Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [179]
“What are you doing here?” Skylan asked.
“I came to see Owl Mother.”
“I didn’t know you knew Owl Mother.”
“Oh, yes,” said Wulfe complacently. “The dryads told me about her. Now we’re good friends.”
Skylan frowned. He didn’t believe Wulfe when he claimed to be able to speak to dryads. Skylan believed in dryads, of course. Like all the Vindrasi, he asked the guardian of the tree to forgive him before he cut down her tree, and he left offerings for her to ease her grief. But no self-respecting person claimed to be able to see dryads or converse with them.
Skylan had too many other concerns to start up this argument again, and he let the matter drop.
“I am told Owl Mother wants to see me.”
Wulfe raised his eyebrows. “She does?”
Skylan stopped to stare at the boy. “You mean she doesn’t?”
Wulfe could tell Skylan was in a bad mood, and he answered warily, “Maybe.”
“Garn said she wanted to see me.”
“Garn hasn’t been around all day. She could have told him some other time, though.”
Seeing Skylan scowl, Wulfe added hurriedly, “Maybe I’m wrong. I’ll go ask,” and he raced off, shouting, “Owl Mother!” before Skylan could catch him.
Had Garn lied to him? It looked that way. Skylan was reflecting bitterly that he could no longer trust anyone, when he was confronted by Owl Mother, who sprang at him out of the brush.
“There you are,” she snapped. “I’ve been waiting.”
She whipped around, trotting along the winding path that led to her dwelling. She did not glance behind. Apparently she assumed Skylan would follow.
“Did you tell Garn to tell me that you wanted to see me?” Skylan demanded.
“Did I?” Owl Mother flung back over her shoulder.
“Didn’t you?”
Owl Mother stopped so fast that Skylan had to do some fancy footwork to avoid bumping into her. “Does it matter?”
Skylan believed that it did matter, but he didn’t want to prolong his conversation with the strange old crone.
“What do you want with me?”
“We made a bargain, you and I,” said Owl Mother, poking his chest with her knotted finger. “The time I healed you, remember? You promised to do whatever I asked of you.”
“I remember,” said Skylan impatiently. “But I am Chief of Chiefs now. I have many responsibilities. The Vindrasi are going to war—”
“The Vindrasi are going to their doom.” Owl Mother snorted.
They had reached the small clearing that surrounded her ramshackle house. Owl Mother pointed at a stool. “Sit down.”
“What do you mean? The Vindrasi are going to their doom?” Skylan asked, still standing.
“Wulfe, fetch my chair,” said Owl Mother.
Wulfe dashed into the house. He came back carrying a chair that was almost as big as he was. He had it hoisted over his head, making nothing of the weight, though the chair had thick arms and legs and a back that was decorated with fanciful carvings of magical beasts. He set the chair down opposite the stool. A tree stump stood between them.
Owl Mother sat down in her chair and made herself comfortable. “Wulfe, fetch the board and the bones.”
Wulfe made another foray into the dwelling. He came back bearing a wooden board and a sack. He placed the board on the tree stump and dumped out the pieces. Skylan sucked in his breath. The hair prickled on his neck and arms. He stared at the board, feeling cold sweat trickling down his breast. He stared at the board and then at Owl Mother.
“I thought we might play a game of dragonbone,” said Owl Mother with a sly smile.
“I don’t have time for nonsense,” said Skylan shakily. “I will chop wood for you, carry water, patch your roof or whatever chores need doing. I won’t play this game.”
Owl Mother began to hum a jarring tune. She pointed at Skylan’s leg and a muscle in his thigh cramped, the pain so sharp and severe that his leg buckled. He gasped in agony and almost fell. He began to rub his thigh, trying to ease the cramp.
“That was where the boar gored you, isn’t it?” Owl Mother chuckled, and stopped humming. “We made