Skylan thought back to the galleys, riding at anchor in the shallow water, and an idea formed in his mind.
“I can create an immense problem for Raegar, one that will draw him from the city. But you are right. We must part. I must go back to the Venejekar,” Skylan said. “And you must stay here to save the spiritbones and summon the dragon.”
“I am Kai Priestess,” said Aylaen. “The responsibility for the spiritbones is mine. And I am the only one who can summon Ilyrion. You are Chief of Chiefs. You must lead the army.”
Skylan brushed back the flame-red hair from her face. “When I became Chief of Chiefs and learned I had to marry Draya, a woman I did not love, because she was Kai Priestess, I was fool enough to try to find a way around the law. I went to the Vogogroth, the Law Giver, and asked him to change the law for me.”
“What did he say?” Aylaen asked, drawing near to him.
“‘The marriage of the Chief of Chiefs and the Kai Priestess is a marriage of two halves of a clan, a nation. It is the marriage of every man and every woman. It is the marriage of the worldly and the godly, the marriage of faith and logic, the marriage of the sword and of the shield,’” Skylan replied.
The words had rankled at the time, opposing his will. Now he understood their wisdom.
“The song isn’t about you and me,” said Skylan.
“It never has been,” said Aylaen.
CHAPTER
31
Skylan and Aylaen went back to the house to explain their plans to Owl Mother. She listened without interruption and, at the end, sat thinking it over.
“You realize how dangerous this is?” she asked abruptly
“We do, Owl Mother,” Skylan replied.
Owl Mother snorted. “I doubt it. Neither of you young things have the sense god gave a goose.”
She rubbed her head, looking from one to the other.
“But it’s a good plan, for all that. I must go talk to the Lords of the Storm.”
“Wait a moment,” said Skylan, frowning. “Can you trust these lords? You said one was a traitor?”
“I trust two of them,” said Owl Mother. “They are my brothers.”
Seeing their astonishment, she added with a grin and a wink, “I’m the member of the family they don’t talk about. Keep an eye on Wulfe. Don’t let him go roaming. I’ll knock three times. Don’t let anyone else inside.”
After Owl Mother had gone, Skylan and Aylaen sat together by the fire, talking in low voices while Farinn and Wulfe still slept. They held each other close, knowing soon that they must part, perhaps forever. They talked of when they were little, when the three of them—Skylan and Aylaen and Garn—had been inseparable.
They remembered the happy times—the mischief, the fun, the laughter. They spoke of the sad times—the mistakes, the misunderstandings, the follies and faults. For a man’s wyrd is made of both the strong and the weak twisted together to form a single thread woven into the tapestry of the lives of gods and men.
And then, when they had said all that was in their hearts, they held each other and watched the flickering of the dying embers in silence until they heard Owl Mother’s three taps at the door.
“My brothers have agreed,” Owl Mother said. “And, now, Skylan, it’s time for you to go. You’ll have to travel back through the Realm of Fire, but I gave Wulfe a safer route. If you run into any monsters, take to your heels. I don’t have time to make the stars fall.”
Owl Mother raised a bony finger. “And when we get back home, you owe me a day’s work.”
“I look forward to it, Owl Mother,” said Skylan.
Bending down, he kissed her wrinkled cheek.
Owl Mother shoved him away. “None of your flirting, Skylan Ivorson. You’re much too young for me.”
Skylan went to wake up Wulfe and Farinn, only to find Wulfe was awake, curled up in a corner, shivering.
“I smell iron. A lot of iron.”
“Raegar’s army is here,” said Skylan. “He has iron enough to fill the ocean. You are coming with me. Aylaen is going to remain here. Farinn, you will stay with Aylaen.”
Drawing Farinn to one side, he added in a low voice, “Take care of her.”
“I will, Skylan. I promise,” said Farinn.
Skylan took Aylaen in his arms. “When this is ended, we will go back to our village and live in my father’s house. I will have to add a room for the children.”
“Two rooms. Twins, remember,” said Aylaen. “A boy and a girl.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. He clasped her tight and his own tears fell, sparkling, in her red hair.
“We may have to be apart for this short time,” Aylaen said. “But our wyrds will always be bound together. No matter what happens, Skylan, we will find each other again.”
He held on to her, not wanting to let her go. Something deep inside told him that once he did, he would never hold her again.
“Aylaen…,” he began, fear clutching at him.
She stopped his words with a kiss, then slipped out of his embrace. “Torval walk with you, my love, my husband.”
Skylan walked away from her, not letting himself look back, knowing that if he did, his heart would fail him.
* * *
Skylan joined Wulfe, who led him around the house to a different part of the garden, where a thick stand of walnut trees had been overrun by blackberry bushes, some grown to the height of a man.
“There’s a door in the wall on the other side of those bushes,” said Wulfe.
The canes with their sharp thorns covered the ground and trailed up among the branches of the trees, so thick and tangled that Skylan started to draw his sword, prepared to chop his way through them.
Wulfe saw Skylan’s hand on the hilt and hissed at him. “Stop it! No iron!”
“Then how do you propose we reach the door?” Skylan demanded.
“Magic,” said Wulfe, grinning, and he began to sing.
Wither leaves
And branches crack
I need to find
The right way back.
The canes began to writhe like snakes and a tunnel opened up, about large enough for a dog.
“You can fit through that,” Skylan said. “But what about me?”
“You just have to hunker down,” said Wulfe. He turned to wave to Owl Mother, Aylaen, and Farinn, who were watching from the doorway. “Good-bye!”
“Take a bath once in a while,” Aylaen called, waving back.
Wulfe started to duck through the blackberry bushes, then he stopped, turned, and dashed back to the dwelling. He flung his arms around Aylaen in a fierce hug, and then ran back.
Skylan looked at Aylaen. A ray of sunlight gilded her hair burnished red-gold. She put her hand to her lips, then waved farewell. He touched the amulet he wore.
“Torval, watch over my beloved wife, keep her safe.”
Wulfe dropped onto all fours and crawled through the hole in the bushes. Skylan hunkered down, as ordered, and squeezed through the canes, snapping off branches and scratching his arms on the thorns.
He found the door, which was old and weathered and looked as if a breath could blow it open. Skylan shoved on it and it did not budge, though he could see no sign of a bar or lock. Wulfe stood watching him with a grin on his face.
“More magic?” Skylan asked.
Wulfe nodded and, tapping on the door three times, he began to sing.
Realm of Fire
Realm of Stone
Take us back
To our home
“‘Home’ and ‘stone’ don’t really rhyme,” Wulfe added in a whispered aside to Skylan. “But the magic doesn’t know that.”
The door started to swing open. Wulfe looked back at Skylan. “Where are we going?”
“I’m going to my ship,” said Skylan. “You’re going back to your mother.”
Wulfe thrust out his lower lip. “I’m not. I’m coming with you. You need me.”
“Like an arrow in my backside,” said
Skylan. “Wulfe, there’s going to be fighting, blood and swords…”
Wulfe cast him a sly glance. “Since Aylaen’s gone, who’s going to talk to the dragon?”
Skylan glared at him. “You claim the dragon doesn’t like you.”
“He doesn’t,” Wulfe conceeded. “But I can talk to him and you can’t.”
“Dela Eden can talk to dragons…”
“But do you want her talking to our dragon?” Wulfe asked.
Skylan didn’t. He had come to like Dela Eden, but he wasn’t quite ready to trust her completely. She was a Cyclopes and their ways were not the ways of the Vindrasi.
“I don’t think the Dragon Kahg would want to hear you call him ‘our’ dragon,” said Skylan.
“Then I can come?” said Wulfe.
“So long as you’ll do what I tell you to do,” said Skylan.
Wulfe grinned and, taking hold of Skylan’s hand, led the way through the door and onto the deck of the Venejekar.
BOOK
3
CHAPTER
32
Raegar had ordered the commander of his flagship, Aelon’s Miracle, to wait to make landfall until the troops were ready to receive him with the ceremony due to the Emperor of Oran. He needed to put on a show, not only for his soldiers and the priests. The Stormlords would be watching.
Raegar’s barge, painted purple and adorned with gold, ferried him to shore, where slaves had spread red carpets so that he would not soil his feet on the sand.
He was wearing new ceremonial armor made of steel adorned with gold and silver serpents, matching shin guards and bracers, a purple cape that hung from golden clasps at his shoulders, and a golden crown fashioned in the form of a serpent biting its tail, with ruby eyes and glittering diamond scales.
He was accompanied by a personal guard in similar armor, though not decked out in gold, wearing helms trimmed with purple plumage. The men had been selected for their height, each standing well over six feet, and they were an impressive sight. His standard-bearers led the procession, followed by Aelon’s standards and two priests with sour expressions, angry that Raegar’s standards came first.
The two were wearing white robes with golden serpents embroidered on the back and they had their heads together, whispering as they walked. These two had been on board his ship as representatives of the priest-general, who had remained behind to rule Sinaria in the emperor’s absence. The priests had always hated him and they did not believe his account of Treia’s mysterious disappearance. He knew, because he had caught them questioning his slaves and servants, though, of course, the priests denied it.
Raegar made a mental note to see to it that their names headed the list of those who died in battle.
As he walked across the carpet, basking in the cheers of his soldiers, a winged shadow swept over him. He glanced up with pride to see Fala circling high above him, glaring down at him. Extending her feet, she curled her claws, like a hawk prepared to dive down on a mouse. Raegar hurriedly looked away.
Fala had been furious to hear of Treia’s death. The dragon and Treia had formed a bond and when she heard Treia was dead, Fala had threatened to leave Raegar’s service and take the other two dragons who had recently arrived with her. Aelon had been forced to intercede with Fala, promising the dragon her pick of the jewels from the rich city of the Stormlords. Fala had allowed herself to be persuaded on one condition—that he summon her using sand gathered from the beach, making her and the other two dragons out of earth, the strongest of the four elements.
Raegar had deemed a fire dragon more useful in fighting the Stormlords, but he dared not argue. Fala and the other two flew above the parade, their scales the brownish color of the mixture of sand and dirt he had slathered on the spiritbones.
Fala was scanning the skies; undoubtedly searching for her mortal foe, the Dragon Kahg. The traitor dragons had told him Skylan and his ragtag army of subhuman ogres and freakish Cyclopes had made landfall on the Spirit Coast. Unfortunately, they had lost track of them since. Fala and the other dragons were searching for Kahg and Raegar had sent out scouting parties to find Skylan.
He made an inspection of the troops and oversaw the preparations for war. This involved walking among the tents with the hot sun beating down on his head, and Raegar began to regret the purple cape and heavy armor. But only a few miles to the north of where he had established camp, thunder clouds boiled, lightning flared, and torrential rains fell on the plateau below.
The Stormlord’s city of Tsa Kerestra hides among those clouds, the spies had written. When the magic of the stormhold is activated, the gate to the city will open.
“Let them bluster,” Raegar remarked as he observed with satisfaction the various types of war machines: ballistae and the stone-throwing onagers, siege towers and battering rams. “Much good a few rain clouds will do them.”
Once his inspection was complete, Raegar made a brief speech to his soldiers, then went to the royal pavilion, which had been outfitted with every luxury. Raegar looked around with pleasure. Slaves had spread soft rugs on the floor and carried in chairs and couches and his ornately carved wood-framed bed, so heavy it required ten men to haul it from the ship.
Looking at the bed, Raegar felt a cold qualm creep into his bowels, for he had been accustomed to sharing that bed with Treia. Her smell seemed to linger on the bedclothes, making him gag, and he longed to order the damn thing be hauled off and burned. He dared not do so, however, for that would cause talk and increase the suspicions of the priests.
He scowled, his pleasure in his tent gone and he cursed Treia roundly. Even dead, she continued to plague him. He found some consolation in the cradle they had set up for his son. The baby would remain on board his ship in the care of the wet nurse until the war was over. When Raegar was crowned king of Tsa Kerestra, he would carry his son with him as he rode his chariot through the city in triumph.
The heat in the tent was stifling. Raegar was sweating in his armor and he walked outside into the fresh air to find Eolus speaking to the commander in charge of the search detail.
“Have they located the dragonships of the Vindrasi?” Raegar demanded.
“They saw no sign of them, sir,” Eolus reported. “But they did find evidence that there was a battle.”
“Blood soaked into the sand, sir,” said the commander. “Shields and weapons, broken spears and arrows. The tide had washed much of the evidence away, but we did see some huge footprints that could belong only to ogres among others that were human.”
“Battle?” Raegar was puzzled. “Who did they fight?”
If the Stormlords would not fight him, he could not see why they should bother with Skylan.
“Looks to me as if they ended up fighting each other, sir,” said the commander. “Likely they had a falling out.”
“No bodies?” Raegar asked.
The commander shook his head. “If there had been, they would have been carried out to sea or devoured by wild beasts. Or worse.”
“Worse?” Raegar asked.
“Ghouls. We are very near the land of the fae, sir,” said Eolus.
“Too damn near,” Raegar muttered. “Once Aelon reigns supreme, she will wipe out that scourge.”
“They did find evidence that before the battle, the filthy savages paid a visit to the stormhold,” Eolus continued. “Perhaps that was what they fought over.”
Raegar grunted. Having been born one of those “filthy savages,” Raegar wondered if Eolus was aware that he had just insulted his emperor. Raegar had left that part of his life far behind him, but he knew others—especially among the noble classes and the upper echelons of the priesthood—remembered the days when the slave, Raegar, had walked ten paces behind his master.
Eolus returned Raegar’s scrutiny with equanimity and Raegar relaxed. His soldiers admired him; perhaps for the very reason that the priests did not. Raegar was a warrior—one of them. Affairs of state either bored him or galled him. He likened the priests to Aelo
n’s serpents; tangled in a writhing knot, each head striking at the others.
Although not a particularly good emperor, Raegar was a good general. His men deemed him strict, but fair. They liked and admired him because he looked out for their welfare. Raegar made certain that his soldiers, sailors, and rowers were well paid and well fed. An army marches on its belly, as the saying goes.
“Did they do any damage?” Raegar asked.
“As you commanded, sir, we did not enter the stormhold, but we saw no signs of damage,” the commander replied.
“Do you want the men to keep searching, sir?” Eolus asked.
Raegar was Emperor of Oran, commanding twelve thousand troops, the largest army ever assembled in the history of the world. He was about to force powerful wizards to kneel before him. If he continued to expend manpower and resources searching for a few hundred “filthy savages,” his soldiers would start to doubt his leadership, if not his sanity.
“So Skylan is out there,” Raegar muttered. “So he has four spiritbones. What of it? He won’t get the fifth. And even he isn’t stupid enough to attack an army that is better equipped, more skilled in fighting, and outnumbers him ten to one. It’s just … I keep killing him and the bastard won’t die!”
“What did you say, sir?” Eolus asked.
“I was going over battle plans,” Raegar responded. “What did you ask me?”
“If you wanted us to keep searching for the Vindrasi?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Raegar answered. “As you say, it is obvious they had a falling out. What can you expect of savages?”
Eolus and the other commander both laughed.
Raegar glanced at the sun crawling toward its zenith. Morning was advancing. Time to get started.
“Assemble the troops,” he ordered. “And summon the priests. We are going to the stormhold.”
Eolus and his guard and the elite troops chosen to accompany the emperor to the stormhold were ready to depart within minutes. Raegar was forced to wait for the priests. He had told them to stay in one location so that they would be ready to leave and while a few had done as he ordered, most of the others had wandered off to gape at the siege machines or investigate and then complain about the fact that they had to sleep in tents.
Doom of the Dragon Page 29