Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [73]
Fria cast a loving gaze around her large and comfortable dwelling place. “I have five young ones still at home. Could Sven and I afford to lose our dwelling? Our land, our cattle?”
Draya clasped her friend’s hands. “No, of course not. I understand. It’s just . . .”
Draya paused. She toyed with the idea of telling Fria about the Vektan Torque.
“Just what?” Fria asked.
Draya shook her head. There was nothing Fria or her husband could do about Horg. As Fria had said, they had their family to think about. In his position as Chief of Chiefs, Horg was responsible for settling disputes among clansmen. All one of his cronies would have to do, for example, was to claim that he had a right to Sven’s farmland. He could swear that Sven’s greatgrandfather had promised the land in return for several head of cattle. Sven could dispute it, of course, but Horg would be the final judge.
Draya made an excuse. “I was awake all night, Fria. I’m so tired.”
“You must get some sleep,” said Fria. “Lie down. With the men gone, the house will be quiet—”
“Mother!” The little boy came shouting and banging through the door. His face was flushed, his eyes bright with excitement. “You can see the dragon! Come quick! He might still be there!”
The two women stared at the boy in astonishment.
“Is this one of your tales, young Fari?” Fria demanded.
“No, no, Mother!” The boy seized hold of her hand, tried to pull her along. “I saw the dragon. Father says to come quickly.”
“What dragon?” Draya gasped.
“The Torgun’s dragon! Father says the dragon is helping the Torgun fight the ogres.” The boy tugged on his mother’s hands. “You must come see. The dragon is green and brown, and he flies around in a circle and then dives like an eagle.”
The two women looked at each other, the same thought coming to each.
Draya clasped her hands together. “Blessed Vindrash, thank you!” she whispered brokenly.
Fria promised to go and then shooed her son out the door, sending him back to his father.
“The Torgun have a chance now!” Draya said, almost in tears. “With Kahg to fight for them, they may yet defeat the ogres!”
And recover the Vektan Torque! Please, Vindrash, let them find the torque and bring it back! she prayed silently.
Draya realized suddenly that Fria did not share her joy. Her friend looked grim and stern. She stood with her hands on her hips, arms akimbo.
“Draya,” said Fria sharply, “don’t you realize what this means?”
Draya shook her head. She was too tired to think.
“If the Torgun defeat the ogres, what then? They lit the beacon fire asking for our help, and help did not come. The Torgun will come to Vindraholm demanding answers. They will come in anger. We may have escaped ogres only to fight the Torgun.”
Draya stared at her friend in dismay; then she groaned and sank back down onto the stool.
Blood feuds, clan wars, just what she had worked all her life to prevent. Few of the Heudjun liked Horg. Few had agreed with his decision to refuse aid to the Torgun. But he was their clansman, and he was their Chief. His honor was their honor. They might mutter against him among themselves, but they would close ranks around him and stand together to protect him.
“What can I do?” Draya asked helplessly. “I can do nothing!”
“The one thing you can do is rest. You’ll make yourself ill otherwise, and we need you. Come, lie down.”
Draya did not think she could sleep, but she was too weak to resist. Fria led her to the sleeping platform and helped her into bed. She tucked the blankets around her and stood over her, smoothing Draya’s hot forehead with her hand.
“We will ask Vindrash to help us,” Fria said softly. “The gods will not turn their backs on us now.”
Draya closed her eyes, pretending to sleep, and Fria left, going to join her family at Torval’s Rock.
When she had gone, Draya slipped out of bed and knelt in prayer. But no voice answered.
Horg pretended to be glad when people brought him the news that the Dragon Kahg had joined the fight against the ogres.
“You see there,” Horg told the warriors,