Doom of the Dragon

by Margaret Weis

  Skylan climbed up on one of the few tables still standing, so he could address them.

  “We face a choice,” he told them. “We can die in the flames or we can die and take some of our foe with us. I, for one, say that—”

  “Skylan!” Bjorn shouted. “It’s Aylaen!”

  Sigurd and Grimuir and Erdmun crowded the doorway, trying to see. They moved aside for Skylan.

  From this vantage point, he could see Acronis and Farinn splashing through the shallow water, their hands on the hull, guiding the Venejekar toward the shore. He wondered why Kahg wasn’t sailing it, then realized that the eyes on the dragonhead prow were dark, nothing more than carved wood.

  Aylaen had already left the ship and was walking across the beach.

  “Move that barricade. I’ve got to go to her!” Skylan said, gripping his sword.

  Bjorn and Keeper caught hold of him.

  “You wouldn’t get three feet from the door,” said Keeper.

  “He’s right. Besides, Aylaen knows what she is doing. Look at how she is dressed!” said Bjorn.

  Skylan looked and realized she was not dressed for battle. She was not wearing armor or carrying her sword. She was dressed in her finest clothes, wearing the rune-embroidered robes of a Bone Priestess.

  “Looks like she’s going to a bloody wedding,” Sigurd grumbled.

  Skylan remembered that dress and the last time she had worn it. She was carrying a pouch in her hand and Skylan recognized that, as well. A silken pouch made of bamboo given to her by the Sea Queen. Aylaen kept the spiritbones inside that pouch. His friends were right. She was planning something. He had to be ready to act.

  The hellkites caught sight of her and surged forward menacingly. Flying overhead in his chariot, Aelon give an angry shout and the hellkites fell back.

  Aylaen turned her head to look straight at Skylan, almost as if she could see him. He raised his hand and she raised hers in response, the hand carrying the pouch that held the spiritbones. The look lasted no more than a heartbeat, and then she turned from him to the god.

  “Aelon! I have the spiritbones as I promised!” Aylaen called. “In return, you have promised me that my people will not be harmed.”

  Skylan’s friends turned to stare at him.

  “She’s a damn traitor!” said Sigurd.

  Skylan slammed his fist into Sigurd’s jaw, knocking him to the floor. He turned back to watch Aylaen. The pouch she carried, the robes she was wearing. He was starting to think he understood.

  “Ready your weapons,” Skylan ordered. “Wait for my command. Where’s Dela Eden?”

  He looked around for the priestess of the Cyclopes and, catching sight of her, motioned her over. “I’ll need your archers to give us cover.”

  “We have very few arrows,” said Dela Eden.

  “Then make every one of them count,” Skylan returned.

  Dela Eden took her place beside him and looked out the door. Aelon was ordering his serpents to take his chariot to the ground. Aylaen stood alone, surrounded by an army of the dead, waiting to confront a god.

  “She is your woman?” Dela Eden asked.

  “My wife,” said Skylan.

  “Do you know what she is plotting?”

  “No,” Skylan admitted.

  “But you trust her?”

  “Yes,” Skylan answered simply.

  Dela Eden’s eyes—including the painted eye—looked at him and then seemed to look inside him.

  “You must always remember,” she said.

  Skylan thought that an odd thing to say.

  “What do you mean? What did you see?”

  But Dela Eden had crouched down on the floor and was busily sorting through the spent arrows she had managed to retrieve, trying to find those that were still in good condition.

  She did not answer him.

  * * *

  Aylaen had known a moment’s terror when the dead had started to come for her, creeping toward her, heads without eyes, eyes without heads, hands and arms with swords, but no bodies. Her courage had almost failed her, and then she heard Skylan’s voice.

  She turned to look and thought she caught a glimpse of him, standing in the door of an immense hall. He would see the wedding dress and the robes she wore. He would not know what she was planning, but he would trust her, as she trusted him.

  The chariot landed, wheels touching the ground.

  Aelon did not descend, but gave a peremptory wave of his hand and ordered, “Come to me.”

  Aylaen walked toward him. As she drew near the chariot, the serpents opened their fanged mouths and hissed at her as though they would strike, while Aelon watched with a slight smile on his face.

  Aylaen knew quite well the god was trying to intimidate her and she steeled herself to walk past the serpents slowly, without flinching, to the rear of the chariot that was made of bronze trimmed in silver and gold and adorned with gilded serpents biting their own tails. Aelon stood inside the chariot. Aylaen saw without seeming to see that the rucksack containing the spiritbone was still hanging from his sword belt.

  “You have the three spiritbones with you?” Aelon asked.

  “In this pouch,” said Aylaen.

  He reached for it, but she drew it back.

  “I want to see Skylan,” Aylaen said. “Show me that he is alive and well and then I will give these to you.”

  Aelon seemed amused. “What stops me from taking them? Certainly not a mere mortal.”

  “They are guarded by the same magic that kept you from finding them,” said Aylaen. “If you try to take them by force, the magic will destroy them.”

  “I think you are bluffing,” said Aelon. “But I will play along.”

  Aelon raised his voice.

  “Skylan Ivorson! Come forth from the hall! Come greet your wife!”

  Aylaen looked toward the hall. She had not been able to see him when he had come to her on board the Venejekar for they were in the realm of the living. But now, in the realm of the dead, she saw him clearly, saw the difference between him and the dead. He was both substance and shadow, not dead nor yet alive.

  He did not immediately come forth, and Aylaen could see that others were arguing with him, probably warning him that this was a trap. Knowing him as she did, she was not surprised to see him shake off their restraining hands and walk out onto the field of battle.

  “Lay down your sword,” said Aelon. “You will not need it.”

  Skylan shook his head.

  “I know you mean to kill me and I will not come before Torval without my hand on my sword.”

  “I have no intention of killing you, Vindrasi. Your wife has arranged that you will live a long life and die peacefully in your old age.”

  Skylan’s eyes flicked over Aylaen. His face was cold and set.

  “I do not thank her,” he said harshly.

  Aelon chuckled. “You will one day. And now, Priestess, I have done as you asked.”

  “Restore him to life,” said Aylaen.

  “Do not push me,” said Aelon coldly. “Or he may yet stand before his god and you with him. Give me the spiritbones.”

  Aylaen walked slowly and with seeming reluctance toward the chariot. The god stood waiting for her, watching her warily.

  Coming to stand before him, she loosened the drawstrings of the pouch, reached inside, and drew out a spiritbone. Plain and unadorned, no gold, no jewels, it dangled from the end of a worn leather thong.

  Aelon scowled. “What is this?”

  “A message from Vindrash.”

  Aylaen flung the spiritbone into the air.

  CHAPTER

  17

  The Dragon Kahg burst into life above Aelon’s chariot. The dragon’s scales were the slate gray of a stormy sea, his mane white with foam. Seawater fell from his wings and rolled off his body, dousing the bonfires. His eyes glowed with fire.

  Aelon stared at the dragon, paralyzed by shock. The drawstring bag hung from his belt, forgotten.

  Aylae
n darted her hand beneath the robes, drew her little knife and in a swift motion, swept the blade through the strings of the drawstring bag with one hand and grabbed hold of it with the other. She could feel the brooch inside the bag; the pin pricked her finger, and she thrust the bag into her shift, cast one swift look of love and longing at Skylan, then hiked up her skirts and ran.

  Skylan stepped between the god and Aylaen. Grasping his amulet, Skylan said a prayer to Torval and thrust his sword, God-rage, into Aelon’s ribs.

  Forged of the same stuff as the gods, the sword bit deep into Aelon’s immortal flesh. Blood spewed. Bone splintered. Aelon cried out and doubled over in pain, cursing.

  Skylan yanked the blade from the god’s flesh and stared at the blood-covered blade in amazement.

  “God-rage,” he said, awed. “You are aptly named.”

  He would need such a blade. For Aelon was drawing his own sword.

  * * *

  Waiting on the beach, standing guard over the Venejekar, Acronis saw Aylaen running for the ship. She did not see the danger behind her—two of Aelon’s serpents in pursuit.

  The serpents had no wings; their silver, sinuous bodies undulated in the air. Their mouths gaped, tongues flicked, and venom dripped from their fangs.

  Aylaen stumbled in the wet sand and fell to her knees. She tried to scramble to her feet, but she was tangled in her skirts. Acronis and Farinn ran to her aid, standing protectively over her, his sword in his hand, as Farinn dropped the axe he had been holding to help her to her feet.

  Acronis was bracing for the serpent attack when a stream of water, shooting out of the air, struck one of the serpents with such force that it flipped head over tail and plunged into the sea.

  The Dragon Kahg roared and shot another geyser of water, missing the second serpent, but forcing it to give up on its prey and whip around to face the dragon.

  “Farinn, you and Aylaen run to the ship!” Acronis ordered, seeing more serpents coming.

  Aylaen saw them, too, and she hesitated.

  “You have the spiritbone to guard and you are not dressed for battle,” Acronis told her. “Let me earn my keep.”

  Aylaen cast a rueful glance at her wedding dress, now covered in wet sand, and the robes that had tangled around her feet. “I will go hide the spiritbone. Then I’ll be back to help. Farinn, come with me. I need you to stand guard.”

  Farinn cast a glance at Acronis, who mouthed the words, “Don’t let her!”

  Nodding in understanding, Farinn followed Aylaen into the sea, wading out to the Venejekar.

  Acronis turned to see the serpent trying to strike Kahg from underneath, hoping to sink its fangs into his belly. The dragon twisted in the air, rolled out of the way, and seized the serpent by the head. Clamping his jaws over the snake’s skull, Kahg crushed it and flung the corpse to the ground.

  The serpent that Kahg had knocked into the sea had recovered from its drenching and now flew to attack the dragon. Kahg seized it, too, in his claws, trying to bite it, as the serpent twisted and tried to strike the dragon with its venomous fangs.

  Acronis was watching the battle and keeping an eye out for more serpents, when he heard Farinn call his name and shout a warning. Acronis turned to see the first serpent, the one Kahg had killed, had come back to life and was slithering toward him. The crushed and mangled head dangled from the body and Acronis recalled Skylan saying that the only way to kill these creatures was to pierce the heart.

  Sword in hand, he ran toward the serpent, looking at the enormous writhing body and wondering just exactly where the heart was located. Figuring he’d just start stabbing, he saw, to his dismay, two heads starting to sprout like some horrid fungus from the ruin of the first.

  As the heads grew rapidly, he lunged at the monster, driving his sword deep into the body. Blood spurted, but he had apparently missed the heart, for the serpent reared up, towering over him, and attacked.

  The two heads darted at him. He struck at the nearest head and cut it from the body. He couldn’t recover in time and the second head was diving toward him. Acronis dropped his sword, flung himself to the sand and rolled.

  He felt a stinging pain on the back of his sword hand where a tooth grazed him in passing, but that was all. The serpent hissed in anger and coiled, prepared to strike again.

  Regretting his years, Acronis pushed himself stiffly to his feet and picked up his sword. Two more heads were growing out of the body to take the place of the head he had cut off and now three heads were darting at him, tongues flicking, fangs dripping.

  He drove his sword into one head, jabbing it in the jaw. Yanking the sword free, he started to strike again when a wave of dizziness assailed him. He staggered and fell to the sand.

  Acronis tried to stand, but his throat burned and a strange lethargy seized hold of him. He could only watch in a dreamlike haze as a wolf with yellow blazing eyes came running across the beach to attack the serpent. The wolf struck the monster from behind, jumping on its body, snarling and biting at the backs of the heads.

  The serpent twisted in fury, attempting to free itself, and then reared up, throwing off the wolf, who landed on its side with a pain-filled howl. Before the serpent could strike, the sea began to boil, and outraged oceanids sent waves crashing over the serpent, half drowning it, as a bevy of shrieking dryads and satyrs attacked it. The dryads stabbed it with sharpened sticks while the satyrs trampled the serpent with their goat legs and slashing hooves.

  When the serpent at last quit wriggling and lay dead, the wolf picked himself up and limped over to sniff at Acronis.

  Acronis grimaced as the horrible burning spread from his throat throughout his body. He drew in a shuddering breath and saw Wulfe crouched near him, careful not to touch his armor.

  “You need to get up, Ugly,” said Wulfe, frowning.

  “I agree,” Acronis said weakly. He coughed, finding it hard to breathe. “But I can’t seem … to feel my feet.”

  He paused, struggling to speak, then asked in a whisper, “Were those faeries I saw?”

  “My people,” said Wulfe. “I brought them with me to help Skylan. I keep telling you, but you won’t believe me.”

  “I believe you now. I have seen such wonders. Wait until I tell Chloe…,” Acronis murmured.

  “You don’t have to wait much longer, dear Father,” said Chloe.

  She was standing on the beach beside him, holding out her hands to him.

  “I lead the dance just as Skylan promised,” Chloe told him. She knelt beside him. “You will come dance with me.”

  Acronis was overcome by joy. He tried to speak, to answer his beloved child, to tell her how he longed to dance with her. The pain was too great, closing his throat. He struggled to breathe.

  The struggle did not last long.

  * * *

  On board the Venejekar, Aylaen left Farinn to keep watch while she ran down into the hold. Without Wulfe and his magic, she could not hide the spiritbone in the bulkhead with the others and she feared any moment Aelon might come searching for it.

  She hurriedly threw off the robes of the Bone Priestess, removed the golden dragon pins and let the wedding dress fall around her ankles, leaving her in her shift. Catching up the dress, she pinned the spiritbone brooch to the bodice, folded the fabric over the pin and stowed them in her sea chest.

  It was a poor hiding place, but she hoped that the strength of her love for Skylan would keep the spiritbone safe. She was about to close the lid, then caught sight of the robes lying on the deck.

  The robes of the Bone Priestess were sacred to Vindrash and the goddess had served Aylaen well, keeping Aelon from discovering the knife. Treia had hated and despised these robes that symbolized a life she had hated. She had abandoned that life and Aylaen had chosen it.

  Aylaen ran her hand over the runes embroidered onto the cloth. Treia’s needlework had been done in haste and with an ill will, and many of the threads were frayed or broken. Aylaen rested the robes on top of her wedding dres
s, shut the sea chest and was commending it to Vindrash’s care when she heard Farinn shouting to her.

  “Aylaen! Wulfe is here and he says Acronis has fallen!”

  Aylaen thrust her arms and head into her dragon-scale armor, picked up her sword, and ran back up on deck.

  * * *

  As the battle raged around him, Skylan waited, sword in hand, to see what Aelon would do. Thus far, the god had done nothing: Aylaen had reached the Venejekar safely. Acronis and Kahg were fighting the serpents. When the warriors in the hall saw the dragon join the battle, they shouted to their gods, Torval, and the Gods of Raj, and ran to the attack.

  Aelon watched the battle from his chariot. The god smiled, as if amused by the entertainment. Skylan grew uneasy, wondering what the god was plotting. He had to keep him from going after Aylaen.

  “Do you fear to fight me, Aelon?” Skylan taunted. “My sword bites deep, as you know.”

  “Fear you?” Aelon gave a grim smile. “I could kill you like a gnat, with a swat of my hand.”

  “Then why haven’t you?” Skylan challenged.

  “Because, for now, you are protected,” said Aelon. He pointed with his sword to the amulet. “Once I have destroyed the sorry gods who shield you, you and your people are doomed. Raegar and his armies will slaughter them like sheep.”

  “My people do not slaughter easily,” said Skylan proudly.

  “And neither do their gods,” said Joabis.

  Skylan turned in astonishment to see at his side the God of Revels, wearing ancient armor, clutching a battle axe and smelling strongly of ale. Joabis swayed slightly back and forth; the hands holding the axe were far from steady. He belched defiance.

  Aelon laughed and seemed to swell, expanding, soaring, towering above them, his head brushing the heavens. His sword flashed red in the light of the setting sun and hissed as it sliced through the air in a blow that would obliterate Skylan. He held Aylaen’s face in his mind, the last sight he would see, and stood his ground.

  An arrow streaked from the heavens, hit Aelon’s sword, and knocked it from the god’s hand. The blade spun in the air, twisting and turning, and plunged into the ocean, sending up a huge cloud of spray.