Doom of the Dragon (50 page)

“The Gods of Raj…,” Skylan murmured. He remembered his talk with Torval.
The world is in good hands
 …
better hands
 …

“Go to sleep,” said Dela Eden. “Your fever is gone. Your sleep will be easeful, not troubled.”

“One question more. What became of Raegar?”

“He is dead.”

“How did he die?”

“That is a mystery. After the Sinarians fled, Sigurd and Grimuir searched the battlefield, recovering objects that might be of use.”

“You mean they looted the camp,” said Skylan, faintly smiling.

Dela Eden shrugged. “They found the charred remains of the royal pavilion with Raegar's body inside. The tent had burned down around him, but the body was untouched by the flames. Sigurd checked to make certain he was dead. When he touched the body, it disintegrated. Knowing Raegar was cursed, Sigurd and Grimuir both fled. And now you must sleep.”

Skylan slept and this time, as Dela Eden had promised, he dreamed no dreams.

He woke feeling hungry. The sunlight was waning; the air was cooler with the coming of evening. He could see shadows of people walking past, outside the hut. Hearing someone moving inside, he turned his head.

“Aylaen…,” he said joyfully.

“It is Farinn,” said the young man. He closed the leather flap that covered the door, then came back to sit beside the bed.

Skylan saw the sorrowful expression on Farinn's face and fear gripped him.

“Where is Aylaen?” he demanded.

Farinn lowered his gaze and murmured, “I am sorry, Skylan. So very sorry.”

“She is dead? I don't believe you!” Skylan cried. “How could she have died? She summoned the dragon!”

Farinn moistened dry lips. “I don't know how to tell you, because I fear you won't believe me.”

“I must go find her,” said Skylan. He tried to stand up and collapsed.

Farinn caught him and eased him back down. Skylan lay there, cursing his weakness, while Farinn fetched cool water.

Skylan saw again the unbroken thread of his wyrd, lying beneath the World Tree, alone.

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

“Owl Mother took us to what looked like a cellar,” said Farinn. “Aylaen found the spiritbone in a helm on the statue of a dragon that stood, forgotten, in a corner. She was drawn to it, as though it spoke to her.

“Then Raegar entered the cellar with his god, Aelon, who told him Aylaen was there. Raegar threatened to kill her. Aylaen paid no heed. She walked over to the statue, to the spiritbone. She said she knew the secret of the magic.”

Farinn fell silent. Skylan gripped his hand tightly. “Go on.”

“Aelon came after her. I picked up Aylaen's sword. I was going to fight, but Owl Mother wouldn't let me,” Farinn said in shame.

“You would have fought a god?” Skylan said. “That was foolish. And brave.”

Farinn sighed. “That is what Owl Mother told me. Vindrash took up the blessed sword from me and refused to let Aelon pass. Aylaen picked up the helm and put it on her head. She fell down, dead. Or so it seemed.”

Skylan watched him with quiet intensity.

“Raegar found us then,” Farinn continued in a low voice. “When he saw Aylaen he thought she was dead, and so did Aelon. The god told him to take the helm and the spiritbone. But Raegar didn't want to touch it; he was afraid. Aelon threatened him and he was about to pick it up when one of his men shouted that the fleet was on fire. Raegar knew you were responsible. He called upon Aelon to kill you, but he couldn't find her. The god had fled in fear.

“A golden light spread through the cellar and Aylaen rose to her feet, laughing with joy. She was beautiful, Skylan, and radiant and proud.” Farinn's voice grew hushed, reverent. “The jewels on the spiritbones blazed and became her blood, the bones of the dragon became her bones. Then I don't know what happened. The light grew so bright it burned my eyes and the ground shook. Owl Mother cried out that we had to run. I didn't want to leave Aylaen, but Owl Mother said Aylaen had made her choice and I must honor her.”

Skylan lay still and quiet. He pictured Aylaen, happy and proud and joyful, and thought perhaps she might have looked as she had looked on the day of their wedding.

“If I had known, I would have stopped her,” he said.

“She knew,” Farinn said. “That is why she didn't tell you.”

“Did she know what would happen when she summoned the dragon?” Skylan asked.

“She did,” said Farinn steadily. “She willingly made the choice.”

“She made the choice to leave me,” said Skylan in bitter, anguished tones.

He was angry with her even as he knew his anger was not fair. She had made the same choice he had made when he took his place in the shield wall—to sacrifice himself for their people. Only she had died and he had survived.

Farinn looked stricken, not knowing what to say.

Skylan sighed. “The city vanished. What happened?”

“Owl Mother and I escaped through a secret door that was in her garden. By this time, Raegar's troops were inside the city, running through the streets, setting fires and looting. They looked for the people, crying that they would slaughter them. But the city was empty. The Stormlords had disappeared.

“We were standing outside the wall when the Great Dragon Ilyrion rose up into the air and spread her wings that seemed to fill heaven. The soldiers saw her and screamed in fear and there was a flash of light and the soldiers were gone. And so was the city of Tsa Kerestra. Owl Mother and I stood alone on an empty plateau. Owl Mother said the Stormlords took the city and the soldiers inside to the Realm of Fire. ‘A cruel land for cruel men.'

“She sent me to find you, but everything on the beach was chaos. Men were running and shouting and cursing. Someone knocked me down and almost trampled me and then Wulfe found me. He told me where you were.”

“I remember,” said Skylan, adding tonelessly, “You said Aylaen was alive.”

“She is, Skylan,” said Farinn.

Skylan turned his head away.

“I know she is,” Farinn persisted. “When Ilyrion was flying over the battlefield, she saw you lying there and a tear fell from her eye. The tear splashed down on you and washed away the blood, and you shuddered and drew a breath. She brought you back to life.”

“She did me no favors,” said Skylan. “I made my choice as she made hers. She should have let me die.”

“Our people need you, Skylan,” said Farinn. “Now more than ever. Our lives will change. Aylaen knew that.”

And so did Torval.

The sun had set. The moon rose, round and warm, what the Vindrasi called a harvest moon, for its light shone so brightly that they could work in the fields. The interior of the hut was dark. Farinn offered to light a candle, but Skylan preferred the darkness.

He could hear people laughing and talking, and smell the scents of wood smoke and cooking pots. Parents were calling their children to come home. Farinn sat by his bed in uncomfortable silence.

“Leave me,” said Skylan.

Farinn hesitated a moment, then stood up and made his way through the dark hut to the door. He drew aside the flap and had started to go out when Skylan stopped him.

“Make a song for her,” he said.

Farinn nodded and left and Skylan lay alone and awake, staring into the darkness.

 

CHAPTER

51

Many days later, Sigurd, Grimuir, and Bjorn shared a meal of fresh-caught fish and rice and some sort of strange fruit, and discussed making the attempt to sail home.

All of them had been wounded. Sigurd was limping from an ugly gash on his leg that had opened his thigh. He had various other injuries, but he was proud to say that the wound on his leg was the worst.

Grimuir's face had been slashed by a sword. Part of his nose was chopped off and the sight in one eye was destroyed. He shrugged off the hideous scars it would leave, saying he had never been that handsome to begin with.

Bjorn had suffered a blow to the head that had cracked his skull and knocked him out cold. He had fallen into the sea and would have drowned if Bear Walker had not seen him fall and pulled him out.

They had said farewell to Bear Walker and Keeper and the rest of the ogres, who had been eager to return to their homeland now that they could brag to their families that they had driven away Aelon. Sigurd had given the ogres three dragonships, which they would have to sail themselves, for there were no dragons.

“I hope their ogre gods are watching over them,” Sigurd remarked. “The lumbering oafs overturned one of the ships, and that was just when they were boarding it. They should be thankful one of the Cyclopes offered to go with them to navigate. Without Kamau to guide them, the lubbers would probably sail off the edge of the world.”

“That takes care of the ogres,” said Grimuir. “What do we do?”

“I think we remain here during the winter,” said Bjorn. “We are all recovering from our wounds. None of us is up to the task of sailing all the way back to Vindraholm. The seas will be rough with the coming of winter.”

At this, Sigurd and Grimuir grinned and nudged each other.

Bjorn was offended. “What is the matter? Every word I said was true.”

“Right after the battle, you were eager to leave for home,” said Grimuir. “You said the seas would be calm with fair winds. Now you talk of gales and driving rain and snow and say that the voyage would be too dangerous and we should remain here with the Cyclopes.”

“With one Cyclopes,” said Sigurd, winking at Grimuir.

Bjorn flushed. “I have been helping Dela Eden tend to Skylan…”

“Helping? Is that what you call it?” Sigurd leered. “I'll be glad to help Dela Eden in that way myself.”

“You're a pig, Sigurd,” said Bjorn, throwing a fish head at his friend.

“I know,” said Sigurd, picking up the fish head and tossing it back. “But relax. It so happens that I agree with you about staying here through the winter months. Without the dragon, the journey would be dangerous, even if we were fit to make it. And we're not. We will sail in the spring.”

The words came out sounding more somber than he had intended. Each man realized how much he missed his homeland. For a moment no one spoke. Sigurd sat with his head down, toying with a piece of mango.

“We should ask Skylan,” said Grimuir at last. “And Farinn,” he added as an afterthought.

“I asked Skylan,” said Bjorn. “He doesn't care. He says we should stay or go as we please.”

“That doesn't sound like Skylan,” said Grimuir. “He is the Chief of Chiefs. He's never shrunk from making decisions before.”

“Aylaen is dead and Skylan has buried himself in her grave,” said Sigurd. “Women die. Men die. Skylan needs to go on with his life.”

“Is she dead? We don't know what really happened to her,” said Grimuir in a low voice.

“Farinn said she died summoning the dragon,” Bjorn returned sharply. “Such magic is dangerous. She is not the first Kai Priestess to die while attempting to use the spiritbones.”

“Farinn is a poet who will say whatever suits his rhyme,” Sigurd added, shrugging. “I say that we spend the winter here with the Cyclopes, since they have invited us. Are we agreed?”

“Yes,” said Bjorn. “What about Farinn? Should we ask him?”

“He stayed to guard Skylan's body,” said Sigurd. “He has proved himself a warrior. We should ask him.”

*   *   *

Skylan had no interest in whether they sailed for home now or months from now. He took no interest in anything. As the days went by, he did little but lie in the sun, gazing into the clear blue and cloudless skies, searching for a golden dragon he knew would never return.

Dela Eden tried to talk to Skylan about Aylaen, but whenever she spoke her name, he would stand up and walk off, and eventually she stopped. Skylan knew Farinn was making a song for her, but he did not want to hear it. Farinn had to sing it softly, to himself.

A month passed in this manner. The others settled into life with the Cyclopes. Grimuir and Sigurd both soon found women who were glad to make the Vindrasi warriors feel welcome. Bjorn did not seem to want companionship, or so Skylan thought at first.

He said something to Sigurd about Bjorn being lonely.

Sigurd chuckled. “Where are your eyes? You can't see what has been happening right under your nose. Bjorn is in love with Dela Eden.”

“What? Those two?” Skylan was amazed.

“He talks of nothing but her. How could you not know?”

“I guess I wasn't listening,” said Skylan.

Sigurd gave him a look of disgust. “Make up your mind to either live or die, Skylan. You can't do both.”

Skylan did not often pay heed to what Sigurd said. In this instance, however, he found himself pondering the older man's words. In spite of himself, his body was mending, gaining strength. Food had started to taste good again. Now when he lay in the sun, he found himself growing restless.

One day, he was idly watching some of the Cyclopes children playing at their version of King of the Mountain on one of the sand dunes.

“You're doing it all wrong,” Skylan said. He jumped to his feet. Joining the dune's defenders, he showed them how to form a shield wall, laughing with them as he fended off the attack of some six-year-olds.

“It is good to hear you laugh again,” said Dela Eden.

He looked up to see her smiling at him. He stopped laughing and left the game, stalking off toward his hut. Dela Eden ran after him.

“You are angry with her,” said Dela Eden. “And you feel guilty for being angry.”

Skylan kept walking.

“You are angry that she left you,” Dela Eden continued, walking at his side. “I know what you are feeling. I was angry at my first husband when he died. He drowned trying to save a sheep that had fallen into the river. Silly man, giving his life for a sheep. But he could not bear to see any animal suffer.”