Rage of the Dragon by Margaret Weis

Sigurd. Then he asked the question that had been on everyone’s mind, though no one had mentioned it. “What do we do with Treia?”
    “Throw her to the sharks,” Wulfe muttered.
    “They would be better off throwing you to the sharks, acursed foe,” Treia hissed. The others had been so intent on their plans, they had not heard Treia emerge from the hold. She now walked slowly across the deck. With her weak eyes, she found it difficult to see where she was going. She was shivering in her wet priestess robes—robes that reminded everyone she was a traitor, a priestess for an enemy god. She had pulled her hair back and tied it behind her head. Her face was a pinched, rigid white mask with dark holes for eyes. Skylan decided that Keeper looked more alive.
    Skylan was inclined to agree with Wulfe as to what to do with her, but he couldn’t. Aylaen would never forgive him. He glanced at Aylaen, assuming she would do what she had always done in the past: support her sister. He was surprised when Aylaen did not stir. She remained standing with her hand protectively on Wulfe’s shoulder. The men were looking at Treia and shifting uncomfortably. No one knew what to say.
    “You are all fools if you think Vindrash sent you a ship!” Treia gave a contemptuous snort. She pointed her bony finger. “I will tell you who sent this ship. Death sent it and that is where this ship will take you! Raegar will find you. He is out there. He will find you.”
    She folded her arms across her chest and stood defiantly, gazing into the thinning mist.
    Sigurd walked over to Skylan, jerked a thumb at Treia. “Well, what about her?”
    “Treia stays with us,” Skylan said, knowing even as he uttered the words, he would regret it.
    “Good.” Sigurd grunted. “I’d sooner set sail with a hold full of vipers.” He hesitated, then said uneasily, “You don’t believe her, do you? What she said about the ship?”
    “She speaks for a god who enslaved us,” said Skylan dismissively. He grinned at Sigurd. “Are you afraid of Raegar?”
    Sigurd grinned back and replied with a fairly detailed account of what Raegar could do to himself, then began shouting orders.
    The Torgun set to work. Some hauled supplies from the Venjekar ’s hold to the ogre ship, which Sigurd had named Torval’s Fist, for the god’s hand had swept away the ogres. Others boarded the ogre ship to try, as Sigurd said, to figure out how the damn thing worked. The Vindrasi were accustomed to their sleek, swift dragonship, with its single mast and sail and banks of oars. The ogre ship was far larger, bulky and poorly built, with an odd-looking triangular sail and a rat’s nest of rigging. The ogres had not had time to put the oars into the water before they were attacked, apparently, for the oars had not been fitted into the oarlocks. The Vindrasi stared in dismay at the gigantic oars that would take two humans to wield even one, and prayed to Torval that the wind would hold.
    Skylan was about to go onto the ogre ship to help.
    Aylaen blocked his way.
    “You think you’re going to send me with Sigurd,” she said with a defiant toss of her head. “Well, you’re not.”
    “Aylaen—” Skylan began.
    “I won’t leave, Skylan,” Aylaen said. “My wyrd is also bound to the Venjekar . I’m Bone Priestess now. You need me to summon the Dragon Kahg.”
    Skylan led her off to the dragonhead prow where they could speak in private.
    “You must take the spiritbone of the Vektia with you, Aylaen. No, wait, listen to me,” he said, seeing her eyes flash. “You will take the spiritbone and sail with Sigurd. I will draw off Raegar. He will come after me.”
    “And he will kill you!” Aylaen said. “You said yourself he has fifty warriors on his ship!”
    “He has to catch me first,” said Skylan, grinning. “I travel light. His fifty warriors make for a heavy load.”
    “Be serious!” Aylaen said angrily.
    “I am serious, Aylaen,” said Skylan. He took hold of her