Doom of the Dragon (19 page)

She looked over at Skylan's body lying on the deck. His face was ashen, showing no sign of life. She felt a jab of fear. What if Wulfe was wrong? What if Joabis lied? What if Skylan's kiss had been nothing more than a breath of wind on her face?

She shivered, despite the heat.

Acronis felt her shudder and guessed her fears. “What does your heart tell you, Aylaen?”

“That Skylan is alive,” she replied. “But he looks so pale and cold and still.”

“The eyes of reason can sometimes be blind, whereas the eyes of love see clearly,” said Acronis. “A lesson you and Skylan have taught me. I will keep strict watch for any enemies. After all, we have a god in the hold.”

 

CHAPTER

15

The
Venejekar
floated among the prop roots of the mangroves, nudging the bushlike trees as it rocked gently back and forth in the shallows. Acronis secured the ship with ropes around the roots, holding it steady while Farinn helped Aylaen climb onto the thick tangle of roots and from there to the swampy shore.

When she finally reached solid ground, her hands and arms were scratched and she was parched and sweating. She was wearing the dragon-scale armor over the leather tunic, her sword, and a drawstring bag that she had tied to her sword belt. She paused to drink from a freshwater stream that flowed into the swamp, then followed the trail into the village of the dead.

The place was deserted. Longhouses were empty and silent. No one walked the streets. Looking inside a dwelling, she could see half-eaten food on the tables, overturned benches, spilled wine. The revelers had fled in haste.

Even the gods and dead men feared Aelon.

The trail led past the village into a forest, where it became more difficult to follow, sometimes disappearing altogether in the thick growth. After a hot and weary hike, Aylaen pushed through trees that formed a green wall of vegetation and entered the garden. She paused a moment to catch her breath and marvel at the beauty.

Flowers of every hue and shape that could possibly exist spilled their fragrance into the air. Butterflies of many types fluttered among the blossoms. Sunlight flashed on ponds filled with darting golden fish.

The only sound was the droning of the bees and the occasional rustle of leaves. Aylaen found it hard to imagine that a battle raged not far from this peaceful, idyllic place.

The Hall of the Gods was identical to the Hall in her village. Cool air washed over her in the shadows as she went inside. She had to wait for her eyes to adjust to locate the marble statue of Joabis. He had described it as magnificent. She would have said it was grandiose, more suited to one of the marble temples of Sinaria than to a simple wooden longhouse. Aylaen drew near the statue to examine the marble brooch pinned to the statue's marble chest.

She could see at once that the brooch was one of the spiritbones and she wondered how Joabis thought it would fool anyone. She touched the cold marble and spoke what Joabis had taught her to say, which was, of course, a prayer in homage to Joabis.

“God of Revels, you who ease sorrow with ale that lifts the spirit and banishes the cares of the day and wine that celebrates all the epochs in our lives, bring joy to my heart now and ever after.”

The marble seemed to melt beneath her fingers like frost and the brooch came to life. The rubies sparkled with fire, the gold petals burned with a bright sheen. The dragon holding the spiritbone gazed at her with unblinking red ruby eyes. She quickly took the brooch from the statue, tucked it inside the drawstring bag and was starting to leave when she heard, outside the shrine, the sounds of children laughing.

Aylaen was astonished. Freilis, the Goddess of the Tally, cared for the souls of dead children, keeping them safe until their parents could come for them. She went to the door to look out into the garden, thinking that such laughter came from the living, not the dead.

A girl of about eight was hiding behind a tall flowering rosebush. The girl had greenish blue eyes, a face covered with freckles, and fair hair with a tinge of red that she wore in two braids down her back. She was wearing boy's clothes—leather tunic and trousers—and she crouched behind her bush, clutching a wooden sword in her hand, as a boy of about the same age ran into the garden.

He was tall with the same fair, red-tinged hair, except that his was cut short, and the same freckles. He was also armed with a wooden sword and he slowed as he entered the garden, searching warily, holding his sword in front of him.

“I know you are here, Holma,” he called. “You might as well give yourself up.”

Aylaen gave a little gasp. Holma was her mother's name and she had always thought that if she ever had a daughter, she would name her Holma. Aylaen retreated into the shadows of the shrine so that the children would not see her, and watched their play.

The girl kept quiet as the boy continued to search, sometimes lunging at a bush and once leaping behind a tree, shouting that he had caught her. At this, the girl began to laugh and had to cover her mouth with her hand so he would not hear her.

Picking up a rock, the girl tossed it so that it landed behind the boy and when he swiftly turned toward the sound, the girl jumped out with her sword and smacked him on the backside.

The boy rounded on her and swiped at her with his sword. She laughed and struck back and a good-natured battle ensued between the two.

There can be no doubt, thought Aylaen, seeing them so close together, that these two are brother and sister.

“You should be home sewing with the other girls,” said the boy.

Ducking her swing, he chopped at her ankles and caused her to fall. Aylaen winced, for the fall was a hard one. The girl scrambled to her feet and lunged at him.

“Father says girls should know how to fight,” she retorted. “Like this!”

A swipe with her blade forced the boy to retreat, coming perilously close to tumbling into the stream. He recovered and was once more on the attack.

“You'll never catch a husband with a sword.”

“I don't want a husband,” she said. “Boys are stupid. I'm going to be a warrior.”

Absorbed in watching the battle, Aylaen crept closer to the entrance for a closer view. A ray of sunlight, slanting through the entrance, caused her dragon-scale armor to blaze with shimmering light.

The boy suddenly stopped fighting. Raising his hand in warning to his sister, he turned his head toward the Hall of Gods and cried out boldly, “Who is there?”

The girl ran to her brother's side, watching his back, each protecting the other. Both seemed more curious than afraid.

“You are very beautiful, lady. Are you a goddess?” the girl asked.

“Our father tells us stories of the old gods,” the boy added. “Perhaps you are one of them.”

Aylaen smiled and shook her head. “I am not a god. But my armor and my swords are gifts from a god.”

“See there!” the girl whispered loudly. “She wears a sword!”

“Your father is right,” said Aylaen, overhearing. “Girls should learn how to fight. What are your names?”

“I am Skylanson,” the boy said proudly. “My father is Chief of Chiefs. Holma is my sister. We are twins, but I am the oldest. I was born first.”

“You may be the oldest, but I am the smartest!” cried the girl.

Deftly snatching the sword from her brother's hand, Holma ran off with the spoils of war, brandishing both weapons in the air with a whoop.

The boy shook his head in fond exasperation.

“What I am to do with such a sister?” he demanded of Aylaen, then, laughing, he dashed off in pursuit.

The children disappeared into the forest. The sound of their laughter faded away. Dazed, Aylaen stared after them. She longed to call to them to come back, tell her more, but the boy's words had stolen her breath and she couldn't speak a word.

My name is Skylanson
 …

“They resemble their father,” said a voice. “But they have their mother's eyes.”

Startled out of her daze, Aylaen drew her sword and turned to confront the man, who came sauntering along one of the paths.

He was tall and powerfully built, his handsome face clean shaven. He wore the ornate breastplate and leather skirt of his soldiers. A purple cape fell from his shoulders. His helm was silver and gold, trimmed with silver serpents, and adorned by a purple crest and Aylaen knew him at once. Aelon looked as she had always imagined him.

She caught herself about to touch the drawstring pouch tied on her belt and forced herself to drop her hand, fearful of drawing his attention to the spiritbone. She felt ridiculous, holding her sword on a god, but her very soul seemed to wither in fear.

“Who are those children?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “You talk as if I should know them. What are they doing here? They are not … dead.” Her voice caught. She couldn't help herself.

“They are not dead, Aylaen,” said Aelon with a slight smile. His voice was deep and rich. He took a step closer, not threatening, but as if he wanted to have a friendly talk. “They have not yet been born. Whether they will be or not is up to you.”

“So this is some trick you are playing on me,” said Aylaen, not lowering the sword.

“No trick. I have shown you the future. What
can
be the future,” said Aelon, placing emphasis on the word. “The choice is yours.”

“Your choice is no choice,” said Aylaen.

She sheathed her sword and started to walk around him, sweep past him. He blocked the way, imposing, but still not threatening. Not yet.

“Swear allegiance to me, Kai Priestess, and I will bring peace and prosperity to your people. Those beautiful children will be yours. Skylan will be Chief of Chiefs for many long years and you will rule at his side.”

“And what is the price?” Aylaen asked.

She glanced surreptitiously about the garden, hoping to find a way out, although she knew she was a fool to even consider trying to flee.

“The three spiritbones I lack,” Aelon replied. “The Vektan Torque. The bone given to me by the mad god, Sund. And the one the Sea Queen gave to you. They are well hidden. Even I cannot find them.”

Hearing his tone of calm satisfaction, seeing the amusement in his eyes, Aylaen put her hand to her belt. The god had not moved nor come near her and yet the drawstring bag was gone.

“Don't worry,” said Aelon. “You did not mislay it. I have it safe.”

He held up the bag. Releasing the drawstrings, he reached inside and drew out the brooch. The rubies sparkled, the gold shone.

“Give me the three I am missing and Skylan lives.”

Aylaen was shaking, more in anger at herself than with fear. If she had only left when she had the spiritbone, not stopped to watch the children, not fallen into his trap!

“Another trick,” she said.

“Let us call it a bargain,” Aelon replied. “My army has forced Skylan and his warriors to retreat, take refuge in the hall. Give me the spiritbones and Skylan and his children live. If you don't, Skylan dies and your children will never be born. The choice is yours, and you had best decide quickly.”

“I will!” Aylaen gasped. “Don't harm Skylan.”

“A wise decision. Where are they?”

Aylaen shook her head. “They are well hidden. If I told you, you couldn't find them. I will bring them to you.”

Aelon regarded her intently, probing her soul. “If you don't, Skylan will die.” The god added drily, “Not even dragon-scale armor and a blessed sword can save him.”

Aylaen met his gaze. “I will do as you ask. I will bring you the spiritbones.”

“You have until the sun sets.”

Thrusting the brooch with the spiritbone into the bag, he tied the drawstrings to his sword belt and disappeared.

She stumbled along the path and blundered into the forest, trying to find the path that would take her back to the ship and not having any luck, for she was desperately trying to think of what to do. Hot and exhausted, she realized she had to calm herself. She stopped beneath a tree to take a deep breath. Hearing a rustling sound, she feared Aelon had returned, and she yanked her sword from the scabbard, terrifying Wulfe, who gave a yelp and scrambled backward.

Aylaen sighed in relief and sheathed her sword.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I told you to stay on board the ship.”

“Skylan and the other dead Uglies are losing the battle,” Wulfe said. “I came to tell you.”

“How do you know?” Aylaen asked. She continued along the narrow path that wound among the trees. Wulfe trailed after her, shuffling his bare feet through the dead leaves.

“A dryad and some naiads and a couple of centaurs have been watching the fight and they told the oceanids, who told me. What are you going to do?”

“What I have to,” said Aylaen shortly, not wanting to elaborate. Aelon could be anywhere, watching, listening.

“That's not an answer!” said Wulfe.

“It's the best you'll get,” Aylaen replied, increasing her pace. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Wulfe lagging behind. “You need to keep up. I don't have much time. Here, take my hand—”

Wulfe drew back, glowering at her. “You're going to let Skylan die.”

Dropping to all fours, he ran back into the forest.

“Wulfe!” Aylaen called.

He did not reply and she couldn't waste time chasing after him. She broke into a run, following the path back to the deserted village and from there to the ship.

*   *   *

Aylaen was relieved when she found the
Venejekar
was safe, still floating among the mangroves. She had been afraid Aelon might have attacked it.

Acronis and Farinn were keeping watch for her and they sprang to help as Aylaen crawled among the mangrove roots.

“Where's Wulfe?” Farinn asked, helping her board. “He said Skylan and his warriors were losing. He was going to tell you—”