Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [76]
“I am sorry, Father,” said Skylan, resting his hand gently on the older man’s arm. “If there is anything I can do—”
Norgaard had lost men close to him this day. He had lost his hope for the future, and he might yet lose the young woman who brought joy into his life. He had been told by the Bone Priestess that the gods were themselves fighting for their survival. He had watched the ogres sail off with the sacred Vektan Torque.
His eyes were red with tears, yet a flicker of flame blazed in the blue depths.
Norgaard gripped his son’s hand with crushing strength. “I will make Horg pay!” he vowed. “I swear to Torval! I will call for the Vutmana!”
Skylan gaped. He was about to say, Father, don’t be ridiculous! when Garn leaned close to whisper, “Tread softly!”
Skylan took his friend’s counsel and closed his mouth on his hasty words. Norgaard was serious. He was determined, resolved to challenge Horg to a fight to the death.
Perhaps the old man wanted to die in battle and this was a way to do it. Or perhaps grief and anger had acted as flint and tinder to rekindle a fire in the old man’s belly.
Whatever the reason, it was Norgaard’s right, as Chief, to challenge Horg, the Chief of Chiefs, in the Vutmana.
Dating back to the days of the great Clan Chief Thorgunnd and his legendary war against the Clan Chief Krega, the Vutmana was an institution created by the Bone Priestesses as a means of ending the ceaseless feuds between the clans. In those days, clans had gone to war and men had lost their lives over the theft of a chicken. With the Vutmana, one man could challenge another to fight to resolve the issue. The Vutmana could be made by any warrior against another, but only a Chief could challenge the Chief of Chiefs; the winning combatant could then claim the right to be Chief of Chiefs.
Skylan drew Garn to one side. “What do we do, my friend? A hog has more right to be Chief of Chiefs than Horg. Yet, how can Norgaard fight him? Horg is a big man, strong as an ogre. Norgaard is a cripple.”
“Torval judges the Vutmana,” Garn reminded him. “The god must be furious at Horg’s treachery.”
“That is true,” Skylan conceded, “but sometimes Hevis plays cruel jokes on both men and gods. Hevis might devise some trick to allow Horg to win.”
Garn admitted that was true. Hevis, God of Deceit and Trickery, was always plucking at the thread of a man’s wyrd, seeking to unravel it.
“Skylan,” said Garn suddenly. “There is a way.” He spoke quietly in his friend’s ear.
Skylan regarded him dubiously. “Are you certain?”
Garn smiled and said dryly, “Unlike you, I stay awake during the annual recital of the Chief’s Law.”
Skylan’s eyes shone with fierce joy. He embraced Garn. “You have given me a great gift, my brother.”
Skylan drew his sword, which was red with ogre blood, and walked over to stand before his father. Skylan knelt down on one knee. He thrust the blade into the ground in front of him.
“Revered Father,” said Skylan. He spoke humbly, and he was sincere in his humility, for he could see the raw grief and terrible anger in his father’s face. “Your honorable wounds, which are a testament to your skill and valor, give you the right to select a warrior to fight the Vutmana in your place. If the Heudjun agree to the challenge, give me the privilege. Let me fight Horg for you. I will make you Chief of Chiefs!”
Skylan clasped one hand around the blade and rested his other hand on the silver axe. “I vow to Torval.”
A pale smile flitted across Norgaard’s lips. Looking down on Skylan’s upturned face, Norgaard saw true admiration and respect in his son’s eyes.
This was a day to cherish. Much that was bad had happened, but now it seemed something blessed might come of it. Norgaard would be Chief of Chiefs, and he believed in his heart he