Bones of the Dragon (26 page)

Admitting Freilis’s wisdom, Torval decreed that henceforth the Vindrasi would settle disputes through the Vutmana, the Law of the Challenge.

The Vutmana was centuries old, and the Vindrasi still adhered to many of its ancient traditions. Draya had been present at the Clanmeld year after year, listening to the Talgogroth recite the Law of the Challenge.

Since the Vindras had no written language, the Talgogroth—the Voice of Gogroth, God of the World Tree—was a man whose only task in life was to memorize the laws of the Vindrasi and recite them during the Clanmelds, meetings held annually in each clan. Every man fifteen years and older was required to attend the Clanmeld to hear the recitation. Thus no man could claim he was ignorant of the law.

For the first five days of a Clanmeld, the Talgogroth recited all the laws of the Vindrasi nation. Chiefs attended the Great Clanmeld held in Vindraholm every year. Men of the clans attended the Lesser Clanmelds held yearly when the Talgogroth, traveling from clan to clan, came to give them the law. Bone Priestesses were also required to attend the Clanmeld, for a Clan Chief might ask for the assistance of the gods if he felt uncertain on how to rule.

The day after the Torgun’s departure, thirteen days prior to the Vutmana, Draya paid a visit to the Talgogroth, to ask him to relate the Law of the Challenge, ostensibly to make certain she did not offend the gods by leaving out an essential part of the ritual. In truth, Draya needed to ask the Voice of Gogroth an important question.

The Talgogroth was named Balin, and he was about thirty-five. He had learned the law at his father’s knee, for his father had been the Talgogroth, as had his father before him. The Talgogroths were highly regarded among the Vindrasi. The Talgogroth was the only man exempt from fighting, for his knowledge was deemed too valuable to risk. Whenever the Chief of Chiefs sat in judgment, Balin stood at his side.

Balin had been expecting Draya, and he welcomed her cordially to his longhouse. He offered her food and drink, which she accepted to do honor to his house. She listened silently and patiently as he recited the Law of the Challenge and then went into all the details about where it was held, who could attend, how long the ceremonial cloth should be, what it should be made of, the roles of all the participants, and so on.

“Each fighter has three shields, kept for him by an unarmed shield-bearer who takes no part in the battle but provides replacement shields if a shield is broken,” Balin declaimed. “Each fighter strikes a single blow in turn, with the challenged party delivering the first blow. The fight continues until first blood is drawn, whereupon the Kai Priestess ends the fight, proclaiming that Torval has issued his judgment.”

Draya frowned slightly and raised her hand to stop the flow of words. “How is ‘first blood’ to be determined? I assume this does not mean a scratch on the cheek.”

“The Kai Priestess is the one who decides when first blood is drawn. Traditionally, the blood must be sufficient to spatter the cloth at the warriors’ feet.”

“I see.” Draya remained thoughtful.

“You must remember, lady,” Balin said gently, “that the Vutmana was established by the Kai to
avoid
the shedding of blood.”

“Yet the Vutmana is not the same now as it was when it was first established,” said Draya.

“The Vutmana we know today is very different from those described in the old songs,” Balin agreed.

“How exactly?” Draya asked. “I want to be clear on this.”

“For example, when the Vutmana was first established, two men could fight for any reason under the sun. The idea of a trial by combat became so popular, the Priestesses were doing nothing but watching warriors take swings at each other,” Balin told her.

“The Clan Chiefs were not happy about this. They were supposed to judge disputes, but increasingly the Chiefs were being bypassed by those wanting to bring their petty grievances to Torval. And then there was the problem that if anyone disagreed with a Chief’s judgment, the warrior could challenge the Chief to the Vutmana to try to overthrow him.

“After a few years of such chaos, the Kai decreed that the Vutmana would be used
only
to settle disputes that might lead to war
and
to determine who was to be the new Chief. Further, the challenger has to be willing to stake a goodly portion of his wealth on the outcome, to be given to the challenged if Torval rules in his favor.”

Balin reached for his lyre. “For example, in the lay known as ‘Gonegal’s Heart’ there is a verse that goes—”

“Perhaps another time, Balin,” Draya said politely, rising to take her leave.

Balin was a bard, as well as Talgogroth, and if permitted, he would spend the rest of the day singing his songs.

“I enjoy your music, as you know, sir,” Draya added, to take the sting out of her words, “but I must forgo all such pleasures until this important matter is settled. You do understand, don’t you?”

Balin inclined his head and regretfully laid his lyre aside. “I hope I have been of help to you, lady,” he said, rising in turn.

“Your help has been inestimable, sir. I thank you for your time.” Draya glanced at the lyre that resided in a place of honor near the fireside and said politely, “I hope you will compose a song in honor of this Vutmana, so that it will be remembered by our children.”

“That will depend, lady,” said Balin after a moment’s hesitation.

“On what?” Draya asked, smiling. “You bards make everything into a song.”

He regarded her sadly, then said, “Perhaps our children will not want to remember.”

The day of the Vutmana dawned clear and bright. The Sun Goddess Aylis seemed to leap out of the ocean, as though eager to watch the contest. Akaria was reluctant to lower her lantern; the moon was loath to set, but remained a pale orb in the sky until long after the sun had risen, before sinking down reluctantly.

The Torgun had arrived at Vindraholm the night before. No one was on the beach to greet them, but no one was there to oppose them, either. Norgaard understood. The hearts of the Heudjun were sore and bitter. Norgaard and his warriors camped on the beach and he’d placed strict limits on the amount of ale they consumed.

Horg and his cronies had also returned to the city. Horg had spent the time in the forest brooding over his perceived wrongs and reviling his unfaithful clansmen. His friends had soothed him and flattered him, assuring Horg he had been in the right. Sven was a coward, they said. Norgaard was an ambitious rival who would stop at nothing, while his whelp Skylan was all clamorous bark and no bite.

Horg’s friends had been quick to disabuse him of the pleasant notion that he would be fighting a cripple.

“Ten to one,” they said, “Norgaard will have his warrior son fight in his place.”

Horg shrugged it off. He would have liked to fight Norgaard, not only
because of the physical advantage, but also because of their clash over the dragonship. Horg had never forgiven Norgaard for withholding what Horg believed to be rightfully his.

Horg did not mind fighting Skylan. Thinking it over, Horg decided he preferred it. Norgaard was a sly old fox who would know all Horg’s little underhanded tricks and undoubtedly have a few of his own. Skylan was young and inexperienced, a notorious hothead who would make mistakes. Skylan lacked Horg’s advantage in height, nor was the young man as strong. Horg had been renowned during his days as a warrior for his ability to shatter a man’s shield with a single axe blow.

Horg’s hatred was a fire burning in his belly, a blaze so fierce and warming that he lived on it and forwent cider. He stoked the fire of his hatred by feeding it Draya and Sven and Norgaard and Skylan and all the other whoresons who conspired against him. When he was victorious, he would avenge himself on all of them. Horg spent his days practicing his skill with his axe.

Horg had not touched a drop of strong spirits in fourteen days, and he was in relatively good shape when he woke the morning of the Vutmana. He had shed some of the fat around his belly. His jawline had firmed and tightened. His eyes were clear, keen, focused. He was determined, resolved, and cold sober. He meant to win the Vutmana.

No man—and certainly no god—was going to stop him.

T
he Vutmana to determine the Chief of Chiefs was held in a place sacred to all the Vindrasi, a small grassy island located in a cove northwest of Vindraholm next to the estuary of Akaraflod. On this piece of ground, Thorgunnd had fought Krega, or so legend told. The island was known to this day as Krega’s Bane.

High cliffs surrounded the island, providing an ideal vantage point for spectators who would line the tops of the cliffs to watch the challenge taking place on the island below. The cliff’s steep rocky walls served to deter any overly enthusiastic supporters who might be tempted to join the fight.

Crowds had been gathering at the site for many days in advance of the event. Some people had walked or ridden miles in order to be present. The Chiefs of all the clans were there, escorted by their household guard, their honored warriors, and their Bone Priestesses. Dragonships and boats lined the beaches for miles. Each clan had established its own campsite, and their colorful banners floated in the strong sea breeze. The fierce Martegnan, Warriors of the Spear Steppes; the proud Svegund, Warriors of the North Shore; the clever Djevakfen, Warriors of the Land; the bold Olfet Margen, Warriors of the North Sea; and the skilled Luknar, comprising two clans who had joined together: Warriors of the South Bay and the Forge Masters.

The Clan Chiefs, as witnesses, were given the best vantage points. They took their places near the cliff’s edge, where they could look down upon the island. The Bone Priestesses gathered nearby, their embroidered robes making a bright splash of color against the gray rock.

The leading warriors of the Heudjun and Torgun Clans were given places of prominence. The two groups stood as far apart as possible, neither acknowledging the presence of the other. Sven Teinar led the Heudjun contingent. Sigurd Adalbrand headed the Torgun.

Bone Priestess of the Heudjun, Fria Teinar, and Bone Priestess of the Torgun, Treia Adalbrand, stood in between the two groups of men. Their presence was indicative of the Kai solidarity. They were also there to stop any trouble that might erupt between the two clans.

The Heudjun were grim and silent, struggling with conflicting feelings. The Heudjun disliked Horg intensely and would have been glad to see him lose, but, at the same time, they did not want the Torgun to win. For their part, the Torgun were in good spirits. Torval was on their side.

There had been some grumbling among the Torgun to the effect that because the Kai Priestess was also Horg’s wife, Draya would be prejudiced in favor of her husband and might give the fight to him. Men brought their complaints to Norgaard. He was angry and denounced those who doubted her.

“I have known the Kai Priestess for many years, and I know Draya to be a woman of honor,” he stated. “Draya is dedicated to the gods. She is Kai Priestess first and Horg’s wife second. She will uphold the judgment of the Torval. She must uphold it, or be god-cursed herself.”

This quieted the talk, if it did not quiet men’s doubts.

The remainder of the Vindrasi people who had come to see the fight found places for themselves wherever they could, crowding the tops of the cliffs, shoving and jostling to get a better view, so that a small boy slipped and nearly fell to certain death on the rocks below. He was saved by a warrior’s
quick-thinking grab. The Bone Priestesses, taking heed of this near tragedy, ordered men from each clan to form a cordon along the top of the cliffs, warning everyone away from the edge.

The crowd was in a festive mood, greeting friends and kinsmen from other clans they had not seen in years, relating joyful news of those who had been born and sad news of those who had died. Everyone was dressed in their finest. Weapons were prohibited, but the men wore their silver armbands and golden chains, which spoke to their valor. Women pinned their apron-dresses with their finest brooches. Children ran about underfoot. Dogs barked and chased the children. Ale skins were passed from hand to hand. Then all talking and laughing stopped. The
Venjekar
, bearing the Kai Priestess, the two combatants, and their shield-bearers, came into view.

The ship used in the ceremony would ordinarily have belonged to a neutral clan, but according to Treia, the Dragon Kahg insisted on being present and, given his anger over the loss of the Vektan Torque, none were inclined to argue with him. The dragon’s eyes, gleaming fire, cast a red pall over the crowd and impressed upon them the serious nature of this contest. Women ceased their gossip and latched on to their children. Men dropped the ale skins to the ground and stood with their arms folded across their chests. Silence fell, tense and uneasy. The scraping of the keel of the dragonship against the rocks could be clearly heard.

Draya stood at the ship’s prow, her hand upon the curved neck of the dragon. The warriors stood behind her. She looked ahead, not behind, careful not to acknowledge any of the combatants. The reason she gave for this was that she did not want to be accused of favoritism. In truth, she could not bear looking at Horg.

The
Venjekar
made landfall upon the small island, the Dragon Kahg guiding it to a gentle landing. Draya made ready to leave the ship, for she had to prepare and sanctify the ground where the two would fight. The shield-bearers, Garn and one of Horg’s friends named Rulf, lowered the gangplank and stood by, ready to assist Draya to descend.

She stared at the gangplank, which was nothing but a long wooden board, in dismay. She had not sailed with a dragonship for many years. Her stomach was queasy, she was unsteady on her feet, and the gangplank, resting on the rocks, shifted with the motion of the ship. Sea spray blew into Draya’s face and stung her eyes. She would have to walk along the narrow plank, encumbered by her long skirts and the heavy ceremonial surcoat. She pictured herself slipping and falling into the sea, the waves catching hold of her and smashing her body against the sharp rocks. She went cold and sick with dread.