Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [169]
Wulfe screamed and kept screaming, shrill and piercing, like the rabbit when the fox sank his teeth in its neck. He kicked frantically to free himself from the draugr’s clutches. The draugr gave a yank, and he lost his grip on the ladder and tumbled down to lie on his back at the draugr’s feet.
Except it wasn’t a draugr. He could see that now. She was a living, breathing woman, and she stared down at him in astonishment.
“Stop shrieking,” she snapped, and Wulfe stopped.
“Who are you? Where did you come from?” the woman asked.
Wulfe didn’t like her. The elder said Wulfe had an animal’s sense about people, perhaps because of the way they smelled. This woman did not carryiron, but she smelled of iron, as though her soul were made of iron.
No wonder the dragon had refused to answer her questions. Wulfe decided to do likewise. He kept his lips clamped tight and did not move.
“Are you dumb, boy?” The woman peered down at him through squinting eyes.
Wulfe shook his head.
“Not deaf, are you? Can you hear me? Do you speak our language?”
Wulfe nodded.
“Are you a friend of Skylan’s?”
Again Wulfe nodded.
The woman’s voice softened; her tone became soothing, as though she were trying to placate a snarling dog. “You don’t need to be afraid. I am Skylan’s friend, too.”
She held out her hand. “I can take you to him, if you want. No one will hurt you. Not if you’re with me.”
Ignoring the outstretched hand, Wulfe scrambled to his feet, keeping his distance. “Can I have something to eat?”
The woman gave a tight, stiff smile. “So you can talk, after all. My name is Treia. What is your name?”
Names were powerful. Wulfe kept quiet.
The woman named Treia gave an exasperated sigh and motioned with her hand. “Wait for me up on deck. I’ll join you in a moment.”
Wulfe hesitated, then did as he was told. He stood on the deck, feeling oddly unsteady now that the ship was no longer moving. He could hear her rummaging about down below. He had no idea what she was looking for, and he didn’t think she did either. He wished she would hurry.
Treia came back up the ladder. Her face was rigid. She seemed annoyed. When she saw Wulfe, she tried another smile, but didn’t quite manage it.
“Come with me,” she ordered.
She offered Wulfe her hand again. Again he didn’t take it. Shrugging, she walked across the deck, and Wulfe trailed after her. She paused a moment to look up at the dragon.
The dragon had nothing to say, and Treia’s lips compressed.
“How did you and Skylan meet?” she asked as they walked across the sand dunes. She had to glance around at him, for he walked several paces behind her, not liking to get too close.
Wulfe pretended he hadn’t heard. He could see the roofs of longhouses silhouetted against the stars. Skylan had told him about the village, about his home, about his friends and his father and about the woman he loved. Wulfe hoped that this was not the woman. He didn’t think it was. Skylan had told him she had hair the color of fire. This woman had hair the color of donkey piss.
The woman kept asking him questions, all of them about Skylan. Wulfe didn’t believe her when she said she was Skylan’s friend. If she was his friend, she wouldn’t ask so many questions. He wished she would be quiet. Her voice was like being poked with a sharp stick.
They walked the streets. Wulfe’s nose twitched, and his mouth watered. He could smell the meat and vegetables simmering in the stewpots.
“I’m really hungry,” he said. “And I want to see Skylan.”
Now it was Treia who did not answer him. She was peering down the street at a large building, the largest Wulfe had ever seen. The door to the building stood open—light poured out, and with it a hubbub of voices, lots of people talking all at once.
“Something has happened,” said Treia.
She reached out and grabbed his arm, startling Wulfe, who hadn’t