“I will not slay a man who cannot defend himself,” said Skylan shortly. “Torval would bar me from his Hall in disgrace.”
“Then I will slay him!” Aylaen cried.
Raegar’s sword lay beneath his hand. Aylaen made a grab for it. An arrow whistled past, just missing her head. Skylan grabbed hold of Aylaen and lifted her off her feet. He carried her, struggling, beating him with her fists, back to the Venjekar. The Dragon Kahg had worked to free the ship from the wreckage of Aelon’s Triumph. His red eyes were bright with triumph. The eyes of the Dragon Fala were empty and wooden. Kahg edged the Venjekar as close as he could to the disabled Triumph.
Skylan set Aylaen down on her feet. Acronis was behind him, sword drawn, holding off the soldiers, many of whom had served under him and knew and respected his skill.
“You’ll have to jump for it,” Skylan told Aylaen.
Another arrow thudded into the wood. She glared at him, her green eyes blazing, and then climbed lightly to the rail. She waited for a wave to bring the Venjekar near, and then jumped. Wulfe and Farinn were both there to catch her and steady her. She looked back and shouted for Skylan and Acronis.
“You’re next, sir,” said Skylan.
An arrow whistled harmlessly past.
“Seems Raegar hired poor archers,” Skylan added.
Acronis smiled. “He always was a cheap bastard.”
Acronis waited, timed his jump perfectly and needed no help when he landed lightly on the deck. A couple of waves, higher than the rest, drove the Venjekar back. Skylan had to wait for the ship to come near again. An arrow grazed his arm.
The Venjekar swung near. Skylan yelled a warning and flung his sword over first, then he followed. He made a clumsy landing, coming down hard on all fours.
“Are you all right?” Aylaen asked worriedly.
“I’m fine,” he said, rising to his feet.
He reached for her, drew her into his arms.
“Queen Magali was right. You are arrogant and stubborn and willful,” she said.
He stared at her, hurt.
Aylaen laughed and embraced him and kissed him on the mouth. “And I love you with all my heart!”
Acronis yelled. Wulfe screeched. Farinn cried out in horror.
Skylan turned his head. Raegar stood on the deck of Aelon’s Triumph, holding a bow, the bowstring drawn back, the arrow aimed. He called upon Aelon and fired.
The arrow, sped by the hand of the god, thudded into Skylan’s back.
He didn’t comprehend at first what had happened. He didn’t know he’d been hit until he saw Aylaen’s eyes go wide with horror and he heard her scream and then the shattering pain gripped him and it was hard to breathe and blood filled his mouth. He staggered. Aylaen kept hold of him, her arms around him. She tried to keep him from falling, but he was too heavy. She eased him to the deck.
Holding him in her arms, she begged him, threatened, cajoled.
“Don’t die, my love. Don’t die, Skylan! Don’t leave me!”
Skylan wanted to stay with her, but he couldn’t breathe and the pain was unbearable. The darkness rushed on him, coming fast, very fast.
“My sword!” He gasped, choked on his blood. He couldn’t see, he fumbled for the weapon.
Aylaen guided his hand to the hilt of his sword and closed his weakening fingers over it. She wrapped her hand around his to make sure he kept the sword in his grasp.
Skylan looked at her, Aylaen, his wife. He kept his gaze fixed on her, the last point of light in the hastening dark.
“Even in Torval’s Hall, I will be lonely for you,” Skylan told her.
Aylaen gathered him in her arms and pressed her lips to his as he gave her his last breath.
CHAPTER 41
Aylaen crouched on the deck, holding Skylan’s body in her arms. She did not move. She made no sound. She did not cry out after that last terrible scream when she had seen the arrow coming and felt him shudder in her arms as the shaft pierced through flesh and bone and muscle.
Farinn stared down at her, at Skylan. Disaster had fallen so swiftly, he couldn’t believe it was true. The song must not end like this. The hero could not die and go to Torval’s Hall and leave his friends behind, his quest unfulfilled. Evil should not triumph. Songs didn’t end like this.
Because such songs were never sung. The knowledge pierced Farinn, bringing nearly as much pain as the arrow that had struck down Skylan. In life, heroes died untimely deaths. Quests went unfulfilled. Wives mourned their dead. Bards did not sing such songs, for they stirred no hearts. They brought no light to the long, dark winter.
Farinn heard a low growl, vicious and savage, and he saw a wolf standing near Aylaen. The wolf’s teeth were bared in a hideous snarl, its ears were back, its tail low and motionless. Yellow eyes burned. Farinn could not speak.
“Aylaen,” Acronis said softly, his voice deliberately calm, quiet, but filled with urgency.
Aylaen raised her head. Her face was as pale as the face of the dead and just as cold. The blood had drained from her cheeks and perhaps her heart. She saw the wolf and then she let go of Skylan’s body, laying him gently to rest on the deck. The wolf watched every move, menacingly growling. Aylaen reached out, her hand stained with Skylan’s blood.
“He’s gone, Wulfe,” she said quietly. “We loved him, you and I, but we must live without him.”
The wolf lowered its head and the beast disappeared, leaving a grubby little boy, who collapsed, sobbing, in Aylaen’s arms. She held Wulfe until his sobs quieted and he fell asleep. Aylaen looked at Farinn. Her own eyes were dry.
“Take Wulfe below,” she said. “Watch over him.”
Farinn was glad to obey her. His own eyes burned and blurred, and he didn’t want to cry where anyone would see him, especially Skylan’s spirit, who would be lingering, watching. Farinn picked up Wulfe and carried the sleeping boy with the tear-ravaged face down into the hold. There, unseen, Farinn let the tears stream down his face.
He was crying for Skylan and he was crying for the death of the song.
* * *
Aylaen sat back on her knees. She gazed out over the sea and at last rose, stiffly, to her feet. Her leather tunic was soaked with blood, her blood, the blood of her foes, the blood of her husband. The light had gone from her eyes. Acronis had never seen the ghost the Vindrasi called a “draugr” but he had heard the tales and he guessed that the dead who left their graves to roam the earth must look very much like Aylaen.
“You should go below yourself,” he said to her. “Try to sleep. I will do what is needful here.”
“A wife tends to her husband,” said Aylaen in a monotone. “That is my privilege and my honor.”
She pushed Acronis’s hand gently aside.
“But there is something I must do first.”
Aylaen walked over to the dragonhead prow. Acronis had forgotten about Kahg. Acronis looked up to see the eyes gleam a lurid, hideous red. The Venjekar was adrift, floating on the waves that had gone dreadfully still. No wind blew. The water was dead, flat, calm. The clouds vanished. The sun beat down, hot and fierce. The gods themselves mourned.
Not far from them, soldiers and sailors aboard Aelon’s Triumph were working to repair the mast and patch the gaping hole in the hull.
Raegar stood on the deck, grimly smiling.
“I warned you, Aylaen!” he called out over the leaden sea. “I gave you the choice. If you had come with me, Skylan would be alive right now.”
Aylaen paid no heed to him. She lifted the spiritbone of the Dragon Kahg from the nail on which it hung and pressed the bone to her lips. Softly, quietly, she began to chant the ritual to summon the dragon.
Raegar realized what she was doing. He was still holding the bow and he bellowed at someone to fetch him an arrow. He had to kill Aylaen before she succeeded or they were all dead men.