Doom of the Dragon (20 page)

“I saw him,” said Aylaen. “I tried to talk to him, but he ran off. I don't know where he's gone and we can't wait for him to return.”

“Aelon paid us a visit,” Kahg reported. “The god didn't stay long. One of his serpents came to summon him. Despite what he claims, the battle is not going well for him.”

At this point, Aylaen didn't know who to believe. She decided to see for herself.

“Cast off the ropes,” she told Acronis. “Kahg, take us to the battlefield.”

Kahg obeyed at once, almost before she had finished speaking, easing the
Venejekar
out of the tangle of prop roots and taking the ship out to sea. The dragon didn't ask what she was going to do, for which she was grateful. Either Kahg had confidence in her or he had made his own plans. Aylaen suspected the latter.

Having done all she could for the moment, she decided she had time for a brief rest after her exertions. Lowering herself onto the deck, she leaned back against a bulkhead and pressed her hand against her rib cage.

Acronis regarded her with concern. “Are you hurt?”

“A stitch in my side,” she said, grimacing. “It will pass.”

“Is what Wulfe said true? About Skylan losing?” Farinn asked anxiously.

“I don't know,” said Aylaen. “Aelon told me the same, but Kahg says the god is lying.”

Farinn gaped at her. “Aelon! The god! Did he harm you? Is everything all right?”

“No,” Aylaen said grimly. “But we will make it right. Is Joabis still on board?”

“Wulfe said the god left suddenly,” said Farinn. “Something frightened him.”

The arrival of Aelon probably scared Joabis out of what wits he has left, Aylaen thought. She was thankful the god was gone. She could proceed without interference. Feeling the pain ease, she rose to her feet.

“I'll be in the hold,” Aylaen told them. “I have to change my clothes.”

As she climbed down the ladder, she saw Acronis and Farinn exchange startled glances.

She took off the dragon-scale armor and the leather tunic and pants. She unbuckled her sword belt and laid armor and sword aside. Opening her sea chest, she took out her wedding dress, an apron dress, the kind worn by Vindrasi women, made of green wool, embroidered with dragons, clasped at the shoulders by two gold dragon pins.

She pressed the fabric to her breast and closed her eyes, remembering her wedding day and their happiness. She seemed to feel Skylan close to her and she thought of their talk of the future and that made her think of the girl, Holma, and her brother, Skylanson.

She could see their faces and hear their laughter. She saw her children coming home, tired and hot and sweaty, cut and bruised and eager to tell their parents about the day's adventures.

With each choice we make, each road we travel, each door we open or close, we change the future of both men and the gods, for our wyrds are bound together.

Aylaen put on a plain linen shift, drew the apron dress on over that, and fastened it at the shoulders with the gold pins. This done, she rummaged clear to the bottom of the sea chest and took out what she sought, a small knife with a thin blade; the type of knife used to gut fish.

She had found this knife after she and Skylan and the others were captured by Acronis and his soldiers. Blaming herself for Garn's death, she had planned to use the knife to die, but her sister, Treia, had stopped her.

Aylaen touched the knife's sharp point and thought of the irony, for not so long after that, Treia had tried to have her killed. Raegar had said Treia was carrying his child. Aylaen regretted telling Raegar about the bargain Treia had made with Hevis. She did not wish Treia well, but neither did she wish her ill, and she feared what Raegar might do. All Treia had ever wanted was for someone to love her.

Aylaen slipped the knife beneath the skirt of the apron dress, tucking it into a belt she had tied around her shift, then went to Treia's sea chest that had remained, forgotten, in the hold of the
Venejekar
ever since her sister had left them. Aylaen searched for the robes Treia had worn when she performed her duties as a Bone Priestess and found them wadded up in a heap and stashed at the bottom.

The robes were worn and frayed. The hem was caked with dried mud and there were spots on them that might have been blood, for Treia had worn these in the battle against the ogres, the battle that had, in a way, led Aylaen to where she was now.

Marveling at the twists and turns of their wyrds, Aylaen thought about what she planned. Her decision might not be the right one. The thread might snap in her hands. But this was the only way she could think of to secure the future she had seen. If Aelon had meant to frighten her by showing her a vision of her children, he had not succeeded. He had given her strength and courage and resolve.

She returned to the deck wearing her wedding dress over the plain linen shift and, over that, the ceremonial robes. Acronis and Farinn both stared. They must be thinking she had lost her mind.

She returned to her familiar place at the prow beside the dragon. The
Venejekar
bounded over the waves. The wind of their swift passage blew in her face, cooling her. The sun was starting to slide into the sea, but she had time yet. She tugged at the folds of the robes, rearranging them.

“The knife doesn't show, if that's what you are concerned about, my dear,” Acronis whispered.

He had come up behind her and Aylaen turned to him, dismayed. “How did you know I was carrying a knife, sir? If you were able to tell, then so will Aelon.”

“Aelon lacks my genius,” said Acronis drily, with a reassuring chuckle. “The robes are loose-fitting, ideal for concealing a small weapon, though not a sword. You would not go into battle unarmed, therefore I deduced a knife.”

His expression grew grave. “For you are going into battle, aren't you, Aylaen?”

“I am, sir. I have to,” she replied.

“To save Skylan?”

“To save more than him,” she said softly.

“We are rounding the point,” Farinn called. “You can see the battle. At least, I think that's what I'm seeing.”

Aylaen tried to make out what was happening, but she was a mortal looking upon the realm of the dead. She stared into a gray mist that roiled and shifted, seeing disembodied faces and hands, skulls and eyes slide into view and then vanish. Mouths were open, shouting, screaming. Swords clashed on shields. Hammers on axes. And the only sound she could hear was the waves splashing beneath the keel.

Aylaen took Kahg's spiritbone from its place on the nail and held it into the spray breaking over the bow, dousing it with seawater. Kahg was watching her. His eyes gleamed fiercely.

“Take us ashore,” Aylaen ordered the dragon.

 

CHAPTER

16

For a moment, Skylan thought they had won.

The ogres under the leadership of Bear Walker had crashed into the right flank of the enemy phalanx with the force of an avalanche roaring down a mountainside, rolling over them and flattening them. Skylan and his forces had shouted in derision as the hellkite forces crumbled. They hoped this meant Aelon and his fiends would retreat.

Unfortunately, the ogres' success proved their undoing. They drove so far forward that the enemy was able to outflank them, attack them from the rear. The ogre shield wall disintegrated as the hellkites swarmed around them, hitting them from all sides.

Skylan was about to call on his warriors to go their aid when he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. Thinking it was Sigurd, he turned and was amazed to see Joabis.

The god was wild-eyed with fear and shaking so he could barely speak. He managed to blurt out, “Aylaen!”

Skylan grasped hold of him by the tunic. “What about her?”

“She's gone to save the spiritbone!” Joabis gasped. “Aelon mustn't see her! You need to keep him occupied!”

Skylan looked overhead to see the god in his serpent-drawn chariot flying overhead, shouting commands to his hellkites.

The thought came to him that Aelon was well occupied in planning their destruction, but he knew what Joabis meant. If he and his warriors went down to defeat, Aelon would be free to pursue Aylaen.

Joabis disappeared and at the same instant the doors of the hall—where there had been no doors—opened wide. Joabis stood inside, waving his arms.

“In here!” the god was shouting. “You'll be safe!”

Not so long ago, Skylan would have never considered retreating. He would have fought to the death and gone proudly to Torval. Now he had more at stake than his own honor and glory. Aylaen was on this island trying to recover the spiritbone. He had to keep Aelon from finding her.

“Fall back!” Skylan roared, grimacing as he spoke, for the words tasted more bitter than wormwood. “Keep together! Fall back!”

The Vindrasi warriors looked startled. He couldn't blame them. Probably no chief in Vindrasi history had ever ordered a retreat. They obeyed, however, and began the long march to the rear, joined by Bear Walker and the surviving ogres, and by Dela Eden and her Cyclopes, picking up spent arrows as they went.

Skylan kept a close eye on his forces. If one warrior broke and ran, others would follow and the retreat would become a rout. His command held together, continuing to fight even as they inched backward step by step until they reached the hall.

Skylan and Bear Walker were the last to enter, holding off hellkites until the last warrior was inside, then they dashed through the door. Several hellkites charged after them, only to be cut down by Sigurd and Grimuir, who had been lying in wait for them.

Sigurd started to slam shut the door.

“Leave it open,” Skylan ordered. “We have to see what they're doing. Drag that table across the opening.”

Bear Walker and Keeper picked up one of the heavy tables that had been lying across trestles and rested it on its side in front of the door.

“What about our friends?” Skylan asked Sigurd. “Bjorn and Erdmun. Are they all right?”

“They're as alive as dead men can be,” Sigurd replied, indicating Erdmun collapsed on the floor with Bjorn standing beside him. “The hellkites are rotten fighters. They're slow and clumsy and barely know one end of a sword from another.”

“True,” said Skylan. “The problem is, they just keep coming.”

He looked about for Joabis, but, of course, he was gone. Still, Skylan had to give the god grudging credit. He'd risked his own precious skin to come tell Skylan about Aylaen.

The ogres and Cyclopes, working together, began overturning tables and setting up barricades. Skylan was figuring they could hold the hall for a considerable length of time.

And then he smelled smoke.

“They are building bonfires,” said Keeper.

Stands of trees were going up in flames, orange fire and black smoke leaping to the heavens. The hellkites were carrying flaming brands.

Skylan grimly nodded. “They don't need to lay siege to the hall. They're going to burn it down.”

His voice carried clearly in the silence of the hall. Ogres, Cyclopes, and humans stood together. Their numbers were reduced and Skylan found it odd to see no blood, to hear no screams. There were no wounded. The dead were simply gone, as if they had never been.

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.”