Doom of the Dragon (14 page)

The fighting had devolved into a drunken brawl. Warriors staggered about, swinging their weapons wildly, spilling more ale than blood. Eventually, when it grew too dark to see, the fighting petered out. All Skylan could hear were moans, retching, and cursing.

Taking a torch from the wall, he made his way among the upended tables and broken benches, stepping over drunks, heading for the corner where he had left Sigurd and Keeper with orders to find the rest of his friends.

He located Sigurd, who had been sleeping with his head on the table. Wakened by the torchlight, he squinted, trying to see.

“Who the devil is that?” he mumbled.

“It's me. Skylan.”

Sigurd grunted. “You came back.” He sounded surprised.

“I told you I would,” said Skylan, annoyed. “Where are the others?”

“They're here,” said Sigurd. He jerked a thumb toward his fellows.

Skylan placed the torch in a rusty sconce on the wall near the table and grimly regarded the warriors who were supposed to go up against the army of a god.

Grimuir had passed out and was sprawled on the floor beneath a bench. He was Sigurd's best friend and supporter; the two even looked much alike, with black hair and beards. Erdmun was green around the nose and mouth, but at least he was upright. His older brother, Bjorn, sitting beside him, was the most sober of the lot. He smiled when he saw Skylan, who was pleased to see him. They were the same age, and Bjorn had been his friend in days when everyone else had seemed to desert him. Both brothers had fair hair and both looked defeated and dejected.

Keeper rose from another table where he had been talking to some of his fellow ogres and came to greet Skylan. Between them, they managed to lift Grimuir up off the floor and heave him onto a bench, propping him up with his back against the wall.

“What did Joabis say?” Keeper asked. “Will he free us?”

Grimuir raised his head to fix his bleary eyes on Skylan. Erdmun swallowed hard to try to keep from retching. Bjorn patted his brother's shoulder. Sigurd belched.

“He has promised to return our lives on one condition,” said Skylan.

The others exchanged grim glances.

“What is that condition?” Sigurd growled.

“Joabis is in peril, like the other Vindrasi gods. He fears his island will come under attack, which is why he brought all these warriors here. He wants us to fight for him.”

“Fight? For Joabis?” Sigurd grunted. “Who are we fighting? A fearsome host of baby chicks?”

Grimuir made cheeping sounds and flapped his arms like wings and Sigurd roared with laughter.

Skylan waited until their mirth had subsided, then said, “We will be facing the army of Aelon.”

The others stared at him, frowning, uncomprehending.

“Aelon?” Keeper repeated. “Fight a god?”

“And a god's army,” Bjorn said. “What sort of army?”

“Winged serpents as big as rivers. If you cut off the head, two sprout in its place. And hellkites. According to Garn, these are the souls of men who were so cruel and depraved no god except Aelon would take them.”

Erdmun got up the from the table and staggered off, clutching his stomach. They could hear him heaving. When he returned, he was quite pale and looked very miserable.

“Serpents and hellkites.” Grimuir repeated, then shrugged. “Still, I could use a good fight. I grow bored slaying ogres.”

He winked at Keeper, who said calmly, “As for us ogres, we never tire of killing humans.”

The others laughed. Skylan did not.

“What's wrong, Skylan?” Bjorn asked. “Why the dark look?”

“There is more you must know. If anyone dies by the sword of a hellkite, Aelon will claim his soul,” said Skylan. “Garn told me when I saw him in the Hall of Heroes.”

“Torval would not allow another god to take souls that belong to him,” said Bjorn.

“Torval and the other gods and heroes are fighting their own battles in heaven,” said Skylan. “They can do nothing to help us.”

The others stared at him, then glanced at one another.

“From way you talk, it seems they are losing,” Erdmun said gloomily.

Skylan flushed in anger. “I did not say that.”

“But it's true,” said Grimuir.

Skylan was silent.

“Then Joabis be damned,” Sigurd said in grim tones. “Let him fight his own battles.”

“I agree, Skylan,” said Keeper. “This god of yours brought us here against our will and now wants us to fight Aelon. I don't like it.”

“Joabis was not the only god involved in this,” said Skylan. “You said yourself Gods of Raj brought you here. They have joined forces with him. I told you. Joabis promises to give us back our lives—”

“And we all know what a promise from the God of Liars is worth—goat piss!” said Grimuir, sneering.

“This is one promise he will keep. I will see to that,” said Skylan, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “And Torval will back us.”

“If Torval still lives,” Sigurd muttered.

They sat in silence, all except Bjorn, who had been mulling things over. “I have a question. Why is Aelon attacking Joabis? What threat to Aelon is a god who spends eternity swilling ale?”

Skylan had known this question would come up and he had wondered how to answer. He trusted his own men and he trusted Keeper, but he worried about those who might be out there in the smoke-filled darkness, eavesdropping. He was going to ask his friends to wager their very souls on this battle, and they deserved to know the truth. Seating himself at the table, he motioned for them to draw near.

Keeping his voice low, he spoke: “Vindrash gave Joabis one of the spiritbones. It is hidden on this isle. Aelon discovered the secret and now he is searching for it. Aylaen has three of the other spiritbones. Joabis has promised to give us this one in return for our protection and we know where to find the fifth. Once we have all five, we can use them to drive out Aelon and restore our gods to power.”

“What if someone asks us why Aelon is attacking this wretched god?” Erdmun wondered. “What do we say?”

“The truth. Joabis may be a drunk and a liar, but he is Vindrasi,” said Skylan proudly. “He is one of us. Of course, Aelon fears him.”

The others grinned and nodded.

“I will put it to you plainly,” Skylan continued. “Joabis says Aelon will attack at dawn. We can spend the remainder of eternity here, drinking and heaving up our guts, or we can fight for our gods.”

“A worthy wager,” said Grimuir. “I'll take it. What about you, Sigurd?”

“I can fight a hundred of these hellkites single-handed,” Sigurd replied. “But I'll need help to destroy an army.”

“I'll fight,” said Bjorn. “And so will my brother.”

Erdmun jumped up and ran from the table again.

“Keeper, will the ogres fight?” Skylan asked. “Tell them Joabis and the Gods of Raj have promised to restore their lives.”

“I will answer for them,” said Keeper. “They will fight.”

“Good. What about the Cyclopes? I have never met a Cyclopes. What are they like? According to legend, they are humans with three eyes. Is that true?”

“We have no idea,” said Bjorn. “We have never seen one ourselves. They fight the ogres in a different part of the hall. We know they are here only because Keeper told us about them.”

Skylan looked dubious. “They are in this hall and you've never seen them?”

“It's a big hall,” said Sigurd defensively.

“Big as eternity,” Keeper affirmed.

Skylan sighed. “Very well. Go talk to them, Keeper. Tell them that I need to confer with their war chief—”

“They will be a problem,” said Keeper. “The Cyclopes have no war chiefs. They are fiercely independent. No Cyclopes tells another what to do. In battle, each warriors acts as he sees the need to act.”

At first Skylan thought the ogre was jesting, and he was annoyed. They had no time for jests. Then he realized with shock that Keeper was serious.

“No war chief?” said Skylan. “Without a chief, every fight would end in chaos. How do these Cyclopes form a shield wall?”

“They do not fight in a shield wall,” said Keeper. “You must understand. Cyclopes consider warfare wasteful. They can fight, if they are forced to do so, but they have no love for battle. Their tactics are simple. Each knows what to do without being told. Their archers fire from a distance, felling the enemy with arrows, then, once the majority of their foes are dead or wounded, the foot soldiers finish them off with clubs and spears.”

Sigurd made a crude derisive noise. Skylan agreed with him.

“These Cyclopes are obviously cowards who fight without honor.”

“We might not have honor, Vindrasi, but we Cyclopes have what is more valuable,” said a woman, speaking from the darkness. “Common sense.”

Sigurd and Bjorn both stood to face the stranger. Grimuir had to shove himself up from the bench, but he managed to get upright, though he swayed on his feet. Skylan rose, his hand on his sword and turned to the speaker.

“Step into the light where I can see you,” he said. “What are you doing here? I was told your people stay in the back of the hall.”

As the woman came to stand beneath the flaring torch, Skylan and the others stared at her in silence, struck speechless. Perhaps there had been a time far back in Vindrasi history when his people had encountered the race of humans known as Cyclopes. If so, that time was long forgotten.

The woman's skin was black as jet. She had long black hair that she wore in a myriad of small, tightly bound braids. She was slender, long-legged, dressed in a long leather tunic and leather boots. And she had three eyes: two large and lustrous brown eyes, one on either side of her nose where eyes should be, and a third eye, round and white-rimmed with a red iris, in the center of her forehead.

She gazed at them with all three eyes; all three appeared disdainful.

“I heard from the ogres that there was a Vindrasi here who was not dead. I came to see for myself.”

“This woman is Dela Eden,” said Keeper. “My people would call her a shaman of the Gods of Raj.”

He leaned close to whisper in Skylan's ear. “Dela Eden is not a war chief, but as near to the mark as you will come. Her people have chosen her as spokesman. While you talk to her, I will go fetch the ogre godlord and shaman.”

As Keeper started to leave, Skylan grabbed hold of him.

“What does she see with that third eye of hers?” Skylan asked uneasily.

Keeper looked at him, astonished, then burst out laughing. “The third eye is not a real eyeball. It is painted on the forehead of every Cyclopes when they reach the age of majority at sixteen.”

“We call this eye, ‘the world eye,' Vindrasi,” said Dela Eden, overhearing. “It gives us the ability to see into hearts and minds.”

“Is that true?” Skylan asked Keeper. “Can she see what I am thinking?”

The ogre shrugged. “I do not know from personal experience. Many of our people believe that to be true. You must find out for yourself.”

Keeper departed, leaving Skylan and the others with Dela Eden. The torchlight gleamed on round rings of gold that hung from her ears. Her movements were graceful and sinuous. When she walked, she seemed to flow like a wave on the ocean.

He could now see for himself that the third eye was painted in white with a red iris and black pupil on her shining black skin. The technique was remarkable. The eye looked disconcertingly real and Skylan could almost feel it piercing his skull.

“If you want me and my people to join you in battle against the Faceless God, you would do well not to insult us,” said Dela Eden. “True, we do not like fighting. No
civilized
race does, but we are not cowards.”

She spoke with a slight curl of her lip. Her scornful gaze swept over Sigurd and Grimuir and the others who had ranged themselves around Skylan.

“Our tactics are highly effective, as the ogres know from sad experience,” Dela Eden boasted. “You need us in your battle against the Faceless God—”

“Why do you call Aelon by that name?” Skylan asked, interrupting.

“The god wears a thousand faces, appearing to mortals in whatever guise Aelon believes will enable him to control them. The god can be male or female, old or young, man or beast. Aelon came among us as a dragon.”

“A dragon?” Skylan was amazed.

“Our people have long revered dragons,” Dela Eden explained. “The dragons use the portal in our mountains to travel back to their world, the Realm of Fire. The Faceless God did not fool us, however. We knew the truth at once.”

“How?” Skylan asked, skeptical, thinking she was bragging.

Dela Eden grinned and tapped her forehead. “The world eye, Vindrasi. We see the truth about a lot of things.”

Skylan had noted that even when Dela Eden turned to look with two eyes at something else, her third eye seemed to be always looking at him. He quickly changed the subject back to a more comfortable topic: war.

“Your tactics may be all that you claim, Dela Eden, but what good are your warriors to me if they will not obey my commands?” Skylan asked.

Dela Eden gave a rippling laugh. “We Cyclopes are not sheep to be driven by the snapping of the dog at our heels. We know what needs to be done in a battle and we do it. For example, our arrows will be particularly effective against the serpents, since these creatures can be killed only by piercing the heart. We also know the secret of making flaming arrows that rain fire down on the heads of our foes.”

“You have fought these serpents of Aelon before,” said Skylan.

“Never,” said Dela Eden. Her third eye seemed to shimmer. “But
you
have fought them.”

“You are trying to impress me, no doubt, by pretending you can read my thoughts,” said Skylan dismissively, “but you are only repeating what you heard me tell my men about the serpents while you were eavesdropping on us.”