Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [37]
Darkness fell, and the hours passed, and Aylaen grew more and more uneasy. Perhaps she should fetch Alfric to help her force the door open. Alfric was the strongest, largest man in the village. He had once picked up Skylan, hoisted him over his shoulder, and carried him around as effortlessly as if Skylan were a babe. But Aylaen was loath to leave her sister alone in the wilderness, especially with ogres roaming about.
The longer Aylaen sat in the darkness, with only the moon and the stars for light, the more worried she grew. She went again to the door and called to her sister.
No reply.
What if Treia was lying there hurt, unable to move or cry out? Maybe she was subject to foaming-mouthed fits? That was possible. Aylaen didn’t know that much about her sister, who had been away for so many years. Treia was still a stranger. Aylaen was about to leave to obtain help when she saw torchlight and heard someone walking along the path.
Aylaen picked up her axe. All Vindrasi women were trained to fight. If an enemy overran the men of the village, it was left to the women to defend themselves and their children.
Aylaen was strong, and she was a skilled warrior. Having grown up with Skylan and Garn, she was more boy than girl, as her mother never tired of telling anyone who would listen. Aylaen did a man’s work on the farm. She hated being cooped up inside the house, doing women’s work: cooking and weaving and the like. She had learned from Skylan and Garn how to handle weapons. She even knew how to use Skylan’s most prized possession—his sword.
Aylaen had no sword. Few men in the village owned one. But she had an axe, and was not afraid. Whoever was out there was making a great deal of noise. An enemy would move silently, try to sneak up on her.
“Who is there?” she challenged. “Make yourself known to me.”
“Aylaen, you can put down the axe!” came the laughing call. “It’s Garn.”
Aylaen sighed in relief and dropped the axe to the ground. Garn, bathed in yellow torchlight, came into sight. Aylaen ran to him, threw her arms around him, and pressed her head against his broad chest.
“Thank Vindrash you’ve come! I’ve been so worried.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Garn asked, alarmed. “Where is Treia? She’s supposed to be at the feast.”
“She’s in there. In the Hall. She won’t answer me—”
Garn gave a sigh of relief. “So she is safe. You are safe.”
He put his arms around her, clasping her close to him. They pressed together, heartbeat to heartbeat, warm and comforting. And then, gently, he pushed her away.
“We shouldn’t,” he said. “This is wrong.”
“Wrong to love each other?” Aylaen asked, and she raised her lips to be kissed.
Garn glanced at the Hall. Though the building had no windows, Treia might be watching through a chink in the wall. He shook his head.
“Skylan is dear to me,” he said. “Dearer than a brother.”
“And he is dear to me, as well,” Aylaen said gently. “Dear to me as a brother. We should tell him we are in love. I almost told him today.”
“You mustn’t, Aylaen!” Garn said. “You must never say anything to him.”
“I don’t see why not,” Aylaen said. “He has to know sometime.”
“No, he doesn’t,” said Garn quietly. “Promise me you won’t say a word to him or to anyone.”
Aylaen tossed her head defiantly.
“You would hurt Skylan deeply, Aylaen,” Garn told her. “He adores you. And he trusts me. Promise me you won’t tell him. . . .”
“Sometimes I think you care more about him than you do me,” Aylaen said petulantly.
“I hope I never have to choose,” said Garn.
Aylaen heard the sorrow and pain in his voice, and she regretted her hurtful words. He loved her, loved her deeply and dearly, as she loved him. The two had not meant to fall in love. It had just happened. It seemed they had grown up loving each other. The threads of their wyrds were bound together. Yet she was as good as betrothed to Skylan.
“I’m sorry,” Aylaen said remorsefully. “I promise I won’t tell him. But I won’t marry him!” she added with a flash of her green eyes.
Garn shook his head. “Not even the gods can see