Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [55]
“Relax,” said Garn, smiling. “Treia has the spiritbone. She has gone to summon Kahg.”
Skylan sighed in relief. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and winced.
“How’s your leg?” Garn asked.
“Stiff,” Skylan admitted, adding in a puzzled tone, “It’s not my leg that aches. It’s my head. I feel as though I’d gone swimming in ale, not seawater.”
“It must be the bread wine Treia gave you,” Garn said.
“The stuff tasted foul,” Aylaen said. “It sent you into a deep sleep. You called on Torval in your dreams.”
“I never dream,” Skylan returned contemptuously. “Ask Garn.”
“He doesn’t,” Garn agreed with a shrug. “Or if he does, he never remembers them.”
Aylaen was skeptical. “Everyone dreams.”
“I don’t,” Skylan said firmly. He glanced around at his surroundings, dim in the gray light. “Where am I?”
“My sister’s house,” said Aylaen, and she handed him a bowl of stew along with a hunk of bread.
Skylan sniffed at it dubiously. “Did you make this?” He winked at Garn. “Perhaps I should have you taste this first, like the ogres, to make sure you haven’t poisoned me.”
“Fine. I’ll take it back,” said Aylaen, reaching for the bowl.
Skylan yanked it out of her hands. He dipped the bread in the gravy, stuffed it hungrily into his mouth.
Aylaen handed Garn a bowl of stew. As he took it from her, their hands touched.
“Torval be with you this day,” she said softly.
“He will be,” said Skylan, scooping meat into his mouth with the bread.
He looked up to find Aylaen standing close to Garn, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Seeing Skylan watching, she flushed and moved her hand. Garn cleared his throat and stepped a pace away.
Skylan quit eating to stare at them. “You two . . .”
“What?” Garn asked in a tight voice.
Skylan smiled. “The three of us together this morning. My brother and my betrothed. It makes me happy, that’s all.”
He handed Aylaen the empty bowl.
“A good thing I’m not marrying you for your cooking,” he jested.
Aylaen’s face went crimson. She took the bowl and laid it aside, hardly knowing where she put it. Garn opened the door and stood breathing deeply. Aylis the Sun Goddess had not yet risen from her bed, but the light of her blazing torch could be seen above the treetops, brightening the sky in the east, causing the stars to grow pale in homage.
“A fine day for a fight,” said Skylan.
He wrapped the blanket around his waist and rose from the bed, putting weight on his leg. The wound was sore, but his leg bore his weight without complaint.
“I brought you some clothes.” Garn gestured to the foot of the bed. “And your weapons, your armor, and your shield.”
“Why so grim, brother?” Skylan bantered as he pulled his tunic over his head. “Cheer up! We do battle this day!”
He dressed swiftly, pulling on his trousers and then his boots, lacing them securely around his legs. Garn assisted him with his armor. Skylan buckled his sword around his waist. He put on his helm, which had belonged to his father, and picked up his shield. Last, as he always did before a fight, he reverently touched the silver axe and pledged himself to Torval.
“I will join the other warriors,” he announced to Garn. “You go to the Hall of Vindrash, escort the Bone Priestess to the battlefield.”
Garn nodded silently. Skylan thought his friend was unusually quiet. Skylan clapped his hand on Garn’s shoulder.
“Aylaen said I spoke Torval’s name in the night. Even though I don’t dream, it is undoubtedly a good omen,” Skylan said, trying to cheer his friend. “The Vektan Torque will be ours this day.”
His voice hardened; his expression grew grim. “And once I have it, I will take it to that whoreson Horg and shove it up his arse!”
“You should use your spear for that, not the sacred torque,” Garn said.
Skylan laughed. The two embraced.
Skylan tried to persuade Aylaen to give him a farewell kiss, but she shoved him away.
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
“No, you’re not,” said Skylan firmly. “It is too late for you to go to the hills with the other women, but you will be safe here.”
“Skylan’s right—,” Garn began.