Black snakes, water snakes, brown snakes, green snakes, all kind and manner of snake writhed and coiled and hissed and curled and slithered. Manta and her troops had fled, jumping into the water. The Aquin guards must have followed, for they were nowhere to be seen. The wounded Warrior-Priest had regained consciousness and was flailing about on the floor, trying to hurl off the snakes that were crawling over him.
Wulfe stood in the middle, snakes coiling about his shins, gaping in wonder. Catching sight of Skylan, the boy made a flying leap for him and climbed Skylan as he would have climbed a tree.
“Are any of those poisonous?” Skylan demanded.
“No. Yes. Maybe…” Wulfe had hold of Skylan around the neck, his legs around Skylan’s waist. “It’s not my fault. That stupid serpent on his head gave me the idea.”
Skylan would have liked to ask the Warrior-Priest what he thought of serpents now, but there wasn’t time. The godlord, coming up behind him, began to swear. The shaman gabbled. Skylan hoped to Torval the shaman wasn’t going to cast one of his foul spells.
Their only way out was the sea and to reach the stone stairs they had to traverse the snake-ridden floor. And all of them were barefoot.
Skylan attached his sword to the belt loop and draped it over his head. Carrying Wulfe piggyback, Skylan jumped and hopped, trying to avoid snakes, looking for any patch of open floor. That proved impossible and he cringed, his flesh crawling, as he felt snakes wriggling beneath his feet. He could see them striking at him with their fangs and he waited grimly for the first signs that he had been poisoned. He and Farinn and the ogres leaped and staggered and swore and kicked their way across.
Skylan didn’t bother with the stairs. Manta and her warriors were waiting for them below, as were the oceanaids, all of them fending off the snakes that were slithering down the stairs into the water. Skylan flung Wulfe into the sea and threw himself in after him. He surfaced to see the oceanaids surrounding Wulfe, laughing heartily.
Farinn jumped next. Skylan caught hold of him. The godlord landed with a gigantic splash and kept on going, sinking beneath the water. The shaman stood teetering on the edge, his fear of the water vying with his desire to escape. He either jumped or slipped, for he fell down clawing at the air and landed on his belly with a stinging splat. He went down with a strangled cry, leaving a trail of bubbles.
“You’ll have to go rescue the ogres,” said Skylan to Manta.
She shouted to several of her women, who dove down to find the ogres.
“The dolphins are waiting to carry you and your friend back to the First City,” Manta told him. “You can take my breathing device for your friend.” She divested herself of the clamshell and helped Skylan strap it onto Farinn.
“You are a brave warrior,” Skylan said to her.
“So are you, Vindrasi,” she said, adding with a sly smile, “for a male.”
The Aquin warriors returned from the depths, bringing up the ogre godlord. His eyes were bulging, his face purple. He gave a great gasp when his head broke the surface and he hung there, too weak to do anything to help himself. The Aquins didn’t dare let go for fear he would sink again. The shaman floated naked in the water. The dive had finished off his black feather cape.
“Will your people see to it these two reach land?” Skylan asked. “According to Farinn, they warned him of the ambush they had set for us. We owe our lives to them.”
“We do not like ogres, but we do not let any living being drown if we can save them. Though I do think it is odd we found them here,” Manta said with a frown.
Skylan was involved in readjusting the sword belt, trying to find a way to wear the sword so that the tip would not stab him or the dolphin carrying him back to the
Venjekar
.
“Why?” he asked. “What’s odd?”
“I could have sworn I saw both of them lying dead at the bottom of the sea,” said Manta.
“Ogres all look alike,” said Skylan.
“Not one wearing black feathers,” said Manta. She shrugged, not truly interested. “Perhaps I was seeing things.”
Skylan did not have time to give the matter further thought. They had already lingered here too long. Panicked shouts and yells from the dungeon indicated that the Aquins who had entered from the land-side had discovered Wulfe’s snakes.
“You looked really funny leaping around, trying to dodge snakes,” Wulfe said with a giggle.
Skylan remembered the feel of snakes writhing beneath his feet and he shuddered.
“The next time I ask you to work a magic spell, just run a sword through me. It will be easier.”
Wulfe frowned. “You know I can’t touch iron.”
Skylan hid his smile. “Swim back to Aylaen. Tell her to meet us at the
Venjekar
. And take your blasted oceanaids with you. Oh, and thank them for dealing with those warriors,” he added grudgingly.
Wulfe swam off. The oceanaids waved good-bye; a few gave him fond pats, and then followed their princeling.
“The dolphins are here to take you back,” Manta said.
“Thank you, Manta. For everything. I will pray to the Sea Goddess that war does not come to your people,” Skylan said. “If you must fight, pray to Torval. He heeds the prayers of valiant warriors.”
“I hope it does not come to that,” said Manta fervently. “But I will remember. Farewell, Vindrasi, and good luck.”
* * *
Manta and her warriors swam off, hauling the half-drowned ogres with them. Skylan instructed Farinn on how to swim with the dolphins and was about to adjust the breathing mask on his face when an Aquin woman swam up from beneath.
“Kailani!” Farinn gasped, sank, and sucked in a breath that got mixed with water.
Skylan drew the bone knife. Kailani made a clicking sound and the dolphins left Skylan and swam to her. Farinn was choking and coughing, spitting out sea water.
“Put away your weapon, Vindrasi,” Kailani said. “I mean you no harm and I might do some good. I ask only that you listen to me.”
Skylan didn’t have much choice. He had no way to communicate with the dolphins.
Farinn was flushed, both from near drowning and embarrassment. Kailani regarded him sadly. “I wanted to tell you I am sorry,” she said, grasping his hand and keeping hold of it when he tried to pull free. “I do truly care for you. I was not acting. I wanted very much to make love to you.”
Farinn cast an embarrassed glance at Skylan and kept his eyes lowered.
“You have had your say,” said Skylan coldly. “If you do care about him, release our dolphins.”
Kailani ignored him, spoke only to Farinn. “I thought about the story you told me about the tattoo and how Aelon inflicted pain if you did not heed his commands. It seems gods should want to ease our pain, not cause it. We inflict enough pain on each other.”
Kailani’s voice was filled with sorrow. She reached out her hand to Farinn. “Will you forgive me?”
Farinn flushed red. He took her hand and she brushed his cheek with a kiss. She clicked commands to the dolphins, who swam back to Skylan.
“One thing more, Vindrasi,” Kailani said, shifting her gaze to Skylan. “You were not the only target of the ambush. They knew you would come to rescue Farinn. While you are gone, they plan to kill your wife.”
CHAPTER
35
Manta and her warriors carried the ogres to a small island, little more than a sandbar with a single tree, and left them in the shallow water.
“Sinarian fishermen ply their trade in the waters near here,” Manta told them. “You will not be marooned here long.”
This was not likely to bring much comfort to the ogres, who had invaded Sinaria and would likely be killed by Sinarians, not rescued. The two ogres did not appear to mind, however. They thanked Manta and her warriors and the shaman blessed them in the name of the Gods of Raj.
“Perhaps you might be interested in hearing more about the Gods of Raj,” the shaman said.
Manta and her warriors rolled their eyes and left them.
The godlord and the shaman splashed among the ocean waves. Dripping wet, they trudged onto the beach and threw themselves down in the sunshine, puffing and blowing, glad to be out of the water. The shaman plucked off the last few black feathers of his cloak and tossed them aside. The godlord waved to a woman, who had been sitting at her ease in the shade of the lone tree.
“The way you two are carrying on, one would think you could actually drown,” said the woman, leaving the shade to join them.
The woman was not an ogre. She was a human with skin as dark and glistening as jet. She had black hair that she wore in myriad small, tightly bound braids elaborately wound about her head and trailing down her back. She was slender and long-legged, dressed in a long leather tunic and leather boots. Her features were lovely, except for the astonishing fact that she had what appeared to be three eyes: two large and lustrous brown eyes placed on either side of her nose, where eyes should be, and the third eye, round and white-rimmed with a red iris, in the center of her forehead.
On closer observation, one could see that the third eye was painted on the woman’s forehead. This eye was known as the “world eye” and the woman was a Cyclops, a race old as time. The world eye was painted onto the forehead when a male or female Cyclops came of age at sixteen. The world eye was said to give the Cyclops the ability to see inside the minds of others, and indeed the Cyclops race was noted and feared for their uncanny ability to know what others were thinking.
The realm of the Cyclops bordered the lands of the ogre kingdom. The two races had been at war over disputed territory along the border for so long that this land was known as the Bloodlands by both races. No one could remember a time when ogres and Cyclops had not been killing each other over it.
“You get accustomed to these mortal bodies,” said the godlord. “You start to feel what they feel.”
“And you have no right to talk,” said the shaman, eyeing the Cyclops. “Once you took that body, you have not left it.”
The godlord was not, in truth, an ogre godlord. He was not even an ogre. Neither was the ogre shaman. The Cyclops was not really a Cyclops. Manta had spoken the truth when she claimed to have seen the ogres lying dead on the bottom of the ocean floor. The two had fallen into the water when the kraken attacked their ship and had almost immediately drowned.
The three were gods, the Gods of Raj.
The Cyclops grinned, her teeth white against her dark complexion. She sank down with easy grace onto the sand. She wore earrings of gold and her head was decorated with beads and feathers that sparkled in the sunlight.
“You went down beneath the sea to meet these mortals who so terrify the mad god, Sund,” the Cyclops said. “Did you succeed?”
“We did not find the woman,” said the shaman. “But we spoke to the male. I forget his name.”
“Skylan Ivorson,” the godlord reminded him.
“What do you think of him?” asked the Cyclops.
“A dangerous man. He is loyal and brave, however, a man of honor,” said the godlord.
“He is a young hothead,” said the shaman.
“Who rescued us when he could have left us,” the godlord pointed out.
The shaman shrugged and plucked a black feather off his arm.
“Sounds like a mortal Torval would like.” The Cyclops gave a sardonic smile. “The question is: can this Skylan do what Sund fears he will do? Can he succeed in finding the Five spiritbones of the Vektia? And what do
we
do if he does? We might well be forced to leave this pretty world we found.”
“As I have pointed out before now,” said the shaman dryly, “we never missed the power of creation until we found out we didn’t have it.”
“That is true,” conceded the godlord. “We have succeeded in eradicating many of the bloodthirsty practices that were destroying the ogres. Our followers are now thriving. Work continues, of course, but overall I am pleased with our progress.”
“My mortals have accepted us and are adapting to our worship,” said the Cyclops. “As you say, however, our work among them continues.” She sighed deeply. “We are fighting against centuries of hatred and blood feuds and mistrust. The power of creation might prove useful.”
“Our main goal should be to keep the power out of Aelon’s grasping little hands,” the shaman said grimly. “A thousand pities our attack on Sinaria failed. I fear the ogres will start to lose faith in us.”
“We must prepare our shamans to deal with the outcry,” said the godlord, and he heaved a sigh.
“And I fear once the Cyclops hear of the defeat they will take advantage of what they perceive to be the ogres’ weakness to raid across the border,” said the Cyclops.
The three sat in gloomy silence, broken only by the sounds of the waves lapping on the shore.
“Much work lies ahead of us,” said the shaman. Slapping his bony knees, he rose to his feet. “I suggest we go about our business and let be what will be—for the moment at least.”
“What of this Skylan?” asked the godlord. “He could be a threat to us.”
The Cyclops brushed the sand from her tunic. Her golden earrings jangled as she laughed and tapped her forehead.
“Do not worry, friends. I will keep my ‘eye’ upon Skylan Ivorson.”
CHAPTER
36
Aylaen had not been back to the
Venjekar
since the attack by the kraken. How many days had that been? She had no idea. She had lost track of time because in this world, time seemed brief as a heartbeat and long as forever. She wondered if the Dragon Kahg had remained with the ship and she was relieved to see the familiar sight of the red glint in the dragon’s eye.
Queen Magali, with Commander Neda and her guards, accompanied Aylaen to the dragonship. The queen made a graceful salute to the Dragon Kahg, who seemed pleased by the attention. The red in the eyes warmed.
Commander Neda did not seem that enamored of the dragon, for she posted warriors armed with spears and tridents at the prow with apparent orders to keep an eye on Kahg. The warriors attached themselves with tethers wrapped around the dragon’s neck to keep from floating off. Aylaen had the impression Kahg found this more amusing than offensive.