Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [121]
Skylan shuddered. The raven was sacred to Hevis, God of Fire, Deceit, Hidden Acts, and Treachery. No omen could be clearer or more terrible.
Skylan shouted, hoping the bird would take fright and fly away. The raven continued to feast on the rabbit. Skylan urged Blade forward. The raven glanced at him and then, to his horror, the bird spread enormous black wings, leaped off the corpse, and flew straight at Skylan’s head.
Skylan ducked, yanking on the reins so hard that Blade spun around and nearly lost his footing. Terrified, Skylan rode at a gallop back down the trail, retracing his steps.
Behind him, the raven gave a raucous, cawing laugh.
Skylan rode for days with no clear notion of where he was or where he was going. He wanted only to put as much distance between himself and Hammerfall as possible. When Blade grew tired, Skylan dismounted and continued on foot, leading the horse. He fell asleep on his feet, only to wake with a start from dreams that ravens were pecking out his eyes.
Skylan, who never dreamed, now dreamed all the time.
Torval was clearly furious with Skylan. The god had turned his back on him. Not content with that, Torval had sent the treacherous Hevis to bar Skylan from the sacred site. Skylan had to find a way to propitiate Torval, appease the angry god. He had no idea how to go about this. As a child, whenever Skylan had made Norgaard angry, the boy had simply kept out of his father’s way until Norgaard cooled off. Skylan had hoped such a tactic would work with the god, but obviously it did not. He did not know what more he could do. He needed advice, and Garn was not around.
The road on which Skylan traveled led inland for a long distance. Stopped by the foothills of the Kairnholm Mountains, the road turned toward the coast, dipped down to the Hesvolm Sea.
Days had passed since he’d fled Hammerfall. The afternoon was waning. Skylan had to start thinking wearily about finding somewhere to make camp. He stood gazing at the vast expanse of water that spread gleaming before him and noted several boats drawn up along a barren strandline.
Skylan first thought this was a raiding party, but then he realized that didn’t make much sense. There were no villages anywhere near. The boats were only five in number, and they were not swift-sailing, sleek warships. They were short, squat merchant vessels, designed to carry goods, not warriors.
The boats were far from any town, and he wondered if they were lost. Moving closer, he could see that one boat had been turned upside down. Men swarmed over it. That was the explanation. A boat had been damaged, and the traders had put ashore to repair it.
Skylan longed to hear a human voice after listening so long to his own confused, dark thoughts, and he urged his horse to a gallop. Traders went everywhere, saw everything. They tended to remain neutral, and even if their countries were at war, they still plied their routes, selling goods to friend and foe alike. Anything to make a living.
Traders traveled far, as well. The thought was in Skylan’s mind that they might know how to find the ogres’ lands.
One of the traders caught sight of Skylan, as he came galloping across the sands, and he gave a warning shout. Seeing a warrior clad in armor, armed, and bearing a shield, the men left the work on the damaged boat to form a line across the road. They were armed with swords and axes and looked like they knew what they were about. Skylan removed his helm and kept his sword sheathed, showing he had no hostile intent.
The men had the black hair and beards and swarthy complexions of those who lived in lands far, far to the south. All except one. This man had blond hair and a bushy blond beard. He was taller than the others, broad-shouldered, and big-boned. Skylan regarded this man with interest. He had to be Vindrasi.
Skylan’s first thought was that he was a guide hired by the Southlanders. Then he saw that the blond man was dressed in the same type of clothing as the Southlanders—long, flowing robes belted at the waist