Doom of the Dragon (52 page)

“We saw the great dragon,” said Holma, Aylaen's mother, who folded Skylan in her arms. “The emperor's fleet had anchored offshore and the soldiers were starting to disembark, while strange and terrible serpents flew overhead. The great dragon flew down from the skies. She sank her claws into the serpents and flung their corpses into the sea. Seeing that, the soldiers in the ships sailed away as fast as the wind would carry them.”

“Aylaen died Kai Priestess, battling Aelon,” Skylan said. “She died a hero.”

He could speak the words with pride now, not with anger.

“So Keeper told me,” said Holma, wiping away her tears. “Aylaen's name will be long remembered.”

Skylan noticed Holma didn't ask about her other daughter, Treia. Just as well. Skylan had not been able to find out what had become of her. He guessed her end had not been a good one.

Holma left him to greet Dela Eden, whom Bjorn had proudly introduced as his wife. The other women crowded around, to make her welcome in her new home. With much laughter and celebration the Torgun led them back to the village.

Almost a year had passed since they had left. Skylan could not see the familiar streets through his tears. He put his hand to the amulet, but he did not speak.

Wherever Torval was, he would understand.

*   *   *

A month after his return, a delegation of chiefs from all parts of Vindraholm came to meet with Skylan. They pledged their loyalty to him and assured him he would hold the rank of Chief of Chiefs for as long as he lived. They would not listen to any argument he might make against it.

Skylan could have made a great many arguments, but he kept silent. He had given the matter a lot of thought and talked it over with his friends. They all agreed that he should be chief, even Sigurd.

“You led us to the greatest victory in the history of the Vindrasi,” said Sigurd. “I guess you've earned it.” He added with a wink, “Not but what I could have done it better.”

And so Skylan agreed, on one condition, that he be allowed to remain with the Torgun. He did not want to live in the grand dwelling of the Chief of Chiefs. He moved into his father's house, where he had been born.

Life resumed for Skylan and the others, almost as if they had never left. Sigurd went back to Aylaen's mother, sharing his time between her and his mistress and his sons. Grimuir took over the duties of the blacksmith, who had recently died. Skylan fulfilled his promise to find Farinn a wife, a duty that fell to him as chief, since Farinn had no family.

He had feared this might be difficult, given that Farinn was a poet and had learned to read and write. What women would want such a strange young man? As it happened, however, he was approached by the father of a young woman who had shyly told him of her interest in the bard.

The father apologized for his daughter, saying she was often berated by her mother for spending her time daydreaming instead of doing her household chores. He added that he would give his daughter a large dowry, to make up for the fact.

The young woman was winsomely lovely. Farinn was enchanted and Skylan agreed to the match, reflecting that these two dreamers would get on well, though they would likely never have a decent meal or a clean house.

Bjorn and Dela Eden were happy together. Skylan presented Bjorn with some land as a wedding gift. Bjorn was content to become a farmer, while Dela Eden told stories about the Gods of Raj. The Torgun listened politely at first, and then grew more interested, especially when Dela Eden prayed for rain for their newly planted crops and the rains came.

The months passed, but Skylan scarcely counted them. He was occupied with the duties of the Chief of Chiefs, for the business of Vindraholm had been put off until his return. When he wasn't meeting with his people or settling disputes, he was out hunting or working in the fields. He always went alone and worked until he had worn himself out.

His friends observed him with concern. Skylan rarely smiled these days and never laughed. He could not sleep and was often seen roaming the beach at night. As Bjorn told Dela Eden, Skylan did not wake up in the morning looking forward to a new day. He woke up grimly determined to get through it.

Going out hunting one early morning, Skylan encountered Bjorn, who had come looking for him.

“I have news,” said Bjorn. “Owl Mother is back.”

“Is she? That is interesting,” said Skylan in a tone that indicated little interest.

“She says you owe her a day's work,” Bjorn told him.

“Thank you for the message,” Skylan said, pushing past his friend. “I'll tend to it.”

“Skylan—” Bjorn began.

Skylan pretended not to hear, and kept walking. He knew his friends were worried about him, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything. The house of his soul was empty and abandoned. Cold, biting wind whistled through the cracks in the broken windows. The frame was strong and would remain standing, perhaps for many long years, but with no warmth inside.

Skylan came to a place in the trail where it branched off in different directions. One path, little used, would take him to Owl Mother's. Skylan paused, remembering with a pang the last night he and Aylaen had spent together in her house. He didn't think he could bear the pain, then he remembered that he had made a promise. He could not go back on his word.

Memory stalked him on the trail. He had walked this path with Aylaen when she had taken him to Owl Mother's to be healed after he'd been gored by a wild boar. And he had taken this path after those nightmarish games of dragonbone with the draugr of his dead wife, only a year ago. A very long year to him now.

He was so lost in the past that he tripped over a tree branch hidden beneath a pile of dead leaves and went sprawling. He lay facedown in the leaves and the muck and wondered if he had the will to stand.

“This is what happens when you walk ahead while looking behind,” Owl Mother said with a snort.

Skylan looked up to see the old woman looking down.

“How are you, Owl Mother?” he asked politely, picking himself up.

“I've been worse.” Owl Mother said shortly. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

“I owe you a day's work,” said Skylan. “What do you need me to do?”

“Follow me,” said Owl Mother.

She led the way through the forest to her dwelling. Skylan kept a wary eye out for the wolf that once had guarded her door. The wolf was not there, however—only a few forest creatures that scampered about unafraid and a donkey tied to a tree, munching on apples. A donkey cart stood nearby, the traces lying on the ground.

“I'm closing up the house,” said Owl Mother in answer to Skylan's questioning glance. “Setting out on my own.”

“Where are you going?” Skylan asked.

“Wherever I want, Skylan Ivorson, and no concern of yours,” Owl Mother returned. “I need you to help me put up the shutters and load the cart. First, though, there's something I have to give you.”

She pushed open the door and walked inside. Skylan followed more slowly. He remembered the table and the chair in which he'd sat while Owl Mother worked her magic and the tapestry with the men in strange armor.

“Sit,” said Owl Mother, pointing to the chair.

Skylan sat down, but stood up again in alarm when Owl Mother reached to pull aside the tapestry.

“Is the wyvern back there?” he asked.

“No,” said Owl Mother. She paused a moment, her hand on the tapestry. “My magic isn't what it used to be these days. The wyvern left me.”

She walked beneath the tapestry and let it fall behind her.

Skylan waited in uneasy silence, wondering what was going to emerge. He could hear noises coming from behind the tapestry, shuffling footfalls.

Time passed and Skylan grew restless. He stood up and began to pace about the room. Then the tapestry moved and Owl Mother came through it, carrying a large basket. She brought the basket over to Skylan and set it gently on the table.

“For you,” said Owl Mother. “From Aylaen.”

Skylan looked into the basket and then looked back up at Owl Mother.

“I don't understand,” he said, bewildered.

“They're babies, Skylan,” said Owl Mother. “You've seen babies before, I take it. Twins. A boy and a girl.”

“I know that, but—” Skylan began.

“The boy's name is Skylanson,” Owl Mother went on. “The girl is Holma.”

Skylan felt his legs start to give way and braced himself against the table.

“Mine,” he said softly. “My children.”

Owl Mother smiled, her wrinkled face seeming to crack. Her eyes grew dim. “A gift from Aylaen and Ilyrion. Aylaen feared you would be lonely.”

“Skylanson and Holma,” Skylan murmured. “She told me about them…”

Drawing a quivering breath, he gazed down at the two babies swaddled in blankets. He saw two little faces, both beautiful like their mother's, and a sheen of red-gold hair on each small head. One had managed to start sucking on a tiny, perfect fist. Skylan very gently brushed his hand over the petal-soft cheek.

Then he began to sob and he sank down in the chair, buried his head in his hands and wept. Owl Mother said nothing, but gently patted his shoulder until his tears were gone.

The babies began to kick and stir. One opened a pink mouth in a squeaking cry and the other frowned and lashed out with the tiny fist.

“My son,” said Skylan proudly.

“Your daughter,” said Owl Mother drily. “She's like her mother. Just warning you.”

Skylan laughed, a shaky laugh that still held traces of tears. He touched the fist and the baby grabbed at his finger.

“You have a lot of work ahead of you, Skylan,” said Owl Mother. “The babies are hungry and you'll need to find a woman to nurse them and help you care for them. You're going to have to add another room onto that house of yours, as well.”

“Owl Mother, I still don't understand,” said Skylan, unable to take his eyes from the babies. “How is such a miracle possible?”

Owl Mother touched the amulet he wore around his neck and gave it a tap. “Some god loves you.”

Skylan Ivorson smiled and gathered his children in his arms and took them home.

 

EPILOGUE

Skylan Ivorson sat in the large, ornately carved chair that stood at the north end of the longhouse, the Chief's House of the Torgun, listening to the music and the laughter with a sense of deep contentment. The decision he had made was the right one and this night confirmed it.

The Torgun were celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of the historic voyage of the
Venejekar
, the last of the great dragonships, and the defeat of the evil god, Aelon. They honored the Torgun who had sailed with Skylan that fateful day, though only two were yet alive: Skylan and the Talgogroth Farinn.

Sigurd had died five years ago, laughing and talking one moment and dead the next. Grimuir had been taken by a virulent fever and Bjorn had slipped away quietly in his sleep.

Skylan was now the oldest man in the clan, having seen sixty-eight summers. He had listened to Farinn's song of the voyage many, many times over the years and had once chided Farinn about the song, complaining his poetry gilded the truth. Farinn had rightly reminded him that people needed heroes more than they needed the truth. They lived with the truth every day.

Skylan's fond gaze went to Skylanson and his twin sister, Holma. They were standing together, talking and laughing with their friends. He had carried them home from Owl Mother's forty-nine years ago. Both had gray in their hair and were important members of the Vindrasi people, but to their father they would always be his little children, running and playing around his house, bringing joy back to his life.

His son, Skylanson, was now Chief of the Torgun, and he would have been Chief of Chiefs of the Vindrasi, but that title would end with Skylan. His son had suggested the idea of a governing body, a Council of Chiefs, which would give each clan fair and equal say. Skylan considered the idea a good one and he was proud of his son for suggesting it, but it was yet another change.

Skylanson had married one of the daughters of Bjorn and Dela Eden, a dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-skinned woman. A priestess of the Gods of Raj, she and his son had given Skylan so many grandchildren that he couldn't keep track of them all.

His daughter, Holma, had not married. She had not lacked for suitors for, like her mother, she was beautiful. She had refused all offers of marriage. A warrior, skilled with a sword—Skylan had taught her himself—she had formed a band of female warriors, women who wanted to serve their people and prove themselves in battle. Holma was now War Chief of the Torgun.

As a people, the Vindrasi no longer sailed the seas terrorizing and raiding their neighbors. They were a peaceful people, trading with their neighbors instead of stealing, negotiating instead of fighting. They were driven to fight only on occasion.

The Oran Empire had collapsed, plunging into civil war as rival factions sought to gain control of the empire's great wealth. The chaos spawned evil, masterless men who roamed the world, preying on the defenseless, butchering and plundering. After a few bloody battles with the Vindrasi, however, the thieves tended to make a wide berth around their shores.

His daughter saw that Skylan was watching her and she came over to him. Leaning down, she put her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

“You look unusually happy tonight, Father,” Holma said. “I see you are even wearing your sword, God-rage. You must be pleased with the celebration.”

“I am, Daughter,” said Skylan. “But it is not the celebration that pleases me so much as my children, you and your brother. I am proud of both of you.”

His voice softened. “Your mother would be proud, too. I wish you had known her.”

Holma knelt by his side and clasped her hands around his. She looked into his eyes, still blue, still clear-sighted even in his advanced years.