Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [99]
People lining the cliffs were now caught up in the excitement. All realized they were watching an epic battle, and forgetting the solemnity of the occasion, they began to shout and cheer, exclaiming, groaning, gasping, applauding.
Both warriors slowed. Horg was rapidly tiring. He dripped sweat, his face was the color of lead, and every so often, he would grimace, as though in pain. Skylan couldn’t understand that; he had yet to do much damage. He had slashed Horg’s arm, and that was about it.
Skylan himself was finding it more and more difficult to pretend he wasn’t in pain. Sweat poured down his face and ran into his eyes. His sword was growing increasingly heavy. His knee ached; the cut on his leg burned and throbbed. He left bloody footprints on the trampled, mud-stained cloth.
His moment came. Horg was breathing hard, seemingly exhausted. He lowered his shield, provided a tempting opening. Skylan lunged forward to strike, put weight on his injured leg, and felt it give. He sagged to the ground. Horg ran at him, the blade of his axe flaring in the sun, and was on him in a flash. Skylan raised his shield, using it to deflect the deadly assault. Horg’s axe blade glanced off the iron boss, sending up a shower of sparks. Skylan, struggling desperately to regain his footing, lashed out wildly with his sword. He had no hope he would hit Horg. He hoped only to buy himself time, and that hope was feeble. Horg would certainly close in for the kill. A sword swipe wouldn’t stop him.
To Skylan’s astonishment, Horg did not attack. Horg’s face twisted in anguish. He doubled over, grabbing his gut. Skylan could only assume that he’d managed to strike Horg. Certainly the crowd thought he’d done so, for they gave a great roar.
Horg clasped his gut. Lifting his head, he stared, not at Skylan, but at Draya. His face twisted in pain and fury. He tried to speak. Foam bubbled on his mouth, and he choked. His jaw spasmed. His body shuddered. Horg moaned in agony and sank to his knees.
Skylan lowered his sword. He could have killed his foe, but he scorned to hit a man who was down. Horg was wounded, perhaps fatally. The Kai Priestess would call an end to the fight. Skylan, sweating and breathing heavily, waited for the end.
Draya said one word, speaking it coolly. “Continue.”
Skylan wiped sweat from his eyes. The blood thrummed in his ears, and he wasn’t certain he’d heard right. He glanced uncertainly at his father.
Norgaard gave a nod. “You have to finish it,” he said harshly.
Skylan looked back at Horg, who was in wretched condition, shivering and puking. Skylan had no stomach for this, but he knew what he had to do, and he understood why. So long as Horg lived, he would be a threat. Every man who had earned Horg’s ire would be forever looking over his shoulder, wondering where and when Horg would try to get his revenge. Still, it galled Skylan to win like this.
Skylan walked over to Horg and kicked him in the arm to draw his attention.
Horg turned pain-glazed eyes on him.
“Stand!” Skylan urged. “Pick up your axe.”
A warrior would not be admitted to Torval’s Hall unless he had died with his weapon in his hand.
Horg, gripping his gut, managed, with a great effort, to rise. He clamped his teeth over a groan and lifted his axe. He even tried to swing it.
Skylan drove his sword into the man’s chest. He felt the metal scrape the bones of the rib cage and penetrate deep. Horg gasped. His eyes bulged. Blood spewed from his mouth. Skylan yanked out the sword. The blade, covered with gore, slid out of Horg’s body. He pitched forward and lay on the ground in a crumpled heap.
Skylan bent over the corpse, intending to turn it over, make certain Horg was dead.
“Do not touch him! Go to your side!” Draya ordered Skylan sternly, almost angrily.
Skylan limped wearily back to where his father and Garn stood waiting for him. They thumped him on the back, congratulated him. Skylan slumped to the ground and sat there with his head between his knees. He was numb with fatigue. He did not feel triumphant. He felt only an overwhelming sense