Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [139]
The druid sighed, then smiled. “We have to work very hard to maintain the warm climate to which the tree is accustomed, particularly in the winter. But we find it is worth it.”
Skylan had noticed that the air in the grove was even hotter and more humid than back in the forest. Sweat rolled down his face and neck. His linen shirt stuck to his skin, and he regretted wearing the sky-blue woolen cape. He scoffed at the notion that the druids ruled the weather. All knew the gods commanded the wind and the sun, sent the rain or withheld it, shook the snow out of the clouds, and kept the temperature of a cave the same year-round.
The druid gestured to the inner portion of the grove, where people—the first Skylan had seen since landing, other than the druid—were setting up plank tables. “If you and your men will seat yourselves, lord . . .”
“I will not go anywhere near that fae tree,” Skylan said, and behind him his young warriors were loud in agreement.
The druid raised his eyebrows. A smile played about his lips, but he swiftly hid it by stroking his long mustache. Bowing in acquiescence, he left to instruct the men to move the tables.
The warriors seated themselves. Young women came out from the shadows, bearing platters of roasted meat, bowls of stew, bread, large wheels of cheese, and pitchers of foaming ale. The bowls and plates and cups were carved out of wood, the knives made of deer horn. Skylan drank and ate and eyed the young women, especially one who had red hair and green eyes and reminded him of Aylaen.
The people of Apensia dressed quite plainly. Their clothes were simple, drab in color, yet well made. The people appeared healthy and content and not at all afraid of the fearsome warriors who had come to kill them and steal their wealth. Skylan began to wonder if this was a settlement of simpletons.
He looked hard at the women who waited on him. None of them wore jewelry. No silver bracelets or golden brooches, no jeweled hair combs. Some did wear rings, but they were carved of wood. These people had certainly gone to a lot of trouble to conceal their wealth, which meant it must be vast indeed!
“More ale!” Skylan demanded, motioning to the red-haired girl and holding out his wooden mug.
The ale was the best he’d ever tasted: dark and earthy. He did not drink to excess, thinking that since they were in a “hostile” land, he should remain sober. His young warriors felt no such compunction, however, and were refilling their mugs at regular intervals.
Their faces flushed red, they pounded their fists on the table and boasted and laughed. Skylan joined in the merriment, telling tales of his past triumphs. The young men gazed at him, their eyes warm with admiration and strong drink. Raising their mugs to him, they bawled out their undying devotion.
Tubbi called for yet more ale. As one of the young women started to pour, he jostled her arm, causing her to slosh the ale over his hand. Tubbi cursed in mock anger and, in “punishment,” seized the woman around the waist, dragged her onto his lap, and began to nuzzle her neck. His hand pawed at her breasts.
One of the men who had helped set up the table started to go to the girl’s aid. Skylan saw the druid give a barely perceivable shake of his head. The man watched a moment more, then turned and walked off.
Tubbi found this hilarious. “Come back! I’ll fight you for her!” he shouted, fumbling for his weapon as he tried at the same time to hold on to the girl.
“Stop squirming!” he ordered her, giving her a kiss on the neck. “Be good to me, and I’ll show you the love of a real man, not the cowards you grow around here! If you are lucky, I might even get you pregnant with a warrior son!”
Tubbi flung the young woman onto the table, and ignoring her pleas,