Doom of the Dragon (44 page)

“That's a bloody big help!” Raegar raised his voice. “Cousin Skylan! So now I find you skulking in the shadows! I always knew you were a coward. Come fight me like a man or I will kill you and your bitch of a wife!”

Farinn shuddered and Owl Mother dragged him back behind the barrel. Aylaen appeared oblivious to Raegar's threats and the presence of the god. Her dragon-scale armor glowed in shimmering opalescence, her red hair flamed, and Farinn wondered that neither mortal nor immortal eyes could see her, for her radiance seemed to banish night. She was gazing, rapt, at the dragon, paying heed to nothing else. If she knew Raegar and Aelon were there, she did not seem to care.

Raegar waited impatiently for an answer that did not come.

“Skylan would never let such an insult stand, Revered Aelon,” he said, sounding nervous. “Are you sure it's them? Maybe it's the wizards.”

“Wizards! Bah!” Aelon returned with scorn. “I have pulled the teeth of those vipers. We have no time to waste. The spiritbone is here. Go fetch it.”

Farinn heard the rattle and scrape of a sword sliding out of a scabbard as Raegar started moving toward them and he felt the old, sickening fear fill his mouth with gall. He looked at Owl Mother. She seemed very frail in the light, an old woman, dried up and wrinkled. The portal was closed. Perhaps her magic was already gone.

I will have to stop Raegar, Farinn thought, gripping the sword. There is no one else.

Aylaen seemed utterly entranced by the dragon. She did not look at Farinn or Owl Mother. She did not look back at the god or Raegar. Reaching out, she lifted the helm from the dragon's head.

Raegar was hampered in his search by the clutter in the cellar. Farinn heard him kick something out of the way, then there was a clatter, as if he'd bumped into something else, and finally a thud and swearing, as if something had fallen on him.

“You are a god!” Raegar cried, angry and frustrated. “Tell me where to find the damn bone!”

“I told you,” said Aelon, through gritted teeth. “I cannot see.”

Raegar muttered something and was about to continue when a voice hailed him from outside.

“Emperor! You are needed! The matter is urgent!”

“That's Commander Eolus calling me,” said Raegar. “Something's happened.”

“Something
will
happen if you don't find that spiritbone,” said Aelon.

Raegar drew in a seething breath and went charging, half blind, through the shadowy storage room, heading straight for them. Farinn heard him slamming into objects, stumbling and tripping, yet coming ever closer.

Farinn drew the sword from the sheath, his hand shaking so he almost dropped it. He had no idea how to use a sword and he knew Raegar would likely laugh as he killed him, but he needed to be able to tell Skylan, when they met in the gray ruins of Torval's Hall, that he had tried.

Owl Mother's hand closed over his.

“I said you should be brave. Not foolish.”

“We have to do something!” Farinn whispered, agonized.

“Have faith in the gods,” said Owl Mother. “They are fighting the last battle.”

Farinn scarcely heard her words. All he could hear was Raegar coming closer and closer, hurling aside objects in his impatience to reach Aylaen, who seemed to have no idea of the danger.

She was holding the helm in both hands and, as Farinn watched, diamonds sparkled and dazzled. Gold burned in her hands, setting the gold and silver of the other spiritbones ablaze.

Aelon appeared, drawn by the light.

“Raegar!” she cried, smiling, triumphant. “Come quickly. I have found her!”

The god's eyes went to the spiritbone on the golden helm, then to the others: the torque, the necklace, the bracer, and the brooch. Her gaze lingered on the spiritbones and her smile stiffened; triumph was replaced by fear. She managed to control herself, however.

“You have been deceived, Kai Priestess,” said Aelon, soft and wheedling. “Your gods lied to you. The spiritbones are not life. They are death. Give the helm to me and live.…”

Aelon drew near, hands outstretched.

The god did not reach her. Vindrash stood in the way.

Turning her eyes to Farinn, Vindrash held out her hand. As he silently gave Vindrash the sword, the blade of which burned with her light, the goddess seemed old and frail. Aelon cast Vindrash a look of scorn and tried to pass. Vindrash raised the blade to Aelon's throat, steadfast, unwavering.

“How can you protect her? She holds your doom! Let me pass!” Aelon cried. “I will stop her, save us both!”

Vindrash shook her head. “We were not very good gods. But unlike you, we meant well. I suggest you take this time to flee, Faceless God, find some new world.”

Aylaen raised the helm. Diamonds glittered. Gold gleamed. Silver flashed. Aylaen placed the glittering gold helm on her head.

Aelon, her eyes wild with fear, stumbled back.

Aylaen fell to the floor, her body limp.

Farinn gave a heartbroken cry and started to go to her. Owl Mother held him fast, and try as he might, he could not break the old woman's grip; her fingers dug into him, sharp as wyvern talons.

Vindrash dwindled and disappeared. The golden light started to fade. Aylaen lay still and unmoving. Aelon raised her head to gaze at the body. Her eyes narrowed. She made no move to approach it.

Raegar appeared, rushing into the waning light, his sword in his hand. He was disheveled, bruised, dirty, and angry.

“I have looked everywhere! You said you found her, Revered Aelon. Where is she?”

Aelon pointed to the floor. Raegar looked at the body and gave a startled gasp.

“Aylaen! Is she … is she dead?”

“I tried to keep her from putting on the helm,” Aelon said. “The magic of the wizards killed her. The spell is broken. You can safely take the spiritbones.”

Raegar stared at the corpse and gulped. Sweat rolled down his face.

“You want me to take those bones? I won't touch the evil things. That could be
me
lying there!”

“But it isn't,” Aelon returned in sharp tones. “Have faith in me. Take the helm and the other spiritbones. I assure you, you are perfectly safe.”

Raegar eyed her, frowned, and made no move to obey. Instead he half turned to look back at the entrance, where the cries for the emperor were growing louder.

“Something has gone wrong.” he said. “I must go find out—”

Aelon caught hold of him.

“Leave Skylan and his warriors to me! Take the spiritbones! Have you faith in me or not?” she demanded.

“Skylan!” Raegar repeated, looking back at her, his expression dark. “What do you know of Skylan? What warriors?”

Torchlight flooded the room, sending the shadows fleeing. A voice shouted.

“Sir!” Eolus shouted. “Where are you? Are you in here?”

“I'm in the back, Commander,” Raegar called. “What is so urgent that you disobey my command?”

“The fleet is under attack, sir,” the commander said. “The galleys are on fire and so are most of the other boats. A messenger brought the news.”

“Attack…,” Raegar repeated.

“We do not know who the foe is, sir,” Eolus added.

“I do,” said Raegar, grinding the words. “Surrender terms be damned. We will butcher every man, woman, and child and put this city to the torch, starting with this foul cellar. Burn it down!”

He stared at Aelon in grim ire, then tore his arm free of her grip. Leaning close, he said to her, “If you want those accursed bones,
you
take them!”

“You will pay for this!” said Aelon.

The god vanished. Raegar grunted, turned away, and stalked out.

The torchlight grew brighter as his soldiers flooded into the cellar, setting fire to whatever they could find, then flinging the torches into the blaze. The air grew hazy with smoke. Flames crackled and the soldiers hurriedly departed.

Coughing in the smoke, Farinn ran to Aylaen. He put his hand on her wrist, beneath the bracer that held the spiritbone. Her skin was cold to the touch, and he could feel no pulse. Tears filled his eyes.

“The gods failed,” he said, choked. “They let her die!”

“Do you know the secret?” Owl Mother asked, coming to stand behind him. “The secret Aylaen knew?”

“Who cares?” Farinn cried, looking up at her. “She is dead! The secret is worthless!”

“Love,” said Owl Mother.

Farinn heard a sound, a soft sigh. He raised his head and looked into a radiant golden light.

 

CHAPTER

41

The pain was terrible, but ended quickly.

Aylaen lay in the comforting darkness, feeling the five bones quiver with life. The sparkling drops of dragon blood that had once rained down upon the world combined to form an ocean and came rushing back to her in waves, filling her, nourishing her body.

The five broken bones began to knit together and other bones sprang from these five: rib bones, the thick bones of the enormous legs, the bones of a massive skull, the vertebrae of the spine, the graceful arched neck, the tip of the tail, and the thin, finer bones of the wings.

Muscle and lungs and a heart, so long stilled, now beating. Fang and claws of iron and stone. Scales of gold and silver and flame.

Her heart beat. Her blood flowed. Her wings stirred.

Aylaen opened her eyes and looked forward to the end of time and backward to the beginning.

She saw the world Ilyrion had loved, for which the great dragon had died, a tiny star in the vast forever, teeming with life, burgeoning, blossoming. She saw the world Aylaen had loved, withering, languishing without her. Her love was without end.

In that moment the wyrds of god and mortal joined.

 

CHAPTER

42

Skylan stood on the shore watching Raegar's fleet go up in flames. The two galleys were ablaze, the fire casting a lurid orange glow over the waves, so that it seemed the ocean was burning.

“Raegar's army will have to walk home,” said Bjorn, laughing.

“What's left of them when we get finished,” Sigurd added with a grin.

Watching the sailors who had jumped overboard desperately swimming through the flame-streaked water, Skylan nodded agreement. Wulfe's oceanids were doing their part, swamping rescue boats and overturning them or pushing them back toward shore.

Fala and the traitor dragons must have been either still out hunting or sleeping with full bellies, for they were not around to challenge the Dragon Kahg and he was able to continue his attack unimpeded, fanning the flames with his breath and sending burning boats smashing into others that were trying frantically to escape.

Skylan wondered if Raegar was out there somewhere watching victory disappear in smoke. Skylan hoped he might meet Raegar before the end, to let him know who was responsible. But perhaps Raegar already knew. For good or ill, their own wyrds were bound.

Skylan's thoughts had no need to go to Aylaen for they were always with her. He was wondering where she was, if she was safe, if she had found the spiritbone. Sigurd rudely jostled him.

“Are we going to admire the view or do some killing?” he asked impatiently.

Bear Walker growled in agreement, and the rest of the ogre warriors shook their spears in the air or clashed their swords against their shields. Dela Eden and her Cyclopes waited in silence, armed with clubs and knives, ready to do what needed to be done. Skylan observed the confusion in the enemy camp and judged that it was time to put the second part of his plan into action.

“Our goal is to spread as much destruction and chaos as we can in the short amount of time we will have,” he reminded his warriors. “We will be facing well trained and disciplined troops and we must stay together, not run wild.”

He looked particularly at Sigurd as he said this. “If Raegar's soldiers manage to separate us, split us apart, they will cut us to pieces.

“This means”—Skylan now fixed a stern gaze on Dela Eden and her Cyclopes—“you must listen for my signals and heed my commands. We face an army of thousands. When the time comes, we will stand together and fight.”

He almost said “fight our last fight,” but caught himself just in time. The others knew as well as he did that this battle would likely end in death, but no need to say the bad luck words.

Dela Eden gathered her Cyclopes around her and spoke to them in a low voice, perhaps saying some sort of prayer to the Gods of Raj, for many of them bowed their heads. Raven's-foot rattled the gourd at Bear Walker and the rest of the ogres. He was about to rattle it at Skylan, who glowered at him. The ogre shaman thought better of it.

Sigurd and Grimuir were making bets on who would kill the most men. Bjorn was talking quietly with Erdmun. As usual before a battle, he was looking sick.

“What do you need me to do?” Wulfe called.

“What are you doing here? I told you to keep away from us,” said Skylan irritably. He had lost track of the boy and was annoyed to see him lurking in the tall grass that covered the sand dunes.

“I want to help,” said Wulfe.

Skylan felt inclined to point out that it would be difficult for Wulfe to help with the fighting while keeping a safe distance from the warriors and their iron weapons.

“I don't have time to argue, Wulfe,” Skylan said, growing impatient.

“I don't want to go back to my mother,” said Wulfe. “I already told you that.”

“Go wherever you want to go, then! Jump in the sea with your fish friends,” Skylan said, exasperated. “Just stay away from the fighting!”

Wulfe scowled, but he left, walking off down the beach, though he was slow about it, his steps dragging. Skylan bid the boy a silent farewell, wondering briefly if the fae child would remember him after he was gone and, if so, for how long.

Skylan shifted his attention to the campfires of their foes, to the rows of tents that stretched on and on in seemingly endless ranks and the hundreds and hundreds of soldiers milling about like angry hornets searching for the foe that had knocked down their nest.