The Dragonstone (6 page)

Egil took a deep breath and gradually let it out, and handed her the empty cup. “Then it is as I feared: I am now Egil One-Eye.”

Slowly Arin nodded.

*   *   *

As morning drew upon the land ’neath overcast skies, Egil slipped back into a restless sleep. Arin returned to her seat by the fire, and time passed.

There came a tapping on the door.

Golden Aiko opened her eyes.

Again came the tapping.

Taking swords in hand, Aiko rose to her feet. She
looked at Arin staring intently at the flames, for the moment completely oblivious to her surroundings. Aiko padded to the door and opened it. Thar stood there, a serving girl behind him bearing a great tray on which was piled eggs and rashers, tea and toast, jams and butter.

Thar looked at the yellow woman in black chemise, a baleful red tiger staring out, then said, “Would ye break y’r fast wi’ me?”

Aiko stepped aside and gestured him in with her shorter blade.

Thar crossed to the bed and took Egil’s pulse as the serving girl, amid rattling crockery, scurried into the room and set the tray on the sideboard table and distributed the dishes along its length while darting quick glances at the golden warrior and her gleaming swords. When she had finished, she excused herself with a hurried bounce of a curtsey and fled from the chamber.

By this time Arin was on her feet. Aiko glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. Arin shook her head,
No,
and moved to the side of Egil’s bed opposite Thar.

“Strong and steady,” said Thar, lowering Egil’s hand back to the cover. He felt Egil’s forehead. “Fever’s down and he seems t’ be resting well enough.” Thar looked up at Arin. “But ye, ye look drawn; did ye get any sleep at all, my dear?”

At this familiarity of address, Aiko growled, “
Bureina yabanjin,
” low in her throat and started forward, but with a gesture of negation, Arin waved her back.

*   *   *

As they sat in the midst of breakfast, Alos awoke, the old man gummily smacking his lips and blearily staring about. When his good eye fell upon Aiko, he shrieked and scrambled away from her, crawling on hands and bony knees toward the door to escape, only to scrawk and clutch his hands to himself when he discovered he was naked. “My clothes! Someone has stolen my clothes!” he sniveled. Ineffectual in his modesty and still on his hands and knees, back to the pallet he scuttled, where he snatched up his blanket and, struggling, wrapped it ’round his scrawny self, all the while keeping his one good eye on Aiko, as if she would attack.

Thar cackled in glee; Aiko stared in loathing. Smiling, Arin stood, and at this movement the oldster cowered down and threw up a warding hand. “Don’t hit me!”

“I was not thinking of striking thee, Alos, but instead of inviting thee to break thy fast with us.” She gestured toward the laden table.

Anticipation flickering across his face, Alos craned his neck up and peered at the food on the sideboard. “Be there any morning ale? No?” His countenance fell, then perked up again. “Wine? A hearty breakfast wine perhaps?”

Aiko snorted in disgust, but Arin said, “Nay, Alos. Neither ale nor wine nor brandy nor spirits of any sort. Yet there is food aplenty and tea to drink.”

Alos sighed and muttered, “Tea? Just tea?”

“Wilt thou join us, friend?”

“Friend?” Alos looked up at her in surprise.

Arin smiled.

“Well”—Alos struggled to his feet and hitched the blanket tighter about—“perhaps I will have a bite to eat.” He cast a glare at Aiko and ran a hand over his bald pate, wincing when he discovered the sore knot atop his head. “But only if you keep that yellow demon off, her and her torturing ways.”

Aiko bristled—“
Inu!
”—and started to gain her feet, and Alos cowered hindward, but at a sharp word from Arin, Aiko settled back. Then the Dylvana turned her gaze upon the old man and smiled, and Alos, taking that as a promise of protection, stepped to the table and took up a plate, all the while muttering under his breath: “…like to have rubbed me raw, she did…like to have torn my balls off, too…and gouged loose my teeth…. — And another thing…”

Quiet laughter came from the bed, and then an “Ooo, but it hurts to smile.” Arin turned. Egil was awake.

“Wouldst thou break fast with us, Egil?”

Egil nodded. “Aye, I would at that. But first I’ve got to relieve myself.” He started to swing his feet out from under his blanket and to the floor.

“Egil, wait!” Arin hurriedly stepped to the bedside. “Aiko, aid me.”

“Adon,” exclaimed Egil, clutching the mattress. “The room reels.”

“’Tis the dregs of the fever,” said Arin as she slipped his left arm over her shoulders and Aiko did the same with his right. Together they got him to his feet and slowly led him toward the private bathing room adjoining. Blinking, he looked side to side and down at them: Egil at five feet ten, stood fully eight inches taller than Aiko and fourteen taller than Arin. They were scanty compared to him, though at a lean eleven stone six he was by no means heavy. To the contrary, he was slender and lithe and muscled well enough.

They stood him before a chamber pot on a pedestal and braced him as he fumbled at his breeks. He looked at them. “Are you going to stand and watch?”

Aiko sighed. “Would you rather collapse,
orokana ningen
?”

Egil snorted and braced one hand against the back wall. “There.”

Reluctantly they released him and turned the other way.

Moments later he desperately clutched at them to keep from falling down. Modesty would have to wait for another day.

*   *   *

Following breakfast Egil fell asleep again, and Thar was called away by a message from the widow Karl. Shortly after the healer had gone, fresh clothes were delivered to Alos, clothes ordered by Arin last eve: soft woolen brown breeks, a tan linen jerkin, tan woolen hose, pale linen underwear, new brown boots, a brown leather belt with a black iron buckle, a dark brown woolen jacket, and a tan linen pocket kerchief. He slipped the new garments on his gaunt frame and strutted and preened in front of the small chiffonnier mirror, standing in profile and sucking in his tiny potbelly, more sag than fat.

“A fine figure of a man,” he declared, brushing with his palms the long thin strands of straggling hair fringed ’round his bald pate; and he ran his fingers through his scraggly white beard and smoothed it. Then he turned to Arin and smiled, his wanting teeth somewhat less yellow
coated, though still brown stained. “And now, m’Lady, I must be going. Much to do, you know.”

Aiko shook her head in disgusted disbelief, but Arin said, “Nay, Alos, I would have thee stay.”

“Stay?”

“Aye. There’s a tale I would tell thee, but after Egil wakens, for I would have him hear it as well.”

“But there’s one or two down at the Stag who’ll buy me a mug of ale, I’m sure of it, and I mustn’t keep them waiting.”

“
Yopparai,
” muttered Aiko, loathing in the word.

Arin took a deep breath and then let it out. “If thou wilt remain, Alos, I shall have ale brought to the room.”

Briskly, Alos rubbed his hands together and smiled his missing-toothed brown grin. “Well, now that you put it that way, I suppose the Stag can wait.”

*   *   *

Arin stood at the window watching Aiko in the courtyard below. The Ryodoan warrior was now dressed in her armor and she slowly stepped through an intricate drill, her gleaming swords in hand. Across the way the stableman stood and watched, his jaw agape. Likewise, down below stood the cook and the lodge boy, equally fascinated.

In the near distance down the steep slopes Arin could see the deep waters of the narrow fjord. Mørkfjord was well named, for the waters were truly dark, nearly ebon.

“I say again, Lady, my mug seems to be empty,” whined Alos behind.

“Thou hast had three, Alos,” replied Arin without taking her eyes from Aiko’s morning exercises. “I shall have the ‘keep fetch another as soon as Egil awakens.”

Disgruntled, Alos blew his nose into his new kerchief. As he examined the result, he said, “But I’m certain that my friends at the Stag would surely have given me four or five by now.”

Arin turned about. “Alos, thou canst go and chance that thy friends at the Stag will serve thee up with all the ale thou dost desire, or thou canst stay here and take the ale certain to come when I choose to call for it.”

Sighing, Alos rolled up his sodden kerchief and jammed it into his pocket. Then he peered into his mug
once again, searching for an overlooked drop or two, drops that were not there.

Time passed…

Aiko returned and stepped into the bathing room and stripped and washed the sheen of sweat from her body and wiped down her armor as well.

At last Egil stirred and opened his eye. Momentarily he seemed to be at a loss. Arin stepped to his side. “Ah,” said Egil. “My
engel.
”

At the sound of Egil’s voice, Alos looked up from his mug. “Good. He’s awake. Now we call the ‘keep, aye?”

“In a moment,” replied Arin as she felt Egil’s forehead and took the measure of his pulse. “Thou art strengthening, Egil.”

“I need to use the privy again, and I could do with a drink.”

“Me too,” chimed in Alos. “Use a drink, that is.”

Again Arin and Aiko aided Egil to the chamber pot, but this time he stood on his own.

When Egil was safely back in the bed, Arin unwound his bandages to examine the wound.

“I would see, Lady Arin,” said Egil.

“Alos, bring the hand mirror from the chiffonnier, please.”

Alos stopped sliding his ale cup back and forth on the table and fetched the mirror, then stood nearby holding his mug and shifting from foot to foot.

Egil looked at the raw sword wound. “Ugly.”

“’Twill subside, leaving a white scar behind.”

Egil glanced up at Arin. “A patch. I need an eye patch. What color would you say? Red? Yellow? Something bright, regardless. Something the Jutes will not forget when Egil One-Eye returns and wreaks his vengeance on them.”

“Mayhap thou wilt postpone thy vengeance once thou hast heard a tale I will tell.”

“Ha! Not likely,” barked Egil. “As the Dwarves say, vengeance delayed is vengeance denied.”

Arin did not reply as she swathed his head with fresh bandages.

The moment she stepped back, Alos said, “Now for the ale, aye?”

Egil looked at the old man. “I wouldn’t mind a mug myself, Alos. I’ve worked up a thirst, getting hacked by the Jutes and all.” He turned to Arin. “Lady Engel?”

Aiko rose up from her tatami and stalked over to Egil’s bedside. “Wounded you may be, perhaps still fevered, yet you will give the Dara her proper due and address her accordingly.”

Egil fixed her with his blue eye. They locked stares for a moment, then he laughed. “All right, lady warrior, polite I shall be and forgo calling her my
engel.
”

Only Alos was in position to see the glimmer of disappointment flicker across Arin’s face, but the old man was too busy looking into his empty ale mug to notice aught.

Arin started toward the bathing room to wash the blood from the used bandages. “Alos, call the lodge boy. Order a pitcher of ale and an extra mug, one for Egil.”

Alos was out the door and yelling for service before Arin took two more steps.

*   *   *

With Aiko rationing out the ale to Alos, much to his dismay, Arin took a chair by Egil’s bedside and motioned for Alos to sit near. “I have a tale to tell and I would have ye both hear it, for it has to do with the very fate of Mithgar, or so I deem.”

With a sigh the old man hitched his own chair near.

“Aiko and I have traveled far to come unto Mørkfjord to look for a one-eyed man—”

“Or woman,” interjected Aiko.

“Aye, or woman,” amended Arin.

Both Egil and Alos unconsciously moved a hand to their faces, Alos to his blind white eye, the right, and Egil to his bandaged left.

“You came looking for us?” asked Egil, glancing over at Alos.

“Looking for one of thee, it would seem.”

“Which one?”

Arin shrugged. “That I know not…for the moment.” She glanced at the fire. “But perhaps I will in the days to come.”

Slowly Egil shook his head. “But why, Dara? Why would you come looking for a wounded raider or a…a…” Egil gestured at the oldster.

“A
fuketsuna yopparai,
” supplied Aiko, looking at Alos in disgust.

Arin shot Aiko a glance of disapproval, but the warrior woman merely stared impassively back.

Alos looked up from his cup. “What’s this all about, m’Lady? This fate of Mithgar?”

“’Tis about a green stone, Alos, the Green Stone of Xian.”

Egil looked at Aiko. “Xian? Why, that’s where Black Mountain is said to lie. That’s where the Mages live.”

“There and on the Island of Rwn,” replied Arin.

“M-mages?” stuttered Alos. He turned to Aiko. “I need another drink.”

Aiko looked at Arin, and at a nod replenished the old man’s mug.

“Perhaps,” said Egil, bringing his own cup to his lips and taking a sip, “perhaps your tale would go swifter if you told us the whole of the story and we did not interrupt.”

Arin nodded “’Tis a long tale, yet one worth the fullness of it, else ye will not be able to judge if ye will join us in our mission.”

“Mission?” squawked Alos.

“Silence,
inu
!” commanded Aiko.

Flinching, Alos cowered in his chair and took a quick gulp of ale.

As Arin stared at the flames of the fire, gathering her thoughts, quietness descended, and only the muted sounds of the lodge broke the still: dishes clattering in the kitchen; laughter from the greatroom; an axe hewing wood outside; and other such. In the room a burning knot in the fireplace popped, and at last Arin shook her head and began:

“I am a flame seer, and at times divinations come as I peer deeply into fire: visions, redes, oracular pronouncements. They herald that which has happened, that which is happening now, and that which will happen someday. These Seeings are most often significant, as if only things
of importance are great enough to be Seen. At times I See events which are joyous and at other times quite grim—calamitous, a catastrophe of great scope. But my visions are mysterious, cloaked in confusion, and to fathom their meanings is most difficult; they are riddles to resolve, and oft I fail. I cannot command what I will See, for these divinations all come at their own whim; I govern them not. Most of the time when I gaze into the flames, nothing at all will appear; yet occasionally in the burning I will glimpse something of import—something from the past, long gone or recent; something from the present, at hand or afar; or something from a future yet to come.