Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [80]
Draya knew Norgaard to be everything Horg was not. The gods had permitted Norgaard to survive his terrible wound, but they had, for reasons of their own, left him crippled and in pain. Draya saw the suffering in his eyes, yet he never spoke of it, never complained. He was considered a good Chief, fair in his judgments. He was said to be a good husband, a good father. He was intelligent, wise. And he was playing Horg for the fool he was, lulling his enemy into complacency, luring him into a trap.
Horg thundered back. “I did not come to your aid because the gods forbade it!” He pointed at Skylan. “Your son brought the ogres down on you! Your son led them to your shores! It was up to your son to fight them. My warriors remained here to defend our homes and families should the ogres attack us.”
Norgaard was silent. The Torgun in the Venjekar were silent. The Heudjun people gathered on shore were silent. The only sound was that of the waves washing up against the hull of the dragonship.
And then Norgaard spoke. “You lie, Horg Thekkson. You knew the ogres would not attack the Heudjun.”
Skylan reached down at his father’s feet. He picked up something and held it in the air. At first, Draya could not make out what it was, and then she gasped. Skylan held in his hands the head of an ogre. He held it long enough for everyone to see, and then he flung the head at Horg. The grisly object plopped into the sand at Horg’s feet.
Horg stared down at the head, whose eyes—frozen in death—seemed to be staring up at him, and he turned a ghastly color, almost as pale as the bloody head.
“I see you two recognize each other,” said Norgaard.
Draya’s blood tingled. Her stomach clenched. Her heart raced; her palms were sweaty. She had heard warriors describe similar sensations as they stood waiting in the shield-wall for the order to attack.
Horg licked his lips. He was not about to give in without a fight. She could see him scrambling about desperately for some way to weasel out.
Vindrash, help me! Draya prayed. Give me courage.
Standing atop the dune, alone and apart, Draya called out to Norgaard. “Does this mean, Chief, that you have recovered the Vektan Torque?”
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Heads jerked in her direction. Eyes widened in shock, jaws dropped, mouths gaped. Among those staring at her was Horg. He scowled, his hands clenching to fists.
“Kai Priestess.” Norgaard bowed low, in respect. “It grieves me deeply to say that we did not recover the sacred torque, though my son was almost killed in the attempt.”
Norgaard raised his voice, which wasn’t really necessary. The crowd was so quiet, so attentive, he could have whispered and they would have heard every word.
“The godlord whose head lies at the feet of this craven coward”—Norgaard pointed at Horg—“came to us flaunting the sacred Vektan Torque. He claimed that the gods of the Vindrasi were dead and the fact that he had the torque proved it. He demanded that we worship his gods and pay him in silver and cattle to leave us in peace. We answered that we would pay him in blood!”
The Torgun cheered. The Heudjun shifted uneasily and glanced at each other, their faces darkening.
Norgaard resumed speaking. “The ogre godlord had the temerity to wear the Vektan Torque into battle, hoping to demoralize us. Instead, it gave us courage. Our Bone Priestess”—he indicated Treia, who stood at his side—“summoned the Dragon Kahg. The dragon, too, was furious at the loss of the sacred torque. He attacked the ogres, and with the Dragon Kahg’s help, the Torgun routed the ogres, sent them running for their ships like whipped dogs.”
“If you defeated the ogres and killed their godlord, where is the torque?” demanded Sven in a stern voice.
Norgaard rested his hand proudly on Skylan’s shoulder. “My son challenged the godlord who wore the torque to fight in single combat. Skylan killed the ogre and took the torque from the whoreson’s neck. But the ogres