Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [53]
His feet touched sandy bottom. He almost wept with relief as he waded out of the water. The sun blazed down on him, warmed him. He had landed on a strange shore, one he did not recognize. White cliffs soared high above him. He had to crane his neck to see to the top. Eagles circled in the blue sky.
Naked, Skylan walked the shore, searching for a ship, a boat, a raft—anything. He had to return to his people before it was too late.
At the bottom of the white cliffs was a cave. Outside the cave, a man sat on a boulder. He had his back to Skylan, who walked toward him. The man was a warrior, and an important one at that. He must be a lord, the Chief of some wealthy clan. He wore a helm adorned with dragon wings, and he was clad in plate armor and chain mail, bright and shining in the sunlight. His shield, painted blue and gold, lay on the ground. A beautiful two-handed sword hung at his side.
“Hail, noble sir!” Skylan said, calling out so that the lord would not think he was sneaking up on him.
The lord turned his head, and Skylan was startled to see the noble lord bent over a hot flat rock, cooking fish.
Skylan stood touching his hand to his breast in a mark of respect, but he couldn’t help staring.
The armor the man wore was costly. The sword alone could ransom a king. So what was this noble warrior doing sitting alone on an empty stretch of beach cooking his dinner like a poor fisherman?
The warrior had long gray hair and was clean-shaven. He had a beaked nose and far-seeing eyes, a strong jaw and jutting chin. He was old, far older than Norgaard, who was the oldest man Skylan had ever known. The lord’s eyes, shadowed by overhanging brows, glittered with an inner blue fire. The eyes pierced Skylan through and through.
“Forgive my nakedness, sir,” Skylan said, ashamed. “I was shipwrecked, lost at sea. Can you tell me where I am and where I can find a boat? My people are going to battle against the ogres, and I must fight for them.”
“I know all about your people,” said the old warrior, grunting. “I know about the ogres, Freilis take them and feed them to her demons. And I know you, Skylan Ivorson. You obviously do not know me, though you wear my axe around your neck and your prayers din in my ears daily.”
Skylan’s jaw dropped. He stared, gaping. “Torval!” He couldn’t help but add in disbelief, “Cooking fish?”
“What of it? I can’t stomach them raw.” The god eyed Skylan. “You’re an arrogant young dog, aren’t you?”
Skylan flushed, not sure what to say. Torval, Warrior God of the Vindrasi, should have been sitting at ease in his chair in the Hall of Heroes, drinking and celebrating with those valiant warriors who had died in battle and would fight with Torval in the last great war at Time’s end. Instead, he was here alone on a empty beach, roasting fish.
“I worship you, Torval, and honor—,” Skylan began.
Torval rubbed his chin. “You claim to have faith in me. But I’ll wager you have more faith in yourself.”
Skylan’s flush deepened. His dearest wish in all the world was to stand before Torval, and here he was, saying, doing, and thinking all the wrong things. “I swear to you, Torval—”
“Forgo swearing.” Torval sighed. He looked suddenly very old and very tired. “We don’t have much time together. My enemies pursue me, harry me. I cannot remain here long. I cannot remain anywhere long.”
“Then what the ogres claimed is true!” Skylan said, dismayed. “The Gods of the Vindrasi lost the battle—”
“I did not piss my pants and run!” Torval roared. “Nor am I dead, as they claim. Though I did lose Desiria, who was dear to me.”
His eyes grew moist as he spoke. He clenched his fist in anger, and the fire burned away his tears.
“We gods will continue the fight. Or at least some of us will; I have no idea where that craven coward Joabis is hiding. I’ve had my eye on you, Skylan Ivorson. Most of what I’ve seen I’ve liked. Not all.” He shrugged. “But most.”
Skylan fell to his knees. “I am yours, Torval.”
“You must fight in the battle for the