The Dragonstone (70 page)

“The stone holds a peril?”

“It is difficult to tell, but obvious peril…no.”

“Then the peril the tiger sensed earlier must have been Ordrune coming upon us at the very same time Ferret dragged the chest out from the cavern, eh?”

Aiko looked at Burel, her eyes wide in revelation.

“Indeed, my love, you are right.”

*   *   *

As twilight fell, they reassembled their packs and prepared to descend that very night. Finally they stood on the precipice one last time, a waning half-moon shining, and they looked out upon the Great Maelstrom rumbling afar.

Ferret peered over the brim at the sheer fall below and said, “I can’t believe I nearly lost my life just to save a chunk of jade.”

Delon squeezed her hand. “This is no ordinary chunk, luv, but a long-lost token of power. Perhaps now the horrors of Dara Arin’s vision will not come to pass.”

“Nevertheless…” replied Ferret.

“Thou wert a heroine, Ferai, and none shall forget,” said Arin.

Egil looked long at the Great Maelstrom, then said, “Alos is the one-eye in the dark water, love, the one of your prophecy.”

“Nay,
chier,
” replied the Dylvana. “He was but one of the one-eyes in dark water. Thou wert the other.”

Ferret laughed. “Don’t forget the honeyed Ogru eye and the peacock feather. Without them, Raudhrskal may not have been won over.”

“Speaking of Raudhrskal,” said Delon, “I suggest we get gone from here ere he returns.”

Burel grunted and hefted the silver chest now strapped to the frame of his pack, and they turned to the north and strode across the ledge toward the way down into Jord. And as she reached the end of the shelf, Aiko turned and whispered,
“Dochu heian no inori, Alos, sonkei subeki ningen toshi totta.”

And so, down from Dragons’ Roost they went, down by the route they had come, the way eased by lack of having to bear an old man along the difficult path, the way made harder by not having to bear that very same old man.

*   *   *

Just before midnight, they reached the narrow boxed canyon where the cattle and horses and mules were penned, the animals, especially the horses, glad to see them.

They set no camp, but instead turned the cattle loose to fend on their own on the wide-open lush plains. And they laded one of the balky mules with the silver chest, and saddled the horses, and immediately set off at a goodly pace for the town of Hafen.

*   *   *

It was sunset when they rode into the seaport, and a great stir went ’round, for the strangers were back, all but the one—the old drunk, you see, was missing.

That night the Sea Horse inn was jammed, but the strangers were close-mouthed when it came to answering questions as to where they had been and what they had done. Even so, they
did
indicate that they had been to Dragons’ Roost. And they told that the old man had died to save them all. But other than that, there was precious little they revealed. Still, they guarded a canvas-wrapped box they had brought back with them, “…and I shouldn’t wonder if it isn’t full of Dragon jools,” said the barkeep when they’d gone up to their rooms.

Weary with lack of sleep, the six took to their beds. And wonder of wonders, as the morning approached, Egil slept soundly straight through.

“No ill dreams,
chier
?” asked Arin, clasping her love.

“None whatsoever,” replied Egil.

“Mayhap they are gone, now that Ordrune is dead.”

“Perhaps. But ill dreams or no, the memories remain.”

*   *   *

Three mornings later, after provisioning their ship, they set sail in their sloop. Many villagers came down to the docks to see them off, for after all, they had been to Dragons’ Roost and had survived.

It was the twentieth day of May when the
Brise
left at the turn of the tide, heading west, but where bound was anyone’s guess.

*   *   *

Westerly through the Boreal they fared, and into the Northern Sea, and finally into the Weston Ocean where
lay their goal, the weather fair and foul by turns as onward they sailed.

At last, on June the twenty-second, the day of the summer solstice, at the mid of day they arrived at Kairn, the City of Bells in the west on the Isle of Rwn.

Water thundered down into the sea from the Kairn River flowing through the heart of the city and over the hundred-foot precipice above, but the sloop did not reach this flow, for they came to the docks from the north.

And as the six made their way up the cliff and to the city atop, the air was filled with the sounds of bells marking high noon.

Shortly thereafter they were ferried across to the small river isle upon which sat the Academy of Mages, five towers arranged in a pentagram, with a sixth tower in the center.

An apprentice led them to the central tower for their audience with the regent—Mage Doriane, recently returned from Vadaria, or so the apprentice said. He led them to the chamber on the first floor, and after a short pause, they were admitted in.

Black-haired Doriane stood to greet them, her pale blue eyes widening slightly at the sight of the Ryodoan and the Dylvana.

Burel set the burden he bore down on a table nearby, and after the introductions, when Doriane asked what brought them here, he unwrapped the canvas to reveal the untarnishable silver chest.

Although she didn’t know it at the time, Doriane would receive no other visitors for the rest of the day.

*   *   *

“Oh, my, but what a tale,” said Doriane. She looked at the Dragonstone, the pale green ovoid sitting on her desk. “We thought it gone forever, but this is indeed the genuine stone.”

“How can you tell?” asked Ferret.

“Why, Dara Arin could have verified that it was the true Dragonstone.”

Arin glanced up at the regent. “How so?”

Doriane smiled. “Simply look at it, my dear, and attempt to .”

Arin turned her gaze toward the stone, then gasped, “It’s gone! I nothing whatsoever.”

Doriane laughed. “Exactly so, Dara, for it is the mysterious Dragonstone: it defies all scrying and seems to have a hold over the Drakes themselves. That you were able to have a vision of the stone defies all we know of it. I can only attribute it to the ‘wild magic’ you hold.”

Arin turned to the Mage. “Wild magic or no, it
is
the stone of my vision. But what I want to know is, now that the stone is back in the safety of Magekind, will the vision come true?”

Doriane frowned. “That, my dear, I cannot say. All I can promise is that the stone will be safely locked in the vaults below, and this time none shall steal it, for we will set deadly wards all ’round.”

*   *   *

At the late meal, Doriane said in response to Delon’s question, “As to the fate of the Drake Raudhrskal, I think he did not survive, for two Krakens are too many for
any
Dragon—even Black Kalgalath, even Daagor.”

Delon grinned and turned to Ferret. “See, luv, this is why a man should never have more than one lusty mate, for one is more than enough to kill us dead.”

Aiko looked at Burel, her face turning red.

*   *   *

That eve in the City of Bells, as mid of night came, peals rang across the town. Only four times in a given year did the midnight bells sound: on the equinoxes and on the solstices. This night they signified that the summer solstice had come again.

And in a grove on the Isle of Rwn, Arin and her comrades celebrated the event. The dark of the moon fell on this day as well, yet whether this signified something ominous or instead a new beginning, Arin did not know.

But dark of the moon or no, she and the others glided through the rite, females and males stepping in point and counterpoint—Arin and Aiko and Ferai, Egil and Burel and Delon…Arin singing, Delon singing, the others joining in roundelay, harmonies rising on harmonies…step…pause…step…shif…pause…turn…step.
Slowly, slowly, move and pause. Voices rising. Voices falling. Step…pause…step. Ladies passing. Lords pausing. Step…pause…step…

…the dance of life goes on.

A
fter delivering the Dragonstone to the Academy of Mages on the Isle of Rwn, Arin and her comrades went their separate ways:

Aiko and Burel of course went back to Sarain to deal with the Fists of Rakka, and the results of their campaign are well recorded and will not be repeated here.

Delon and Ferret took to the road, he singing, she performing escape tricks, and they seemed to accumulate wealth at a rate not accounted for by their showmanship rewards alone. Too, much to Ferai’s surprise, she did indeed become the Baroness of the Alnawood—as Delon had told Raudhrskal she would, if they but recovered the silver chest—for Delon was heir to that barony all along. When his father died, Delon and Ferai returned to the ‘wood to manage the wide-flung estate; their son, in turn became a bard, and quite a trickster too, but of course the legends of Fallon the Fox are sung throughout the land, and again, I will not overburden you with such well-known tales.

As to Egil and Arin: it was true that with Ordrune’s demise Egil’s nightmares ceased, for the curse had been lifted with the Black Mage’s death. Too, over time, Egil’s stolen memories returned, though slowly and not all at once. When Egil and Arin returned to Fjordland, they discovered that the Fjordlanders and the Jutes were at bitter war, occasioned by Queen Gudrun the Comely declaring that the loss of her hand clearly was the Fjordlanders’ fault. Egil, however, sought to make peace, in keeping with his pledge to Arin long past when, following in the steps of another, he, too, had declared, “Let it begin with me.” But the war raged on in spite of his efforts, though
he did win over converts, men and women who traveled across the many lands preaching lasting peace. Throughout the remainder of his life, Egil was unswerving in this cause, though now and again he did take up his axe and Arin took up her bow when there was no other choice. Long did Egil live, but at last age took him, weary and feeble and ill, an infirm old man yet loved by his precious Arin, who remained young and vibrant and bright, Arin who wept bitterly on that cold morn and mourned for many long years after.

Concerning Alos’s sacrifice: what is clear is that the oldster awakened from his stupor in time to see his shipmates in peril, and being bound to their cause he could not desert them, could not run away and hide…unlike before. Scholars still debate what Alos would have done had Ordrune not laid a curse upon him, a curse they believe the Mage cast merely to keep Arin’s band all together. It just may be that Ordrune sealed his own doom by binding the oldster to Arin’s quest. Regardless, scholars agree that Alos’s last act was heroic, indeed.

As to the others involved in that tale, the most notable event in this time of trouble was the retribution for the Felling of the Nine. Perin, Biren, Vanidar, Rissa, Melor, and Ruar all bore messages concerning the doom of the green stone to many kingdoms in the land, yet none knew what to do, other than stand vigilant. Thus it was that finally those six Elves came together to join the host of Coron Aldor and High King Bleys as they sought out the strongholds of Foul Folk throughout the Grimwall Mountains, strongholts where they displayed the remains of those who had hewn down the nine Eld Trees. At times they fought pitched battles. At other times the
Spaunen
blustered but withdrew in fear. Yet never again in the days thereafter did any Foul Folk fell a precious Eld Tree.

Regarding the Dragonstone: some scholars now speculate that the stone itself was responsible for Dara Arin’s vision. It was, after all, a token of power, and tokens of power have ways of fulfilling their own destinies. In any event, after Arin and her companions gave over the stone to Doriane, it was indeed taken to the deep vaults below and a deadly net of spells was cast about it as it was
locked away. And when Rwn was destroyed some three hundred twenty-two years after, the stone was thought lost forever. Yet some eight millennia later, and a half a world away, in the Jinga Sea after an all-day struggle a fisherman in a small boat single-handedly landed a great fish. When he finally gutted his dark eyed catch, in its belly he found a peculiar green stone, egg-shaped and jadelike and the size of a melon. This very same day in Moku, after an all-day travail of labor to give birth, the youngest wife of the
chuyohan
was delivered of a child with a peculiar Dragonlike mark on its forehead. The midwives fell down in worship. Some twenty years passed ere the green stone found its way into the hands of this child…and of course we all know what happened then.

Finally, concerning free will versus predestination: Ferai and Burel never settled their debate…and neither has anyone else.

Throughout the tale, I have used diverse historical and current languages to represent several of the foreign tongues involved. Hence, I would like to thank the following people for their expert help with the various adaptations: Shoshana Green, Early Hebrew; Daniel McKiernan, Ancient Greek; Hiroko Snare, Japanese; Judith Tarr, Latin; Meredith Tarr, German; John Vizcarrondo, Spanish. The other languages used (including French, Norwegian, some of the Japanese, and miscellaneous other tongues) and conversions involved are of my own making, and any errors in usage, translation, or errors in recording the words of my colleagues, are entirely mine.

T
hey lived in a one-room stone cottage on the edge of Faery, there where the world ends and the mystical realm begins, there where golden sunshine abruptly becomes twilight all silvery and grey, there where night on one side instead of the other is darkness, sometimes absolute, sometimes illumined with a glorious scatter of bright stars and silvery moonlight, sometimes illumined by small, dancing luminosities atwinkle among hoary trees, there where low, swampy lands and crofters’ fields and shadowed forests on this side change on that side into misty fens and untilled meadows and deep, dark, mysterious woods.