Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [44]
Garn staggered, knocked off balance by the astonishing news.
“No help is coming,” Norgaard said. He stared down at his gnarled hands, which lay limply on the table, and repeated, “No help is coming.”
“The Heudjun are all dead, then,” said Garn, dazed. “Horg, our cousins, our clansmen. The ogres have slain them—”
“Not according to the ogres,” Skylan said, seething. “As they tell it, the ogres had no plans to raid us. Why should they? We are a piss-poor clan with nothing they want. They were going to raid the Heudjun. Horg called for a parley. He gave them the Vektan Torque in exchange for their promise to leave the Heudjun in peace.”
“The ogres are lying,” said Garn. “Horg would never do such a thing.”
“That’s what I said,” Skylan said.
“And what did the ogres say?” Garn asked.
“They asked—had we heard Heudjun horns calling the clans to battle? Had we seen the smoke of their beacon fire summoning us to help them? Did we see the flames of burning houses? Are the ogre ships now filled with Heudjun cattle and Heudjun slaves? The answer to all is no.”
Garn stared at his friend in silence. He tried to think of some logical explanations, but none came to mind.
“How did you get a bruised jaw?” he asked at last, though he could guess.
“Sigurd had to knock some sense into him,” Norgaard growled. “He would have fought all the godlords single-handed and got himself killed.”
Skylan shrugged. “We’ll be dead by morning anyway. I am not afraid to die in battle. Every warrior prays that when he goes to Torval, he will stand before him with a sword in his hand. But I go into this battle tomorrow with one regret.”
The warriors shouted in anger. They knew what he was going to say.
Skylan raised his voice. “My regret is that I will not have the chance to slit open the coward Horg’s belly and throw his yellow entrails to the dogs!”
“Not my dog,” shouted Alfric the One-Eyed. “I think too well of that mutt to poison him!”
The other warriors laughed and pounded on the table in agreement.
“Then I say we do not lose the battle tomorrow,” said Garn. “No, wait! Hear me out, lord.”
He turned to Norgaard. “We are outnumbered—that is true. But if the Dragon Kahg were to fight for us, that would more than even the odds.”
“And if shit were gold, I would be a wealthy man,” said Norgaard impatiently. “The ogres have captured our dragonship. It rides at anchor among their fleet. Their ships have it surrounded. Ogre spearmen would cut us down before we came near it.”
“One man might well succeed where an army would fail,” Garn replied. “After all, we do not need the dragonship. We need only the dragon.”
Skylan’s eyes flared with blue flame. “This is why you are my brother!” he cried, pleased. He turned to Norgaard. “You must admit it, Father. Garn’s plan will work! I will swim to the dragonship, board it, and bring back the spiritbone. No one will see me in the darkness.”
Norgaard’s graying brows twitched. His lips creased in a rare smile. “It might work,” he conceded, and that grudgingly. The Chief leveraged himself painfully to his feet, took hold of his crutch. “I will go inform the Bone Priestess, tell her to hold herself in readiness—”
“I’ll do that, lord,” Garn said hastily. The last thing Norgaard needed now was to see his Dragon Goddess lying on the floor in pieces. “You should remain here with the warriors. In case anything goes awry.”
“Very well,” Norgaard agreed readily. He sank back down thankfully into his chair. The walk to Treia’s dwelling was a long one.
Skylan was already stripping off his clothes, preparing for his swim. He started to pull off his trousers. The movement caused him to draw a sharp breath. The gash inflicted by the boar’s tusk ran the length of his thigh, a long red weal, and though the flesh had closed, it was obviously causing him discomfort.
“Skylan, you should let someone else go,” Garn ventured to protest.
“I am War Chief. I would never order another man to face danger in my place,” Skylan said.
Garn glanced about the hall. The other warriors were talking excitedly among