Secret of the Dragon

by Margaret Weis

  The boy peered through his sopping wet hair in the direction of the sky. “That’s not a dragon, you know. It’s old. Really, really old. It used to run wild, but then the gods of the Uglies captured it and chained it up.”

  Kahg’s red eyes flared. His gaze cast a garish aura on the boy.

  “If you throw that at me again, whelp, I will smash you flat!” Kahg snarled.

  Wulfe lowered the hammer and backed away. “You have to go back for Skylan.”

  Kahg changed course suddenly, bringing the ship around, a difficult maneuver in the wind-whipped river, but he managed.

  “Thank you!” Wulfe yelled, waving at the dragon.

  Kahg’s eyes glittered. He had not reversed his course for the sake of the faery child or for this Skylan, whom the dragon finally vaguely remembered.

  The Dragon Kahg had abruptly reversed course because he had been about to sail into the midst of the ogre fleet.

  CHAPTER

  20

  * * *

  BOOK THREE

  Skylan scoured the riverbank searching for some sign of his ship and praying to Torval that the Venjekar was not lying at the bottom of the swollen river. He could find no trace and he wondered bleakly what to do.

  They could not remain here. The river was rising, and this part of the bank would soon be underwater. All were exhausted, including the horses. He was about to tell Aylaen and the others to move to higher ground, when he saw two red lights flaring from a gray wall of rain.

  Skylan cried out and plunged excitedly into the water and was nearly swept away by the current. Keeper caught hold of him and dragged him back to land. Skylan shouted and the Dragon Kahg steered the Venjekar close into a small inlet partially sheltered from the wind by a gigantic willow tree.

  Aylaen stood on the bank holding her sister in her arms. Treia was shivering violently. Blood oozed from the wound on her head. She paid no heed to all attempts to speak to her. If Aylaen had not been supporting her, she would have fallen to the ground.

  Keeper and Skylan and Acronis stripped off their heavy armor and then waded into the water to seize hold of the hull and drag the ship close to the shore. Sigurd and Grimuir jumped over the side, assisting Skylan and Acronis as they tried to hang on to the ship long enough for the others to board.

  “Where did you go?” Skylan yelled at Sigurd as they stood side by side, trying desperately to hold on to the ship that the river was threatening to tear from their grasp.

  “Ask him!” Sigurd jerked his head toward the prow.

  The dragon’s eyes burned an angry red and Skylan decided to let the matter drop.

  “Nice haul, by the way,” Sigurd said, his gaze going to Skylan’s neck. “The gold in that must be worth a fortune.”

  Skylan clasped his hand around the spiritbone and tucked it under his sodden tunic.

  Keeper boosted Aylaen up and over the hull. Treia made no resistance, but she did nothing to help herself either. They could have let her sink beneath the water and she would have gone down without a murmur. Keeper gave a great heave and flung her onto the ship. Bjorn caught hold of her and eased her down onto the deck.

  Sigurd had looked astonished to see Acronis, then he’d grinned. “Slave master now the slave. Good thinking.”

  Skylan said nothing, not wasting his breath in explanations that Sigurd would not understand. Acronis knew how to navigate the river, and he had knowledge of much more besides. Knowledge that might be useful to Skylan, such as how to sail the ship across the open sea at night without losing his way, how to read the squiggly lines on a map, how to use some of the mystifying instruments that Zahakis had brought on board.

  “Keeper, help the Legate!” Skylan shouted.

  The ogre didn’t waste time. He lifted Acronis and tumbled him over the side. Acronis landed on the deck, where Erdmun and Farinn hauled him to his feet.

  The river was rising steadily, eating away at the bank beneath them.

  “You next, my friend!” Skylan ordered Keeper. “We’ll take you to your people.”

  Keeper was about to clamor on board the ship when a gust of wind caused a large willow branch to whip around and strike the ogre in the head. Keeper’s grip slipped off the hull and he started to go under.

  Skylan shouted and grabbed hold of the ogre by his leather harness. Sigurd and Grimuir and others seized hold of him by any part they could latch on to—his harness, his belt. They managed to haul the ogre over the side, though they nearly swamped the ship in the process.

  Skylan was the last to board. He was so tired he did not think he had strength enough. Sigurd and Grimuir reached down their hands. Skylan caught hold of them and he was once more standing with his feet on the deck of his ship.

  “Now what?” Sigurd asked.

  “We follow our plan,” Skylan yelled. “Sail down the river to the sea and home!”

  Sigurd scowled. “You mean we sail down the river and into the arms of the ogres!”

  “They will be happy to see us,” said Skylan. “We are bringing them one of their godlords.” He pointed at Keeper.

  Sigurd grinned.

  “I could get to like you,” he said, slapping Skylan on the shoulder.

  Skylan leaned wearily against the rail. The horses were running off, heading for higher ground. He hoped they reached safety. He asked Torval’s blessing on them, then.

  He made his way across the heaving deck to see how Keeper was doing. He found, to his relief, that the ogre was conscious.

  “Another bump on the head,” Keeper said, and then he puked.

  “You’ve got a cracked skull,” said Skylan. “Come on, I’ll take you down to the hold. We can’t have anything happening to you, my friend. You are going to buy us safe passage through the ogre fleet.”

  Keeper grunted in understanding. He started to insist that he was fine, but when he stood up, he keeled over backward. Erdmun and Skylan caught him and between them they managed to help the ogre down the ladder.

  Aylaen had brought her sister into the hold as well. Treia sat huddled on a sea chest, wrapped in blankets, staring at nothing. Water sloshed about the deck. Aylaen sat beside her, chafing her cold hands and talking to her reassuringly.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Treia,” Aylaen was saying. “You couldn’t know what would happen when you summoned the dragon. You must have all five of the Vektan dragons in order to control them. That is the secret of the Vektia. You couldn’t know.”

  Skylan felt a chill of foreboding. He wished Aylaen hadn’t told Treia the secret. She didn’t seem to have heard, however. Her eyes were dull and lifeless. Aylaen wrapped another blanket around her sister and began to rock her like a child.

  Keeper sat down with a groan on a sea chest and lowered his throbbing head into his hands. Skylan was about to leave when Wulfe appeared from nowhere and flung himself on Skylan with a glad cry.

  “The dragon is upset,” said Wulfe. “That’s why he left. I know why—”

  Sigurd began bellowing from the deck, shouting for Skylan. He extricated himself from Wulfe’s grasp.

  “Stay down here out of the way. Aylaen, see to Keeper. He’s the one who needs your help.”

  Returning to the deck, Skylan saw a fearful sight. The Vektan dragon was right behind them, flying down the river, rushing at them. The water beneath its fire-lit belly foamed and churned and boiled.

  “Why is it chasing us?” Bjorn cried.

  Skylan put his hand to the golden necklace.

  “Because I have its spiritbone.”

  He yelled for Aylaen. She hastened onto the deck. Seeing the dragon and the thundering wall of water bearing down on them, she stopped to stare in horror. Skylan fought his way forward, buffeted by the wind. He thrust the spiritbone of the Vektia into Aylaen’s hands.

  “Talk to the Dragon Kahg! He’s the only one who can save us!” Skylan yelled over the howling shrieking of the wind and the near-constant thunder.

  Aylaen looked up at the dragon, then she shook her head.<
br />
  “He cannot stop the Vektia.” Aylaen had to grab on to Skylan to keep from being blown over. “It’s not a true dragon.”

  Aylaen looked into the dragon’s eyes. The fire of his gaze seemed to ignite her red hair, surround her with flame.

  “Aylaen!” Skylan cried, shaking her.

  But she was far away from him and could not hear.

  CHAPTER

  21

  * * *

  BOOK THREE

  Aylaen walked the battlements of Torval’s Hall. Her boots crunched on snow that was churned and dirty and stained with blood. The wind blew cold and fierce, stinging her cheeks and freezing her breath. She was dressed warmly in a fur cloak with a hood and thick wool gloves. She wrapped the cloak more closely about her.

  She looked out over the battlements onto a vast, frozen landscape of ice and snow. The sky was a brilliant, aching blue. The sun was so bright it hurt her eyes, but it gave no warmth.

  Torval, leaning against the battlements, stared out over the silent land. His spear rested against the wall. His shield stood beside him. His sword was in its fur-lined sheath. Some distance from him, Hevis and Joabis squatted in the snow, playing with dice made of walrus tusks.

  Vindrash stood near Torval. She was clad in armor and fur and she looked at Aylaen and then looked away, back out over the frozen fields and plains to the distant mountains beyond.

  “Is the fighting over?” Aylaen asked.

  “For the moment,” said Torval. “Our enemies have been forced to retreat.”

  “Thanks to me,” said Hevis, tossing the dice. “I win.”

  Joabis swore and threw down a handful of jewels. Hevis gathered them up and stuffed them in a pouch.

  “You won by revealing our secret to our enemies!” Torval said angrily.

  “I was trying to help,” said Hevis, shrugging. “Besides, it’s not my fault. You should have told us the truth about the Vektia. You and your bloody secrets!”

  He handed the dice to Joabis, then shifted his gaze to Aylaen. Hevis winked at her.

  “You can stop the Vektia and save your friends. I can tell you how, but you must sacrifice—”

  “You are wasting your time, Hevis,” said Vindrash. “Aylaen knows how to stop the Vektia. She doesn’t need you to tell her.”

  “You taught me a song,” said Aylaen. “But it is only a song. I hear the words in my head. I don’t feel them in my heart.”

  “To understand the song, you must become a Bone Priestess. No pretending. No playacting. You must dedicate yourself to me and to Torval, to Joabis and Aylis, and even Hevis.” Vindrash added gently, “You have been faithful all your life. Even when you raged against us, you could not deny us.”

  “I would not be a good priestess,” said Aylaen, shaking her hooded head. “I am selfish and willful, obstinate and stubborn, as you know, Vindrash. I have a quick temper. I don’t like to follow rules.”

  Vindrash smiled. “Those are the faults of a child. You must leave childhood behind, Aylaen.”

  The bitter wind froze her tears on her cheeks. Aylaen knelt in the snow.

  “If you can forgive me, Vindrash, I will serve you.”

  “Give me your sword,” said Vindrash.

  Aylaen handed the goddess her sword by the hilt. But the goddess gripped the sword by the blade. Blood ran from Vindrash’s hand, dripped down the blade, and spattered red on the snow.

  She gave the sword back to Aylaen.

  “I win,” said Joabis, triumphantly snatching up the jewels.

  “For the moment,” said Hevis, shrugging.

  “Aylaen!” Skylan was shaking her, shouting her name.

  The battlements vanished in shards of sparkling ice and Aylaen was once more on the deck of the Venjekar.

  The Dragon Kahg had infused his spirit into the Venjekar. He had, in essence, become the ship. The dragonhead prow was no longer made of wood. It was flesh and bone and covered with scales. The dragon roared defiance and outrage as he carried the Venjekar downstream in a terrifying race with the Vektan dragon. The warriors were hanging on to whatever they could find to keep from being washed overboard.

  Aylaen looked down at the spiritbone in her hand. The gold gleamed in the fire of Kahg’s eyes, the emeralds were blood-red.

  “Why didn’t the spiritbone disappear?” Skylan cried.

  The wind whipped his hair across his face. He was bare-chested, having discarded his armor, wearing nothing but the leather skirt and his boots and sword. He had cuts and scratches all over his body and his face and arms.

  “The Vektia is tied to it,” said Aylaen, “as the newborn babe is tied to its mother. As a man is tied to his wyrd.”

  She slowly placed the golden chain over her head.

  “What are you doing?” He had to yell over the shrieking wind.

  “What I have to,” said Aylaen. “I am a Bone Priestess of the Kai. Vindrash has given me her blessing.”

  She looked back at the dragon. Kahg’s mouth was wide open, gasping for breath. Spittle flew from his jaws. He had entered the world and he was now as vulnerable as the fragile humans he was trying desperately to protect. The Dragon Kahg rode the flood, keeping the ship afloat, keeping ahead of the raging Vektia. But his strength was waning. He was slowing. He could not go much longer.

  Aylaen drew her sword and started to walk toward the prow. The Torgun warriors were hanging on for dear life to anything they could find to hold on to—the rail, the ropes where they would have mounted their shields, the mast. They urged her to go down into the hold or she would be swept overboard.

  She couldn’t hear them. All she could hear was the voice of the goddess.

  The wind shifted, blowing against her, trying to stop her. She could not move against it, and she feared, for one terrifying moment, that it would knock her off the deck. And then Skylan was there beside her. He caught hold of her and added his strength to hers. The two of them fought their way forward.

  Aylaen placed her hand on the curved neck of the dragon.

  “Turn, Kahg!” she cried. “Come about, face the Vektia!”

  She lifted the spiritbone in her hand. “Take me to the Vektia, Kahg. It’s the only way we can stop it.”

  The dragon spit a gout of flame and began to turn the ship.

  The men had no idea what was going on. The dragon appeared to be taking them into the teeth of their enemy, but they could do nothing except hang on and pray.

  Aylaen clasped the spiritbone of the Vektia in one hand, then wrapped her arm around the dragon’s neck. Skylan stood braced with his feet planted firmly on the deck, holding on to her.

  As she was turning, the Venjekar was hit amidships by a wave and rolled over. For a perilous moment, the ship floundered in the rushing water. The Dragon Kahg struggled to keep the ship righted and swung around to face the Vektia.

  The Vektan dragon had no eyes. It could not see. It killed without seeing what it killed, without even knowing. And yet the blind head was searching for them. The Vektan dragon dove at Aylaen.

  She let go of the dragon’s neck. The Dragon Kahg rode the waves, swooping up and down, his eyes red slits of fire against the blinding spray. He was sailing right into the wall of water. They had only moments left before the Vektia crashed down on top of them.

  “Hold on to me, Skylan!” Aylaen cried.

  Skylan braced himself against the hull. He had no idea what she meant to do. The wind tried to tear her out of his arms.

  Aylaen began to sing the song Vindrash had taught her. Holding the spiritbone high in the air, she drew her sword. “The thread is twisted and spun . . . then I seize it. . . .”

  The dragon’s sightless head focused on the spiritbone. The dragon opened its maw and darted down. The Venjekar lifted up.

  “And he dies!” Aylaen raised the sword and swung the blade, shining with the light of thunderbolts, and sliced off the dragon’s head.

  The dragon’s blind head glared at her and then burst into flame and vanished. The drag
on’s headless body whirled and wrapped around and around, wings drawn inward, tail whipping, the feet swirling. The dragon spun like a massive waterspout and then the Vektan dragon lifted up into the heavens. Thunder rolled, lightning spiked, black clouds boiled, and it was gone.

  The warriors stared about dazedly, not sure what had happened, knowing only that they were still alive. The wind died. The water calmed. The current was still flowing swiftly, sweeping the Venjekar downstream, but the ship was no longer in peril of being crushed. Aylaen realized Skylan was still holding her in his arms. She could see the blue of his eyes. With the passing of the storm, the sky was alight with the coming of dawn.

  Aylean sheathed the sword blessed by Vindrash.

  “We’re safe now,” she said. “You can let go.”

  As he released her, she clasped his hand. “I’m sorry, Skylan. I hope you can forgive me.”

  He drew her close and she drew him close, and for a moment they were the only two people on the ship.

  And then Aylaen saw Treia.

  Her sister had come up on deck. She stared at the brightening sky, the ragged-edged clouds that were like tattered wings, the lightning that flashed in the distance and then was gone. She listened to the last, low rumble of thunder.

  “You are the darling of the gods now, Sister,” said Treia. “But they will turn on you as they turned on me. I was tricked into destroying everything I held dear. The same fate will happen to you.”

  Aylaen let go of Skylan’s hand.

  CHAPTER

  22

  * * *

  BOOK THREE

  The rising sun crawled out from under the storm clouds. Lurid light spread over the water. Skylan could see the bay and the sea beyond and the ogre ships, with their odd, triangular sails, thick as seabirds flocking to feed on a school of fish.

  Ogres are terrified of dragons and, at the sight of this one, their godlords had decided to retreat. The ogre warriors who had survived the flood and fire in the city fled back to their ships, only to find the seas rising in the whipping wind, tearing off masts and shredding sails. Some of the ships sank, but most managed to survive the storm and they were now milling about the bay, searching for survivors.