Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [145]
“If you tie a sorcerer’s hands and gag him, he can’t cast a spell,” said Raegar.
He spoke with confidence, as though he knew what he was talking about, but Skylan had doubts. He couldn’t recall the druid doing or saying anything, and yet his men were now hopping through the woods nibbling dandelions. Still, Raegar’s plan sounded as good as any. They didn’t have much choice.
“Keep watch,” Raegar ordered, and Skylan stared intently into the shadows that grew deeper with every passing moment.
By the time night had fallen, Raegar had managed to cut loose his own arms and legs and Skylan’s arms, as well. An especially strong, tough vine clung stubbornly to Skylan’s ankles.
“These damn vines have dulled the blade,” Raegar complained.
“Then fetch my sword,” Skylan urged. “It is hanging there in that tree. You are tall enough—you can reach it.”
“Good thought!” said Raegar. He left off sawing at the vines. Wiping sweat from his brow, he walked over and stood beneath the blade that dangled from the tree limb.
“Mind you come back for me,” Skylan said. “Don’t take my sword and run off.”
Raegar eyed Skylan darkly. “Don’t you trust me, Cousin?”
“I was kidding,” said Skylan.
Raegar grunted. “I’m not in the mood for jests.”
Skylan wondered suddenly if he did trust Raegar. His cousin had claimed to have been on Apensia; he’d claimed the druids possessed hoards of gold and silver and jewels. Skylan had the feeling Raegar had never been on Apensia before and that he’d made up the tale of wealth, all to convince Skylan to come here. Skylan didn’t have any idea why Raegar would lie, but the fact was, no, he didn’t trust his cousin.
“Make haste!” Skylan called, tugging ineffectually at the vine that bound his ankles. “I think I see the moon shining through those trees.”
Raegar looked over his shoulder. “That’s not the moon. It’s torchlight! Men, coming this way.”
“Get back!” Skylan urged. Grabbing hold of the severed vines, he strung them across his chest. “Make it look as though you’re tied up.”
Raegar was already flattening himself against the tree trunk, draping the vines across his arms and shoulders.
“The druid will see the vines are cut,” said Skylan.
“By the time he does, it will be too late. I’ll have my knife at his throat. I’ll make the bastard loosen your bonds,” said Raegar in a low voice. “Once you’re free, run for the tree, grab your sword, and we’ll head out.”
“What about Draya?” Skylan asked. “I need to find her.”
“What do you care what happens to your wife?” Raegar said. “I thought you wanted to be rid of her.”
“I did. It’s just . . .” Skylan hesitated. “I forced her to come here. She didn’t want to. She warned me against the druids.”
“Feeling guilty?” Raegar grunted.
“No,” Skylan said. “I should have listened to her, that’s all.”
“Since you’re so concerned about her, we’ll make the druid tell us where she is,” said Raegar. “If she’s alive, we’ll find her. Do you want her back? Or do you want me to take her?”
Skylan thought this over. True, Draya had warned him against coming, and he should have paid heed to her warning. He remembered her odd words to him, how she had wronged him. She had—there was no doubt of that. But he’d heard whispered talk among the young Heudjun about how Horg had beaten her, abused her. Women were weak; they could not challenge a man who had wronged them to battle. Perhaps Draya had fought Horg the only way she knew how.
“She should return to her people,” Skylan said at last.
“You’re a fool,” said Raegar. “Still, I don’t suppose it matters. She’s probably dead now anyway.”
Torches flickered in the darkness, hundreds of them, winding through the far-flung limbs of the strangler fig, heading in their direction. The people sang as they came. The song was beautiful, sad, haunting. A song of praise, a song of mourning—or so Skylan guessed. He could not understand the words.
Several druids appeared, coming from different directions, meeting beneath the tree. The druids