The Dragonstone (25 page)

“Forget not Alos.”

In the lead, Aiko growled. “Alos is a runaway coward, Dara.”

“Nevertheless, Aiko,” said Arin, “we know not for certain who or what the rede refers to: it could be Egil or Alos, either or both…or neither.”

Aiko sighed. “These are my thoughts, Dara: Egil is a warrior. He knows of a mad monarch. He fits the words of the rede. He is willing to go. All of these point to the fulfillment of the words of your vision. But Alos…he is a coward. He is a drunkard. He has fled in fear. He does not want to go.”

Aiko fell to silence, but Arin replied, “Thou hast left one fact amiss, Aiko: Alos fits the words of the rede. And if we are to succeed, I would rather he join our quest until we are certain as to his role, if any, in finding the Dragonstone.”

Again Aiko growled, muttering,
“Fuketsuna yodakari yopparai!”

They walked a moment in silence, then Egil said, “There is another thing to consider.”

Arin looked at Egil. “Another?”

Egil cleared his throat. “Actually, two things.”

“And they are…?”

“First, I also know of Ordrune, and he was in Black Mountain when the Dragonstone first came. He left. The Dragonstone disappeared. Are these mere coincidences? I think not.”

Arin turned up her hands. “Yet we know not that he took the green stone, that he has it.”

Egil gritted his teeth. “He is vile, and if any would seek the owner of the stone, it is he.”

“Hai!”
barked Aiko, stopping, turning to face Arin. “This, Dara, is why we were to come to Mørkfjord. This is why Egil is the one-eye in dark water.”

Arin stared at the Ryodoan. “Explain.”

Aiko grinned at Egil. “He must be right: Ordrune
must
have the Dragonstone, the Jaded Soul. The Mage seeks to master the power of the stone, and when he has done so he will muster the warrior nation of Moko and conquer the world, as their prophecy ordains. But we strive to prevent
such a calamity by following the words of your vision, the words of your rede. That is, after all, why we are in Mørkfjord. Why else would the lede lead us here if not to find Egil? I deem it is because Egil has been in Ordrune’s strongholt and can lead us to the stone.”

“But he knows not where that strongholt lies,” protested Arin.

Aiko raised a finger. “Yes, Dara, but perhaps that is a task for one of the others of the rede.”

Arin’s eyes flew wide at Aiko’s suggestion but narrowed again. “And if not…?”

“Then again I say, there are always the Mages of Black Mountain; they recovered
your
lost memories, and perhaps can do the same for Egil.”

Egil, who had remained silent, said, “But what if they cannot lift the curse Ordrune laid upon me?”

Arin shook her head, voiceless, but Aiko turned to Egil and said, “If not, they have a great map inscribed on a huge globe. By gleams of light and dark, it shows where each and every Mage dwells. Surely one of these glimmers is Ordrune.”

Arin nodded. “Given what Egil has said, a dark glint I would deem.”

“How many dark glints are there?” asked Egil.

Both Aiko and Arin shrugged, and Arin said, “An ample number. If we resort to this, it will be a long search against a formidable foe—they are Mages, after all, dark in their deeds and power.”

“Then let us hope that your peacock or ferret or keeper of faith knows the way instead,” said Egil.

“Mayhap Alos knows,” said Arin.

Now it was Aiko’s eyes that flew wide open.

*   *   *

They came to the crest of the tor overlooking the steep notch of the fjord, the deep black waters lying in the sun of the long summer day like a ribbon of obsidian, an ebon road ’round far bends to the distant unseen sea. A gentle breeze blew west to east, carrying the tang of salt on its wings, and the grass all around rippled like water. Aiko stepped down the hillside and knelt in the sward and plucked a pale yellow flower from among the green
blades, but Arin and Egil stood on the crown, facing the breeze, surveying the whole of the world, the high blue sky above them bright and cloudless and pure…and time itself seemed to pause. Egil reached out and took Arin’s hand, and she did not draw away, but stood with him side by side…wishing.

At last Arin took a deep breath and released it in a long sigh, then turned to Egil. “Would that this could last forever, but Fortune and Fate have decreed elsewise.”

“The quest,” said Egil.

“Aye, Egil, the quest.”

Arin faced west once again and they stood a moment more, sharing the comfort of one another, their thoughts running in parallel. Without turning, Arin said, “Thou didst say there were two reasons thee should join the hunt, yet thou named but the first. What is the second?”

Egil turned the Dylvana toward him and looked down at her, his blue gaze soft, gentle. “Just this, my
engel:
now that I have found you, quest or no, I would ask to ever stay at your side.”

Momentarily, a range of emotions flickered across her face, as if warring with one another.

“Is something wrong?” asked Egil.

She looked at the ground. “Three things.”

“And they are…?”

Now Arin looked him directly in the eye. “First, thou art a raider.”

“What does that have to do with my loving you?”

“Nought, Egil. But it does have to do with
my
love for
thee.
”

“I do not understand, Arin. We have always been raiders. It is an honorable profession among Fjordlanders.”

“Dost thou not see? What thou and thy kind do is plunder that which others’ labors have won. It is an evil thing.”

“But we only raid our enemies.”

“Is that what thou wert doing: raiding thine enemies when thou and thy Hawks sailed off to go where no Fjordsmen had been?”

Pain momentarily flashed in Egil’s gaze, and he looked down at his feet. “Oh.”

“Do not take me wrong, Egil, long apast when we were yet mad the Elven race did such things as raid merely for spoils. Yet there came a time when one of the very wisest of our leaders stood before his people and said, ‘It is unjust to steal from one another, regardless of tradition and enmity. I shall plunder no more.’

“There was a great uproar among Elvenkind, and many protested, crying out, ‘But they have done wrong by us. What of our own revenge?’

“And he replied, ‘Raiding for vengeance is one thing; raiding for spoils another. If there is ever to be peace among Elvenkind, let it begin with me.’

“Oh, Egil, there is much more to this tale, and millennia passed ere the wisdom of his words was finally realized by all. And many believe it was because of him the madness finally passed away from my people—the evil withered on the vine—for he was the first, the very first who said, ‘Let it begin with me.’”

“But you still seek vengeance.”

“Aye, in a just cause. But even here, someday, perhaps, someone will say, ‘Let it begin with me.’”

Silence fell between them, but at last Egil said, “I take it then, because of your beliefs, that you cannot live with a raider—one who plunders for spoils.”

Arin nodded.

Egil sighed and looked away, his one-eyed gaze lingering long on Mørkfjord, but at last he said, “Then let it begin with me.”

Arin smiled, yet doubt still lingered deep within her eyes, and Egil said, “That was but one of your reasons, my love, and you said there were three. What is the second?”

“Thou art human; I am Elf. I cannot bear thee any children.”

Egil’s eye widened.

“We are barren with one another—our two races cannot mix,” added Arin.

“I do not understand,” said Egil.

“Thou art from the Middle Plane, from Mithgar; I am from the High Plane, from Adonar. Elves can neither sire nor bear young on Mithgar; just as humans cannot sire nor
bear young on Adonar. Some claim that the Fates have ruled it so. Others ascribe it to those who stand above Adon or Gyphon or aught others of the gods.”

Egil shook his head. “Then it is true: there are those who rule even the gods?”

“Aye. And perhaps it is they who have decreed that human and Elf shall bear no young. Yet whether it is the gods, the Fates, a force of nature, or aught else, the fact remains that I can bear thee no child.”

Egil frowned and fell into thought. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Often the men of my people fall in battle, leaving children behind. At times mothers fall ill and die. But these youngers do not grow up fatherless, motherless, for others take them in. They are loved no the less for being of other’s blood. I was a foundling myself—my true parents unknown—but I was taken in and my new father and mother cherished me as if I were their own. They were barren with one another, yet our home was filled with love. We can do the same, Arin, should we find we want younglings underfoot.”

Slowly Arin nodded, and Egil said, “That was two, my love. What is the third reason?”

Arin interlaced her fingers, gripping so tight that her knuckles paled to bone whiteness, and she stared down at the ground. “Thou art mortal; I am not.”

Confusion filled Egil’s face, but he reached out and covered her hands with his, finding her trembling. “Again I ask: what does that have to do with my loving you?”

“Just this: thou wilt grow old while I stay as I am, and when thou dost die as must all mortal things, it will shatter my heart.”

“Were I one of your kind, could I not die?”

Arin nodded. “Aye, thou couldst be slain in battle or die in a number of other ways. Yet—”

“Then, love, let us savor the days we have and let tomorrow fend for itself.”

Arin looked at the ground. “Egil, even should we both survive this quest, there is a chance that thou wilt come to resent what I am, as age grips thee but touches me not.”

“Oh, my
engel,
how could you think I would ever resent you? You are my beloved.”

Again, a range of emotions flickered across her face, warring with one another. And just as suddenly they disappeared, as if one or many had surrendered. With her heart in her eyes, Arin reached up and took his face in her hands and drew him down to her and gently kissed him on the lips, and Egil’s own heart leapt within him, soaring into the high blue sky. And he scooped her up in his arms and spun about, laughing. And in that moment—

“Saté!”
called Aiko, her arm outstretched, pointing.

With Arin yet in his arms, Egil turned to look. Down in the fjord, heaving into view ’round a turn in the distance came a ship.

“Is it a raider?” asked Arin.

Egil laughed. “No, my love; the lookouts sounded no horns of warning. Instead ’tis a Rianian carrack, a merchanter bearing wines and cheeses, salt and spices, trinkets and baubles, weapons and armor, and other trade goods. There will be a celebration in Mørkfjord tonight.” He embraced her tightly and then set her to her feet and grinned and said, “It is an omen of our troth, decreed by those above the gods themselves.”

Aiko came to the crest of the tor to stand beside them. And as they watched the craft slowly make its way along the dark waters of the fjord, Arin said, “Dost thou think we can take passage on such a ship unto Jute?”

Egil barked a laugh. “If so, it would be a long, slow ride. Better we ask Orri to take us there, when he returns.”

“Nay, Egil,” said Arin. “I would come unto Jute on a ship of peace rather than a raider’s rig.”

“The Jutlander queen’s court is in Königinstadt, along the coast. We could slip ashore at night.”

Again Arin shook her head. “Rather would I come announced unto this mad monarch than to scurry ashore in the dark, for I would enter her court invited, not in secret.”

“But they say she’s mad.”

“Nevertheless, she is queen of a nation at peace with the High King. Hence, ’tis better we come in the open—and expected—than to be discovered skulking in the night.”

Egil sighed and nodded. “As you wish, love. But tell me, my
engel,
how do you propose to garner an invitation?”

Arin turned to him and smiled and shrugged. “On such a ship as that one below, we will have time to think of apian, neh?”

Egil laughed. “Aye. That we will. And though I would rather slip over the wall and snatch away the mad monarch’s rutting peacock, there is much to say for your methods. Yet whatever plan we devise must succeed quickly, for I do not wish to spend a jot more time than necessary in any mad monarch’s view. Hence, if it were up to me, I would simply grab the peacock and run—it is the raiders’ way.”

Arin laughed and then sobered. “One-eye in dark water. Mad monarch’s rutting peacock. I do hope we follow the correct path.”

Egil pointed to his crimson patch. “Love, you have me, and so that line of the rede is now fulfilled.”

Arin sighed. “Mayhap, Egil, mayhap. Yet deep in my soul I feel Alos may have a part to play.”

Aiko, who had remained silent, muttered something under her breath, then turned to Arin. “He is an old man. He is a drunkard. He is a coward. He would do nought but hinder us. Nevertheless, Dara Flameseer, would you have me find him and ask him again to join the quest? He will just run away screaming.”

“What does thy tiger say?”

“On matters such as these, she is silent.”

“I could talk to him,” rumbled Egil.

Arin sighed. “We simply must find a way to convince him to come.”

Egil puffed out air between his pursed lips and cast a glance at Aiko, then said, “Let us go down and see where next the carrack is bound. Perhaps indeed, it will bear us to Jute.”

*   *   *

The two-masted ship was the
Gyllen Flyndre,
out of the port of Ander in northern Rian along the Boreal Sea. Her master was Captain Holdar. He had sailed along Fjordland, making port in town after town, where he had traded ship’s goods for furs. Mørkfjord was the last Boreal Sea
port he would call on, after which he was bound for the walled city of Chamer on the east coast of Gelen, where he would sell the furs for a handsome profit.

Holdar rubbed his ruddy jaw, then said, “I’ll not stop in Jute, milady, but if you’ve a boat we’ll lade her aboard—or tow her ahind—and set you free in the waters nigh.”

Arin glanced at Egil. “Is there a small craft we can purchase?”