“See there!” the girl whispered loudly. “She wears a sword!”
“Your father is right,” said Aylaen, overhearing. “Girls should learn how to fight. What are your names?”
“I am Skylanson,” the boy said proudly. “My father is Chief of Chiefs. Holma is my sister. We are twins, but I am the oldest. I was born first.”
“You may be the oldest, but I am the smartest!” cried the girl.
Deftly snatching the sword from her brother’s hand, Holma ran off with the spoils of war, brandishing both weapons in the air with a whoop.
The boy shook his head in fond exasperation.
“What I am to do with such a sister?” he demanded of Aylaen, then, laughing, he dashed off in pursuit.
The children disappeared into the forest. The sound of their laughter faded away. Dazed, Aylaen stared after them. She longed to call to them to come back, tell her more, but the boy’s words had stolen her breath and she couldn’t speak a word.
My name is Skylanson …
“They resemble their father,” said a voice. “But they have their mother’s eyes.”
Startled out of her daze, Aylaen drew her sword and turned to confront the man, who came sauntering along one of the paths.
He was tall and powerfully built, his handsome face clean shaven. He wore the ornate breastplate and leather skirt of his soldiers. A purple cape fell from his shoulders. His helm was silver and gold, trimmed with silver serpents, and adorned by a purple crest and Aylaen knew him at once. Aelon looked as she had always imagined him.
She caught herself about to touch the drawstring pouch tied on her belt and forced herself to drop her hand, fearful of drawing his attention to the spiritbone. She felt ridiculous, holding her sword on a god, but her very soul seemed to wither in fear.
“Who are those children?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “You talk as if I should know them. What are they doing here? They are not … dead.” Her voice caught. She couldn’t help herself.
“They are not dead, Aylaen,” said Aelon with a slight smile. His voice was deep and rich. He took a step closer, not threatening, but as if he wanted to have a friendly talk. “They have not yet been born. Whether they will be or not is up to you.”
“So this is some trick you are playing on me,” said Aylaen, not lowering the sword.
“No trick. I have shown you the future. What can be the future,” said Aelon, placing emphasis on the word. “The choice is yours.”
“Your choice is no choice,” said Aylaen.
She sheathed her sword and started to walk around him, sweep past him. He blocked the way, imposing, but still not threatening. Not yet.
“Swear allegiance to me, Kai Priestess, and I will bring peace and prosperity to your people. Those beautiful children will be yours. Skylan will be Chief of Chiefs for many long years and you will rule at his side.”
“And what is the price?” Aylaen asked.
She glanced surreptitiously about the garden, hoping to find a way out, although she knew she was a fool to even consider trying to flee.
“The three spiritbones I lack,” Aelon replied. “The Vektan Torque. The bone given to me by the mad god, Sund. And the one the Sea Queen gave to you. They are well hidden. Even I cannot find them.”
Hearing his tone of calm satisfaction, seeing the amusement in his eyes, Aylaen put her hand to her belt. The god had not moved nor come near her and yet the drawstring bag was gone.
“Don’t worry,” said Aelon. “You did not mislay it. I have it safe.”
He held up the bag. Releasing the drawstrings, he reached inside and drew out the brooch. The rubies sparkled, the gold shone.
“Give me the three I am missing and Skylan lives.”
Aylaen was shaking, more in anger at herself than with fear. If she had only left when she had the spiritbone, not stopped to watch the children, not fallen into his trap!
“Another trick,” she said.
“Let us call it a bargain,” Aelon replied. “My army has forced Skylan and his warriors to retreat, take refuge in the hall. Give me the spiritbones and Skylan and his children live. If you don’t, Skylan dies and your children will never be born. The choice is yours, and you had best decide quickly.”
“I will!” Aylaen gasped. “Don’t harm Skylan.”
“A wise decision. Where are they?”
Aylaen shook her head. “They are well hidden. If I told you, you couldn’t find them. I will bring them to you.”
Aelon regarded her intently, probing her soul. “If you don’t, Skylan will die.” The god added drily, “Not even dragon-scale armor and a blessed sword can save him.”
Aylaen met his gaze. “I will do as you ask. I will bring you the spiritbones.”
“You have until the sun sets.”
Thrusting the brooch with the spiritbone into the bag, he tied the drawstrings to his sword belt and disappeared.
She stumbled along the path and blundered into the forest, trying to find the path that would take her back to the ship and not having any luck, for she was desperately trying to think of what to do. Hot and exhausted, she realized she had to calm herself. She stopped beneath a tree to take a deep breath. Hearing a rustling sound, she feared Aelon had returned, and she yanked her sword from the scabbard, terrifying Wulfe, who gave a yelp and scrambled backward.
Aylaen sighed in relief and sheathed her sword.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I told you to stay on board the ship.”
“Skylan and the other dead Uglies are losing the battle,” Wulfe said. “I came to tell you.”
“How do you know?” Aylaen asked. She continued along the narrow path that wound among the trees. Wulfe trailed after her, shuffling his bare feet through the dead leaves.
“A dryad and some naiads and a couple of centaurs have been watching the fight and they told the oceanids, who told me. What are you going to do?”
“What I have to,” said Aylaen shortly, not wanting to elaborate. Aelon could be anywhere, watching, listening.
“That’s not an answer!” said Wulfe.
“It’s the best you’ll get,” Aylaen replied, increasing her pace. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Wulfe lagging behind. “You need to keep up. I don’t have much time. Here, take my hand—”
Wulfe drew back, glowering at her. “You’re going to let Skylan die.”
Dropping to all fours, he ran back into the forest.
“Wulfe!” Aylaen called.
He did not reply and she couldn’t waste time chasing after him. She broke into a run, following the path back to the deserted village and from there to the ship.
* * *
Aylaen was relieved when she found the Venejekar was safe, still floating among the mangroves. She had been afraid Aelon might have attacked it.
Acronis and Farinn were keeping watch for her and they sprang to help as Aylaen crawled among the mangrove roots.
“Where’s Wulfe?” Farinn asked, helping her board. “He said Skylan and his warriors were losing. He was going to tell you—”
“I saw him,” said Aylaen. “I tried to talk to him, but he ran off. I don’t know where he’s gone and we can’t wait for him to return.”
“Aelon paid us a visit,” Kahg reported. “The god didn’t stay long. One of his serpents came to summon him. Despite what he claims, the battle is not going well for him.”
At this point, Aylaen didn’t know who to believe. She decided to see for herself.
“Cast off the ropes,” she told Acronis. “Kahg, take us to the battlefield.”
Kahg obeyed at once, almost before she had finished speaking, easing the Venejekar out of the tangle of prop roots and taking the ship out to sea. The dragon didn’t ask what she was going to do, for which she was grateful. Either Kahg had confidence in her or he had made his own plans. Aylaen suspected the latter.
Having done all she could for the moment, she decided she had time for a brief rest after her exertions. Low
ering herself onto the deck, she leaned back against a bulkhead and pressed her hand against her rib cage.
Acronis regarded her with concern. “Are you hurt?”
“A stitch in my side,” she said, grimacing. “It will pass.”
“Is what Wulfe said true? About Skylan losing?” Farinn asked anxiously.
“I don’t know,” said Aylaen. “Aelon told me the same, but Kahg says the god is lying.”
Farinn gaped at her. “Aelon! The god! Did he harm you? Is everything all right?”
“No,” Aylaen said grimly. “But we will make it right. Is Joabis still on board?”
“Wulfe said the god left suddenly,” said Farinn. “Something frightened him.”
The arrival of Aelon probably scared Joabis out of what wits he has left, Aylaen thought. She was thankful the god was gone. She could proceed without interference. Feeling the pain ease, she rose to her feet.
“I’ll be in the hold,” Aylaen told them. “I have to change my clothes.”
As she climbed down the ladder, she saw Acronis and Farinn exchange startled glances.
She took off the dragon-scale armor and the leather tunic and pants. She unbuckled her sword belt and laid armor and sword aside. Opening her sea chest, she took out her wedding dress, an apron dress, the kind worn by Vindrasi women, made of green wool, embroidered with dragons, clasped at the shoulders by two gold dragon pins.
She pressed the fabric to her breast and closed her eyes, remembering her wedding day and their happiness. She seemed to feel Skylan close to her and she thought of their talk of the future and that made her think of the girl, Holma, and her brother, Skylanson.
She could see their faces and hear their laughter. She saw her children coming home, tired and hot and sweaty, cut and bruised and eager to tell their parents about the day’s adventures.
With each choice we make, each road we travel, each door we open or close, we change the future of both men and the gods, for our wyrds are bound together.
Aylaen put on a plain linen shift, drew the apron dress on over that, and fastened it at the shoulders with the gold pins. This done, she rummaged clear to the bottom of the sea chest and took out what she sought, a small knife with a thin blade; the type of knife used to gut fish.
She had found this knife after she and Skylan and the others were captured by Acronis and his soldiers. Blaming herself for Garn’s death, she had planned to use the knife to die, but her sister, Treia, had stopped her.
Aylaen touched the knife’s sharp point and thought of the irony, for not so long after that, Treia had tried to have her killed. Raegar had said Treia was carrying his child. Aylaen regretted telling Raegar about the bargain Treia had made with Hevis. She did not wish Treia well, but neither did she wish her ill, and she feared what Raegar might do. All Treia had ever wanted was for someone to love her.
Aylaen slipped the knife beneath the skirt of the apron dress, tucking it into a belt she had tied around her shift, then went to Treia’s sea chest that had remained, forgotten, in the hold of the Venejekar ever since her sister had left them. Aylaen searched for the robes Treia had worn when she performed her duties as a Bone Priestess and found them wadded up in a heap and stashed at the bottom.
The robes were worn and frayed. The hem was caked with dried mud and there were spots on them that might have been blood, for Treia had worn these in the battle against the ogres, the battle that had, in a way, led Aylaen to where she was now.
Marveling at the twists and turns of their wyrds, Aylaen thought about what she planned. Her decision might not be the right one. The thread might snap in her hands. But this was the only way she could think of to secure the future she had seen. If Aelon had meant to frighten her by showing her a vision of her children, he had not succeeded. He had given her strength and courage and resolve.
She returned to the deck wearing her wedding dress over the plain linen shift and, over that, the ceremonial robes. Acronis and Farinn both stared. They must be thinking she had lost her mind.
She returned to her familiar place at the prow beside the dragon. The Venejekar bounded over the waves. The wind of their swift passage blew in her face, cooling her. The sun was starting to slide into the sea, but she had time yet. She tugged at the folds of the robes, rearranging them.
“The knife doesn’t show, if that’s what you are concerned about, my dear,” Acronis whispered.
He had come up behind her and Aylaen turned to him, dismayed. “How did you know I was carrying a knife, sir? If you were able to tell, then so will Aelon.”
“Aelon lacks my genius,” said Acronis drily, with a reassuring chuckle. “The robes are loose-fitting, ideal for concealing a small weapon, though not a sword. You would not go into battle unarmed, therefore I deduced a knife.”
His expression grew grave. “For you are going into battle, aren’t you, Aylaen?”
“I am, sir. I have to,” she replied.
“To save Skylan?”
“To save more than him,” she said softly.
“We are rounding the point,” Farinn called. “You can see the battle. At least, I think that’s what I’m seeing.”
Aylaen tried to make out what was happening, but she was a mortal looking upon the realm of the dead. She stared into a gray mist that roiled and shifted, seeing disembodied faces and hands, skulls and eyes slide into view and then vanish. Mouths were open, shouting, screaming. Swords clashed on shields. Hammers on axes. And the only sound she could hear was the waves splashing beneath the keel.
Aylaen took Kahg’s spiritbone from its place on the nail and held it into the spray breaking over the bow, dousing it with seawater. Kahg was watching her. His eyes gleamed fiercely.
“Take us ashore,” Aylaen ordered the dragon.
CHAPTER
16
For a moment, Skylan thought they had won.
The ogres under the leadership of Bear Walker had crashed into the right flank of the enemy phalanx with the force of an avalanche roaring down a mountainside, rolling over them and flattening them. Skylan and his forces had shouted in derision as the hellkite forces crumbled. They hoped this meant Aelon and his fiends would retreat.
Unfortunately, the ogres’ success proved their undoing. They drove so far forward that the enemy was able to outflank them, attack them from the rear. The ogre shield wall disintegrated as the hellkites swarmed around them, hitting them from all sides.
Skylan was about to call on his warriors to go their aid when he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. Thinking it was Sigurd, he turned and was amazed to see Joabis.
The god was wild-eyed with fear and shaking so he could barely speak. He managed to blurt out, “Aylaen!”
Skylan grasped hold of him by the tunic. “What about her?”
“She’s gone to save the spiritbone!” Joabis gasped. “Aelon mustn’t see her! You need to keep him occupied!”
Skylan looked overhead to see the god in his serpent-drawn chariot flying overhead, shouting commands to his hellkites.
The thought came to him that Aelon was well occupied in planning their destruction, but he knew what Joabis meant. If he and his warriors went down to defeat, Aelon would be free to pursue Aylaen.
Joabis disappeared and at the same instant the doors of the hall—where there had been no doors—opened wide. Joabis stood inside, waving his arms.
“In here!” the god was shouting. “You’ll be safe!”
Not so long ago, Skylan would have never considered retreating. He would have fought to the death and gone proudly to Torval. Now he had more at stake than his own honor and glory. Aylaen was on this island trying to recover the spiritbone. He had to keep Aelon from finding her.
“Fall back!” Skylan roared, grimacing as he spoke, for the words tasted more bitter than wormwood. “Keep together! Fall back!”
The Vindrasi warriors looked startled. He couldn’t blame them. Probably no chief in Vindrasi history had ever ordered a retreat. They obeyed, however, and began th
e long march to the rear, joined by Bear Walker and the surviving ogres, and by Dela Eden and her Cyclopes, picking up spent arrows as they went.
Skylan kept a close eye on his forces. If one warrior broke and ran, others would follow and the retreat would become a rout. His command held together, continuing to fight even as they inched backward step by step until they reached the hall.
Skylan and Bear Walker were the last to enter, holding off hellkites until the last warrior was inside, then they dashed through the door. Several hellkites charged after them, only to be cut down by Sigurd and Grimuir, who had been lying in wait for them.
Sigurd started to slam shut the door.
“Leave it open,” Skylan ordered. “We have to see what they’re doing. Drag that table across the opening.”
Bear Walker and Keeper picked up one of the heavy tables that had been lying across trestles and rested it on its side in front of the door.
“What about our friends?” Skylan asked Sigurd. “Bjorn and Erdmun. Are they all right?”
“They’re as alive as dead men can be,” Sigurd replied, indicating Erdmun collapsed on the floor with Bjorn standing beside him. “The hellkites are rotten fighters. They’re slow and clumsy and barely know one end of a sword from another.”
“True,” said Skylan. “The problem is, they just keep coming.”
He looked about for Joabis, but, of course, he was gone. Still, Skylan had to give the god grudging credit. He’d risked his own precious skin to come tell Skylan about Aylaen.
The ogres and Cyclopes, working together, began overturning tables and setting up barricades. Skylan was figuring they could hold the hall for a considerable length of time.
And then he smelled smoke.
“They are building bonfires,” said Keeper.
Stands of trees were going up in flames, orange fire and black smoke leaping to the heavens. The hellkites were carrying flaming brands.
Skylan grimly nodded. “They don’t need to lay siege to the hall. They’re going to burn it down.”
His voice carried clearly in the silence of the hall. Ogres, Cyclopes, and humans stood together. Their numbers were reduced and Skylan found it odd to see no blood, to hear no screams. There were no wounded. The dead were simply gone, as if they had never been.
Doom of the Dragon Page 15
