Doom of the Dragon (22 page)

“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.

Torval and Vindrash and the other gods of the Vindrasi strode onto the field of battle. The Gods of Raj joined them, taking the forms of two enormous ogres, carrying war hammers the size of oak trees. A female Cyclopes walked with them, firing arrows from her bow.

Joabis belched and grinned.

“I brought help,” said the god.

The Dragon Kahg gave a loud roar as Vindrash, in her dragon form, flew to join him. Torval and his heroes smashed into the ranks of the hellkites.

Garn took his place at Skylan's side.

“Some god loves you, my friend,” he said.

“Not that one,” said Skylan, laughing and pointing to Aelon.

The laughter caught in his throat, nearly choking him.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen stood before him. Her black hair, unbound, fell over her shoulders. Her eyes were brown flecked with gold. She held out her hands to him to show him she was not armed, a fact that he could see plainly for himself, for her flimsy dress of some filmy fabric concealed almost nothing.

She started to touch his face with her hand. He drew back from her and she let her hand fall.

“Do not be so quick to say Aelon does not love you, Skylan Ivorson,” the god said with a charming smile. “To prove it, I will give you this piece of advice: go home. You see, this attack was a diversion. While you and your gods have been battling ghosts, your cousin, Raegar, is sailing to the land of the Stormlords with the largest army ever assembled in the history of this world.”

Skylan was shaken by this news, but he would remain in the realm of the dead forever before he would let Aelon see she had unnerved him.

He shrugged. “Let my cousin sail where he pleases. I care nothing about these Stormlords.”

Aelon cast him a glittering glance between lowered lashes. “Then I don't suppose you care about the spiritbone they have in their possession.”

Skylan gripped the hilt of his sword and looked past the god, out to sea. “I don't know what you are talking about.”

Aelon drew closer and he shivered.

“Because I love you, Skylan,” she said softly, “I will do something gods rarely do for mortals. I will tell you the truth. I would like to have the five spiritbones and the power of creation. I could do many wondrous things for this world if I had such power. But I don't
need
it. I've done quite well without it.”

Skylan was puzzled. Did this mean Aelon was giving up the fight? He glanced at Garn, who looked grim.

Aelon gave Skylan a charming smile, then languidly walked back to her chariot. She moved slowly, taking her time. Pausing, she looked at him over her shoulder and added, “I just need to stop you from getting it.”

She stepped inside and picked up the reins. “Your wife could have saved your people. She chose not to and now my armies march on them. Go home. Give up the fight. No matter what you do, you cannot win. So you have four spiritbones. You need five.”

“I have won this day!” Skylan shouted, goaded into speaking.

“Because I let you,” said Aelon.

Her serpents carried her chariot into the sky. The Dragon Kahg chased after them, but god, serpents, and chariot vanished in a dazzling flash of white light.

“She speaks the truth,” said Skylan, downcast. “She needs only one spiritbone and that one is with the Stormlords. How can I fight an army?”

Joabis snorted. “As a gambler myself, I can tell you this, my friend—Aelon is playing you for a fool.”

Skylan cast Joabis a look of disgust. “When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it.”

“Much as I hate to agree with him, Skylan, Joabis is right,” said Garn. “Aelon has chased you around the world, gone beneath the sea and even entered the realm of the dead to find those spiritbones. You and Aylaen thwarted Aelon and now that he has lost, what else can he do except claim victory?”

“And make me doubt myself,” said Skylan.

“Aelon doesn't need one spiritbone to stop the gods. Aelon needs one to stop two mortals: you and Aylaen.”

Skylan considered Garn's words, then said, “You are right, my friend. There might be a chance—”

Someone smote him from behind, sending him staggering. Skylan whipped about, sword raised, to see Sigurd.

“You and Garn having a cozy chat?” Sigurd asked, sneering. “Sorry to interrupt, but the rest of us are fighting for our bloody lives! If you two old women are finished with your gossip, we could use your help.”

“I thought you could handle this lot yourself, Sigurd,” said Skylan, laughing.

Sigurd glared at him, muttering, and ran back to the battlefield. Despite the departure of their god, the hellkites were still fighting. Perhaps death was preferable to their unholy lives.

Skylan rested his hand on Garn's shoulder. “We will fight together one last time before I join you in Torval's Hall.”

“May that time be long in coming,” said Garn.

*   *   *

Wulfe took Aylaen and Farinn to where Acronis lay on the sand. Aylaen had not wanted to believe the boy when he told her Acronis was dead and, seeing no wound, no blood, she hoped he was mistaken. Falling to her knees beside him, she started to feel for a pulse.

She knew when she touched him, he was gone. His skin was already cold, his lips tinged with blue.

“I told you,” said Wulfe, standing back, keeping clear of her sword. “You never believe me.”

“How did he die?” Aylaen asked.

“Poison. The snake bit him.” Wulfe pointed to Acronis's hand.

Aylaen brushed her hand over her eyes, which were burning with tears. “Once I would have rejoiced in his death,” she admitted, remembering when he had captured them, made her and her friends his slaves. “Now I grieve his loss. Where is his sword? He should have it with him.”

Farinn, after a brief search, found the Legate's sword lying the sand. Picking it up, he gently laid it on his breast and clasped the cold hands over the hilt.

“I hope you and Chloe are together, sir,” said Aylaen.

Perhaps it was her fond imagination or perhaps because she was in the realm of the dead, but she looked out across the sand and saw two figures, shadowy and indistinct, and yet she knew them.

Acronis and his daughter, dancing.

 

CHAPTER

18

The hellkites could not withstand the combined forces of the gods and the dead heroes attacking the fiends in the name of their gods. When the last hellkite had been dispatched, Skylan and Bear Walker and Dela Eden met in the middle of the battlefield.

“The day is ours,” said Skylan.

“And now this god of drunks must keep his promise,” said Bear Walker, with a frowning look at Joabis, who was happily celebrating their win with a foaming mug of ale.

“He will,” said Skylan. “Torval will see to that. When your lives are returned, I have something important to discuss with you both.”

“You need an army to go to the land of the Stormlords,” said Dela Eden.

Skylan flushed, disconcerted. “Stop sneaking into my head!” he told her with a baleful look at her third eye.

“Don't worry, Vindrasi,” said Dela Eden, laughing. “There's very little there worth stealing.”

Before he could make a cutting retort, Dela Eden looked past his shoulder. “Here comes your woman. You have a treasure in her, Vindrasi.”

“I know,” said Skylan.

He had the impression that Aylaen was standing quite near him, yet she seemed as far away as if she were on the other side of the world. He reached out to her, and she to him, but their hands could not meet. The gulf that separated them was too deep and vast for them to cross.

“Joabis will keep his promise,” said Skylan. “He will restore our lives and I will come to you soon.”

She smiled, but there was a sadness about her smile that troubled Skylan.

“I came to tell you that the fourth spiritbone is safely hidden with the others. Wulfe and Farinn and the Dragon Kahg are guarding it.”

“That is good,” said Skylan, wondering what was wrong. He went back over her words and thought he knew. “You spoke of Farinn and Wulfe, but you did not mention Acronis.”

“He is dead,” said Aylaen gently. “He died saving Farinn and me from Aelon's serpents.”

“I am sorry,” said Skylan. “But do not grieve. I will ask Joabis to restore his life, as well.”

“Acronis won't come back to us, Skylan,” said Aylaen, adding with a faint smile. “He is with Chloe now.”

“Then we will meet again in Torval's Hall,” said Skylan.

“Come to me soon, Skylan,” said Aylaen. “Every moment we have together is precious.”

She turned and walked away, her arms clasped across her chest. There seemed a shadow of sadness over her.

“She grieves for Acronis,” said Skylan.

Dela Eden grunted and he turned to see her watching him. She raised an eyebrow, causing her third eye to twitch, then walked off.

*   *   *

Joabis invited the souls of the warriors and the gods to assemble in the hall. He was in a jovial mood, broaching a huge barrel of ale and handing out mugs, inviting them to drink to their glorious win. The warriors eyed him askance and stood in grim silence.

“Keep your ale,” said Sigurd. “We want our lives.”

The rest rumbled their agreement.

Joabis looked sheepish and tried to sidle behind the barrels. “There is a slight problem. I can't really do that—”

Ogres, men, and Cyclopes roared in fury.

“But I can!” said Torval, halting the angry clamor.

The god took his place at the head of the hall to address them. He stood straight, and his eyes burned with a fierce light. He was not the weary, sorrowful god Skylan had seen in the Hall of Valor. He was the god of legend, who had fought the Great Dragon Ilyrion and claimed a world.

Torval gestured to Skylan. “This strange alliance was your doing, Fish Knife. I know our people…”

The god's keen gaze swept over the Vindrasi warriors, who stood straight and tall, proud of their god in front of the unbelievers.

“But I do not know these others,” Torval continued. “Introduce me.”

Skylan described the actions of both the Cyclopes and the ogres and told of their heroism in battle. Torval complimented Bear Walker and Dela Eden, who were gracious, if reserved in the presence of a god they considered an enemy.

Torval smiled, understanding.

“I honor all of you this day, whether you are Vindrasi, ogres, or Cyclopes, and it will be my privilege to restore the lives of such brave warriors. When you leave this island, you will return to the realm of the living.”

A cheer went up from everyone in the hall. Sigurd and Grimuir slapped each other on the back. Bjorn shook hands with Bear Walker and Dela Eden, and even Erdmun couldn't find anything to be gloomy about. Joabis, relieved, started passing out mugs.

Skylan stood apart, watching the warriors celebrate.

Torval eyed him. “I will restore your life, as well, Fish Knife.”

“Thank you, Torval,” said Skylan.

“But that is not all you want of me, is it,” Torval said, rubbing his chin.

“Aelon sends an army to the land of the Stormlords,” said Skylan. “The god plans to attack them and take the fifth spiritbone.”

“And you intend to see to it that Aelon does not get it,” said Torval.

“That is my hope, Torval, but my force consists of Sigurd and Grimuir; Bjorn and Erdmun; myself and Aylaen; young Farinn, a poet, who is skilled in singing of battles, but not so skilled in fighting them; Wulfe, a fae child who says he is the son of the faery princess; and the Dragon Kahg.”

Skylan shrugged. “Sigurd would say that one Vindrasi warrior is worth one hundred of Aelon's, but that still leaves me short.”

“You have an idea to even the odds,” Torval said.

“If there was time to sail back to our homeland and raise an army of Vindrasi warriors, I would do so. But we are far from our homeland and Raegar's fleet is already at sea. I want to ask the ogres and the Cyclopes to join me in the fight.”

Torval's expression darkened. “You would not find help at home even if there were time. The Vindrasi will soon be fighting their own battle against Aelon. In fact, I was going to take the Vindrasi who fought with you back home to warn our people.”

“All except Sigurd and Grimuir, Bjorn and Erdmun,” said Skylan. “They are my friends.”

Torval smiled. “Agreed. Your idea is a good one. I will speak to the Gods of Raj. Perhaps we can make a bargain with them.”