Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [39]
Skylan looked up at the carved head of the dragon, asking for a sign, a glimmer of light in the wooden eyes that would fill him with hope. But the dragon’s eyes were blank, gave away nothing.
He saw Wulfe leaning over the rail, waving his hand to the waves and talking again with the sea spray.
“He won’t touch iron because it burns him. He believes his grandmother is the Queen of the Faeries, and he talks with spirits who live in the ocean.”
Skylan sighed and muttered, “But he’s all I’ve got.”
Wulfe sat cross-legged on the deck, watching Zahakis. Wulfe had seen the key before, but he hadn’t known what it was or what it did. He had just thought it a piece of ugly jewelry. Wulfe considered various ways of acquiring it. There were magical spells he could cast on the man that would cause Zahakis to drop the key. Wulfe could make the man’s hand wither so that the key would slide off. He could cause the key to go red-hot and burn him and he would have to take it off.
But that wouldn’t work, Wulfe realized, because then the key would be so hot Skylan couldn’t touch it.
The true drawback to all these ideas was that they smacked of magic. Owl Mother had warned Wulfe that if he used his magic, he should disguise it as a natural phenomenon. Otherwise he would be putting himself in danger.
Remembering the moment he summoned the seagulls and how Raegar had struck him across the face and knocked him unconscious, he really, really wanted to see Raegar dead. Wulfe knew he had to give the problem of stealing the key his full attention.
______
Raegar came aboard late in the afternoon. Skylan had wondered if he was going to swim, but the war galley hoisted out a plank meant for boarding enemy ships, and when the Venjekar sailed near, they lowered the plank onto the deck. The sea was calm. Raegar crossed without incident and was greeted formally by Zahakis and loudly and obscenely by the Torgun. Raegar made a point of asking about Treia and Aylaen and was assured they were well. He said he needed to speak to them and he went down into the hold.
Skylan had not seen Aylaen all the time they had been at sea. Treia came up sometimes for air, but Aylaen remained below. Skylan knew she was grieving for Garn. He, too, was still grieving the loss of his friend, and he wished he could comfort her and find comfort in talking about their friend. It seemed to Skylan that he and Aylaen were the only two who mourned Garn’s loss. Bjorn and Erdmun had both been Garn’s friends. They were sorry he was dead, but his passing had not left an empty feeling in their chests as it did for Skylan. Sometimes it seemed as painful to Skylan as if he had been pierced by a spear.
More painful, he reflected, for a wound will heal and be forgotten, but the pain of loss and the anguish of knowing that Garn’s death was my fault will be with me for the rest of my life.
Then Wulfe came sidling up to him and Skylan had to quit thinking about the dead and turn his thoughts to the living.
“Don’t go to sleep tonight,” Wulfe said softly.
And before Skylan could ask Wulfe what he was going to do, the boy ran off.
Zahakis sometimes steered the ship himself at night to allow Skylan to rest. Zahakis would chain Skylan to the bulkhead near his fellow Torgun, who greeted him with sullen looks or paid no attention to him at all.
That night, as Skylan lay down beside Sigurd, he whispered, “Stay awake. Tell the others.”
Sigurd’s dark eyes flashed. He nodded and, rolling over, whispered to Bjorn, “Stay awake. Pass the word.”
Night fell as the god, Skoval, took over rulership of the world. The full moon rose. The tops of the waves were gilded with molten silver. Raegar emerged from the hold. His face was dark. He was upset about something.
Two soldiers were on duty guarding the prisoners. Another was at the tiller and the others were playing the usual game of stone-guessing. Zahakis