Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [58]
Wulfe left Skylan staring at him and wandered away to lean over the rail, watching the oceanaids cavort among the waves. He watched his friends so he would not have to look at the dragon, whose head lay on the deck. Wulfe didn’t like the way the eyes stared at him.
Wulfe had not breathed a word to Skylan or anyone about the spiritbone, which was, so far as he knew, still hidden in the niche in the hull, guarded by the magical spell he had cast on it. Wulfe had been terrified that the carpenters might discover the spiritbone when they were trying to reattach the dragonhead prow, but the magic worked, for they had not found it.
Skylan and the rest might think the dragon was dead, but not Wulfe. He alone could see the faint glint in the eyes; the eyes that were always watching him. Wulfe did not know what the dragon wanted from him. He wished he had never found the spiritbone. The last time he had been ready to tell Skylan about the spiritbone, the Dragon Kahg had swooped down and tried to eat him.
Skylan thought the dragon’s head had broken off.
Wulfe knew better.
CHAPTER
2
* * *
BOOK TWO
Acronis entered the city in triumph. But it was the Torgun warriors who were the true victors—unusual for slaves.
The procession was led by Raegar, who had demanded the honor of carrying the dragonhead prow. He pictured himself proudly walking the streets with the decapitated dragon, symbolizing the victory of Aelon over the gods of the barbarians. Raegar would be impressive, imposing.
But when he lifted up the dragonhead prow and started walking along the parade route, he was greeted by laughter. The sight of Raegar carrying the dragon’s head made it appear as if the dragon were out taking a stroll. To make matters worse, the head seemed to have taken on a life of its own. It lurched and bobbed and occasionally made unexpected lunges at the crowds, terrorizing small children and eliciting gleeful hoots from the adults.
The jokesters who think it their duty to provide entertainment no matter what the occasion shouted out ribald remarks that increased the audience’s mirth. As Raegar walked down the street, he could actually see merriment expanding out in ripples ahead of him, as the crowds, hearing the commotion, leaned forward to see the fun.
Before he’d traversed more than a few city blocks, Raegar was sweating, annoyed, and angry. If he had not been assured by Aelon that the gods of the Vindrasi were crushed and shattered, on the verge of utter annihilation, Raegar would have said the goddess Vindrash and her dragon were making him look foolish.
Zahakis, who witnessed Raegar’s ordeal, was thankful he was wearing his helm; its hinged cheek pieces concealed his broad grin.
The sailors and oarsmen of the Light of the Sea walked in the parade, waving proudly to friends and family. Sure, living conditions on board ship were harsh, their jobs were back breaking and often dangerous, but these men were not slaves. They were free men, citizens of Oran, and Acronis treated them as such. This was a proud moment in their difficult lives and they walked and waved, sometimes picking up their children along the way and carrying them on their shoulders.
The soldiers marched next, resplendent in their shining armor; faces stern, eyes forward, their standard bearers leading the way.
After them, the Vindrasi captives.
Men had mounted the Venjekar on wheels and attached long ropes to the ship so that the Torgun warriors could haul it through the streets. The ship was no great burden to the warriors, who were accustomed to hauling it out of the water and dragging it onto the shore.
The burden that nearly crushed them was in their hearts. The knowledge that they were slaves, conquered, vanquished. The humiliation of being forced to exhibit their defeat to gaping crowds of foreigners. The misery of being strangers in a strange land, far from their homes and loved ones. Their grief over the loss