Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [212]
Skylan walked over to Aylaen. He took hold of her hands and clasped them firmly. She kept her head lowered.
“Look at me. Look at me,” he repeated when she refused.
Aylaen raised her eyes.
“You lied to the Kai, to Treia, to me. You lied to the gods.”
Skylan paused. He longed to confess, tell her that he, too, had lied, told lie upon lie. He didn’t dare. He was the Torgun War Chief, their leader. His men had to have faith in him; otherwise, they were doomed.
“Perhaps this is the way the gods will redeem you, Aylaen. By making your lie the truth.”
Skylan drew in a deep breath, then went on. “Treia has been training you. You know the ritual—”
“No, I don’t!” Aylaen cried. “I saw Treia perform the ritual once, and that was months ago when the ogres attacked! She tried to explain it to me while we were on board the ship, but I didn’t pay attention. I never thought I’d have to . . . The dragon has never spoken to me—”
“Try, Aylaen,” Skylan urged. “That’s all I’m asking. Pray to Torval. Ask for his help.”
“Why should he help me when I lied to him?” Aylaen asked miserably.
“Because the wyrd of the gods is bound up in ours,” Garn told her. “Because even the gods are afraid.”
Could that be true? Skylan wondered suddenly. He didn’t know whether to be comforted by that thought or not. He wanted to ask Garn what he meant. He wanted to have a long talk with his friend. After the battle, I will tell Garn everything, Skylan resolved. I will ask him to forgive me. No wonder that Aylaen loves him. She was right. She loves him as I love him. He deserves our love. I am a cheat and a liar and a fraud. I do not.
“I will try,” Aylaen said softly. “I will pray to Torval to forgive me.”
“And I will pray that Torval forgives at least one of us,” Skylan said beneath his breath.
Aylaen drew the spiritbone from the embroidered leather bag in which it was kept when it was removed from the dragonship. She went down on her knees in the sand and started speaking the words to the ritual. She spoke slowly and hesitantly, starting and backing up and repeating herself, and then she stopped altogether.
“I can’t remember!” Aylaen clutched the bone, shaking it in frustration.
“Take your time,” Garn counseled.
The ground shook, as when thunder fell from heaven and rolled across the land. Or when huge stones thumped the ground.
“Just don’t take too much time,” Skylan said.
Aylaen bit her lip and began to recite the ritual again.
Skylan watched Aylaen a moment longer, then glanced at Garn. “Stay with her.”
Garn nodded. Skylan turned to find his men, under Sigurd’s direction, forming a shield-wall. He glared at them in exasperation.
“Are you mad? All bunched together like that, a giant could take you all out with one blow! We have to spread out! We’re not going to win this battle with swords and shields. Fetch the spears, as many as you can carry. I don’t care if you can’t throw. The targets are big enough so that even you, Alfric, can’t very well miss.”
Alfric the One-Eyed grinned. During a spear-chucking contest, he was renowned for having missed the mark by such a wide margin that he’d wounded one of the judges.
“Take cover in the pine trees,” Skylan continued. “Just make sure you keep within shouting distance of each other.”
“What do we aim for?” Erdmun asked, bewildered. “Their eyes?”
“Their balls,” said Skylan.
Erdmun gave a nervous snicker.
“I’m not kidding,” said Skylan grimly.
The men scattered, running to grab the spears that had been salvaged from the dragonship. Skylan realized suddenly that someone else besides Treia was missing.
“Where’s Wulfe?” Skylan turned to Garn. “You said you saw him.”
“He ran off before I could grab him,” said Garn. “I think he was more frightened of me than of the dragon.”
Ugly Ones armed with swords and axes, stinking of iron.
Skylan shouted Wulfe’s name,