CHAPTER
10

The ogre ships rocked gently in the dark water of the bay. The wind continued to freshen. The sea was choppy and restless. Sklyan watched in scorn as the ungainly ogre ships, silhouetted against the light of Akaria’s silver lantern, wallowed about like grunting hogs in muck, bobbing up and down one minute and pitching side-to-side the next. By contrast, the Torgun dragonship rode the waves with a graceful motion, dipping and gliding as the waves slid beneath its keel. The dragon’s fierce head reared up defiantly, dominating the gaggle of ogre ships that surrounded it.

Sklyan frowned at Akaria. He could have done without her moonlight, and he scanned the skies in search of clouds. A few drifted across the stars. Skylan tracked their progress, hoping they would cross the moon, douse the lantern’s silver glow.

“Give me the knife,” Skylan whispered, and Bjorn silently handed over an extremely sharp thin blade used for gutting fish.

Tonight, thought Skylan, it will be used for gutting ogres.

He tied the blade’s handle onto a leather thong and slung the thong around his neck.

The three young men crouched in the shadow of the sand dunes, which were covered with brown sea grass.

“Wait for me here,” Skylan ordered Bjorn and his brother. “No matter what happens, keep quiet and stay out of sight.”

“What do we do if you don’t come back?” Erdmun asked.

Skylan glanced at Bjorn, who rolled his eyes. His brother was a worrier, always expecting the worst.

“I will come back,” said Skylan, and he added with a shrug, “They are ogres.”

“Torval be with you,” Bjorn whispered.

“It’s just that—,” Erdmun began. His brother jabbed him in the ribs, silencing him.

Skylan touched the silver axe around his neck. He was naked except for the god’s token and the knife. He took one more look at the ogre ships. There would be lookouts, and they would have posted guards on the dragonship. He took hold of the knife, put it between his teeth, and bit down on it. He had braided his long hair to keep it out of his face. The most dangerous part would be running across the beach toward the water. Silhouetted against the white sand, he would be seen by every ogre in the universe. He waited, watching a cloud that was sliding nearer and nearer to Akaria’s lantern.

“Torval, douse the light!” Skylan prayed. The cloud blotted out the moon.

Crouching low, Skylan dashed across the beach. He ran clumsily, slowed by the gash in his thigh that pained him more than he would admit. He kept an eye on the sky. The cloud was not large, and it was moving rapidly. Already the edge of the moon peeped out. Fortunately the tide was rising. Skylan thanked Akaria for that much, at least.

The waves broke over his feet, and he was in the water, gasping a little at the sting of the salt in his wound and the shock of plunging into the cold. Though the sun warmed the air by day, the temperature dropped when the sun set, and the sea retained the night’s chill. Skylan was accustomed to much colder water, however. His people lived in the sea, bathing in seawater so cold that ice formed on their hair when they emerged.

This section of beach formed a shelf that dropped off precipitously. Skylan took only a few steps, and he was in water up to his shoulders. He began to swim, his strong arms gliding beneath the waves, taking care not to break the surface of the water with his strokes.

He hoped the chill water would ease the pain in his leg. Each time he kicked his legs was like jabbing himself in the thigh with a spear. The pain hampered his swimming, and the unwelcome thought came to him that Garn might have been right. Maybe he should have let some other man undertake this. The thought made Skylan angry, and he gritted his teeth, champing down hard on the knife’s blade, and deliberately gave a strong kick, like that of a frog’s, to challenge the pain.

Akaria brushed aside the cloud, and moonlight glinted off the waves. Skylan would have to swim close to the ogre ship in order to reach the dragonships. He scanned the deck as he swam near. He could not see the ogres who stood on watch, but he could hear their voices. There were two of them, by the sounds of it, and they were playing at some sort of game to keep themselves awake. The rest of the crew would be wrapped in their blankets on the deck, getting what sleep they could before tomorrow’s battle. As stupid as ogres were, they were smart enough to know that the Torgun would not give up without a fight.

Skylan swam silently around the ship, keeping in its shadow, which drifted over the water.

The dragonship loomed in front of him. Akaria’s light lovingly gilded the dragon-head prow with silver. The ship was painted blue to honor the Dragon Kahg, whose spirit guided the dragonship on its voyages. Kahg’s spirit resided in one of his bones, which had been given long ago by the Goddess Vindrash to the Torgun in the Hall of Vektia, on the famed Dragon Isles.

The spirit of the Dragon Kahg powered the dragonship, so that it could travel the seas without need for oarsmen or sails. When summoned by the prayers of a Bone Priestess, the Dragon Kahg could take on physical form and fight the Torgun’s enemies. Many of the clans had dragonships, which were a mark of a clan’s rank and power. The Torgun might be poor, but so long as they had their dragonship, they remained a force among the Vindrasi.

In return for the dragons’ guidance and protection, the Vindrasi people pledged to give all the jewels they captured to the dragons. The dragons sorted through them, kept the gems they wanted, and returned the rest as a reward to the warriors.

The Vindrasi had no idea why the dragons wanted the jewels. It might be supposed that the gems the dragons kept would be the most valuable, but that was not case. Skylan himself had seen Kahg select a small emerald, badly set and crudely cut, and hand back a large ruby with a heart of fire.

The Vindrasi did not know what happened to the jewels the dragons took with them. Legend spoke of vast hoards stashed away in secret caves on the Dragon Isles, kept safe by a curse placed on them by the Goddess Vindrash. There were always, in every generation, a few greedy and irreverent men who would defy the goddess and set out in search of the dragon hoards. Such warriors always came to a bad end. Their stories and their gruesome deaths made for cautionary tales told during the long winter nights.

The Vindrasi imagined that dragons were like crows—fascinated by anything bright and shiny. None ever came close to understanding the truth, for that was a secret the dragons had kept for centuries and intended to keep for centuries more.

Skylan thought of all this as he swam through the water, his gaze fixed on the dragon’s fierce head. Treia had said the Dragon Kahg had not answered her summons because he was angry with the Torgun for not keeping their end of the bargain. Last year’s raiding season had brought only a handful of jewels, all of which the dragon had tossed aside in disdain. This year’s raid had brought no jewels at all, only ogres, and now the loss of the Vektan Torque, which contained a sapphire said to be of immense value. The Dragon Kahg might well be so furious that even if Skylan succeeded in bringing back the spiritbone, the dragon might refuse to fight for them.

“Perhaps you would like to see us impaled on ogre spears,” Skylan remarked, speaking to the dragon’s head, whose red eyes seemed to glare down on him with a baleful expression. “I am not saying that we have not deserved your wrath. But keep this in mind—if the ogres defeat us, there will be no more jewels for you, ever.”

Trusting that the dragon would take this reasonable view of the matter, Skylan treaded water near the prow of the dragonship and concentrated on listening, hoping to be able to judge how many ogres guarded the ship and where they were located. He heard the tread of heavy footfalls. One ogre at least walked the deck. Skylan, staring upward, was startled to see a bald head outlined against the stars, leaning over the side, gazing down.

Skylan ducked beneath the waves and remained there, holding his breath as long as he could. He surfaced some distance away, snatched a gulp of air, and looked. The ogre’s head was gone. The heavy tread of boots was moving on. Skylan did not hear any voices, and he hoped the ogres had posted only one guard on board. Skylan himself would have posted three, but then, these were ogres.

He didn’t dare take any more time to investigate. The chill of the water was starting to sink into his bones. He heard the ogre walking away from him. He swam silently to the prow, where the dragon’s long, gracefully curving neck formed the ship’s stem. The wooden carving that represented the Dragon Kahg was beautifully rendered. Each scale—and there were hundreds, each about as large as a man’s hand—had been carefully delineated. The grooves in the wood outlining the scales had been carved deep enough so that Skylan could dig his fingers into them and use them to assist him in climbing up the neck. One of his jobs when he was nine years old had been to “scale the dragon.” He had climbed the long neck, then clung precariously to the swaying head and acted as lookout, watching for everything from enemy ships to dangerous shoals.

Skylan’s fingers were no longer those of a nine-year-old child. They no longer fit into the grooves, but the irregular surface allowed him to establish a handhold. His arm muscles ached with the strain; his wound throbbed. The water had been cold, but the air was even colder. The breeze raised gooseflesh on his naked body. His teeth would have chattered, but he still held the knife between them.

The ogre guard had walked to the ship’s stern. Skylan, clinging to the dragon’s neck, was just thanking Torval for this blessing, when a large head, bullish neck, and massive shoulders reared up from the deck not five paces away. Skylan froze, holding his breath, careful not to move or even shiver. The guard stretched and yawned cavernously; apparently he’d been napping. He scratched his belly and peered in a bored manner around the ship.

Both ogres had their backs to Skylan. Neither had seen him. Torval had given his enemies into his hands, but Skylan had only seconds to act. He climbed silently over the hull and jumped down, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, and immediately crouched, hiding in the shadows. Skylan eyed the ogre nearest to him. He had to fell this ogre and do it quietly. If the guard had been human, Skylan would have wrapped his hand over the man’s mouth to prevent him from screaming as he plunged the knife into his heart.

The ogre was too large for that. Skylan would have had to jump on the brute’s back to reach his hand around the head, and then he wasn’t sure his knife was long enough to find its way through the blubber and bone to the brute’s heart.

The ogre blinked, yawned again, and stretched his arms over his head. Any moment, he might call out to his friend, who would turn around and see Skylan.

Skylan glanced swiftly around the deck for another weapon besides his knife. Men were constantly working on the dragonship when in port, making repairs and keeping the ship fit and trim. Woodworking tools littered the deck. Grabbing hold of an adz, Skylan padded soft-footed up behind the ogre, and using all his strength, he swung the adz and bashed the ogre in the back of his head.

The adz’s sharp point pierced the skull and sank deep into the ogre’s brain. Skylan yanked. The tool came out, trailing blood and brains. The ogre’s body jerked spasmodically. His knees buckled, and he started to fall backwards. Skylan caught the heavy body in his arms, nearly collapsing himself under the dead weight. Grunting softly, Skylan lowered the body quietly onto the deck.

Skylan had kept as silent as he could, but the other ogre had either heard something or sensed something that alarmed him. He whipped around, his large body moving faster than Skylan would have thought possible. The ogre’s eyes widened in astonishment to see a man, dripping wet, naked as the day he was born, standing on the deck.

The ogre reached for his axe, opening his mouth to shout the alarm. Skylan had to shut him up, and he flung the adz at his foe as he would have thrown an axe in battle. Unfortunately, the adz was lighter than a battle axe. It struck the ogre a glancing blow on the forehead. The ogre stumbled a little and blinked his eyes as blood poured down his face, but he did not fall.

Skylan broke into a run, racing across the deck, bounding over what tools he could avoid, treading barefoot on others. The ogre was dazed from the blow, and Skylan barreled into him. He slammed his right shoulder into the ogre’s gut, driving the breath from the ogre’s body. The two crashed against the hull.

Though he was gulping for breath, the ogre continued to struggle and, what was worse, to make noise. Skylan plunged his knife into the ogre’s side, not caring where he hit. The ogre grunted in pain, and Skylan stabbed again and again and at last the ogre quit moving and bleating. Skylan sank back on his heels, sucking in air and looking around to see if anyone on the ogre ships had heard the commotion. He waited tensely for flaring lights and voices shouting in alarm.

Nothing happened, and Skylan heaved a sigh. He groaned as he rose to his feet. He limped like his father across the deck, his injured leg throbbing, his feet cut and bruised from treading on the tools. Skylan was elated, however, and he laughed to himself to think how easily he had defeated his enemies. He touched Torval’s silver axe in thanks.

The sacred spiritbone—a fingerbone from Kahg’s front claw—hung on a wooden peg that had been driven into the ship’s curved prow. Unlike the Vektan Torque, the spiritbone was not decorated with gold nor was it adorned with jewels. A pewter band wrapped around the knuckle portion of the fingerbone held it suspended from a plain leather thong.

As a child, Skylan had been bothered by the fact that their spiritbone was not so magnificent as the gold-and-sapphire Vektan Torque. He felt that the Torgun were being disrespectful of their dragon, and he had vowed to his father than when he was Chief, he would set Kahg’s bone in the finest gold and surround it with jewels.

Norgaard had explained why Skylan would do no such thing. Skylan took hold of the leather thong and gently and reverently removed the spiritbone from the peg. He remembered his father’s words, and now he saw the old man’s wisdom.

“An enemy who seizes our ship and sees a bone hanging from a peg will not look at it twice. An enemy who sees a bone decorated with gold and jewels will do what with it, Skylan?”

“He would steal it,” Skylan had said then, and he said the same softly now.

Ogres did not worship the Dragon Goddess. Their shamans had no way to summon dragons, and even if they did, the dragons would not stoop to serve ogres, or at least so Skylan liked to think. Seeing a bone decorated in gold and jewels, the ogres would have taken it for the wealth alone. As it was, they had probably not even noticed it.

He removed the leather thong and was hanging it over his head when he heard the sound: a booted foot, trying to move quietly, had stepped on an auger lying on the deck. The tool had rolled out from underneath, causing the foot to slip and scrape on the deck.

A third guard. Right behind him.

The ogre let out an immense roar, sounding the alarm. Enormous arms wrapped around Skylan’s body. Clamping both arms to Skylan’s rib cage, the ogre hoisted Skylan off his feet and began to squeeze the life out of him.

Warned by a split second of the coming attack, Skylan had his knife in hand, but with his arms pinned, he couldn’t use it. He flexed his arm muscles, pushing against the ogre’s arms, hoping to break the brute’s grip. Feeling Skylan wriggle, the ogre gave a grunt and tightened his grasp.

Skylan was finding it hard to breathe. His head pressed against the ogre’s massive chest, he could hear him grunting and smell the stink of unwashed flesh.

Skylan flailed about with his feet, trying to find the deck in order to gain purchase. The deck was nowhere near, but the prow was. Skylan lifted his knees and, with a desperate lunge, thrust out his legs. Hitting the prow with his feet, he pushed himself backwards straight into the ogre, whose feet went out from under him. The ogre landed heavily on the deck with Skylan floundering about on top of the immense belly. The stupid brute refused to let loose.

Skylan jammed his foot into the ogre’s crotch. The ogre groaned in pain and let go of Skylan to grab himself. Skylan scrambled to his feet and cast a quick glance around at the ogre ships.

Lantern light flared. Ogres milled about on the decks, trying to see who had raised the alarm, determine the threat. Several of them caught sight of Skylan and began yelling and pointing at him. A spear thudded into the prow not a hand’s span from his head.

Skylan grasped the spiritbone. Feeling it secure around his neck, he ran to the ship’s hull, swung himself over the side, and dropped into the water. He would have to swim between two ogre ships to reach the shore. Looking up, he saw an ogre holding a trident and peering down. Skylan made a desperate dive. The trident splashed into the water beside him, a narrow miss.

Skylan swam underwater as long as he could hold his breath, until at last he was forced to surface. The ogres had been watching for him. Sighting his head, they raised a shout. Spears plunked into the water all around him. Skylan had to search for the shoreline; he’d grown confused in the darkness. A spear struck him in the leg, but its flight was slowed by the water, and it did little damage. Akaria, his blessing on her, held her lantern high. The beach gleamed white silver in the moonlight, and Skylan sucked in a breath and dived down once more.

He thought he heard more spears strike the water, but he couldn’t be sure, and by now he no longer cared. His strength was flagging. The waves carried him forward, and at last his feet struck the sandy bottom. He lurched up out of the water and staggered toward the shore and heard the ogres yell. Spears thunked around him, and he fell to his knees and began to crawl. He was about finished. He could not make it much farther.

Two men rose up out of the dunes. Bjorn and Erdmun, braving the spears, dashed across the sand. Each grabbed hold of Skylan by his shoulders and, lifting him up, hauled him bodily across the beach and into the shadows of the dunes.

Skylan shook with the cold. Bjorn flung a cloak around him, began rubbing him down.

“Did you get the spiritbone?” Erdmun asked worriedly.

“I would not . . . have come back . . . without it,” Skylan said through chattering teeth.