Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [119]
“I would like to ride him,” Aylaen said. “I am so proud of you, Skylan. I know you are married, but I claim a sister’s privilege.”
She pressed her lips to his. The touch of her lips was like a fiery brand, burning his flesh. He had the strange impression the kiss had left a mark, and he put his fingers to his lips to see if he could feel it. He loved her so much, his heart seemed to break with the pain.
“Aylaen,” he said with quiet urgency, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you—”
Aylaen laughingly interrupted him. “We will talk, Skylan, only not now. I don’t have time. I must say good-bye to Treia. She’s staying for the Kai Moot.”
And before Skylan could entreat her to stay, as well, Aylaen gave him a smile and hurried away.
Garn started to say something, but Skylan cut him off. He kept his gaze averted.
“You had better leave, as well, my friend, or the ship will miss the tide. Take care of my father.” Skylan knew he was talking too fast, but he couldn’t help it. “Let me know if there is anything he needs.”
“Skylan, stop it,” Garn said, catching hold of him. “Something’s wrong. I know it. You can tell me. You know you can.”
Skylan stood with his hand on the saddle. Part of him longed to spew out the awful truth. He longed to purge his soul, as last night he had purged his stomach.
Blade whinnied softly and pushed at Skylan with his nose, eager to be on the move. Skylan stroked the neck of his magnificent horse. He glanced back at his father, who was swelling with pride. He saw Aylaen, her hair shining in the sunlight, and felt the touch of her lips.
Norgaard would disown him. Aylaen would be lost to him forever.
“What could be wrong, my friend?” Skylan asked. “I am Chief of Chiefs.”
He swung himself up on his horse and smiled down on his friend. Garn did not return the smile. He stood stubbornly at Skylan’s stirrup, his hand holding on to the bridle.
Skylan felt a flash of irritation. He was not a child, to be badgered and questioned. Turning his horse’s head, he dug in his heels and galloped off across the beach. He did not stop or look back until he had ridden over the windswept dunes. He climbed a ridge and pulled his horse to a halt and looked out to sea.
The Venjekar rose and dipped among the waves. He could see Garn on board, standing near the prow alongside Norgaard and Aylaen. There was Bjorn chatting with his brother, Erdmun. There was Alfric the One-Eyed, sharing a jest with Sigurd. He saw the others striding along the deck, gazing out to sea, talking together, probably talking of him and how proud they were. The young man who had slain Horg. The young man who had raised the Torgun to exalted heights. The young man who was Chief of Chiefs. His clansmen would return to Luda to take up their lives, leaving him behind.
This is the pain the dead feel, he thought. I stand on the cold and lonely shore, watching those I love sail away. They go on with life, while I remain alone.
His grief unmanned him, and he wept. Through the blur of tears, Skylan caught a flash of fire—the red eyes of the Dragon Kahg. The ship was just coming level with him. The eyes of the dragon sought him out, stared fixedly at him. He imagined he heard a voice speaking to him:
The spear is broken. The sword bent. The shield shattered. You cannot change what has happened. Will you fall to your knees and grovel at your enemy’s boots in surrender, or will you keep fighting?
There could be only one answer. Skylan drew his sword from its sheath and lifted it high in the air, so that the sunlight flared off the blade. The dragon’s eyes flickered in response.
Sheathing his sword, Skylan turned his horse’s head south, toward Hammerfall.
CHAPTER
4
Skylan was on the road for more than two weeks, riding through dark forests and over sunny grasslands. He had never traveled this extensively, and he enjoyed the journey. He dawdled, took his time, loathe to return home. Each day brought new sights, and along with that, the somber realization that the Vindrasi were in trouble. He rode past crops withering in the cracked,