes,” said Aylaen. “I think the armor is very old and valuable. Only the ancient heroes wore such armor.”
“It is very old,” said Kahg. “The scales are Ilyrion’s.”
Aylaen caught her breath, not sure what to make of this. By this time, Farinn and Acronis had joined her at the prow. Wulfe sidled closer to inspect her armor, taking care not to touch it.
“Those are dragon scal
es,” he said in tones of respect. “Is it magic? Dragon magic?”
“I don’t know,” said Aylaen. “I hope not. Listen, I have to tell you something important and I don’t have much time. I know the reason Aelon sent soldiers to this island. The fourth spiritbone is here. He is searching for it and I believe I know where it is. I must find it before he does. I am going ashore—”
“We will go with you,” said Acronis.
Aylaen shook her head. “I need you to stay on board, guard the Venejekar.”
“What about the god in the hold?” Wulfe asked. “Are we supposed to guard him, too?”
“There is no god. I don’t have time for such nonsense,” Aylaen said, fixing Wulfe with a grim look.
“It’s not nonsense,” Wulfe said, aggrieved. “You talked to him.”
“Is there a god in the hold?” Acronis asked.
Aylaen sighed. “Yes, but I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Joabis fled his island and came seeking the dragon’s protection. He told me where to find the spiritbone.”
Acronis and Farinn both looked amazed and obviously were eager to ask more questions. Aylaen turned back to the dragon. She didn’t have the answers.
“We must sail east along the isle until we come to an inlet protected by mangroves,” she told the dragon. “You can hide the ship there.”
“I can see the fighting,” said Acronis suddenly.
They lined the rail to watch.
“A strange and terrible sight,” said Farinn, awed. “The dead fight the dead.”
The battle was eerily, utterly quiet. Warriors were ghostly, insubstantial images, reflections floating on the sea of death. Swords struck shields and hammers battered helms without making a sound. The dead died silently.
Aylaen looked for Skylan. She knew where he would be: where the fighting was fiercest, the battle blazed hottest. She could not see him and, as the ship sailed east, the battle receded into the distance and then vanished like mist in the bright sunshine.
The Venejekar rounded a point and they kept a lookout for the inlet Joabis had mentioned. He had said it was sheltered among the mangroves, but that was not much help, for this part of the isle was thick with mangroves, perching like herons on their prop roots that thrust up out of the water.
They had almost sailed past the inlet before anyone saw it. Farinn caught a glimpse of an opening among the leaves and called to the dragon. Kahg sailed the Venejekar into the inlet, gliding between banks lined with mangroves. Aylaen knew they were in the right place when they came across Joabis’s own dragonship tied to a tree root.
The sun blazed in the sky, shining on the water. The air was hot and humid and so still she could hear the waves gently lapping among the mangrove roots. She was already sweating in the leather tunic, pants, and armor.
Joabis had told her that a narrow trail led inland. Kahg edged the Venejekar’s prow in among the roots near the trail. The ship bumped on the roots and came to halt.
“Do you insist on going alone?” Acronis asked.
“I will be in no danger,” said Aylaen. “This part of the island is deserted. I need you to stay with Farinn and Wulfe and … Skylan.”
She looked over at Skylan’s body lying on the deck. His face was ashen, showing no sign of life. She felt a jab of fear. What if Wulfe was wrong? What if Joabis lied? What if Skylan’s kiss had been nothing more than a breath of wind on her face?
She shivered, despite the heat.
Acronis felt her shudder and guessed her fears. “What does your heart tell you, Aylaen?”
“That Skylan is alive,” she replied. “But he looks so pale and cold and still.”
“The eyes of reason can sometimes be blind, whereas the eyes of love see clearly,” said Acronis. “A lesson you and Skylan have taught me. I will keep strict watch for any enemies. After all, we have a god in the hold.”
CHAPTER
15
The Venejekar floated among the prop roots of the mangroves, nudging the bushlike trees as it rocked gently back and forth in the shallows. Acronis secured the ship with ropes around the roots, holding it steady while Farinn helped Aylaen climb onto the thick tangle of roots and from there to the swampy shore.
When she finally reached solid ground, her hands and arms were scratched and she was parched and sweating. She was wearing the dragon-scale armor over the leather tunic, her sword, and a drawstring bag that she had tied to her sword belt. She paused to drink from a freshwater stream that flowed into the swamp, then followed the trail into the village of the dead.
The place was deserted. Longhouses were empty and silent. No one walked the streets. Looking inside a dwelling, she could see half-eaten food on the tables, overturned benches, spilled wine. The revelers had fled in haste.
Even the gods and dead men feared Aelon.
The trail led past the village into a forest, where it became more difficult to follow, sometimes disappearing altogether in the thick growth. After a hot and weary hike, Aylaen pushed through trees that formed a green wall of vegetation and entered the garden. She paused a moment to catch her breath and marvel at the beauty.
Flowers of every hue and shape that could possibly exist spilled their fragrance into the air. Butterflies of many types fluttered among the blossoms. Sunlight flashed on ponds filled with darting golden fish.
The only sound was the droning of the bees and the occasional rustle of leaves. Aylaen found it hard to imagine that a battle raged not far from this peaceful, idyllic place.
The Hall of the Gods was identical to the Hall in her village. Cool air washed over her in the shadows as she went inside. She had to wait for her eyes to adjust to locate the marble statue of Joabis. He had described it as magnificent. She would have said it was grandiose, more suited to one of the marble temples of Sinaria than to a simple wooden longhouse. Aylaen drew near the statue to examine the marble brooch pinned to the statue’s marble chest.
She could see at once that the brooch was one of the spiritbones and she wondered how Joabis thought it would fool anyone. She touched the cold marble and spoke what Joabis had taught her to say, which was, of course, a prayer in homage to Joabis.
“God of Revels, you who ease sorrow with ale that lifts the spirit and banishes the cares of the day and wine that celebrates all the epochs in our lives, bring joy to my heart now and ever after.”
The marble seemed to melt beneath her fingers like frost and the brooch came to life. The rubies sparkled with fire, the gold petals burned with a bright sheen. The dragon holding the spiritbone gazed at her with unblinking red ruby eyes. She quickly took the brooch from the statue, tucked it inside the drawstring bag and was starting to leave when she heard, outside the shrine, the sounds of children laughing.
Aylaen was astonished. Freilis, the Goddess of the Tally, cared for the souls of dead children, keeping them safe until their parents could come for them. She went to the door to look out into the garden, thinking that such laughter came from the living, not the dead.
A girl of about eight was hiding behind a tall flowering rosebush. The girl had greenish blue eyes, a face covered with freckles, and fair hair with a tinge of red that she wore in two braids down her back. She was wearing boy’s clothes—leather tunic and trousers—and she crouched behind her bush, clutching a wooden sword in her hand, as a boy of about the same age ran into the garden.
He was tall with the same fair, red-tinged hair, except that his was cut short, and the same freckles. He was also armed with a wooden sword and he slowed as he entered the garden, searching warily, holding his sword in front of him.
“I know you are here, Holma,” he called. “You might as well give yourself up.”
Aylaen gave a little gasp. Holma was her mother’s name and she had always thought that if she ever had a daughter, she would name her Holma. Aylaen retreated into the shadows of the shrine so that the children would not see her, and watched their play.
The girl kept quiet as the boy continued to search, sometimes lun
ging at a bush and once leaping behind a tree, shouting that he had caught her. At this, the girl began to laugh and had to cover her mouth with her hand so he would not hear her.
Picking up a rock, the girl tossed it so that it landed behind the boy and when he swiftly turned toward the sound, the girl jumped out with her sword and smacked him on the backside.
The boy rounded on her and swiped at her with his sword. She laughed and struck back and a good-natured battle ensued between the two.
There can be no doubt, thought Aylaen, seeing them so close together, that these two are brother and sister.
“You should be home sewing with the other girls,” said the boy.
Ducking her swing, he chopped at her ankles and caused her to fall. Aylaen winced, for the fall was a hard one. The girl scrambled to her feet and lunged at him.
“Father says girls should know how to fight,” she retorted. “Like this!”
A swipe with her blade forced the boy to retreat, coming perilously close to tumbling into the stream. He recovered and was once more on the attack.
“You’ll never catch a husband with a sword.”
“I don’t want a husband,” she said. “Boys are stupid. I’m going to be a warrior.”
Absorbed in watching the battle, Aylaen crept closer to the entrance for a closer view. A ray of sunlight, slanting through the entrance, caused her dragon-scale armor to blaze with shimmering light.
The boy suddenly stopped fighting. Raising his hand in warning to his sister, he turned his head toward the Hall of Gods and cried out boldly, “Who is there?”
The girl ran to her brother’s side, watching his back, each protecting the other. Both seemed more curious than afraid.
“You are very beautiful, lady. Are you a goddess?” the girl asked.
“Our father tells us stories of the old gods,” the boy added. “Perhaps you are one of them.”
Aylaen smiled and shook her head. “I am not a god. But my armor and my swords are gifts from a god.”
Doom of the Dragon Page 14
