Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [17]
Treia had told them that Vindrash, the Dragon Goddess, was displeased with them. But what if Vindrash had not been merely displeased? What if the Dragon Goddess had been vanquished, driven out of heaven?
Treia did not speak, and now all the Torgun warriors were growing uneasy. Norgaard gave a low growl, indicating that Treia needed to say something and she needed to do it fast. The Priestess gave him a sidelong glance and then rose slowly to her feet.
Her movements were graceful, majestic. Her dark eyes shone with myopic luster. Her pale cheeks were stained red. She cast a sweeping glance around the longhouse, and her gaze came to rest on the ogres. Such was her proud and haughty demeanor that even they appeared respectful. She spoke directly to the shaman.
“I am going to the shrine of Vindrash. There I will call upon your gods and mine,” said Treia. “I will wait to hear which gods answer me. I will be at my prayers all night. I am not to be disturbed.”
Head held high, she walked out of the longhouse. As she passed Norgaard, Treia cast him a look that said as plain as speech, I have bought you time. Use it well!
The ogre guards, after a nod from their shaman, stepped aside and allowed Treia to depart the hall. The Torgun warriors fell back to give her room. One offered to escort her, but she scornfully refused.
Aylaen had been caught off guard by her sister’s sudden decisive move. After a moment’s hesitation, Aylaen hurried to follow Treia, who was already out the door. The ogres made no move to stop her, though they ogled her as she hurried past them, and one ogre made what was obviously a lewd comment to the other, who grinned.
Skylan did not hear what was said, but he could guess, and he reached again for his sword. Garn seized hold of his arm and whispered urgently in his ear, and for once Skylan listened.
The three ogre godlords consulted with their shaman. Norgaard remained silent, as did the Torgun warriors gathered in the longhouse. They did this ostensibly out of courtesy, but every man there had his ears stretched, trying to hear what was being said.
The ogres kept their voices low. Norgaard rose to his feet, and under the pretense of easing his crippled leg, he limped closer to hear better.
Absorbed in their talk, the ogres did not notice him.
The ogres spoke rapidly. Norgaard could understand only about one word in five, but he heard enough to realize that the ogres were confounded, uncertain what to do. The ogres had urged the Torgun to accept their gods, known as the Gods of Raj, and now the Torgun Bone Priestess had said she was going off to pray to the Gods of Raj. The ogres might or might not believe her (clearly one of the godlords did not), but the shaman insisted that they could not now attack the Torgun. The ogres had to give the Gods of Raj a chance to respond. Doing anything else would be an insult to the gods and, as the shaman pointed out, the ogres were a long way from home with miles of treacherous ocean to cross. It would not be wise to anger the gods.
That last argument convinced the godlords. Ogres did not love the sea, as did the Vindrasi, and the sea did not love ogres.
Having heard enough, Norgaard limped back to resume his seat.
After another few moments’ conferring, the tiger-skin godlord spoke. “We are confident in the powerful and mighty Gods of Raj. We give your Priestess time to pray to them. We will hear her answer—and yours—this night. In the meantime, we will tell you more of our gods at the great feast you will give this night in our honor.”
Norgaard sighed. Feeding the ogres would deplete the Torgun’s already meager food supply, but he did not dare insult them by refusing.
The ogre godlords made ready to take their leave, as did the shaman, his feathers rustling. Norgaard walked with them. At a gesture from him, his Torgun