“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 a
nd 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.”
Skylan looked at her in dumb agony. Aylaen was radiant. Her hair glittered like red gold in the sun. Her emerald eyes danced and sparkled. Her creamy skin was sun-kissed, with a smattering of freckles across her nose. He thought of Draya, her flabby breasts and wrinkled skin, her hands stained with Horg’s blood fondling his groin.
Skylan felt dirty, as though he had wallowed in muck. He did not like to think of Draya speaking to Aylaen, of being anywhere near her.
“What do you think of my new horse?” he asked.
Garn barely glanced at the animal. “I hear you are traveling to Hammerfall,” he said in wonder.
“To thank the god for my great happiness,” Skylan said tersely. He was sick and tired of everyone questioning him.
He rubbed Blade on the nose and praised the horse. “He has a warrior’s heart. He jumped a creek as wide as the dragonship. You should see him.”
“I would like to ride him,” Aylaen said. “I am so proud of you, Skylan. I know you are married, but I claim a sister’s privilege.”
She pressed her lips to his. The touch of her lips was like a fiery brand, burning his flesh. He had the strange impression the kiss had left a mark, and he put his fingers to his lips to see if he could feel it. He loved her so much, his heart seemed to break with the pain.
“Aylaen,” he said with quiet urgency, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you—”
Aylaen laughingly interrupted him. “We will talk, Skylan, only not now. I don’t have time. I must say good-bye to Treia. She’s staying for the Kai Moot.”
And before Skylan could entreat her to stay, as well, Aylaen gave him a smile and hurried away.
Garn started to say something, but Skylan cut him off. He kept his gaze averted.
“You had better leave, as well, my friend, or the ship will miss the tide. Take care of my father.” Skylan knew he was talking too fast, but he couldn’t help it. “Let me know if there is anything he needs.”
“Skylan, stop it,” Garn said, catching hold of him. “Something’s wrong. I know it. You can tell me. You know you can.”
Skylan stood with his hand on the saddle. Part of him longed to spew out the awful truth. He longed to purge his soul, as last night he had purged his stomach.
Blade whinnied softly and pushed at Skylan with his nose, eager to be on the move. Skylan stroked the neck of his magnificent horse. He glanced back at his father, who was swelling with pride. He saw Aylaen, her hair shining in the sunlight, and felt the touch of her lips.
Norgaard would disown him. Aylaen would be lost to him forever.
“What could be wrong, my friend?” Skylan asked. “I am Chief of Chiefs.”
He swung himself up on his horse and smiled down on his friend. Garn did not return the smile. He stood stubbornly at Skylan’s stirrup, his hand holding on to the bridle.
Skylan felt a flash of irritation. He was not a child, to be badgered and questioned. Turning his horse’s head, he dug in his heels and galloped off across the beach. He did not stop or look back until he had ridden over the windswept dunes. He climbed a ridge and pulled his horse to a halt and looked out to sea.
The Venjekar rose and dipped among the waves. He could see Garn on board, standing near the prow alongside Norgaard and Aylaen. There was Bjorn chatting with his brother, Erdmun. There was Alfric the One-Eyed, sharing a jest with Sigurd. He saw the others striding along the deck, gazing out to sea, talking together, probably talking of him and how proud they were. The young man who had slain Horg. The young man who had raised the Torgun to exalted heights. The young man who was Chief of Chiefs. His clansmen would return to Luda to take up their lives, leaving him behind.
This is the pain the dead feel, he thought. I stand on the cold and lonely shore, watching those I love sail away. They go on with life, while I remain alone.
His grief unmanned him, and he wept. Through the blur of tears, Skylan caught a flash of fire—the red eyes of the Dragon Kahg. The ship was just coming level with him. The eyes of the dragon sought him out, stared fixedly at him. He imagined he heard a voice speaking to him:
The spear is broken. The sword bent. The shield shattered. You cannot change what has happened. Will you fall to your knees and grovel at your enemy’s boots in surrender, or will you keep fighting?
There could be only one answer. Skylan drew his sword from its sheath and lifted it high in the air, so that the sunlight flared off the blade. The dragon’s eyes flickered in response.
Sheathing his sword, Skylan turned his horse’s head south, toward Hammerfall.
CHAPTER
4
Skylan was on the road for more than two weeks, riding through dark forests and over sunny grasslands. He had never traveled this extensively, and he enjoyed the journey. He dawdled, took his time, loathe to return home. Each day brought new sights, and along with that, the somber realization that the Vindrasi were in trouble. He rode past crops withering in the cracked, dry earth. He saw too many cattle herds whose numbers were small, the beasts pitifully thin. Rivers were sluggis
h and shrunken. Creeks had dried up. And still, the Sun Goddess Aylis blazed in the heavens, her eye glaring down on the land. He could not remember the last time it had rained.
Skylan knew the reason. Treia had explained it to him: Aylis was furious about the death of her daughter, the Goddess Desiria, and she was taking out her fury and her grief on the Vindrasi. Skylan had stated that he considered this unreasonable on the part of the goddess. She should take out her anger on the evil gods who were responsible for slaying Desiria, not punish her loyal followers.
Treia had asked him snidely if he considered himself wiser than the gods. Skylan said no, of course not, but privately he thought that in this instance he was. He recalled the ill-fated dinner with the ogre godlords. They had looked well-fed, their bellies huge, even after a prolonged sea journey during which they’d been forced to cut back on rations. They had bragged that their harvests were large, their people prosperous. The shaman had been loud in his praise of the Gods of Raj, who lavished blessings upon their people. “The Vindrasi should be glad to worship them,” he’d said.
Our people need to go raiding, Skylan resolved. Our warriors need to feel good about themselves. They need to win silver and gold and jewels for the dragons. They need to bring back fat cattle to feed their hungry children. The ogres bragged that their land was wealthy. Then we will raid the ogres.
Skylan had no idea where the ogres’ lands were located. He doubted any of the Vindrasi still living did. But the ogres would have left evidence of their route along the way. Skylan could follow the trail of plundered villages and burned-out houses to trace his route to their lands.
He longed more than ever to undertake this epic voyage. He could picture himself sailing back to Vindraholm in triumph, the sacred torque gleaming on his neck, his dragonship filled with ogre silver, gold, and jewels.
Instead, he would be sailing with his wife to the Dragon Isles.
On the seventh day of his journey, Skylan stopped at a farm house to ask directions. He had to be getting close to his destination. The farmer told him that, yes, he was within a day’s ride of Hammerfall. He had only to follow the road until he came to a trail, which was not marked, but which he could not fail to recognize, for it had been made by many warriors before him.
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