Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [37]
“I’ll tell them I fell down the ladder,” said Aylaen. Treia had been so kind, Aylaen wanted to do something to please her. “Would you like to look for the spiritbone again?”
Treia gave a tight and bitter smile. “Useless. A waste of time.”
“You think the Dragon Kahg is gone for good?”
“I think the dragon is dead,” said Treia.
CHAPTER
9
* * *
BOOK ONE
The Venjekar and the Light of the Sea had been at sea seven days, making good time, for they did not have to use the rowers. Zahakis told Skylan that in this part of the ocean, the wind blew steadily from the north, driving the ships in a southerly direction. Skylan was starting to think glumly that Zahakis had either forgotten about the ritual combat or he had figured out that it was all a ploy. Sigurd was angry and accused Skylan of being a coward, of trying to weasel out of the contest.
Then one night, trouble broke out on the Venjekar. For once, it was not started by the prisoners. The soldiers were playing their usual gambling game with the stones, when one accused the other of cheating. Men took sides. Fists flew. The next day there were split knuckles, swollen lips, and black eyes. Zahakis was livid with fury.
That morning, he scribbled something on a scroll of papyrus, wrapped it in a sack, and weighted it with a rock. Bringing the Venjekar within hailing distance of the Light of the Sea, Zahakis flung the weighted sack into the air. It landed on the deck of the galley. Acronis’s scribe retrieved it and took it to the Legate. An answer came back.
Zahakis told Skylan that if the weather was fine, they would hold the Vutmana tomorrow.
All Skylan could see as far as he looked was the vast emptiness of the ocean. “Are we that close to land?” he asked.
“We are not close to land at all,” said Zahakis.
“Then how can we fight the Vutmana?”
“On board this ship.”
Skylan didn’t know what to say. He had never considered this possibility.
“But . . . we can’t fight on board a ship,” he said, floundering. “It’s not . . . proper. The gods wouldn’t like it.”
“Then I guess you won’t fight at all,” said Zahakis, shrugging.
Skylan sat at the tiller. All his careful planning, gone overboard.
“Very well,” he said glumly. “We will fight the Vutmana on board the ship.”
“You should be honored,” Zahakis said, grinning, as though he could see inside Skylan’s head, know what he was thinking. “The Legate himself will be coming over to see you fight as well as your kinsman Raegar.”
“That whoreson is no kin of mine,” Skylan said.
Zahakis chuckled. “I can’t say I would claim him either. He’s coming on board this afternoon to make preparations for the Vut—whatever you call it.”
“Set me free,” Skylan said, “and I will welcome him.”
Zahakis laughed, but he did not take him up on the offer.
Skylan sighed. So much for his plans. He had assumed that the fight would be held on land. When the war galley made landfall, the Legate sent the rowers and soldiers ashore. They made up hunting parties, hauled water, and did other chores. They lit fires, cooked hot food, made themselves comfortable for the night. Skylan had figured that once he and Sigurd had their weapons, they would first kill Zahakis. The loss of a commander always threw even the best-trained forces into confusion. Skylan would set his fellow warriors free. They would take control of the Venjekar and sail away. By the time the Legate had managed to collect two hundred crew members and order them back on board and set them to work, the Venjekar would be well on her way home.
That had been the plan. A good plan, Skylan thought as he sadly bid it farewell. He spent the rest of the day thinking and revising.
For his new plan to succeed, Skylan needed the key that unlocked the prisoners’ manacles. Zahakis carried the key with him always—wearing it on his thumb like a ring. Skylan pondered long and hard on how he might acquire it. Aylaen and Treia could not be of help, for Zahakis had ordered them to remain in the hold. Skylan and his friends were chained hand and foot.