Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [18]
Norgaard escorted the godlords from the longhouse and sent four warriors with them.
“Make certain they return to their ships,” he ordered the men. “Remain where you can keep an eye on them.”
Norgaard watched the massive ogres walk ponderously away. He had what was left of this day to try to devise a plan to save his people.
Not much time, but it was better than nothing.
When the men reported that the ogres were back aboard their ships, Norgaard called a meeting of the Torgun Council, which was made up of all the heads of families, male and, in some cases, female if a woman’s husband had died and she had not remarried. Skylan, as future Chief, was also in attendance, as was Garn, because he was always with Skylan.
Norgaard described the situation: “Tomorrow morning, we must either surrender to the ogres and give in to their demands, which means we must hand over forty-three head of cattle, thirteen bars of silver, seven men, including my son, and our dragonship. Or we fight—”
“Fight,” said Skylan loudly.
“—an army that outnumbers us almost two to one,” Norgaard finished, his voice grating.
“Where is the choice in this?” Skylan demanded impatiently. “Of course, we must fight.”
“And we will be slaughtered,” said Norgaard.
“We cannot lose,” said Skylan. “Torval is with us.” He reverently touched the silver axe he wore around his throat.
“Was Torval with you on your last raid?” Norgaard asked dryly.
The Council waited for Skylan’s answer, though all knew what it was. Skylan’s last raid had gained nothing and brought the ogres down on them.
“The god was not with us,” Skylan said. “And now I know why. Torval and Vindrash were fighting a great battle of their own. A battle they did not lose, no matter what these ugly sons of ugly whores say!”
He added, with an irate glance at his father, “Are you saying we should surrender, give in to their demands?”
“It is true that if we fight, we may well die,” said Sigurd, one of the Council members. “But if we give the ogres all our cattle, we will certainly die—of starvation. I choose to end my life clutching a sword, not my empty belly.”
Sigurd was both uncle and stepfather to Treia and Aylaen. When Aylaen’s own father, Myrdill, had died, Sigurd made his widowed sister-in-law an offer of marriage, not out of any care for her or her children, but to gain his brother’s property. Aylaen’s mother, Holma, had accepted because she needed a husband to assist with the labor involved in tending the farm. Not many people liked Sigurd. He was a dour, implacable man who openly kept a concubine, by whom he’d had two sons. He was good to them, whereas he treated his wife and stepdaughters like slaves. Aylaen loathed her stepfather and avoided him whenever possible.
The other Council members gave their opinions. All were loud and passionate in their agreement that the Torgun should fight.
“I am all for fighting,” Norgaard said. “But I would like to have some chance of winning.”
No one could argue that point. Skylan could boast that one Torgun warrior was worth two ogres, but the elders in the Council knew the boast was empty. Ogres might have faces like toddlers and smell like pigs, but when forced to fight, they were excellent warriors, savage and strong, and they were now backed by powerful gods.
Whereas the gods of the Torgun . . .
“May I speak?” Garn asked in low, deferential tones. He was not one of the Council, and thus had no right to participate in the meeting unless he was granted permission.
“Yes,” said Skylan quickly to forestall anyone who might object.
Norgaard readily gave his assent. He had raised Garn, and he loved him like a son. Sometimes he loved Garn better than his own son, for which he often felt guilty. Norgaard had long hoped that Skylan might learn some of Garn’s wisdom and patience. Thus far, his plan had not worked; Skylan was as impetuous and foolhardy as ever. Still, Norgaard was pleased that Skylan had sense enough to value Garn’s good