Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [1]
“One would think,” Garn commented with a half smile, “that Torval could exert better control over his women.”
“Perhaps Torval’s women are like ours and do whatever they damn well please,” Skylan muttered, thinking of one woman in particular.
He spoke lightly, but he touched the amulet—a small silver axe—he wore around his neck on a leather thong to appease the God of War in case he should take offense.
“But we should not jest about such matters,” Skylan added hastily. “Torval might be insulted and take out his rage on us.”
“I do not see how the god can cause us to suffer more than we already have,” Garn returned dryly. “We endure the worst winter in memory and wait hopefully for spring. A time of new life, it brings drought and death.”
Frowning, Skylan said nothing. He revered the gods, and he wished Garn would stop talking about them in such a disrespectful, almost mocking tone. Skylan might have said something, but he and Garn had been friends—more like brothers, for they had been raised together—since they were infants, and Skylan knew from experience that arguing with Garn would only encourage him in his irreverence. And so Skylan kept quiet.
Skylan’s faith in the gods of the Vindrasi was simple and unquestioning, perhaps because—as Garn might have said—his faith had not been tried. At the time of his birth, Skylan Ivorson had been blessed by Torval, Chief of the Gods of the Vindras. A spark struck from Torval’s war axe as he fought his enemies in heaven had flashed across the heavens at the very moment Skylan let out his first cry. When Norgaard, Skylan’s father and Chief of the Torgun Clan, told Aldrif, the former Kai Priestess, about the spark and how all in the clan had witnessed it, she affirmed that the God Torval had indeed blessed the child, who would grow up to be a valiant warrior, a savior of his people. The sad fact that his mother had died giving him life made the sign more significant.
Everyone in the Torgun Clan believed in that blessing, especially Skylan. He was the strongest young man in the clan, the boldest warrior, the most skillful with sword and spear and axe. He was handsome, with eyes the color of the waves upon which the Vindrasi sailed their dragonships and hair the color of the golden rays of Aylis. His skin was bronze, his body well formed and well muscled. He carried himself with pride and confidence.
Skylan had taken his place in the shield-wall and killed his first man in battle at the age of fourteen. He had taken his first woman at about that same age, going on to lie with girls who were careless of their virtue or with low-born girls whose parents hoped that by coupling with the chief’s son, their daughters would be provided for. As a result, there were several children about the camp who had sea-blue eyes and sun-gold hair.
Skylan cheerfully acknowledged his bastard children and gifted their mothers with presents from time to time, as was expected of him. He had no intention of wedding any of the women, however, and he had ceased his “tomcatting,” as Garn had put it. Two years ago, when he was sixteen, Skylan decided he was in love. Her name was Aylaen Adalbrand, stepdaughter of his father’s friend, Sigurd Adalbrand. She had been fifteen then. She was now seventeen years old.
The three of them—Aylaen, Garn, and Skylan—had been friends from the time their caretakers had laid them on blankets together. The three played together, which was unusual, for girls were generally kept at home to assist with house hold duties. Aylaen’s father was dead, her mother could not control her, and Aylaen “ran wild,” escaping from her chores to join Skylan and Garn in their play and in their fights. Skylan did not