Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [159]
“It’s true,” said Bjorn. “Look at her face.”
“We will carry our ship to the river, hide it among the trees on the riverbank until night falls,” said Skylan. “The ogres will attack Sinaria at dawn.”
Keeper stirred and seemed about to say something. Skylan glanced at him, but the ogre apparently changed his mind, for he only shook his head.
“When the ogres are occupied in looting and burning and killing, we will set sail for home.”
Home! In his mind, Skylan walked once more on the beach of Luda. He embraced his father and asked his forgiveness. He sat beside his friends during the long winter nights relating again the tale of their journey.
He was about to go on when he looked at Aylaen, who stood apart from the rest, pale and mute and motionless.
“I won’t leave without Garn,” she said.
CHAPTER
12
* * *
BOOK THREE
Garn!” said Sigurd, amazed. “Garn’s dead.”
The wind rose. The branches of the trees creaked and swayed, leaves rustled. If there had been dryads in those trees, they would have been chattering excitedly about the coming of the ogres, for this wind had been sent by the Gods of Raj to fill the sails of the ogre ships and drive them toward their destination.
Skylan felt the wind blow on his face. He smelled the salt tang in the air. “I will stay with Aylaen,” he said.
She told her story, keeping it short, mindful of time.
“Raegar promised me that Aelon could bring Garn back to life if I would tell him the ritual to summon the Vektan dragon. . . .”
The men stared at her in dazed shock. Garn’s spirit a prisoner. A Vektan dragonbone. It was too much to comprehend. They looked at each other, troubled. Skylan knew what they were thinking because he was thinking it himself.
We don’t have time for this. We must run to our ship now, make good our escape. The Torgun stand together. We leave no one behind. But Garn would understand. He would not want us to lose this chance for our freedom because of him. As for the spiritbone of the Vektia, what can we do? It is beyond our reach.
Skylan could see in his mind’s eye the triangular sails of the ogre ships, white in the moonlight. Soon, the lookouts on the watchtowers along the harbor would see them and they would raise alarm.
The Vektan Five . . .
Five dragonbones. Every night, the goddess threw down five dragonbones. Five together. The Torgun stand together.
Understanding struck Skylan like a thunderbolt, bursting upon him in a shower of sparks and sizzling flame.
“Garn is right,” he said to himself in amazement. “I do know the secret.”
And he knew, horror-struck, the appalling danger. He knew what Treia and Raegar planned to do as surely as if they had told him. He knew why they had tried to force Aylaen to find out the secret to the summoning of a Vektan dragon. The secret!
Treia had told Aylaen she knew the ritual. Perhaps she did. But she didn’t know the secret.
“Carry the Venjekar to the river and make ready to sail. Aylaen and I will free Garn.”
“What about the spiritbone?” asked Bjorn.
“The less said, the better,” Skylan replied, glancing at the priestess. Semelon was watching them, listening to every word they said. She had the power to speak to her god, warn Aelon. Skylan supposed he could kill her, silence her permanently, but in a way he owed her. If it had not been for her summoning Garn, he would have never solved the puzzle.
“What’s going on?” Erdmun asked. “What’s Skylan doing?”
“Gods have ears,” Sigurd said, jerking a thumb at the priestess. “Now get moving.”
Skylan motioned to Sigurd as the men moved off.
“Aylaen and I will try to join you, but if we haven’t reached the ship by the time you are ready to sail, you must leave without us.”
To Skylan’s surprise, Sigurd shook his head. “I will wait for you.”
“The ogres will attack at dawn,” said Skylan. “If we’re not back by then, we won’t be coming back. Take the Venjekar out to sea and put as much distance between this city and yourselves as you can.”
Sigurd hesitated, then thrust out his hand. “Torval walk with you.”
Skylan clasped the older man’s hand. “You