Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [142]
The dragon’s nostrils flared slightly. The jaws barely moved, the voice came as breath gliding through the sharp curved front fangs. The slit tongue flickered.
“Do not judge yourself too harshly, Daughter,” Vindrash said morosely. “By judging yourself, you also judge us. And we are all found lacking.”
“I would never judge you, Blessed One!” said Draya, shocked.
“Yet you might be right to do so,” said Vindrash.
The dragon fell into a brooding silence. Her wings spread and fanned the air, stirring the perfume of the bay leaves and the flowers. The breeze cooled Draya’s skin and dried the tears she did not know she had cried until she felt them on her cheeks. She felt calm, at peace.
I could sleep, she thought. Sleep for a long time. Sleep and forget . . .
“You vowed, Daughter, that you would do anything for me,” said Vindrash at last.
“I did make that vow, Blessed Goddess,” Draya said. “And I make that vow again.”
“Would you sacrifice your life?”
“I would, Vindrash,” Draya said. She hesitated a moment, then, lowering her head, she asked in a grave voice, “Is death to be my punishment, then?”
“There is no talk of punishment, Daughter. If we punish you, we must also punish ourselves. And we are far too wise and puissant for that!” Vindrash added with bitter irony.
The dragon’s tail switched moodily, back and forth.
A druidess entered the grove. She held in her hands a wooden bowl, and she stood waiting in respectful silence for the goddess to acknowledge her presence.
Vindrash gazed into Draya’s eyes, delving deep. “I need a place to hide,” said the goddess. “A body. Your body.”
Draya looked at the druidess’s bowl, and her mouth went dry. Her heart constricted, her hands trembled, her stomach clenched. Her terror was reflexive—her body’s desperate need to survive. Her soul was strong and unafraid.
“The sacrifice must be made willingly,” said Vindrash.
“I am willing,” Draya replied.
The druidess brought forth the bowl. Draya’s hands as they grasped hold of the bowl were steady and did not tremble.
“I ask one favor, Blessed Vindrash,” Draya said. “Skylan is young and foolish. He has much to learn. But he is brave, with a warrior’s spirit and a noble heart. He will make a good leader. Be merciful to him. Our people need him.”
“We fight for our very survival,” Vindrash returned sternly. “We do not have the luxury of mercy. Now that he is Chief of Chiefs, Skylan Ivorson must prove himself to be worthy of our trust or he will be swept aside to make room for another.”
Draya gazed into the clear liquid. She saw reflected back to her a young girl, newly made Kai Priestess, facing the unknown, her eyes alight with joy and hope and faith.
“Will you answer one question for me?” Draya asked.
“If I can, Daughter,” said Vindrash.
“Did Torval choose Skylan?”
Vindrash was silent for long moments. Then she said quietly, “It doesn’t matter, Daughter. The wheel has turned. The thread is spun.”
“Thank you, Vindrash,” said Draya. “For this and all your blessings.”
She brought the bowl to her lips and drank long and deep.
CHAPTER
10
Skylan gazed at his sword, wrenched from his hand by the branch of a tree. He looked down at his short sword, now a snake slithering off beneath the tree roots. He saw eighteen rabbits hopping about in a confused and desultory manner, sniffing pitifully at their weapons and armor. His mind overwhelmed with horror, Skylan surrendered without a fight.
The druids tied him to the same tree trunk as Raegar. Vines sprang from the ground and wound around Skylan’s ankles and legs, twined over his chest and across his arms. He managed, by twisting his body, to keep his men in sight.
They had been his care, his responsibility. He thought of their families, of their fathers and mothers, of young mothers and children. He thought of them dying ignominiously, in the claws of a hawk or the teeth of a fox. Their souls would not be admitted into Torval’s Hall. The god would roar with laughter at the sight: rabbits hopping on the threshold.