Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [32]
He stood up and heard one of the men yell, “Hey, someone’s out there!”
“Put your sword up. It’s only the kid,” said his comrade.
“What the devil is he doing traipsing about in the middle of the night?”
“Up to no good, I’ll wager. Hey, you, kid—” The soldier shouted and began running toward him.
He would see the spiritbone in the water. He was bound to see it. Wulfe snatched up the spiritbone and shoved it hastily in his trousers as the soldier came splashing through the water. The man made a grab for Wulfe.
Terrified, the boy dropped down to all fours and ran off, dashing over the sand on his hands and feet. The soldier was so startled by this odd spectacle that he stood and stared.
“Would you look at that? Kid runs like a goddam dog!”
The soldiers laughed and, seeing that he went back on board the ship, they walked off, continuing their conversation.
Wulfe crouched among coils of rope in the stern, far from the eyes of the dragon, and wondered what to do. He should go down to the hold, take the spiritbone to Aylaen. He would have if she’d been alone, but Treia was there and Wulfe knew that she would be horrid and nasty. She would probably accuse him of stealing the spiritbone. She would turn him over to Raegar, who wanted him dead.
Wulfe pulled the spiritbone out of his trousers. The spiritbone reeked of magic, dragon magic. He didn’t want it and he was tempted to throw it back into the water, but he was afraid the dragon would be mad at him. Wulfe longed to talk to Skylan, to ask him what to do. That meant leaving the safety of the ship and venturing onto the beach, where Skylan was sleeping. The soldiers would catch him.
Wulfe made up his mind. He rose from his hiding place and crept across the deck. When Wulfe had first come to Luda with Skylan, after his disastrous adventure with the druids, the boy had lived aboard the Venjekar. He spent much of his time wandering around the village of the Torgun and he often found objects imbued with faery magic; objects the Uglies had either discarded or misplaced or, sad to say, that he stole.
Among these magical objects were a child’s tooth, a wooden thimble (which he’d picked up by wrapping a bit of cloth over it), a charred finger bone from the site of Garn’s funeral byre, and locks of hair belonging to Skylan, Aylaen, and Treia. Wulfe had planned to sneak off with some of Raegar’s hair, but Raegar had foiled him by shaving his head.
Wulfe had discovered a loose plank on the bulkhead directly beneath the dragon’s head. He had worked diligently to pry it from the nails that held it in place. He made a cubbyhole in the bulkhead, lined it with some of the cloth used to make sails to keep it dry, and then deposited his treasures inside. Now he removed the plank, taking care to avoid looking at the dragon, and thrust the spiritbone inside. Wulfe closed up the compartment and, putting his hand on the plank, whispered a little rhyme.
“Keep safe from thieving hands.
Keep safe from spying eyes.
Let them meet a swift demise.”
He wasn’t certain what a “demise” was. His mother had taught him the magical rhyme and she had not bothered to explain. Probably she didn’t know either. His little song sung, he yawned and walked across the deck to where he had made himself a bed. Turning about the blanket three times, he curled up and went to sleep.
CHAPTER
8
* * *
BOOK ONE
The next morning, Sigurd tried to strangle Skylan.
Skylan was barely awake. He was stumbling groggily to his feet when Sigurd jumped him from behind, flinging the chain that connected the manacles on his wrists around Skylan’s neck and jerking him backward. The two crashed to the ground, kicking and flailing.
The soldiers immediately broke it up, dragging the two apart. Skylan’s neck was bruised and bloody, and Sigurd was limping from where Skylan had kicked him in the shins in an attempt to make him loosen his hold. Neither was seriously injured. Both of them glared at each other from the grasp of their captors.