Doom of the Dragon (11 page)

“But why would Vindrash bring warriors to the Isle of Revels?” Skylan asked, frowning.

“How should I know? It was dark and the winds were howling. The next I knew, we were here.”

He motioned Skylan near. “And there are others!” he said, breathing beery breath into Skylan's face. “Ogres and outlandish folk! In the back of the hall.”

Skylan stared into the back, but the room was so dark and smoke filled he couldn't see what “outlandish folk” Sigurd meant. He did see many more Vindrasi, some of whom he recognized, for they had been in attendance at his Vutmana, the ritual battle where he had defeated Horg and been named Chief of Chiefs.

These men are also warriors, he realized. By the looks of their wounds, they died in battle. They, too, should be with Torval. He needs all the warrior souls he can get.

Skylan glowered back at Sigurd. “Why do you men sit here all day swilling ale in company with that sodden wretch, Joabis? Why don't you leave? Go to Torval, explain to him what happened.”

“Because we can't,” said Sigurd flatly.

“Can't what?”

“We can't leave.”

“Nonsense,” said Skylan angrily. “Walk out the door.”

“What door?” Sigurd frowned. “There is no door. Nothing but solid timber.”

“Are you blind? I see a door!” Skylan exclaimed.

“Maybe you do,” said Sigurd. “Some god loves you … The great Skylan…” He gave a drunken grin. “Yet here you are, dead, just like the rest of us.”

“I'm not dead,” said Skylan. “I'm not alive, either. I'm caught in between.”

“You're not dead?” Sigurd seized hold of his wrist, gripping him painfully. “Then help us! Get us out of here!”

“That's why I'm here. Find the others. Something is not right. I'll go talk to Torval—”

“Skylan,” said a voice behind him, a voice Skylan recognized. “Is that you?”

Skylan turned to see the bald head, guileless face, and hulking body of an ogre standing behind him. The ogre's head was painted white with a black stripe running from the neck to the chin and another black stripe crossing the nose and cheeks. Skylan knew only one ogre who painted his face like this.

“Keeper, my friend!” Skylan cried, flinging his arms around as much of the ogre as he could reach. “I am glad to see you!”

“I am
not
glad to see you,” said Keeper. “For if you are here, this means you are dead.”

Skylan suddenly remembered that Keeper had died and the fault was his. The ogre had been murdered by Treia, who had given him a potion to ease his pain. Her potion had eased him out of this life.

Skylan drew back, ashamed. “I am sorry, Keeper. I failed you. I should have never left Treia alone with you.”

“You had no way of knowing that evil woman would poison me,” said Keeper. “I knew she was a traitor. I was a fool to drink what she gave me.”

He embraced Skylan in a hug that nearly broke his ribs. “We will speak of this no more.”

Skylan hesitated, still not ready to forgive himself. Keeper smiled and Skylan took the ogre's hand in his own. “I will make it up to you.”

He looked at Keeper and a sudden astonishing thought came to him. “How do you come to be
here
, my friend? In the afterlife of the Vindrasi? Don't you ogres have your own afterlife?”

Keeper scratched his head. “I always thought so. Yet here I am. And many others of my race. And there are others of another race, as well. Cyclopes!”

“Cyclopes!” Skylan repeated, amazed. “How do Cyclopes come to be in our afterlife?”

“Outlandish folk,” Sigurd muttered. “Wait until you see them. They have three eyes and skin the color of night.”

“I spoke to one of their warriors,” said Keeper. “She said that after she died, the Gods of Raj carried her here to this hall, then left her.”

“The Gods of Raj!” Skylan grew more and more perplexed. Was Joabis conspiring with the Gods of Raj?

“Whoever brought us,” Keeper added, “Sigurd is right. We cannot leave. We have tried.”

Hefting an axe, he pointed to great gouges in the log wall.

“We even tried to crawl out through the roof, but it is too far above us,” Keeper added, glancing up at the ceiling that seemed as high as heaven.

“We are prisoners of Joabis,” Sigurd said bitterly.

“But why did he bring you here? What does he want with you and all the other Vindrasi warriors? And what do Vindrash and the Gods of Raj have to do with this?”

“What does it matter? There's nothing we can do.” Sigurd gloomily shook his head.

Skylan pondered. “Are all those here warriors?”

“All warriors,” Keeper confirmed.

“Joabis said you were wrecking the place,” said Skylan, looking at the overturned tables, upended benches, broken crockery, and pools of spilled ale. “I see he was right about that.”

“All those here are enemies. The ogres hate the Cyclopes and the Vindrasi hate us. We exchanged insults, then fell to fighting,” Keeper admitted. “Battle is thirsty work, however. Joabis brought in barrels of ale and we declared a truce and started drinking.”

“And kept drinking,” said Sigurd. “At least, for a time, we forget we are prisoners.”

Skylan thought this over.

“Find the others and see to it they're sober,” he told Sigurd.

“Where are you going?” Sigurd demanded.

Skylan looked grim. “To have a talk with Joabis.”

 

CHAPTER

9

Reaching the door, Skylan eyed it warily, fearing that it might suddenly vanish, trapping him here with the others. The door stayed where it was, however, and he was vastly relieved to be able to push it open and walk out into the sunshine.

He was accosted by a group of revelers the moment he stepped outside. Men draped their arms around his shoulders, hailing him as if they were brothers. Women offered him ale and wine and kisses.

“Where is Joabis, friends?” Skylan asked in good-natured tones, thinking it best if he played along. “I need to speak with him.”

No one seemed to know. Some said he was here. Others said he was there. One woman said she thought she had seen him enter the shrine to pray.

“Pray?” Skylan said, interested. “To what god?”

“Why, Joabis, of course,” the woman returned, laughing.

Only Joabis would pray to himself, Skylan thought.

The revelers offered to take him to the shrine, which they said was on a remote part of the island. As they shoved their way through streets thronged with merrymaking souls, Skylan wondered that such constant reveling didn't grow wearing after a time.

Leaving the village behind, they walked past fields of barley and wheat. Skylan was surprised to see people working among the plants.

“So people actually work on this isle?” he asked.

“I wouldn't call it work,” said one of the women, who had been trying to persuade Skylan to forget about Joabis. “Everyone here does what they love to do best.”

By this time most of the revelers had abandoned him for more pleasurable pursuits. Those few who remained took him to a grove of immense spruce trees.

“The shrine is in a garden and the garden is in the grove,” the revelers told him.

Skylan thanked them and the revelers laughingly bid him farewell and went back to the party.

Skylan could find no path, and had to thrust his way through the spreading tree branches. He tried to move silently, but that proved impossible. Dead needles crunched underfoot, sticks snapped, and limbs rustled. Clad in his heavy armor, he was hot and sweating. Branches hit him in the face, needles stuck his flesh. He had begun to think he might be trapped forever in this forest when it came to an end.

Parting the branches, he saw a garden of such beauty that he stopped to stare, enthralled. He had not known so many different types of flowers existed in the world. Bees droned among the fragrant blossoms, birds sang in the trees. Paths of crushed marble wound among the flower beds, sparkling in the sunlight.

Joabis stood in the midst of the flowers, holding a sword in his shaking hand.

“Stop right there, whoever you are!” he cried, his voice quivering. “Don't come any closer.”

“It's me. Skylan Ivorson.”

Raising his hands, Skylan emerged from the shadow of the pine trees.

“Who were you expecting, Joabis?” Skylan asked. “Aelon?”

At the sound of the name, the god began to tremble. Throwing the sword to the ground, he sank onto a marble bench and groaned.

“What do you know?”

“Nothing for certain,” said Skylan. “I know enough to know that you've been lying to me, however, so I suggest you tell me the truth.”

“What about?” Joabis asked, mopping his head with the sleeve of his shirt.

“The warriors,” said Skylan, drawing steadily nearer. “The Vindrasi, the ogres, and the Cyclopes. All those you are keeping prisoner in the Chief's Hall.”

“They're not prisoners,” Joabis said, trying to look Skylan in the eye and failing. “They can leave whenever they want.”

“There's no door!” Skylan said through gritted teeth.

“You got out,” Joabis mumbled.

“Because I am not dead. Because I am not in thrall to you or Vindrash or the Gods of Raj!”

Joabis flinched. “Keep your voice down.”

Skylan stood over Joabis, glaring at him. “Tell me what is going on. Tell me what has you so frightened you're about to piss your pants. Tell me why these warriors are here. Tell me why you brought
me
here or I will shout to Torval that you are a traitor, that you are conspiring with our enemies!”

“No, no, no, no!” Joabis gabbled. “It's not what you think!”

“Then tell me.”

“I'll be breaking a promise to Vindrash,” Joabis quavered, backing up a step. “A sacred vow.”

“You can break a vow or I can break your head,” said Skylan. “If it is any comfort, I think I know the truth already.”

Joabis heaved a doleful sigh. “Come with me.”

He set out along one of the paths, indicating that Skylan should accompany him.

“This better not be a trick,” Skylan warned.

“No trick,” said Joabis wearily. “I'm through with tricks.”

The path led to the center of the garden, to a small longhouse made of timber that reminded Skylan of the Hall of the Gods in his own village. The longhouse was well kept, lovingly tended. Joabis opened the door. The interior was in shadow and smelled of cedar and roses. Joabis paused, waiting for Skylan to enter.

“You first,” said Skylan, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Joabis inclined his head and walked inside. Skylan followed more slowly, remaining near the door, keeping it open to let in the sunlight.

A statue of Joabis, carved out of marble and looking very sleek and regal in festive garments, stood in the back of the hall. The marble god was holding a marble mug in one hand and a sheaf of marble barley in another and was wearing a marble sword hanging from a marble baldric. Joabis regarded his own image with affection.

“I commissioned the statue from a renowned artist in Sinaria. Royal sculptor to the Emperor. Before the arrival of Aelon, of course,” Joabis added hurriedly. “This was done during the classical period when—”

Skylan interrupted. “Why bring me here?”

Joabis fetched a deep sigh. “Look at the brooch I am wearing.”

The god was apparently referring to a large brooch carved out of marble that adorned his festive raiment. Skylan propped open the door with a rock and drew closer to the statue.

“Don't you see it?” Joabis pressed.

“I see a brooch such as a young girl might wear,” said Skylan, adding drily, “It would look well on a young girl.”

Joabis hesitated, then, seeming to steel himself to bold action, he reached out his hand and touched the brooch.

The marble vanished. Skylan could see now that the brooch was made of rubies set in gold flowers surrounded by golden leaves. In the center, a golden dragon wrapped its tail around what appeared to be a sliver of bone.

“The fourth Vektan spiritbone,” said Skylan.

“You don't seem surprised,” said Joabis, disappointed.

“I'm not,” said Skylan. “Your dragonship wasn't raided by Hevis looking for jewels. Your crew wouldn't have been afraid of Hevis or any other god of the Vindrasi. The souls would be afraid of Aelon. That was the god who searched your ship and there could be only one object in your possession the god sought. What I don't understand is why would Vindrash give the spiritbone to a drunken sot?”

“Vindrash thought the spiritbone would be safe with me. After all, who would ever think to look for something this valuable here on the Isle of Revels?”

“Aelon apparently,” said Skylan in grim tones. “And the god is coming to claim it.”

He watched the sunlight glimmer in the heart of the rubies, warm as blood, and suddenly everything made sense.

“
This
is the reason you are keeping my men and the other warriors here,” he said. “
This
is why you wanted
me
here. You are afraid Aelon will attack and you have surrounded yourself with warriors. Why not just take the spiritbone to Torval for safekeeping?”

“No one except Vindrash is supposed to know I have it. After Hevis betrayed his trust and summoned the Vektan dragon and killed all those people, Vindrash made all of us who have the spiritbones in our possession swear an oath of secrecy. As for taking it to Torval, I don't dare risk moving it for fear Aelon would catch me,” Joabis added in plaintive tones. “The god would kill to get it.”

“What you say makes sense,” said Skylan. “I knew about the oath.”

“I brought all these dead warriors here,” Joabis continued dolefully. “I hoped they would help me, but all they do is drink my ale and fight.”