Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [137]
“She ate almost nothing. Something is wrong with her.”
“The same that is wrong with all of us,” Sigurd said. “We are slaves.”
“We may be slaves, but the people love us now,” said Erdmun. “They cheered us yesterday. A girl kissed me.”
“His first,” said Bjorn.
The men laughed, but the laughter was half-hearted. Sigurd did not laugh at all. His nose was swollen. His eyes were blacked, he had a lump on the side of his head. He tossed his half-eaten bread to the deck of the ship in disgust.
“Torval wasn’t cheering. If we had come to his Hall, he would have planted his boot in our rear ends and kicked us out the door.”
He rose to his feet and glared around at them. “It was a game! A goddam game! We are slaves playing a goddam game! Where is the honor in that?”
“You wanted to win yesterday as much as any of us,” said Erdmun.
“That’s how they trap us,” said Sigurd. “They treat us as if we were important.” He cast a dark glance at Skylan. “And some of us fall for it. We should have tried to escape in the melee. What has happened to Vindrasi honor?”
“Torval does not honor those who throw away their lives foolishly.” Bjorn pointed at the tattoo. “What should we do about this? Cut our arms off?”
“If that’s what it takes, maybe we should,” said Sigurd with a snarl. “What I said goes. You’re all a bunch of sniveling pukes. Especially you, Ivorson. You like it here, and why not? You saved the Legate’s life. You’re his pet. Four slaves escaped the night the wolves attacked. Why didn’t you try to escape? Why didn’t you make a break for it?”
“You are saying I should have run off and left you and my friends behind?” Skylan asked. He shook his head. “We are Torgun. All escape or none.”
“And when will that be?” Sigurd demanded.
Skylan was tempted to tell his men about the impending invasion of Sinaria by the ogres. That was the time to escape, when the city was under assault, the people panicked, the soldiers occupied in fighting the ogres. Even Aelon might be preoccupied, might not notice a handful of slaves sneaking out of their compound, carrying their ship to the river and sailing away. That was his plan and knowledge of his plan would give his people hope.
The words were on the tip of his tongue. In the end, he did not speak them.
“When the time is right,” he said.
The answer was weak. The men looked disappointed. Sigurd sneered in disgust and Skylan turned away. It was not that he didn’t trust his friends. All of them, even Sigurd, had come together to fight the fury yesterday. His men would never purposefully reveal the secret. But they would be excited when they heard the news, and their excitement would be hard for them to conceal. Cheerful slaves. Slaves in a good mood. Slaves exchanging grins and conspiratorial whispers. The guards would be sure to notice and suspect something was amiss.
Skylan found it hard enough to keep his knowledge of the invasion to himself. He had to set a continual watch on his tongue, make certain not to blurt out what he knew.
And then, what if the invasion did not happen? Any number of things might go wrong. A horrific storm might send the ogre fleet to the bottom of the sea. Raegar and his priests must be praying nightly for such a storm, and Aelon might be powerful enough to cause the winds and water to rise against his foes.
Then there was the spiritbone of the Vektan dragon. How could he leave that in the hands of their foes? He was still trying to think of some way to steal it back. An enormous task, he conceded. Some would say impossible. He glanced at the dragon’s head, propped up against the rail. His men believed fixing the broken prow was impossible, but Skylan didn’t accept that either. He remembered his vision of the goddess standing on the deck of the Venjekar.
He went in search of Aylaen. He found her by following the sounds of Wulfe shrieking. The two were in the creek; Aylaen was holding Wulfe by the arm while she scrubbed him