“She routed you, my friend-foot, horse, and chariot,” said Acronis, coming up to stand beside him. “I never saw a man lose a battle faster.”
“I should make her go,” Skylan said, frowning, though he had no idea how, short of knocking her unconscious.
Acronis clapped him on the shoulder. “Give up, Skylan. Make what terms for surrender you can and leave the field to her.”
In the end, five chose to stay with Skylan and the Venjekar.
Wulfe was one, of course. He would never leave Skylan, despite the fact that the oceanaids were adamant that something bad was going to happen. Acronis was another. He would be needed to navigate. Skylan had been hoping the others would try to persuade Aylaen to go with them, but when she told the men she would be staying with the Venjekar, they accepted her decision. She was the Bone Priestess and her place was with the Dragon Kahg. Treia was staying, because no one knew what to do with her. Farinn’s decision to stay with Skylan caused an uproar. He was the youngest. The men urged him to come.
“I order you to go,” said Skylan.
Farinn shook his head. “I can’t obey, sir. I won’t leave in the middle of my song!”
“Your song is liable to be very short and have a very bad ending,” said Skylan grimly.
Farinn flushed and shrugged. He didn’t have the courage to look at Skylan, but he wouldn’t budge either. He just kept shaking his head and at last Skylan gave up.
Within a short time, Torval’s Fist was loaded with supplies and ready to sail. The time came for farewells.
The differences, the arguments, Sigurd’s dislike of Skylan and his attempt to take over as Chief of Chiefs, Bjorn’s loyalty to Skylan in defiance of Sigurd, the fights, the rivalries and animosity that had once loomed so large seemed very small and petty now. The good-byes were brief, especially as the wind was starting to freshen, coming out of the south like a breath from the god. The breeze would carry the ship northward, toward home.
A few awkward embraces, several attempts at jests, messages to carry to loved ones, and then Sigurd and his men boarded Torval’s Fist. They spent a few tense moments trying to figure out how to steer the clumsy ogre vessel, then the triangular sail caught the wind and carried them over the gray and misty sea, into the fog, and they were gone.
Skylan stood watching until he could no longer see them. He was assailed by doubts.
In the shield wall, all the warriors stand together, shoulder to shoulder, their shields overlapping. Here he was surrounded by enemies, and he had shattered his shield wall, split his forces, sent his warriors away.
Because of a dream.
Wulfe wandered over to announce cheerfully that if the ogres killed Skylan, he, Wulfe, would change into a man-beast and rip out their throats.
“I’d rather they didn’t kill you, though,” Wulfe added after some thought.
“Me, too,” said Skylan.
CHAPTER 6
The Venjekar drifted on the water, rolling on the uneasy waves. Torval’s fog was now only scarf-like patches of mist hanging above the sea. The sun rose. It was morning. But what morning? Skylan had lost track of time. Today might be today or it might be yesterday or maybe tomorrow. He didn’t suppose it mattered. He went to take the tiller. The Dragon Kahg had kept them from drifting in the fog. Now that the sun was up, Skylan would have to set a course.
As the wind whisked away the last vestige of mist, Farinn, who had been posted as lookout from the stern, gave a cry and Acronis, standing at the prow, gave a shout. Skylan did not know where to look first. He turned one direction to see an ogre ship with ogres clustered at the rail, gabbling in amazement at the sight of the sleek, dragon-prowed Venjekar. He turned the other way to see Raegar’s war galley raising its anchor.
The ogre ship was closest, so close that Skylan could hear an ogre, presumably a godlord, roaring orders. Skylan could not see the activity on the deck, but he could judge by the sounds of clashing steel and thudding feet that the ogres were arming themselves.
Raegar’s war galley was still some distance away. Lost in the fog, fearful of blundering unwittingly into the ogre fleet, Raegar would have given orders to drop anchor and lower the sails. Now that the fog was gone, he could resume his attempt to capture the Venjekar.
Acronis had his spyglass-what Wulfe called his “magic seeing glass”-to his eye.
“He’s sighted us,” Acronis reported to Skylan. “The war galley is sailing, though I’m not sure how. They don’t have their sail raised and there are no rowers.”
“Look at the dragonhead prow,” said Skylan. “What do you see?”
Acronis shifted his spyglass. He gasped in astonishment. “I see a dragon! The dragon’s head appears to be alive! I see gleaming scales. The mouth is wide open, the eyes flash…”
“Raegar has summoned his dragon,” said Skylan. “The Dragon Fala is sailing the ship.”
“I’ll be!” Acronis let out a soft sigh. “Will we summon our dragon?”
That, thought Skylan grimly, was a damn good question.
Raegar’s war galley-named Aelon’s Triumph-sped toward them, white foam flying as the dragon imbued the ship with her power. It was yet some distance away. Skylan had first to deal with the ogres. He walked back to the stern. The ogres had raised their singular triangle-shaped sail, but the ship wasn’t moving. Several ogres were now leaning over the rail, staring into the water, trying to figure out what was wrong.
“Their anchor’s fouled,” said Farinn.
“Thank you, Torval,” Skylan said, and he looked back over his shoulder at Raegar’s ship.
Aelon’s Triumph slowed. Raegar must have spotted the ogre ship. Raegar was proceeding cautiously, not wanting to bite off more than he could chew.
Skylan had one more ship to worry about. He shifted his gaze to a lone ogre ship that was sailing entirely the wrong direction, heading east and north instead of toward the ogre realm to the west. The rest of the ogre ships apparently had risked sailing through the fog, for they were little more than specks on the sun-spangled sea. As Acronis had predicted, none of the other ogre ships were paying the least attention to their wayward brother. Nor would they be returning to assist the unfortunate ogre ship with the fouled anchor.
The godlord was bellowing curses at his men and keeping a wary eye on the Venjekar. Ogres knew and respected the dragonships of the Vindrasi nation. The godlord could see that Skylan had only a handful of crew, but he might well have warriors stashed in the hold. And now, judging by yells from the ogres, they had just spotted Raegar in his dragonship.
An interesting situation. The ogres feared Skylan would ally with Raegar, while Raegar feared Skylan would ally himself with the ogres.
And as if Skylan didn’t have enough trouble, Treia came up to talk to him. She had, of course, seen Aelon’s Triumph. Treia’s pale cheeks were tinged with a faint blush. She must believe her lover was coming to save her. She circled around the body of Keeper, catching hold of the hem of her bedraggled robes, holding them up so as not to brush against the corpse of the man she had murdered.
She glanced at Aylaen, but found no help there. Aylaen turned her face away, looked out over the restless sea. Undeterred, Treia came to join Skylan. He kept his hand on the rudder, his attention fixed on the ogres.
“I wanted to thank you, Chief of Chiefs, for saving my life in Sinaria,” said Treia. She thought to flatter him by using the title that she herself had said he had no right to use. She even tried to insinuate some warmth into her tone.
She could have spared herself the trouble. Skylan didn’t respond. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Treia’s glance slide to Raegar’s dragonship and come back to Skylan, who smiled inwardly at her dilemma. Treia frowned, drummed her fingers on her arms.