Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [45]
Raegar spoke up. “Bone Priestess Treia will have nothing to do with this heathen blood letting.”
Sigurd and Skylan exchanged grim glances.
“I’ll kill that whoreson,” said Skylan.
“Not if I get to him first,” said Sigurd.
“Winner of the Vutmana gets to gut Raegar.”
“Agreed,” said Sigurd, and then he added gloomily, “If there is a Vutmana. What if Acronis won’t allow it now?”
Aylaen turned from the rail. Her green eyes fixed on Skylan. “I will judge the Vutmana,” she said. “This man does not deserve to be Chief of Chiefs.”
Zahakis sent his soldiers down into the hold where they had stored the Vindrasi weapons with orders to bring two swords and six shields, three for each man.
The Torgun watched in a tense and brooding silence, broken only by Erdmun, who was nervously fiddling with the lock on his leg irons.
His brother, Bjorn, jabbed him in the ribs and whispered, “Stop that! You’ll attract attention.”
Erdmun whispered back fretfully, “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do!”
“Wait,” said Bjorn. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“All that means is that you don’t know what we’re supposed to do either,” Erdmun grumbled.
His brother ignored him.
Skylan burned with impatience. Sigurd stood scratching his jaw. A soldier led Aylaen to the crude circle that had been painted on the deck. Raegar had flushed in anger when she had come forward and had started to try to stop her. Treia had said something to him and he had kept silent. Aylaen paid no attention. The expression on her face was grave and solemn.
“Do you think she knows? Guesses?” Sigurd muttered.
Skylan shook his head. He had no idea.
Aylaen’s gaze went from one of the men to the other. “Do both of you agree to abide by the judgment of Torval?”
“I trust to Torval’s judgment,” said Sigurd.
“Do you, Skylan Ivorson?” Aylaen asked, and then added with a tremor in her voice, “You are the one who lied and cheated and committed murder. Do you trust to Torval to judge you?”
Skylan was startled by her brutal words. He opened his mouth to say that he did trust in Torval, but the words suddenly stuck in his throat. Torval had punished Skylan for his crimes, for what could be worse than being a slave? Still, Torval was known to be a vengeful god with a memory as long as time. Perhaps he had not yet finished with Skylan.
“I trust in Torval,” Skylan said at last and he knew, in his heart, that he meant it. Whatever happened, he had faith in his god.
Aylaen’s green eyes turned gray as the sea. “I pray that Torval will judge you as you deserve.”
“If he does, I’ll be chief,” said Sigurd. “First blood, remember?”
Aylaen directed the two combatants to their places, facing each other on opposite sides of the circle.
Acronis explained the rules to his men, relating how each of the barbarians would be given a chance to strike his opponent, who was permitted only to deflect the blow with shield or weapon. He could not defend himself or fight back. Either man who was forced out of the circle was disgraced, dishonored.
Last-minute bets were exchanged. Current money was on Sigurd. Everyone except Raegar and Treia settled themselves to watch. The disapproving priest and priestess showed their disdain by walking off to stand at the stern, as far from the fight as they could get, and feigned disinterest by looking out at the water.
Skylan saw without seeming to see Bjorn and Grimuir and the others start surreptitiously to quietly free themselves from the manacles which they had unlocked the night before.
Skylan, as the one challenged, had the right to strike the first blow. He hefted one of the shields and grasped his weapon. The soldier had chosen weapons at random. Skylan had no idea what had happened to his sword, Blood Dancer, but had been hoping Torval would drop it into the soldier’s hand. Either Torval didn’t want Skylan to have his sword or the sword wasn’t even there. He recognized the blade the soldier had chosen for him. Skylan had given the sword to Bjorn as a gift before they had sailed. He looked at Bjorn and raised