Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [120]
Skylan knew the reason. Treia had explained it to him: Aylis was furious about the death of her daughter, the Goddess Desiria, and she was taking out her fury and her grief on the Vindrasi. Skylan had stated that he considered this unreasonable on the part of the goddess. She should take out her anger on the evil gods who were responsible for slaying Desiria, not punish her loyal followers.
Treia had asked him snidely if he considered himself wiser than the gods. Skylan said no, of course not, but privately he thought that in this instance he was. He recalled the ill-fated dinner with the ogre godlords. They had looked well-fed, their bellies huge, even after a prolonged sea journey during which they’d been forced to cut back on rations. They had bragged that their harvests were large, their people prosperous. The shaman had been loud in his praise of the Gods of Raj, who lavished blessings upon their people. “The Vindrasi should be glad to worship them,” he’d said.
Our people need to go raiding, Skylan resolved. Our warriors need to feel good about themselves. They need to win silver and gold and jewels for the dragons. They need to bring back fat cattle to feed their hungry children. The ogres bragged that their land was wealthy. Then we will raid the ogres.
Skylan had no idea where the ogres’ lands were located. He doubted any of the Vindrasi still living did. But the ogres would have left evidence of their route along the way. Skylan could follow the trail of plundered villages and burned-out houses to trace his route to their lands.
He longed more than ever to undertake this epic voyage. He could picture himself sailing back to Vindraholm in triumph, the sacred torque gleaming on his neck, his dragonship filled with ogre silver, gold, and jewels.
Instead, he would be sailing with his wife to the Dragon Isles.
On the seventh day of his journey, Skylan stopped at a farm house to ask directions. He had to be getting close to his destination. The farmer told him that, yes, he was within a day’s ride of Hammerfall. He had only to follow the road until he came to a trail, which was not marked, but which he could not fail to recognize, for it had been made by many warriors before him.
Skylan followed the road and came across the trail, just as the farmer had said. He turned Blade’s head and rode along the trail a short distance. Reaching the summit of a hill, he reined in the horse. The steep rock walls of the crater jutted up from the grassland, like sharp teeth eager to take a bite out of the blue sky.
The trail on which he was riding cut through the grasslands, led straight to those gray walls. He looked down on the trail with a feeling of awe. Warriors had walked this trail since time’s beginning. Perhaps the great Thorgunnd had walked this path. Devout warriors all, going to honor Torval with noble hearts and unstained souls.
Whereas Skylan was an oath-breaker and a murderer—or as near to being a murderer as did not matter. He was a cheat and a liar, and he had invoked Torval’s name in his lies.
I try to do right. It’s just that things keep going wrong. Torval understands. Skylan tried to reassure himself. The god sees into my heart.
He guided his horse to the top of the ridge and was about to ride down the hill, when he heard a raucous caw. A shadow swept over him, causing him to duck involuntarily. An unusually large raven landed with a flurry of black wings on the trail directly in front of Skylan, spooking Blade, who snorted nervously and did a little sideways dance. Skylan pulled on the reins, dragging his startled horse to a halt.
A dead hare lay on the trail. The raven glared at Skylan, warning him away from the prize. Calmly, unafraid, the raven hopped onto the carcass, dug its claws into the brown fur, and just