Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [19]
Hope flickered again briefly when he considered that Aylaen and Treia were both down in the hold with the weapons. He wondered whose side Treia was on. He knew she was in love with Raegar, or rather she had been. But how could she love a traitor? Treia was a Vindrasi; she would be loyal to her people. Then Skylan thought of what Wulfe had told him and he wasn’t certain about her. Aylaen, on the other hand, was loyal. She would have no love for Raegar. But she did love her sister.
As he was thinking about this, he realized he wasn’t alone. Sigurd had also been thinking about his stepdaughters, and started to rail against them.
“The two spent the night on that galley doing the gods know what. No man will marry either of them now. Not that any man would have married Treia before. Dried-up old sour apple like her.”
The other Torgun frowned and shifted uncomfortably, their chains clanking. Sigurd was in his forties, the eldest among them. He was valiant and courageous, a skilled warrior, but he was also a dour man, a hard man who had married his dead brother’s wife to make certain the land stayed in the family, not because he had any great affection for her. He openly kept a mistress and had fathered sons by her. None of the warriors particularly liked Treia and they might have all agreed in secret with what he said, but she was their Bone Priestess and she deserved their respect.
Sigurd continued, complaining about Aylaen. “I would have made a good marriage for her. I was in negotiations with a wealthy landholder from Vindraholm who was willing to pay me two times the customary bride-price because his son was so besotted with her. Then she spoiled everything by cutting off her hair and cavorting around as a man and—”
“She dedicated herself to the goddess,” said Skylan.
Sigurd glanced at Skylan and said to the other warriors, “I thought I heard a noise. Like the yapping of a dog. Did anyone else hear it?”
“I heard only the prattling of a coward,” said Skylan. “Only a coward would insult a woman, especially a woman who saved the coward’s miserable life.”
Sigurd scrambled to his feet and, hampered by the manacles around his ankles, made an awkward lunge for Skylan, who rose up to meet him. Two soldiers went over to break up the fight. They halted when some of their comrades shouted to them to let the barbarians slug it out.
“My money on the young one,” said several.
An angry shout ended the match. Zahakis came up out of the hold, yelling to his men, who hurriedly drew their swords and intervened. They seized Sigurd’s chain and dragged him down onto the deck, then clouted him over the head. Another hit Skylan for good measure.
Sigurd picked himself up off the deck. His face was bruised and bloody. He glared at Skylan, who wiped blood from a split lip and spit out a tooth.
“We were only going to let the barbarians fight it out, sir,” said one of the soldiers. “It gives us something to do besides being forced to sit here and smell their stench.”
“Who started the fight anyway?” Zahakis asked.
“The older man, the one with the scar across his nose and the gray in his beard. I don’t know what the fight was about, sir, I wasn’t paying attention. But he went for the young one.”
“The young hothead again. The Legate was asking about him,” said Zahakis. He turned to look at Skylan. “Acronis is considering him for the Para Dix. He has the physique of a fighter. Look at those thighs. Good biceps and chest musculature.”
“Clean him up and the ladies will love him,” one of the soldiers said.
“He’ll have to be trained,” said Zahakis. “I hear the barbarians’ idea of battle is to form two lines and start bashing each other over the head.”
The soldiers laughed. Skylan blazed with anger. He was tempted to challenge the soldiers then and there, never mind that he was chained, outnumbered, and weaponless. He lifted his hand to touch the amulet