Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [122]
Skylan noted that there were women among the group; short, dark women with long black curling hair, black eyes, and smooth brown skin. He saw the women eyeing him, and he regretted the fact that he had not shaved in several days or combed his hair or bathed.
“I am Skylan Ivorson,” Skylan called out when he was within hailing distance. He was the stranger, and it was up to him to proclaim himself. “I am the son of Norgaard of the Torgun.”
He almost added proudly, “Chief of Chiefs of the Vindrasi,” but at the last moment, he thought better of it. He did not know these men or why they were here. A Chief of Chiefs would be worth his weight in ransom.
The blond man stared at Skylan in amazement, and then he gave a great roar. “I do not believe it! It is little Skylan!”
Now it was Skylan’s turn to stare. Who was this man?
The blond-bearded face split in a wide grin. “The last time I saw you was thirteen winters ago,” the man proclaimed. “You were five then, and nearly sliced off my thumb with your father’s sword. I have the scar to prove it!”
Skylan swung himself down off his horse. He looked with curious puzzlement at the man, who did seem vaguely familiar.
“Don’t you know me? Have I changed so much? Ah, I suppose I have. It is Raegar Gustafson!” The blond man thumped himself on the chest. “I am the son of your mother’s brother. We are cousins, little Skylan!”
Raegar shook his head. “Imagine us meeting like this in the middle of nowhere. Some god must have arranged it!”
CHAPTER
5
Skylan gaped at his cousin in astonishment.
“Raegar! We mourned you for dead!”
Skylan had been only five, but he still remembered that sad time, for it had been his first true awareness of death. As a small boy, Skylan had worshipped his cousin Raegar. A bold warrior—big, jovial, handsome, liked by everyone—Raegar had been lost in a raid. The last anyone saw of him, he had gone down while battling three warriors. They searched for his body the next day, but the men had not been able to find him, and they assumed the corpse had been devoured by wolves. Raegar had been around twenty then, Skylan reckoned, which would make him about thirty-three now.
Skylan had grieved his favorite cousin’s loss to such an extent that Norgaard had smacked him, saying sternly that Skylan dishonored his cousin’s memory by sniveling over him.
“What happened to you?” Skylan asked. “Obviously you did not die.”
Raegar grimaced and shook his head. “I should have died, Cousin. There were times—many times—I wished I had died. I was badly wounded, and when I could not fight, I pleaded with the sons of whores to kill me, to send me to Torval with honor. They said I was too valuable to waste—a big strong man like myself. They took me captive, nursed me back to health, and carried me to Oran in shackles.”
Raegar jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “See those poor bastards? Like them, I was a slave. I was sold in the slave market, and I might well have been sent to the iron mines, which means I would have been dead in a year, but a god was watching over me. A man of wealth and influence purchased me, and he put me to work in his house hold. His secretary taught me to read and write the language of the Southland. He had to teach me in secret, for it is forbidden that slaves should be educated.
“My master found out, and I feared I would be whipped or perhaps even killed. Instead, he furthered my education. Eventually I became head of his house hold. I earned enough to buy my freedom, and now I am a merchant trader. These men”—Raegar gestured to those who were supervising the work of the slaves on the boat—“are my partners.”
Skylan regarded his cousin in bafflement. “I don’t understand, Cousin. If you were a free man, why didn’t you return to us, to your homeland? First avenging yourself on