Doom of the Dragon (53 page)

“But I did know my mother,” she said.

Skylan looked at her, puzzled.

“I never told you this,” she continued, slightly flushing, “but I have a very vivid memory of her. My brother and I were about eight years old. We were in a garden playing with wooden swords when we saw a beautiful woman walk out of a shrine. She was wearing dragon-scale armor that glittered like jewels in the sunlight and she showed us a sword that she said a goddess had given to her. She spoke to us and asked our names. She looked at us with so much love…”

Holma smiled at the memory, then she shrugged. “A dream, I suppose. But it seemed very real. Especially the love in her eyes. And what is even odder is that Skylanson had the very same dream.”

“You never told me,” said Skylan.

“We saw that talking about our mother made you sad,” said Holma. “And then, growing up, I forgot about it. I just remembered it tonight.”

Skylan thought he knew why she had remembered the dream this night. He brought her close and gave her a kiss on her forehead.

“You have my blessing,” he said to her. “And your mother's.”

Holma was taken aback. She observed him, troubled. “Is something wrong, Father?”

Skylan shook his head and smiled. “Perhaps, for the first time in my life, everything is right. You should go. Your friends are calling for you.”

Holma kissed him and then, laughing, went off to join them. Skylan's gaze went to his son. Skylanson was engaged in an animated discussion with some of the other Vindrasi chiefs who had traveled to the Torgun village, which was now one of the most prosperous in Vindraholm.

In the old days, Skylan thought, they would have been talking of war and their glorious deeds in battle. His son and the others were talking of cattle and crops and better ways of marking boundaries on land so that there would be fewer disputes.

All changes for the better. Skylan would not have said so when he was young, but he had grown in wisdom since then.

His son saw him and he smiled and winked and very slightly rolled his eyes. One of the chiefs was arguing over something about which he knew nothing. Skylanson was a diplomat; he knew how to handle men, persuade them to his way of thinking. A good man, Skylanson made a good leader of men. Skylan was proud of him.

Silently, he gave his son a father's blessing, then got up out of the chair with only a slight grimace as one of his knees creaked. His hair was iron gray now, but he was fit and strong and could keep up with any man in the hunt. He could still teach the young ones how to handle a sword and how to stand in the shield wall.

Skylan signaled to Farinn, who was sitting at a table with his own son. Farinn looked unhappy, but he rose to his feet and came to join Skylan. Leaving the warmth and the laughter of the longhouse behind, the two men walked out beneath the stars.

The night was clear. The moon was full and bright. The air was chill from the snow in the mountains, but a warm breeze ruffled Skylan's hair, promising spring.

“You are determined to do this,” said Farinn.

“I am,” said Skylan.

Farinn sighed deeply.

The two walked down to the shore. The seas were calm, shining silver, rippling black. They crossed the beach, passing the fishing boats drawn up on the sand and climbed among the rocks until they came to a small, tree-lined inlet.

Skylan jumped down off the rocks onto the narrow strip of shore. Farinn followed more slowly.

“How is your history of our people coming?” Skylan asked, starting to burrow through a pile of what appeared to be refuse left behind by a flood: driftwood, broken branches, brush.

“Very well,” said Farinn, cheering at the thought.

He had undertaken to write down all the old songs and stories of the Vindrasi so that they would not be forgotten. He also was writing a true account of their adventures during their quest for the spiritbones, an account that was not “gilded by poetry.”

Farinn had asked Skylan if he wanted him to read it to him. Skylan had refused. He could not quite get over his belief that reducing a story to lines and setting it down on paper sucked the life out of it.

Farinn helped him remove the pile of branches and brush and, slowly, they uncovered the old
Venejekar
, lying on its side on the beach. Skylan grabbed hold of the dragonhead prow and Farinn took the stern and between them they tilted the dragonship upright. They were about to carry it into the shallow water when a pile of fishnet on the shore began to move.

“Skylan!” Farinn hissed in alarm. “Someone is hiding in there.”

Skylan, looking grim, walked over to the pile of net and gave it a kick.

“Come out,” he ordered.

A boy of about eleven stood up and threw off the netting and yawned. The boy was dressed in ragged clothes that were too big for him. His hair fell over his face and he glared through the tangle at Skylan.

“Where have you been? I thought you were never coming!”

“Is that … Wulfe?” Farinn asked, astonished.

“Is that … Farinn?” said Wulfe, mimicking him. He frowned. “You're like Skylan. You got old.”

“Happens to all of us,” said Skylan. He eyed Wulfe. “Well, at least most of us.”

“I tried being old once,” said Wulfe, adding with a shrug, “I didn't like it.”

He scampered on board the dragonship and, leaning over the hull, began to talk to several oceanids and a couple of dryads who had wandered out of the forest to see what was going on.

Skylan boarded the
Venejekar
and began inspecting it, regarding his work with pride. The dragonship looked very much as it looked fifty years ago. He had spent a long time repairing the old ship, making it like new again.

“What is Wulfe doing here?” Farinn asked in a low voice as he helped Skylan haul his sea chest on board.

“He is sailing with me,” said Skylan.

He opened the sea chest and took out the spiritbone of the Dragon Kahg. Walking over to the prow, Skylan hung the the bone, still in its leather thong, on the nail.

“How did the boy know you were leaving?” Farinn asked, trailing after Skylan.

“The fae,” said Skylan. “You know what gossips they are. The oceanids have been watching me work on the ship.”

Skylan rested his hand on the spiritbone. Memories came alive at his touch, causing him to look up at the head of the Dragon Kahg. The eyes glowed fierce, fiery red.

“The dragon…” Farinn stared, awed.

“He left his spiritbone with me,” said Skylan. “He knew one day I would make this voyage and that he would come with me.”

“Kahg says he's ready to leave,” Wulfe announced.

Skylan turned to Farinn. “You should go now, my friend. I need to set sail before they miss me.”

“What do I tell your children?” Farinn asked unhappily. “Your people?”

“They must not grieve for me. My song has not ended. It has just begun.”

Skylan stood at the prow, his hands gripping the rail, his legs braced. The seawater broke over him, cooled him. He tasted the salt on his lips. He touched the amulet.

“Torval, let Aylaen know I am coming to her. Wherever she is, I will find her.”

Farinn waded back to the shore alone and stood watching as the
Venejekar
glided out of the shadows of the alcove and sailed onto the bright, silver-gilded sea.

The final voyage of Skylan Ivorson, the last and greatest Chief of Chiefs.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The description of Raegar's war galley is taken from an actual ship known as
The Forty
, built for Ptolemy IV in the third century.
The Forty
is described by Plutarch in his
Life of Demetrios
:

Ptolemy Philopator built [a ship] of forty banks of oars, which had a length of two hundred and eighty cubits, and a height, to the top of her stern, of forty-eight; she was manned by four hundred sailors, who did no rowing, and by four thousand rowers, and besides these she had room, on her gangways and decks, for nearly three thousand men-at-arms.

Lionel Casson, in his book
Ships and Seamanship in the Ancient World
(Princeton University Press, 1971), theorizes that
The Forty
was a giant catamaran, consisting of two galleys connected by a level platform on which catapults could be mounted.

—M.W.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Margaret Weis
and
Tracy Hickman
have been the all-time bestselling fantasy collaborators for more than thirty years. Coauthors of dozens of novels, games, and other fantasy media, they first gained fame in 1984 with the first novel in the Dragonlance Chronicles trilogy,
Dragons of Autumn Twilight
. Their books have sold tens of millions of copies worldwide.
Doom of the Dragon
is the fourth and final book in the Dragonships of Vindras series. Margaret Weis lives in Wisconsin; Tracy Hickman lives in Utah.

 

You can sign up for email updates on Margaret Weis
here
.

You can sign up for email updates on Tracy Hickman
here
.

 

Tor Books by
Margaret Weis
and
Tracy Hickman

DRAGONSHIPS OF VINDRAS

Bones of the Dragon

Secret of the Dragon

Rage of the Dragon

Doom of the Dragon

 

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Tom Doherty Associates ebook.

 

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CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright Notice