Bones of the Dragon Page 33

  CHAPTER

  10

  Skylan gazed at his sword, wrenched from his hand by the branch of a tree. He looked down at his short sword, now a snake slithering off beneath the tree roots. He saw eighteen rabbits hopping about in a confused and desultory manner, sniffing pitifully at their weapons and armor. His mind overwhelmed with horror, Skylan surrendered without a fight.

  The druids tied him to the same tree trunk as Raegar. Vines sprang from the ground and wound around Skylan’s ankles and legs, twined over his chest and across his arms. He managed, by twisting his body, to keep his men in sight.

  They had been his care, his responsibility. He thought of their families, of their fathers and mothers, of young mothers and children. He thought of them dying ignominiously, in the claws of a hawk or the teeth of a fox. Their souls would not be admitted into Torval’s Hall. The god would roar with laughter at the sight: rabbits hopping on the threshold.

  Skylan had brought them to this. He was their commander.

  “Forgive me, Father of Trees,” Skylan said humbly to the druid as the vines tightened around him. “I should not have come to Apensia, and if you will free my men from whatever dread enchantment you have cast upon them, we will leave and never return! I swear by Torval!”

  “We offered to share all we have with you, Skylan Ivorson. You spurned our offer and returned it with violence.” The druid sighed deeply. “Steel and blood rule the world. We cannot change that. But we can make certain war does not come to Apensia.”

  “You pagans will regret your defiance,” Raegar snarled, clenching his fists, a gesture that lost much of its effect due to the fact that his hands were bound to his thighs by vines. “I will see to that!”

  “We would regret far more losing our way of life,” the druid replied.

  Folding his hands in the capacious sleeves of his gray robes, he walked away.

  “What do you mean to do to us?” Skylan shouted after him.

  The druid did not respond. He kept walking and was soon lost among the trunks of the tree known as the strangler fig.

  Skylan understood how it came by its name. He strained against his bonds, bunching his arm and shoulder muscles in an effort to break the vines. Tough and sinewy, the vines grew tighter the more he struggled. When they drove the links of his chain mail shirt painfully into his flesh and started to constrict his breathing, Skylan sagged in defeat. He could only watch in heart-wrenching agony as one by one, the rabbits took fright and scampered off into the shelter of the woods.

  “Where are your men?” he asked. “Are they close by?”

  Raegar glowered and shook his head. “Do you have any more men?”

  “Only the two I left to guard Draya—Draya!” Skylan gasped in excitement. He wriggled as close to his cousin as possible and said in a loud whisper, “What about Draya? Did you—?”

  “No,” returned Raegar. “I never had the chance.”

  “But that is good! When I do not return, she will come looking for me,” said Skylan. “She will find that we have been taken prisoner, and she will summon the dragon and he will lay waste to this—Why do you shake your head?”

  “Because I have no doubt that Draya is a prisoner, just as we are,” Raegar remarked gloomily.

  “How do you know?” Skylan demanded.

  “I will tell you. We arrived three days ago, presenting ourselves as peaceful traders. We entered the settlement to offer our wares in trade. The pagans would not let us. They stated that they did not approve of slavery and they would trade with us only after we had freed our slaves. That was nonsense, of course, and we said so, and returned to our camp. The next morning we woke to find our slaves gone. They had been set free during the night.”

  “You saw nothing, heard nothing?” Skylan asked, amazed.

  “Not a sound,” Raegar growled. “My slave woman, who was sleeping right next to me, vanished from my bed! As for the men, we found their shackles and leg irons locked to the post, but they were gone. I assumed the pagans had helped the slaves escape. I demanded that they either return my slaves or give me what they were worth. The pagans said neither yea nor nay. I made myself clear about what would happen to them if they defied me.

  “That was yesterday afternoon. This morning,” Raegar continued, his face darkening, “I woke to find myself alone. My partners had vanished in the night, just like the slaves. Again, I heard nothing.”

  Skylan caught sight of a rabbit hopping about among the trees, and he shuddered.

  “When I saw your dragonship sailing toward the island, I was going to warn you to sail away from this accursed place as fast as possible. I was starting to shout when the next thing I knew, I woke with a pounding head and blood on my face, tied to this tree. So, you see, you can’t count on Draya saving us.”

  Skylan mulled this over. “What do you think the druids mean to do to us? They left us alive, after all.”

  “Nothing good,” Raegar muttered.

  “Perhaps they’re going to hold us for ransom.”

  “The pagans don’t hold people for ransom. They put no store in gold or silver or jewels—”

  “You told me they had storehouses filled with jewels,” Skylan said, frowning. He stopped talking to stare at Raegar, who was wriggling and squirming about in his bonds. “What are you doing?”

  “I have a knife in my boot,” said Raegar. “If I can loosen these vines, I think I can reach it. Keep watch. Let me know if anyone’s coming.”

  Skylan fixed his gaze on the shadows. He heard Raegar grunting and muttering, and he glanced over his shoulder to see that Raegar had managed to wriggle his body down the trunk. He was reaching for his boot, wiggling his fingers.

  “I can’t see the knife!” Raegar gasped. “How close am I?”

  The bone hilt protruded from the top of the boot. The knife was small, of the sort used to cut fishing line.

  “The breadth of three fingers,” Skylan reported. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. “Hold still! Someone’s out there!”

  Raegar froze.

  Skylan stared hard into the shadows. “I guess it was nothing. It’s not there now.”

  Raegar started squirming again. Sweat rolled down his face. His back scraped against the tree trunk.

  “You’ve almost got it,” Skylan said excitedly.

  With a desperate effort, Raegar lunged and managed to touch the knife with his fingertips. Scrunching down a little more, he took hold of the tip with two fingers and his thumb.

  “Don’t drop it!” Skylan breathed.

  “Shut up!” Raegar hissed. “Keep watch!”

  Skylan looked back into the shadows. This time, there was no doubt. “Someone’s coming. That old graybeard!”

  “Got it!” Raegar gasped. He palmed the knife and tried hurriedly to wriggle his body back into place.

  “What are you going to do to us, Graybeard?” Skylan cried, hoping to distract the druid’s attention away from Raegar.

  The druid took his time, approaching them at a leisurely pace. He regarded them mildly. “This night, we will make an offering to appease the spirits who have been angered by your presence,” he said. “You will join us.”

  “Not me!” Skylan cried, lunging against his bonds. “Set me free! I’ll fight you and your spirits—”

  The druid smiled slightly. “There will be no fighting. As I was about to say, you both will be present to offer your apologies to the spirits for bringing violence to our land.”

  “And then what?” Raegar sneered. “You’ll slit our throats?”

  “You will be released,” said the druid.

  “And what about my men? What about my wife, Draya, the woman who was aboard the dragonship?” Skylan demanded. “What have you done with her?”

  “And what about my men and my slaves?” Raegar added angrily. “What have you done with them?”

  “I did nothing to anyone. You angered the blessed spirits who guard us. They perceived you as a danger, and they acted to pu
t an end to the threat. I cannot undo what they have done. I will return for you when the moon rises from the sea.”

  After the druid had departed, Skylan glanced uneasily about the woods. “The druid said we angered the spirits. Is he saying that these spirits cast the enchantment on my men?”

  “Spirits my ass!” Raegar snorted. “He’s lying. It’s that pagan sorcerer who worked foul magicks on your men, and he’s going to do it to us, as well.”

  “I’ll fight them all with my bare hands first,” Skylan said grimly.

  “If I can free myself, you will have a better weapon than your hands,” Raegar stated, and he began to saw at the vines with his knife.

  The going was slow. The vines were sinewy, and there were a great many of them, and Raegar was further hampered by his bonds. He persevered, however, cutting his way through the tangle.

  Skylan watched the rays of the Sun Goddess dwindle among the trees. “Moonrise will be early tonight,” he said. “I’ve been thinking. Once we are free, how will we find our way out of this forest? Trails and paths lead everywhere.”

  “We’ll wait until one of the pagans comes to fetch us, and then we’ll jump him, take him hostage, and threaten to slit his throat if he doesn’t show us the way,” Raegar replied.

  “What if the druid casts one of his enchantments on us?” Skylan asked.

  He could face with equanimity the thought of a sword thrust through the gut in battle. The idea of being spellbound again, as the ogre shaman had done to him, sent a sliver of fear lancing through him.

  “If you tie a sorcerer’s hands and gag him, he can’t cast a spell,” said Raegar.

  He spoke with confidence, as though he knew what he was talking about, but Skylan had doubts. He couldn’t recall the druid doing or saying anything, and yet his men were now hopping through the woods nibbling dandelions. Still, Raegar’s plan sounded as good as any. They didn’t have much choice.

  “Keep watch,” Raegar ordered, and Skylan stared intently into the shadows that grew deeper with every passing moment.

  By the time night had fallen, Raegar had managed to cut loose his own arms and legs and Skylan’s arms, as well. An especially strong, tough vine clung stubbornly to Skylan’s ankles.

  “These damn vines have dulled the blade,” Raegar complained.

  “Then fetch my sword,” Skylan urged. “It is hanging there in that tree. You are tall enough—you can reach it.”

  “Good thought!” said Raegar. He left off sawing at the vines. Wiping sweat from his brow, he walked over and stood beneath the blade that dangled from the tree limb.

  “Mind you come back for me,” Skylan said. “Don’t take my sword and run off.”

  Raegar eyed Skylan darkly. “Don’t you trust me, Cousin?”

  “I was kidding,” said Skylan.

  Raegar grunted. “I’m not in the mood for jests.”

  Skylan wondered suddenly if he did trust Raegar. His cousin had claimed to have been on Apensia; he’d claimed the druids possessed hoards of gold and silver and jewels. Skylan had the feeling Raegar had never been on Apensia before and that he’d made up the tale of wealth, all to convince Skylan to come here. Skylan didn’t have any idea why Raegar would lie, but the fact was, no, he didn’t trust his cousin.

  “Make haste!” Skylan called, tugging ineffectually at the vine that bound his ankles. “I think I see the moon shining through those trees.”

  Raegar looked over his shoulder. “That’s not the moon. It’s torchlight! Men, coming this way.”

  “Get back!” Skylan urged. Grabbing hold of the severed vines, he strung them across his chest. “Make it look as though you’re tied up.”

  Raegar was already flattening himself against the tree trunk, draping the vines across his arms and shoulders.

  “The druid will see the vines are cut,” said Skylan.

  “By the time he does, it will be too late. I’ll have my knife at his throat. I’ll make the bastard loosen your bonds,” said Raegar in a low voice. “Once you’re free, run for the tree, grab your sword, and we’ll head out.”

  “What about Draya?” Skylan asked. “I need to find her.”

  “What do you care what happens to your wife?” Raegar said. “I thought you wanted to be rid of her.”

  “I did. It’s just . . .” Skylan hesitated. “I forced her to come here. She didn’t want to. She warned me against the druids.”

  “Feeling guilty?” Raegar grunted.

  “No,” Skylan said. “I should have listened to her, that’s all.”

  “Since you’re so concerned about her, we’ll make the druid tell us where she is,” said Raegar. “If she’s alive, we’ll find her. Do you want her back? Or do you want me to take her?”

  Skylan thought this over. True, Draya had warned him against coming, and he should have paid heed to her warning. He remembered her odd words to him, how she had wronged him. She had—there was no doubt of that. But he’d heard whispered talk among the young Heudjun about how Horg had beaten her, abused her. Women were weak; they could not challenge a man who had wronged them to battle. Perhaps Draya had fought Horg the only way she knew how.

  “She should return to her people,” Skylan said at last.

  “You’re a fool,” said Raegar. “Still, I don’t suppose it matters. She’s probably dead now anyway.”

  Torches flickered in the darkness, hundreds of them, winding through the far-flung limbs of the strangler fig, heading in their direction. The people sang as they came. The song was beautiful, sad, haunting. A song of praise, a song of mourning—or so Skylan guessed. He could not understand the words.

  Several druids appeared, coming from different directions, meeting beneath the tree. The druids paid no attention to their captives. They met for a brief discussion, then began to make preparations to do whatever it was they did to appease the spirits. Skylan watched, flexing his muscles, stiff from disuse.

  “Do you know what they are doing?” he asked softly.

  “I have no idea what the pagans are up to,” said Raegar in disgust.

  Several men bore between them a large stake. Under the druid’s directions, they carried the stake to a place where the moonlight slanted down between the leafy branches, forming a moon glade. Here they upended the stake, which was taller than Raegar, and dropped it into a hole in the ground. Once the stake was settled in position, the druid entered the moon glade. He studied the stake, pushed and shoved on it to make certain it was stable.

  “We are ready for the sacrifice,” the druid said.

  He turned to look at Skylan and Raegar and gave a command to the men.

  “Fetch the Vindrasi.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  The wooden stake gleamed silver in the moonlight. The men carried heavy ropes to the site and laid them in coils at the base of the stake. The druid stood with his hands folded, patiently waiting. Two men headed for Skylan and Raegar.

  “Cut these damn vines!” Skylan hissed, trying to kick loose the vine that wrapped around his boots.

  “Shut up!” Raegar hissed back. “You’ll make the bastards suspicious.”

  “Then give me the knife!” Skylan said. “I will fight them! I won’t die like a cow!”

  “Be patient,” Raegar returned. “Stick to the plan. When the men start to untie us, I’ll grab one of them and hold my knife at his throat. The other will do what I tell him.”

  Skylan didn’t like having to trust Raegar or anyone to save his life. He continued to struggle to free himself, with the result that the vines slipped down from around his arms. The two men had drawn near enough to see clearly in the moonlight. Their eyes widened; they slowed their pace. One of them started to turn to shout a warning.

  Raegar gave a leap and flung himself on the man. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he put the knife’s blade to his throat.

  “Free my friend,” Raegar ordered the other man savagely. “Or I swear by Torval, I will slit your friend’s throat from ear to ear!”
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  The man did not move. He seemed paralyzed by fear.

  “You! Pagan!” Raegar shouted to the druid. “Tell him to obey me or this bastard will be tonight’s sacrifice!”

  “Do as he says,” the druid ordered.

  The man drew a bone knife from his belt and, bending down, sliced through the vines that held Skylan.

  “Grab your sword!” Raegar told him, still holding on to his hostage. He’d nicked the man’s flesh with his knife. A trickle of blood ran down the neck. The man’s eyes were wide with fright.

  Hundreds of people, all bearing torches, had assembled to witness the sacrifice. They stood watching in silence, making no outcry, as Skylan dashed over to the tree that held his sword. The orange light of the fire and the silver light of the moon gilded the sword’s blade, which hung suspended from the tree limb, hilt facing downward.

  Skylan gazed up at his sword. At first he thought the druid had somehow caused it to magically fly up into the tree. Now, he was not so certain. He had the uneasy feeling the tree itself had seized his sword. Skylan eyed the tree warily.

  “Hurry up!” Raegar shouted.

  The sword dangled just out of reach. Skylan jumped, trying desperately to grab it. His fingers brushed the hilt, but he couldn’t catch hold of it, and he fell back down. The sword swung back and forth, as though the tree were taunting him.

  Skylan was about to leap again when he heard a frantic cry. “Skylan! Help me! Skylan! Please!”

  He turned to see Draya, struggling in the grip of her captors, being tied to the stake.

  He was not to be the sacrifice.

  She was.

  “Skylan!” Draya pleaded. “They mean to murder me! Help me!”

  Skylan stared, horrified. The men shoved Draya against the stake and began to tie the ropes around her body, binding her fast.

  “Let her go!” Skylan bellowed. He pointed at Raegar’s captive. “Or we will slay this man!”

  “You must do what you have to do,” said the druid sadly. “As do we.”

  The druid gestured. A man with white hair, clothed all in white, emerged from the crowd. He held in one hand a large wooden hammer and in the other a branch cut to a sharp point.