Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [168]
Circumstances were not normal, however. Draya had named no successor. Even if she had, once the Kai discovered she had murdered Horg, robbed Torval of his judgment, the Kai would renounce her. It would be as if she had never been.
Treia’s suspicions had been aroused by the fact that Horg had behaved strangely during the fight. She couldn’t see all that well, but she had been able to recognize a sick man when she saw one. Horg had acted sick—clutching his belly, staggering about, retching. He had not taken any serious wounds, she was certain of that. People standing around her even commented on the fact. Treia thought it over and came to suspect that Horg had been poisoned. Her suspicions were confirmed when Draya had swiftly covered up the corpse, so that no one should see it, and then ordered the Dragon Kahg to get rid of the body.
Treia had considered voicing her suspicions, and she would have if anyone else had come forward. No one did, and she was forced to keep her doubts to herself. The people were satisfied with the decision of the gods. They had not liked Horg, and they did like Skylan. All that would change, though, once Treia had proof.
She slipped unnoticed out of the hall. Taking down a torch to light her way, she hastened through the empty streets, heading for the shore. She needed proof that Skylan was lying. No one would believe her otherwise.
The Venjekar rested on its keel on the beach. The wind had risen and shredded the fog. The moon was thin and pale; the stars seemed cold and distant. The sea was dark and stirred sullenly. As Treia boarded the dragonship, she felt the eyes of the Dragon Kahg on her.
Treia took down the spiritbone from where it hung on the figurehead, clasped it tightly in her hand, and boldly confronted the dragon.
Wulfe crouched in the hold, afraid to come out. The fierce warriors with their terrible swords and tree-killing axes had frightened him half out of his wits. He had run away to hide and stumbled over a stool, sending it crashing, which had brought the warriors down on top of him.
He found some small comfort in the fact that Skylan had been glad to see these men. They were his friends, not enemies. Skylan had called him to come out, but Wulfe was still too afraid. He remained hiding behind some barrels, relaxing only after they all left the ship.
He was now more hungry than afraid, but he feared if he went ashore alone, the warriors would find him and kill him. Skylan had told him lurid tales of what the Torgun had done to the ogres who had dared set foot on their land. Wulfe hoped Skylan would come back to fetch him, but the night wore on with no sign of his friend.
Wulfe decided to sleep on board the ship until the return of daylight, figuring that Skylan would certainly come for him then. He was almost ready to come out from behind the barrels when he heard the sound of someone walking on the deck, and that sent him scurrying back to his hiding place.
He heard someone talking to the dragon. It sounded like a woman—a real, live woman, not the draugr. The woman’s voice was low, and Wulfe couldn’t understand what she was saying. He could tell by her tone that she was addressing the dragon with reverence and respect.
The dragon did not respond.
The woman’s tone changed, became sharper.
The dragon’s silence continued.
The woman stomped her foot in frustration. Her tone was commanding.
Wulfe could sense the dragon’s rising anger, and the boy shivered and wished the woman would take heed and leave. Perhaps she did notice after all, for she fell silent. She did not leave, however. Wulfe saw torchlight shining down into the hatch, and he realized in dismay that she was going to descend into the hold.
The woman climbed slowly down the ladder, moving hesitantly, holding the skirts of her robes in one hand and the torch in the other.
Wulfe recognized her by the robes.
It was the draugr. Coming for him.
He gave a piercing shriek and jumped out