Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [89]
Horg’s friends had been quick to disabuse him of the pleasant notion that he would be fighting a cripple.
“Ten to one,” they said, “Norgaard will have his warrior son fight in his place.”
Horg shrugged it off. He would have liked to fight Norgaard, not only because of the physical advantage, but also because of their clash over the dragonship. Horg had never forgiven Norgaard for withholding what Horg believed to be rightfully his.
Horg did not mind fighting Skylan. Thinking it over, Horg decided he preferred it. Norgaard was a sly old fox who would know all Horg’s little underhanded tricks and undoubtedly have a few of his own. Skylan was young and inexperienced, a notorious hothead who would make mistakes. Skylan lacked Horg’s advantage in height, nor was the young man as strong. Horg had been renowned during his days as a warrior for his ability to shatter a man’s shield with a single axe blow.
Horg’s hatred was a fire burning in his belly, a blaze so fierce and warming that he lived on it and forwent cider. He stoked the fire of his hatred by feeding it Draya and Sven and Norgaard and Skylan and all the other whoresons who conspired against him. When he was victorious, he would avenge himself on all of them. Horg spent his days practicing his skill with his axe.
Horg had not touched a drop of strong spirits in fourteen days, and he was in relatively good shape when he woke the morning of the Vutmana. He had shed some of the fat around his belly. His jawline had firmed and tightened. His eyes were clear, keen, focused. He was determined, resolved, and cold sober. He meant to win the Vutmana.
No man—and certainly no god—was going to stop him.
CHAPTER
6
The Vutmana to determine the Chief of Chiefs was held in a place sacred to all the Vindrasi, a small grassy island located in a cove northwest of Vindraholm next to the estuary of Akaraflod. On this piece of ground, Thorgunnd had fought Krega, or so legend told. The island was known to this day as Krega’s Bane.
High cliffs surrounded the island, providing an ideal vantage point for spectators who would line the tops of the cliffs to watch the challenge taking place on the island below. The cliff’s steep rocky walls served to deter any overly enthusiastic supporters who might be tempted to join the fight.
Crowds had been gathering at the site for many days in advance of the event. Some people had walked or ridden miles in order to be present. The Chiefs of all the clans were there, escorted by their household guard, their honored warriors, and their Bone Priestesses. Dragonships and boats lined the beaches for miles. Each clan had established its own campsite, and their colorful banners floated in the strong sea breeze. The fierce Martegnan, Warriors of the Spear Steppes; the proud Svegund, Warriors of the North Shore; the clever Djevakfen, Warriors of the Land; the bold Olfet Margen, Warriors of the North Sea; and the skilled Luknar, comprising two clans who had joined together: Warriors of the South Bay and the Forge Masters.
The Clan Chiefs, as witnesses, were given the best vantage points. They took their places near the cliff’s edge, where they could look down upon the island. The Bone Priestesses gathered nearby, their embroidered robes making a bright splash of color against the gray rock.
The leading warriors of the Heudjun and Torgun Clans were given places of prominence. The two groups stood as far apart as possible, neither acknowledging the presence of the other. Sven Teinar led the Heudjun contingent. Sigurd Adalbrand headed the Torgun.
Bone Priestess of the Heudjun, Fria Teinar, and Bone Priestess of the Torgun, Treia Adalbrand, stood in between the two groups of men. Their presence was indicative of the Kai solidarity. They were also there to stop any trouble that might erupt between the two clans.
The Heudjun were grim and silent, struggling with conflicting