Margaret Weis - Secret of the Dragon (Dragonships of Vindras)

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imaginations or are used fictitiously.

SECRET OF THE DRAGON

Copyright 2010 by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman

All rights reserved.

A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Tor is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN 978-0-7653-1974-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7653-2692-8 (first international trade paperback edition)

First Edition: March 2010

Printed in the United States of America

0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Brian Thomsen,
with much affection

Tor Books by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman

Bones of the Dragon
Secret of the Dragon

I am Farinn the Talgogroth, the Voice of Gogroth, God of the World Tree. Attend me! For now I will tell the tale of Skylan Ivorson, Chief of Chiefs of the Vindrasi, the greatest of the Chiefs. He paused and then said, with a sigh, The greatest and the last.

The pause was for dramatic effect. The sigh was genuine. Farinn the Talgogroth was an old, old man, the oldest in the Vindrasi nation. Being a Talgogroth, he knew the history of the Vindrasi, and he maintained proudly that he was the oldest Torgun who had ever lived, reckoning that he had seen eighty-five years. He was the only living Vindrasi who had actually known and sailed with the fabled Skylan Ivorson on his epic voyage in the dragonship that was now almost as legendary as its master, the Venjekar.

There was some bustle in the hall, as the women poured mugs of ale, then sat down on the long bench beside their men. Children ceased romping and ran to sit on the floor in front of the Talgogroth so as not to miss a word, for the old mans voiceonce a vibrant tenornow tended to be thin and cracked. The Vindrasi had heard this story many times before, but it was one of their favorites and they never tired of listening. Every child there, boy and girl, dreamed of growing up to be a hero like Skylan or Garn or Aylaen or Bjorn or Erdmun or the others whose names rang through the hall.

All now dead. All except the one who had been the youngest on that voyage. The old man regarded the children with wistful sorrow.

The tale he told could be likened to a tapestry in which bright colored threads were stitched close together to form a stirring and beautiful picture of brave men and women doing battle with fearsome enemies. Viewed from the front, the tapestry appeared flawless. Every stitch was perfectly sewn, each thread blending together in harmony with every other thread to form a wondrous picture.

Seen from the back, the picture was not as pretty. The embroidery that was smooth and beautiful and glowing on the front looked broken and fragmented when viewed from the other side. Threads were knotted, snarled, or tangled. Some of the threads had snapped and had to be tied to other threads. If the strand had frayed, the thread was pulled out and tossed away and another, stronger thread used in its place.

Farinn the Talgogroth told the tale as seen from the front. He knew quite well that if the people saw it from the back, no one would ever want to listen to it. All men need heroes and they need their heroes to be perfect; never mind that it is the knots in the threads on the back of the tapestry that make the work strong and enduring.

The Talgogroths grandson, who was now in his forties and would be Talgogroth when his grandfather died (Farinn had outlived both his sons), brought the old man a mug of ale. Farinn took a drink, to ease the dryness in his throat, and began to speak.

Hear now the tale of Skylan Ivorson, son of Norgaard Ivorson, Chief of the Torgun during the time of what would become known as the Last War, the War of the Gods.

Skylan Ivorson had seen eighteen winters when the first spark of the raging fire that would eventually consume the world was struck. Ogres, sailing in their ships with the triangle sails, crossed the sea and landed on Torgun shores. The ogres did not come to fight, as you would expect. They came to parley and Norgaard Ivorson, as Chief, had no choice but to make them welcome as his honored guests.

The ogres brought dire news. They told the Torgun that the gods of the Vindrasi had been defeated in a great battle in heaven. They said the gods of the Vindrasi were now dead. To prove what he said was true, the Torgun godlord came to the feast wearing the sacred Vektan Torque, the spiritbone of one of the Vektia Dragons. The torque had been given to the Vindrasi by the dragon goddess, Vindrash, and was valuable beyond all measure. Horg Thekkson, Chief of Chiefs of the Vindrasi, of the Heudjun clan, had given the torque to the ogres.

The children interrupted, hissing and booing at this point. Horg was the villain of the tale, at least at the beginning.

Tangled threads, thought Farinn as he waited for the clamor to die down. So many tangled threads.

Horg claimed he gave the torque to the ogres to prevent them from attacking the Heudjun, an act of cowardice and dishonor that would bring down on him the wrath of Torval.

The children clapped at this juncture and leaned forward eagerly. They all knew what was coming.

The Torgun lit a beacon fire, asking their neighbors, the Heudjun, for help to defeat the ogres in battle. The Heudjun did not come. Skylan was war chief of his people, for his father, Norgaard, was crippled by wounds of honor, taken in battle. Skylan led his warriors against the ogres. The Bone Priestess, who was then Treia Adalbrand, summoned the Dragon Kahg, and the Torgun defeated their foe, though they were outnumbered a hundred to one.

Farinn smiled to himself. That was not quite true, but it made for a good story.

Alas, though it seemed the Torgun won, in truth they lost, for the treacherous ogres used foul shamanistic magic to steal the sacred Vektan Torque. The ogres sailed away with the Torque and there was nothing the Torgun could do to stop them.

The Torgun turned their wrath upon their cousins, the Heudjun, who had failed to come to their aid in a time of desperate need. Norgaard, Chief of the Torgun, determined to challenge Horg Thekkson in the Vutmana, a battle sanctioned by the gods in which one chief may challenge another to determine who has the strongest claim to be Chief of Chiefs.

Norgaard was a cripple and could not fight, and the law states that a Chief may choose a champion to fight in his stead. Norgaard chose Skylan, his son, to do battle. The Torgun warriors sailed across the Gymir Fjord to confront the Heudjun. Draya, Kai Priestess, revealed to the Heudjun that Horg had given the Vektan Torque to the ogres; the Torque had not been stolen as he had basely claimed. She called upon Torval, god of the Vindrasi, to judge Horg.

Horg Thekkson and Skylan Ivorson fought the Vutmana

Sing the story of the battle! cried a little boy.

Another time, said Farinn gently.

Long ago, he had composed a lay that told the tale of the epic battle. His song detailed every heroic sword thrust and parry. But Farinn disliked singing the lay and avoided it when possible. He had known when he was composing it that the story he told was a lie. He had kept silent out of respect, and now he was the only one who knew the truth. He would carry the secret of what had truly happened during that battle to his grave.