Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [137]
The warriors reached the end of the bridge in safety and found themselves in a thick forest. At first glance, Skylan couldn’t see any signs of life, and he wondered if he’d followed a bridge to nowhere. Staring into the shadows, he saw that the dwellings had been built in such a manner that they were part of the forest. Made of logs, the dwellings huddled beneath the large trunks of ancient oak trees. The dwellings were small with shuttered windows and thatched roofs. Narrow dirt lanes wound mazelike among the tree trunks. Rays of sun slanted through the canopy of the leaves whose dappled shadows cooled the air.
Off in the distance, Skylan could see hills of lush green grass dotted with grazing sheep and cattle. Fields of tall grain lay golden in the sunlight. He contrasted this land of plenty with his own land of parched grass, starving cattle, withered crops—and his resolve hardened. He was glad he’d come.
“Where is everyone? Aren’t they going to challenge us?” asked Tubbi. He was a young man of sixteen, on his first raid. Short and barrel-chested, Tubbi had become one of Skylan’s favorites.
His question was a good one. Smoke from cook fires rose from the dwellings and drifted among the branches. Chickens and ducks roamed about, pecking at scattered grain. Dogs came out to sniff in friendly fashion at the strangers. But there were no people.
Skylan was baffled. He had not really believed Raegar’s tales of a peace-loving people. He had expected armed men prepared to die to defend their homes. Instead, a mongrel dog thrust its nose into Skylan’s crotch. He stood alongside his warriors, every man armed to the teeth, and no one to fight.
“I am Chief of Chiefs of the Vindrasi,” he called out loudly. “If the men of Apensia are such cowards that they will not fight us, we will take what we want!”
He waited for a response, and when none came, he was about to order his men to ransack the houses, but then one of his warriors nudged him. A tall spare man in the gray robes of a druid walked with unhurried pace beneath the shadows of the trees. The man had a long beard, black streaked with white. His beard was plaited, as was his white hair. His skin was brown and heavily wrinkled and creased. His gray robes were plain and unadorned. His hazel eyes were mild. He did not appear afraid, or even particularly concerned, at the sight of Skylan’s eighteen armed warriors.
“Greetings, Skylan Ivorson,” said the man. “You are welcome to Apensia. It has been many years since our Vindrasi neighbors have honored us with a visit.”
Skylan was startled. How did the man know his name? The only answer was that Raegar must have mentioned it, and why in the name of Hevis would Raegar do such a thing? He could feel the eyes of his warriors boring into his back. They were growing jittery. Draya’s tales of druidic magicks came back to them. They would not have feared an army. This strange old man, who seemed to have stepped out of a twilight tale, unnerved them.
Skylan had to give them back their courage.
“We are not your neighbors,” he said, his voice grating. “We are your enemies. Our children starve, while even your dogs are fat! We do not want to make war on you. Fill our ship with gold and silver and jewels, and we will leave you in peace.”
The warriors behind him felt better. They growled their agreement and struck their blades on their shields or thumped the butts of their spears on the ground.
“I am sorry to hear the Vindrasi people are suffering,” said the druid gently. “It is true that the land has been good to us. We will be glad to share our bounty with you. We can fill your ship with grain and cattle, though not, I fear, with precious metals or gems. Of these we have none.”
The warriors jeered. Skylan laughed and said, “You are an old man, sir, and old men are prone to confusion. You have gold and silver and jewels. You have just forgotten that you have them. You will forgive me if I look for myself. You men”—he gestured—“go search those houses.”
The druid said nothing. He made no move to stop them.