CHAPTER
9
BOOK ONE
The Venjekar and the Light of the Sea had been at sea seven days, making good time, for they did not have to use the rowers. Zahakis told Skylan that in this part of the ocean, the wind blew steadily from the north, driving the ships in a southerly direction. Skylan was starting to think glumly that Zahakis had either forgotten about the ritual combat or he had figured out that it was all a ploy. Sigurd was angry and accused Skylan of being a coward, of trying to weasel out of the contest.
Then one night, trouble broke out on the Venjekar. For once, it was not started by the prisoners. The soldiers were playing their usual gambling game with the stones, when one accused the other of cheating. Men took sides. Fists flew. The next day there were split knuckles, swollen lips, and black eyes. Zahakis was livid with fury.
That morning, he scribbled something on a scroll of papyrus, wrapped it in a sack, and weighted it with a rock. Bringing the Venjekar within hailing distance of the Light of the Sea, Zahakis flung the weighted sack into the air. It landed on the deck of the galley. Acronis’s scribe retrieved it and took it to the Legate. An answer came back.
Zahakis told Skylan that if the weather was fine, they would hold the Vutmana tomorrow.
All Skylan could see as far as he looked was the vast emptiness of the ocean. “Are we that close to land?” he asked.
“We are not close to land at all,” said Zahakis.
“Then how can we fight the Vutmana?”
Skylan didn’t know what to say. He had never considered this possibility.
“But . . . we can’t fight on board a ship,” he said, floundering. “It’s not . . . proper. The gods wouldn’t like it.”
“Then I guess you won’t fight at all,” said Zahakis, shrugging.
Skylan sat at the tiller. All his careful planning, gone overboard.
“Very well,” he said glumly. “We will fight the Vutmana on board the ship.”
“You should be honored,” Zahakis said, grinning, as though he could see inside Skylan’s head, know what he was thinking. “The Legate himself will be coming over to see you fight as well as your kinsman Raegar.”
“That whoreson is no kin of mine,” Skylan said.
Zahakis chuckled. “I can’t say I would claim him either. He’s coming on board this afternoon to make preparations for the Vut—whatever you call it.”
“Set me free,” Skylan said, “and I will welcome him.”
Zahakis laughed, but he did not take him up on the offer.
Skylan sighed. So much for his plans. He had assumed that the fight would be held on land. When the war galley made landfall, the Legate sent the rowers and soldiers ashore. They made up hunting parties, hauled water, and did other chores. They lit fires, cooked hot food, made themselves comfortable for the night. Skylan had figured that once he and Sigurd had their weapons, they would first kill Zahakis. The loss of a commander always threw even the best-trained forces into confusion. Skylan would set his fellow warriors free. They would take control of the Venjekar and sail away. By the time the Legate had managed to collect two hundred crew members and order them back on board and set them to work, the Venjekar would be well on her way home.
That had been the plan. A good plan, Skylan thought as he sadly bid it farewell. He spent the rest of the day thinking and revising.
For his new plan to succeed, Skylan needed the key that unlocked the prisoners’ manacles. Zahakis carried the key with him always—wearing it on his thumb like a ring. Skylan pondered long and hard on how he might acquire it. Aylaen and Treia could not be of help, for Zahakis had ordered them to remain in the hold. Skylan and his friends were chained hand and foot. That left Wulfe.
The boy had the run of the ship. The soldiers were starting to like him, had made a sort of pet of him. He would run about the deck on all fours and they would roar with laughter and give him food. They tried to give him coins, but he was terrified of the money, which was made of metal. The soldiers found that even more hilarious.
Wulfe could get close to Zahakis. The boy could move silently and stealthily as a stalking cat. The only problem was the boy’s fear of anything made of iron.
That afternoon, when Zahakis went down into the hold to check on the women, Skylan motioned for Wulfe. The boy crouched eagerly beside Skylan.
“Did you talk to your oceanaids today?” Skylan asked.
“Of course,” said Wulfe.
“They didn’t happen to mention how close we are to land, did they?” Skylan said.
“I can ask. Do you want me to?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
Wulfe dashed off and was soon hanging over the rail, yelling at the waves. The soldiers watched him and chuckled. Skylan felt more than a little foolish as he waited to hear what Wulfe and his fae friends had to say.
“Two days,” Wulfe announced on his return. “So long as the wind doesn’t shift direction. And they don’t think it will.”
Two days. They could sail to land in two days. Skylan didn’t know whether he believed Wulfe or he simply wanted to believe. Either way, he decided, it didn’t matter. This was the only opportunity for escape they were likely to have. They would have to take it and trust to the gods.
He told Wulfe what he wanted him to do.
Wulfe shook his head violently and started to make a dash for it.
“Come back here,” Skylan said sharply.
Wulfe came back, dragging his feet.
“You want to get away from these soldiers, don’t you?” Skylan said softly, keeping an eye out for Zahakis.
Wulfe nodded slowly, still suspicious.
“You want to see Raegar dead, don’t you?”
Wulfe nodded again, this time emphatically.
“Then you have to get that key for me,” said Skylan. “You’re the only one who can do it.”
“But it’s made of iron. It will burn me,” said Wulfe plaintively.
Skylan might not have believed this, but he had seen Wulfe’s fingers the one time he’d forced the boy to clean his sword. His fingers looked like Wulfe had put his hand on a red-hot kettle.
Wulfe’s brow puckered. “Why do you need this key anyway?”
“Because it unlocks the manacles,” said Skylan. “You’ve seen a key work.”
Wulfe shook his head. “The druids never used locks or keys.”
After he thought about it, Skylan was not surprised. From what he had seen of their village, the druids had nothing of value to lock up.
Skylan pointed to the leg irons. “See the metal box that looks like a barrel? You put the key in there. The key touches a spring. The spring releases and the manacles pop open. I’ll need to keep the key for a long time, so Zahakis can’t wonder where it has gone or start looking for it.”
Wulfe grinned. “You want me to steal an iron key that I can’t touch off the Ugly’s thumb so he doesn’t notice it’s missing.”
Skylan gave a frustrated sigh. The boy was right. It seemed impossible.
“Wulfe,” he asked abruptly, “can you talk to Aylaen or Treia?”
“I won’t talk to Treia. Ever,” said Wulfe emphatically.
“Well, then, can you talk to Aylaen? Have you talked to her?”
“Yes,” said Wulfe. “I’ve been telling her stories about my mother and father. They cheer her up. Why?”
Skylan glanced around to make certain no one was near, then he said softly, “I was just wondering if she said anything about finding the spiritbone.”
Wulfe gave a nervous start and peered warily at Skylan from beneath shaggy bangs. “It was lost. It fell in the sea.”
“I know it fell in the sea,” Skylan said impatiently. “But that doesn’t mean it’s lost. The spiritbone will come back to the person the dragon chooses to keep it safe.”
Wulfe stared at him. “It does? It comes to the person the dragon chooses?”
“Yes,” said Skylan. “Why? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Wulfe said. He cast a sidelong glance at the dragonhead prow.
“I’ll think about the key,” he said, and jumped up and ran off.
Skylan had been going to ask Wulfe to tell Aylaen about the plan, to see if she could help. Now that he thought about it, he was glad he didn’t. Aylaen would tell Treia and Treia would be certain to warn Raegar.
Skylan looked up at the carved head of the dragon, asking for a sign, a glimmer of light in the wooden eyes that would fill him with hope. But the dragon’s eyes were blank, gave away nothing.
He saw Wulfe leaning over the rail, waving his hand to the waves and talking again with the sea spray.
“He won’t touch iron because it burns him. He believes his grandmother is the Queen of the Faeries, and he talks with spirits who live in the ocean.”
Skylan sighed and muttered, “But he’s all I’ve got.”
Wulfe sat cross-legged on the deck, watching Zahakis. Wulfe had seen the key before, but he hadn’t known what it was or what it did. He had just thought it a piece of ugly jewelry. Wulfe considered various ways of acquiring it. There were magical spells he could cast on the man that would cause Zahakis to drop the key. Wulfe could make the man’s hand wither so that the key would slide off. He could cause the key to go red-hot and burn him and he would have to take it off.
But that wouldn’t work, Wulfe realized, because then the key would be so hot Skylan couldn’t touch it.
The true drawback to all these ideas was that they smacked of magic. Owl Mother had warned Wulfe that if he used his magic, he should disguise it as a natural phenomenon. Otherwise he would be putting himself in danger.
Remembering the moment he summoned the seagulls and how Raegar had struck him across the face and knocked him unconscious, he really, really wanted to see Raegar dead. Wulfe knew he had to give the problem of stealing the key his full attention.
Raegar came aboard late in the afternoon. Skylan had wondered if he was going to swim, but the war galley hoisted out a plank meant for boarding enemy ships, and when the Venjekar sailed near, they lowered the plank onto the deck. The sea was calm. Raegar crossed without incident and was greeted formally by Zahakis and loudly and obscenely by the Torgun. Raegar made a point of asking about Treia and Aylaen and was assured they were well. He said he needed to speak to them and he went down into the hold.
Skylan had not seen Aylaen all the time they had been at sea. Treia came up sometimes for air, but Aylaen remained below. Skylan knew she was grieving for Garn. He, too, was still grieving the loss of his friend, and he wished he could comfort her and find comfort in talking about their friend. It seemed to Skylan that he and Aylaen were the only two who mourned Garn’s loss. Bjorn and Erdmun had both been Garn’s friends. They were sorry he was dead, but his passing had not left an empty feeling in their chests as it did for Skylan. Sometimes it seemed as painful to Skylan as if he had been pierced by a spear.
More painful, he reflected, for a wound will heal and be forgotten, but the pain of loss and the anguish of knowing that Garn’s death was my fault will be with me for the rest of my life.
Then Wulfe came sidling up to him and Skylan had to quit thinking about the dead and turn his thoughts to the living.
“Don’t go to sleep tonight,” Wulfe said softly.
And before Skylan could ask Wulfe what he was going to do, the boy ran off.
Zahakis sometimes steered the ship himself at night to allow Skylan to rest. Zahakis would chain Skylan to the bulkhead near his fellow Torgun, who greeted him with sullen looks or paid no attention to him at all.
That night, as Skylan lay down beside Sigurd, he whispered, “Stay awake. Tell the others.”
Sigurd’s dark eyes flashed. He nodded and, rolling over, whispered to Bjorn, “Stay awake. Pass the word.”
Night fell as the god, Skoval, took over rulership of the world. The full moon rose. The tops of the waves were gilded with molten silver. Raegar emerged from the hold. His face was dark. He was upset about something.
Two soldiers were on duty guarding the prisoners. Another was at the tiller and the others were playing the usual game of stone-guessing. Zahakis stood near the rail in the stern, gazing out at the moonlit ripples. Wulfe was nowhere in sight.
Raegar joined Zahakis at the rail.
“I still do not approve of this fight,” Raegar announced.
“I am sorry you feel this way,” said Zahakis in a tone that meant exactly the opposite. “Did you inform the Legate?”
“I did,” said Raegar, frowning. “He knows that these two brutes are fighting for the favor of their heathen god. Indulging them in this barbaric ritual only encourages them to believe in gods who are dead.”
“I take it the Legate was still not impressed with your argument,” Zahakis said.
“He was not,” said Raegar angrily. “Acronis said the soldiers were bored and that this would provide some amusement and break up the routine. I have spoken to the Bone Priestesses, however,” he added stiffly. “Neither of them will take part.”
“As I understand it, the priestess is important to the spectacle. Perhaps they will attend if I ask them nicely,” said Zahakis with a half smile.
Raegar sucked in an irate breath, but Zahakis walked off, not waiting to hear what the priest had to say. Raegar muttered something, then stalked over to where the soldiers, who had been listening to this exchange with interest, hurriedly returned to their game.
“Gambling is illegal!” Raegar said. “Go to your beds.”
The soldiers glanced at Zahakis, who gave a slight nod, and the men, grumbling, did as they were ordered.
The Venjekar glided over the silver waves.
Skylan was sleepy and he wished irritably that whatever Wulfe was going to do, he’d go ahead and do it. He was just thinking this and wondering what Wulfe had in mind, when Zahakis gave a yell and sprang back from the rail, shaking his left hand frantically.
His startled cry woke everyone. Soldiers fumbled for weapons. The Torgun sat up, staring at Zahakis, who appeared to be wrestling with something that glimmered white in the moonlight.
Bjorn suddenly began to laugh. “It’s a jellyfish!”
The sea creature’s poisonous tentacles wound tightly around the commander’s hand. The soldiers hastened to his aid, though when they reached him, none of them had any idea what to do. No one wanted to grab the thing. Swearing and yelling in pain, Zahakis at last managed to shake the jellyfish loose. It landed on the deck with a soggy plop.
Zahakis wrung his hand and continued to swear. Skylan had been stung by jellyfish before, like hot needles being jabbed into the skin.
Zahakis’s hand was starting to swell from the poison. He grabbed hold of the key ring and yanked it off and flung it to the deck. Then he doubled over, cradling his hand and groaning.
His soldiers gathered around him, all of them offering advice on what to do. One of the men kicked at something at his feet and Skylan saw Wulfe, crawling about on the deck. The soldiers swore at him and told him to get out of the way. Wulfe scuttled off, carrying something wrapped in a bit of cloth, which he dropped in Skylan’s lap.
Skylan rolled over to hide his movements and unwrapped the cloth to find the key ring inside. He was about to slide the key stealthily to Sigurd with orders to unlock his leg irons, when a shadow blotted out the moonlight. Skylan glanced up to find Raegar looming over him. Skylan hurriedly slid the key onto his thumb and closed his fist over it.
But Raegar was not interested in Skylan. He was after other prey. Reaching down, Raegar seized Wulfe by the hair and yanked him to his feet.
“Here is the culprit!” Raegar cried. “He did this to you, Tribune!”
“Did what?” Zahakis asked irritably.
“He sent the jellyfish to attack you,” Raegar said balefully.
The soldiers began to roar with laughter. Zahakis’s mouth twitched.
“Let the kid go, Raegar—”
“Since when have you seen jellyfish fly?” Raegar demanded angrily. “The boy is evil, I tell you. He must die! Aelon commands it!”
Lifting Wulfe off his feet, Raegar flung him headlong into the sea.
The boy landed with a splash and a shriek and immediately sank. For a moment everyone stood staring stupidly at the waves, unable to believe what they’d seen. Then suddenly everyone was shouting and moving at once.
Skylan jumped to his feet, forgetting in his fear for Wulfe that his legs were chained. He tripped and crashed headlong to the deck. Several soldiers ran to the side, searching for the boy. Wulfe came bobbing back to the surface, his arms flailing. The soldiers yelled and pointed.
Wulfe sank again. Zahakis shouted for one of the men to dive in after the boy when, without warning, an immense wave reared up from a calm sea. The wave rose higher and higher, until it hung poised over the Venjekar like a hand ready to smack a fly, then crashed over the bow.
The Venjekar heeled. Men grabbed anything they could find to keep from being washed overboard. The deck canted. Skylan clung desperately to his chains and stared in astonishment to see Wulfe rush past him in a great gush of seawater. The boy fetched up against a sea chest and lay on the deck, coughing and spitting up water.
The sea calmed instantly, but it was a sullen calm that sent waves slapping against the sides of the hull. Zahakis knelt beside Wulfe, pounding him on the back and asking him if he was all right.
Skylan had thought he’d seen faces in the wave, faces of beautiful women, beautiful enraged women with sea-foam hair. He didn’t have time to think whether he believed what he’d seen or not. The angry soldiers crowded around Zahakis, urging him to let them toss Raegar overboard. Skylan crawled over to Sigurd and handed him the key.
“Tell the others to unlock the manacles and then pretend they’re still locked. Not you,” he added, reaching down his hand to prevent Sigurd from unlocking his own manacles.
Sigurd looked at him, frowning.
“We’re going to fight tomorrow,” said Skylan. “How will it look if Zahakis comes to unlock our manacles and finds them already unlocked?”
Sigurd took a moment to think this over, then gave a nod and handed the key to Bjorn, whispering instructions. Bjorn swiftly unlocked his manacles and passed the key to Erdmun. The key traveled down the row of warriors. A few fumbled with it, trying to find the keyhole. The sound of the key scratching against the metal seemed loud enough to be heard back in Vindraholm, and Skylan winced, certain that the soldiers must hear it, too.
None of them were paying any attention, however. Zahakis had quieted their fury, and ordered them to wring out their clothes and spread their bedding to dry and assemble their gear, which was strewn all over the deck.
Zahakis, his face grim, walked over to confront Raegar. “You are lucky I don’t do what the men want and throw you overboard.”
Raegar began to sputter. “First the jellyfish, then the wave. This was all the boy’s doing.”
Zahakis walked off.
“Let him live and you will be sorry!” Raegar called after him.
Zahakis said something Skylan couldn’t hear. Another wave slapped the ship. Raegar went to the hold, lifted the hatch, and stomped down the stairs. Zahakis came over to stand in front of Skylan, who tensed, acutely aware of the key making its way down the line. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Grimuir palm the key and keep still.
Skylan grinned up at him.
“I’ve heard that urine causes the pain of the jellyfish sting to ease. I would be glad to piss on you, Tribune.”
Zahakis shook his head and muttered something and continued on his way.
He has forgotten the key, but he will recall it soon enough, Skylan thought, and he looked down the line.
Grimuir was busily unlocking his fetters. He handed the key to the warrior next to him. Wulfe was waiting next to Aki, the last man in the line. When Aki had freed himself, he gave the key to Wulfe.
The boy jumped to his feet and ran off, dropping the key quietly on the deck, not far from where Zahakis had been standing when he flung it off. Sometime later, one of the soldiers stepped on it and took it back to Zahakis. Skylan breathed a sigh in relief. So far, so good.
The soldiers were wiping the saltwater off their swords and polishing their armor to make certain they didn’t rust. Zahakis filled a helm with seawater and was soaking his hand. The Torgun pretended to sleep.
Wulfe lay down beside Skylan. “My blanket’s wet,” he grumbled.
“Stop complaining. You’re lucky you’re alive,” said Skylan.
“Not lucky,” said Wulfe. “The oceanaids saved me.”
Skylan remembered the faces in the wave. He eyed Wulfe. “How did that jellyfish get on board?”
“It was funny, wasn’t it?” Wulfe said. “Watching Zahakis jump up and down and shake his hand, trying to get it to let go.”
“Wulfe—”
“I’m sleepy,” he said, and he curled up in a ball and pressed his back to Skylan for warmth.
Sigurd dug his elbow into Skylan’s ribs.
“Whoever draws first blood is chief. You agreed to that. You swore by Torval.”
Skylan didn’t answer.