Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [8]
Skylan said a sharp word, and silence fell. He pointed to one of the middle-aged older women, Brynhildr, who had been a friend of his mother’s. She was calm and sensible, about thirty years old, a leader among the Torgun women. He asked her what was happening.
“Three ships sailed into the bay at High Morn. Each ship has three sails that look like this”—Brynhildr formed a triangle with her fingers—“and hulls that sit on skids. The sails are striped, red and white.”
“Ogres,” said Bjorn.
Skylan’s stomach clenched. Triumph turned to wormwood in his mouth, making him physically sick. He would not jump to conclusions, however.
“It cannot be,” he stated. “We left the ogres far behind. I must see this with my own eyes.”
He slid down off the boar’s carcass and limped over to a point where the trees thinned and he could see Djvolk Bay. Garn and several of the warriors accompanied him. Standing on the ledge, they stared down in grim silence.
Three ships, each with striped triple sails and split-hull design, rode at anchor on the glittering waters of the placid bay.
“They followed us home,” said Garn.
Skylan glared at the ships in angry bafflement. “They could not have! I made sure of that.”
But he felt a twinge of unease as he spoke. Skylan believed, as did most Vindrasi, that ogres were loutish brutes, about as smart as your average rabbit. He had watched the triple-sailed ships dwindle to specks on the horizon and, having assumed that the ogres had given up the chase, had not kept careful watch on the way home or taken precautions against being followed or kept up the swift pace that would have left the slower ships far behind.
Instead, Skylan had stopped several times along the coast to lead his men in fruitless searches for plunder. They had fires at night, anchored their ship in plain sight by day. It had never occurred to Skylan that the ogres might sail after him.
“It must be Torval’s will,” Skylan announced, thereby absolving himself of blame. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he was eager to fight this formidable foe. “Our War God is with us. He sent the boar to me as a sign, and now the best and strongest warriors of the Torgun are here in the hills instead of being trapped by the ogres in the village. We will come fresh to the battle—”
“Fresh to what battle?” Garn asked.
“What battle?” Skylan stared at his friend and gestured to the three ships. “The battle against these sons of whores who dare—”
Garn shook his head. “I do not see a battle. I do not hear clashing steel or desperate horn calls or the beating of the war drums. I do not see our long-houses burning. Whereas I do see the smoke of a ceremonial fire rising from the Chief’s Hall.”
Skylan scowled. Everything his friend said was true, though it made no sense. Why raid a village and not raid it?
“The ogres have come here to talk,” Garn continued, “not to plunder and kill. I find that odd, don’t you?”
Skylan did not. Such actions accorded with what he knew of ogres, who were not only stupid, but also lazy and would do anything to avoid a fight.
“Then we should attack them,” Skylan said.
“We should find out what is going on first,” Garn advised. “Remember, the parley is sacred to Torval. He would take it ill if we broke faith.”
“What he says is true,” Brynhildr agreed. “The ogres came bearing laurel leaves.”
Any enemy who came under truce to talk was protected by the gods. Skylan choked back his rage and tried to reflect calmly on what his friend was saying. Calm reflection was not easy for Skylan, who was impetuous, quick to take action and think later. He was proud of those traits in himself, considering them good qualities in a warrior. Let men such as Garn take time to observe, think over the situation. Garn thought; then he acted. Skylan acted—often recklessly—and only afterwards considered the consequences. He had sense enough to value Garn’s