In the game, the gods make the first move.
“Vindrash, hear my prayer,” Aylaen said softly.
Mortals make the second move.
“Tell the Dragon Kahg of our desperate need.”
Fate has the third move. Gods and mortals, each bound by their own wyrd, each bound to the other.
Aylaen drew the rune that represented the wyrd in the sand. She remembered the rune because it was on the game piece, a piece important in play, for its movement is random and can disrupt the strategies of both men and gods.
Aylaen laid the dragonbone down on the rune and took up more sand. She let it fall over the bone.
So far, so good. This was all part of the ritual. But what came next? In the game, the pieces moved along winding trails, leading to birth, death, victory, loss, journey, status, marriage, home, children, crossing paths, meeting, parting, meeting again, parting forever.
“The ritual is ever changing,” Alyaen remembered Treia telling her. “The ritual involves my wyrd, the gods’ wryd, the dragon’s wryd, and what we are now, what we were then, where we have been, where we are going.”
There was something about moving and turning the bone, pushing and taking and holding and forcing.
“This part is very complicated,” Treia had said. “It takes years to learn.”
“Vindrash, I don’t have years!” Aylaen cried in despair. “I have only now and the people I love and they are depending on me and I lied to you. I am sorry. Forgive me!”
Aylaen let more sand fall over the spiritbone. “I love Garn, Vindrash, as you love Torval. I seek your blessing, though I do not deserve it. I ask that you send your dragon to fight for us this day!”
Aylaen picked up the spiritbone, and with all her strength and all her might and all her love and desperation and fear, she cast it high into the air. The spiritbone rose, then, twisting and turning, it began to fall. Aylaen’s heart fell with it, for she knew she had failed.
The spiritbone spun round and round, faster and faster, and first it was one bone and then it was twelve bones and then it was a hundred bones bursting from the spiritbone.
As fast as forked lightning, the Dragon Kahg came into being. Formed of sand, he was whitish in color, his scales hard as rock, hard as the mountain that had stood for countless eons, before time and the elements reduced the mountain to a grain.
The Dragon Kahg materialized in front of the five giants, who came to an uncertain halt. They glowered at the dragon. The stone weapons swung from their hands.
Aylaen sent up a prayer of heartfelt gratitude. She did not have time to be proud of her accomplishment or to wonder that she, who had lied about becoming a Bone Priestess, had been able to summon the dragon.
“Good work,” Skylan said. He thrust a spear into her hand. “Now be ready to fight.”
The Dragon Kahg was confused. He had been overwhelmed with relief to have found his goddess, Vindrash. She had explained to the dragon that she was in fear of her life and that she had needed her enemies to believe she was dead. Not even the dragons who worshipped her could know the truth. She had asked the Dragon Kahg to keep her secret, and he had been proud to do so.
He had obeyed her commands. He had carried Skylan from Apensia back to Luda. He had watched with considerable amusement to see Vindrash disguise herself as the draugr of Skylan’s dead wife, Draya. Kahg knew why Vindrash played at dragonbones with Skylan. The dragon knew the game was serious, the stakes were life and death. Kahg understood and sympathized with the goddess, who was bound by Torval’s edict regarding the Five Bones. Ever since Hevis had basely sought to use the Five to attack another god, all the gods had been forbidden to speak of them to a mortal. Vindrash had to find a way to tell Skylan about the Five, without actually coming out and telling him.
Thus far, all had been going as planned. And then disaster.
Vindrash had felt the growing fury of the Sea Goddess, Akaria, and she had warned Kahg that sailing was dangerous. The hothead Skylan had paid no heed to the warning. The Dragon Kahg might have taken it upon himself to refuse to sail, but Vindrash was determined to teach Skylan a lesson, and she had ordered him to sea.
He had lost contact with the other two dragons, an alarming situation, for dragons are able to commune mentally. Kahg could find no trace of them, and Vindrash claimed she could not locate them either. Dragons were mortal beings and it was possible they could have been killed, but she did not think so. Kahg had the feeling she knew the truth of what had happened to the dragons and their ships. If so, the goddess was keeping her knowledge to herself.
When the Sea Goddess had finally exhausted her fury, the Dragon Kahg discovered that the winds of her rage had blown them close to the Dragon Isles. Vindrash ordered him to take the half-starved, weary Torgun to what he believed would be safe refuge on the isle, only to run aground on a hidden sandbar. And now he discovered that the Torgun were about to be attacked by their own guardians.
The Dragon Kahg was further troubled by the fact that although he had repeatedly alerted the goddess to the presence of a strange ship shadowing them, Vindrash had not seemed to care. The ship had dogged them all the way from Luda, keeping below the horizon line, staying out of their sight. Even when the Sea Goddess caught the ship in her tempest, the ship had survived. The winds of divine fury that had blown the Venjekar off course blew the strange ship to the Dragon Isles, as well.
The Dragon Kahg had tried to persuade Vindrash to take an interest in the ship, but she persisted in ignoring it. And now, the Dragon Kahg knew why.
He had been hovering about his spiritbone, eager to be summoned, when he heard Garn’s words.
The gods are afraid.
Kahg had known Vindrash was afraid for her life, but Kahg had not really understood the depth of her fear. He had not truly understood the danger, not even after the attack on the Hall of Vektia, not even with the death of Desiria. Now, at last, Kahg could visualize the might of the foes arrayed against them. The dragon was appalled.
The gods were falling victim to fear. They were a family, these gods. A clan of immortals, not much different, neither better nor worse than the humans who revered them. The Gods of the Vindrasi quarreled and bickered, lusted and loved. They were either preoccupied with their own pleasure or were embroiled in plots to disrupt the pleasure of the others. The world to them was a shining ball they had come across while at play and they had amused themselves down through the centuries by tossing it back and forth between them.
But now came gods who wanted to take away the ball.
And not only that, these gods planned to destroy their foes in the process.
Kahg was starting to think the gods had lost their minds to panic. How else could the dragon explain the fact that Torval had ordered the guardians of the Dragon Isles to attack the very people they should have been guarding?
And so the Dragon Kahg did not attack the giants. He sought to reason with them.
CHAPTER
13
Skylan gave an exultant shout when he saw the Dragon Kahg appear, large and menacing. The gaunt and spiderlike giants had been bounding across the sandy grassland, twisting and twirling their strange weapons, occasionally slamming the round stone heads into the ground as they came leaping to attack.
The Torgun warriors were shocked and shaken at the sight of these strange creatures. Jaws sagged, faces paled, eyes bulged. Some cried out to Torval to save them. They were ready to attack when Aylaen shouted for them to halt.
“Stop the men! Don’t let them harm the giants!” she cried. “The Dragon Kahg says that there has been some mistake. The giants are the Hall’s guardians. Kahg’s going to talk to them—”
“Talk?” Skylan couldn’t believe he’d heard right. “They’re trying to kill us—”
One of the giants let loose his strange weapon, flinging it at the dragon. The rope with the two large stones attached at either end flew through the air and wrapped around the dragon’s neck. The stones whipped about, s
triking the Dragon Kahg in the head, the two blows so hard that Skylan could clearly hear the cracking of bone.
Blood spurted from the dragon’s smashed and mangled jawbone, raining down on the warriors who had taken refuge in the dragon’s shadow, and who were now running for their lives. Roaring in pain, Kahg fell into the bay, landing with a splash in the shallow water, narrowly missing crushing the dragonship with his massive tail.
The dragon lay thrashing about feebly in the water, seriously, perhaps fatally wounded. Blood-tinged waves, churned up by his flailings, rolled onto the shore, washing about the boots of the warriors.
The dragon had not stopped the giants’ attack, but he had at least given the warriors time to recover from their initial shock. The loss of their dragon filled them with rage. The warriors did not wait for Skylan’s order. Each man grasped his spear, taking his time with his aim, trying to find a vulnerable spot on the grotesque bodies.
Alfric the One-Eyed flung his spear and hit the giant in the shin. The spear appeared about the size of a knitting needle compared to the giant, but it pierced his flesh. Blood poured down the giant’s leg, and he gave a yelp of pain, even as the spear bounced off the shinbone and fell to the sand. The warriors were heartened by the fact that the enemy could bleed, and the Torgun attacked, flinging their spears first, and then making daring forays, running beneath the feet of the giants to recover their spears or to strike at the foe with axes and swords.
The deadly stones whirled above them, making a horrid buzzing sound as they whipped through the air and shaking the ground when they slammed down with bone-crushing force. Men died beneath the stones, died with only time for a horror-stricken scream before the stone smashed into them, their bodies disintegrating into gruesome blobs.
Skylan hefted his spear. Taking his own advice, he aimed for the giant’s testicles.
He started to pray to Torval to guide his hand, then thought better of it. Why should the god heed his prayer? Torval had inflicted this punishment upon him. Torval expected Skylan to deal with it. Yet, perhaps Torval relented, for Skylan’s spear soared straight and true and struck the giant in the groin. The giant let out a shrill shriek and, dropping his weapons, clasped his splay-fingered hands over his privates.
“Close in! Get close to them!” Skylan shouted.
The smashing stones were lethal, but Skylan had noticed that the giants were careful to keep them far from their own bodies. The reason became obvious. The giants dared not strike at warriors who were close to them for fear of hitting themselves.
The warriors rushed to surround the giants. Bjorn and Erdmun stabbed at their heels and jabbed their spears into the muscles of their calves. Sigurd hacked at the back of an ankle with his axe, hoping to slice through a tendon to cripple the creature. The giants howled in pain and hopped about on their spindly legs, trying to stomp the warriors beneath their feet. The giants were thin-skinned, their wounds bled copiously, and soon the Torgun warriors were covered with blood.
Skylan hurled his last spear and then drew his sword, prepared to join the assault. All the giants were limping, but it seemed none was ready to give up the fight. They struck furiously at the warriors with their stone weapons, the stones bashing and thudding into the ground. Sklyan started forward when Garn grabbed his arm.
“Where’s Aylaen?”
“Here beside me!” Skylan cried, only to look to see that she wasn’t.
Aylaen fought courageously and with skill. Realizing she could not effectively throw the heavy spear with strength and accuracy, she ran at one of the giants and jabbed the spear’s head into a tender part of the giant’s foot, just below the ankle. Howling in pain, the giant kicked his foot, trying to shake her loose. Aylaen held on grimly, though the giant flung her about like a rag doll, eventually hurling her into the sand.
The giant tried to stomp her with his bloody foot. Skylan and Garn attacked the giant with sword and axe, and managed to distract the giant from Aylaen, who regained her feet. She was covered with blood, part of it hers, most of it the giant’s. She drew her sword, ready to return to battle, only to suddenly stop and look behind her, over her shoulder.
The wounded Dragon Kahg was dissolving. His shattered head, sparkling sandy scales, flaring red eyes, spikey mane, powerful legs, smashing tail, and translucent wings were all crumbling, pouring into the sea like the grains from a broken hourglass.
“The spiritbone!” Aylaen cried and, dropping her sword, she ran toward the dragon.
A wounded dragon can heal himself only by returning to his lair in the Realm of Fire, where he can rest while spirit and body fuse together. In promise that he will return, the dragon leaves behind his spiritbone. During battle, a Bone Priestess is supposed to focus her attention on the dragon, to the exclusion of everything else going on around her, one reason why warriors are assigned to guard her. If the dragon is wounded and forced to retreat back to his realm, his physical form disintegrates rapidly. The Bone Priestess has to be ready to recover the spiritbone, marking the location where it falls in order to find it.
The Dragon Kahg had departed to his realm, hopefully to recover, leaving behind an enormous mound of sand. The white spiritbone was clearly visible atop the mound. Heedless of her danger, knowing only that she must recover the spiritbone, Aylaen ran across a beach pocked with deep holes bored into the sand by the smashing stones.
Skylan and Garn both left off attacking the giants to run after Aylaen. Skylan was the swifter of the two and he outpaced Garn. Aylaen splashed into the water. She was ahead of him, Garn was behind. Skylan heard the heart-stopping whirring sound made by the stones and he looked up to see the stones hurtling through the air, one aimed at Garn, the other at Aylaen. Skylan had Blood Dancer in his hands. He could save one of his friends, but not the other.
Skylan looked back at Garn in agony. Garn, as always, understood. He pointed at Aylaen.
Skylan watched the stone fly at her. He would have one chance and one only. He waited, timing his stroke. The rope looked thick as a tree trunk and he would have to cut completely through it. He swung as hard as he could, putting his back and his shoulders and his prayers into the stroke. Blood Dancer sliced through the rope. He dropped his sword and flung himself on Aylaen, dragging her down into the water. The stone whistled harmlessly over their heads to land with a drenching splash in the sea.
Aylaen had not seen him coming, and she was shaken by the fall. She sat up, choking and coughing and spitting seawater.
Skylan leaped to his feet and looked, his heart in his mouth, at Garn. His friend lay on the beach.
Heedless of the giants, Skylan ran to his friend and flung himself down into the sand beside him. He searched anxiously for a wound, and he did not see any. Then Garn looked up at him.
Skylan saw the shadow of death in his eyes.
“Where does it hurt?” he demanded.
“It doesn’t,” Garn said, frowning, puzzled. “I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel anything.”
Skylan saw the blood seeping out from underneath his friend’s body, and he knew that Garn’s body was broken. The dream came back to him. Only then it was Draya who had been slain by the giants.
She could not move. I held her in my arms as she died.
“You can’t leave me!” Skylan said fiercely, making it an order. He took hold of Garn’s limp and unresponsive hand. “I need you!”
Garn smiled. “Not . . . much choice . . .”
He coughed, his breathing labored. He could no longer talk, and he asked the question with his eyes. Aylaen?
“She is safe,” said Skylan. “You saved her life.”
He wrapped the palm and fingers of Garn’s hand around the hilt of his axe and held them there, so that Garn would come before Torval holding his weapon.
Garn’s breathing slowed to nothing. His eyes stared into the sun and did not blink.
Skylan fought back the tears. Garn had died a warrior’s death. He did not want to dishonor his friend with blubberings and
wailings, but the tears came, hot and burning, down his cheeks.
He heard, behind him, a heart-piercing moan.
“Aylaen—” Sklyan turned to comfort her.
“You killed him!” Aylaen screamed and she struck him across the face.
She hit him again, bruising his cheek and splitting his lip. He tasted blood.
“You were jealous of him and you killed him!” she cried in a frenzy of grief and rage, hitting Skylan, pounding on him, beating him with her fists and kicking him. “You killed him!”
He bowed his head before the onslaught, did nothing to defend himself. Bjorn and Erdmun had to leave the battle to drag her off him.
Wulfe saw the giants from a distance. He heard the cries and shouts, he smelled the blood and iron. He would have run away from the battle, but he recognized the foe from his mother’s lullaby-tales. They were known as Flesh-Spinners and though he had never seen them, he hated them.
The giants were fae, wicked fae, shunned and despised by the faery folk because, during the First War, the Flesh-Spinners had turned against their own kind and fought alongside the Ugly Ones. The faery folk had never forgiven the Flesh-Spinners for their treachery or for the fact that they believed the giants continued to slavishly serve the gods of the Ugly Ones.
According to the fae, the Flesh-Spinners had been giants who bestrode creation, scattering stars like seeds throughout the universe and spinning their own flesh on enormous wheels, using the threads formed of their bodies to form the fabric of worlds. The faery folk populated these worlds and loved and cared for them.
But then came the gods of the Ugly Ones. They saw the beautiful worlds and wanted them. They praised the work, and the Flesh-Spinners grew proud and haughty, refusing to believe the fae when they warned the Flesh-Spinners that the gods were trying to trick them. The Flesh-Spinners believed the lies of the gods and ended up giving them the worlds. The fae were furious, and they cursed the Flesh-Spinners, so that their flesh would never again grow back. They could make no more worlds.
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