And though Egil begged and groveled and told everything he knew, and confessed to all his transgressions and peccadilloes and misdeeds and vices, and beseeched Ordrune to spare the crew and kill him instead, Ordrune merely laughed…and the laughter did not cease.
Finally there was only Egil left.
* * *
They stood once more in the top of the tower, did Egil and Ordrune: Egil again shackled to the floor, Ordrune smiling at him from across the width of the room—but strangely, Ordrune was now more youthful than when last he and Egil had met here.
Egil shifted, his chains rattling, and he growled, “What are you waiting for, Wizard? Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?”
“Oh no, Captain Egil, would I waste all I have striven to teach you? Instead I intend to set you free, now that you have learned. Was that not a fine game we played…our pleasure enhanced by the power we gained? But wait, what is this? I see you are disappointed. Perhaps you believe the better lesson I promised you, the better lesson I gave you, will fade, will be forgotten.” Ordrune laughed and stroked his now-younger cheeks and hairless chin. “Fear not, Captain Egil, you will never forget for as long as I live”—again Ordrune laughed—“and Mages live forever.”
“Not if I have a say in it,” gritted Egil. “There will come a day when I’ll see you in the black fathoms below.”
“Well, my lad, you are welcome to try, can you find this place, this tower. Yet even though free, I think you will be incapable of coming again to my fortress. I will see to that.”
Ordrune turned to the table beside him and took up a vial, then looking at Egil he said, “Resist not, Captain Egil, for you cannot prevail.”
* * *
Egil found himself wandering along the shores of Gelen. How he had gotten there, he did not know. There were gaps in his mind—thoughts, memories, experiences taken away by Ordrune. He did, however, remember setting forth from Mørkfjord in the Sjøløper, but not where he had sailed. He remembered each and every man of the crew he had named his Hawks and the gleams in their eyes as they had joined his venture, but he remembered no raids, no plunder, no booty, nothing to live up to the promise of riches and fame that had drawn the young men to him. And he remembered boarding a certain ship to capture its wealth, but neither its kind nor the waters wherein he and the Hawks had slipped alongside. He remembered the Wizardholt and all he had seen therein, but not its whereabouts. And he remembered Ordrune, vile Ordrune, and the crew the Wizard had slaughtered…and the manner of their deaths. Of this he could not forget, for Ordrune had cursed him, and each and every night, he relived the hideous slaughter of one of the men, a different man each night, and always he woke up screaming.
Ill dreams, indeed.
He finally took berth on a merchanter out of the port of Arbor in Gelen, and he worked his way from ship to ship until he came to Fjordland. And when he rowed into Mørkfjord on a midsummer’s day, four years had elapsed since he and the forty Hawks had set sail for glory and gold.
Yet none came home but him.
CHAPTER 34
Arin reached up to gently brush away Egil’s tears as his tale came to an end. But he turned his head aside and wiped the heel of his hand across his cheek.
Arin sighed but said nought.
“In Ryodo,” said Aiko, setting aside her sword, “we would have mounted a voyage of retribution.”
Huskily, Egil cleared his throat. “Just as would we.”
Arin frowned. “But thy memories of where thou had sailed were gone.”
Egil nodded.
“Your father knew where you were bound,” declared Aiko.
“My father died of the fever but a scant week after we left.”
Arin reached out. “I am sorry, Egil.”
Egil took her hand. “So am I…. So am I.”
“What of the map?” asked Aiko. “Do you yet have it?”
Egil shook his head.
“Then the sailor you bought it from, does he—”
“No,” interjected Egil. “I spent time in Havnstad searching for him, with no success. Some there thought he had died. Others said he sailed away and was never seen again. Still others placed him in the deep forests inland.”
They sat without speaking for long moments, the only sound that of someone in the yard below saddling a horse. Aiko stood and stepped to the window and observed the stable boy taking one of their mounts out for its daily round of exercise. As he rode away, she turned and said, “Mayhap the Mages in Black Mountain can restore your memory just as they did Dara Arin’s.”
Arin’s eyes widened. “Aye. Either there or in Rwn.”
Egil looked from one to the other, then said, “They would have to know how to lift a curse.”
* * *
The following day, with Healer Thar present, Arin again removed Egil’s bandages and, after examination, said, “The herbs have done their work. The wound is mending well. We can forgo the swathing.”
“Shall I remove the gut?” asked Thar.
“Aye.”
In a trice, all the fine stitches were nipped and extracted, Thar working his way down the ruddy scar running from forehead to cheek. When he was finished—“Where is my patch?” asked Egil, fumbling ’round on the bed.
“Here,” said Arin, taking the crimson leather from a pocket, the tiny golden image of Adon’s Hammer centered upon the eye piece.
Egil called for a mirror, and as Aiko held it steady, he tied the band ’round his head. He looked at his reflection and said, “Now I am truly Egil One-Eye.”
* * *
The next day Arin pronounced Egil fit to begin walking, and on that same day Egil moved out of the Blackstein Lodge and into the sod-roofed, stone house he had inherited from his father. A sevenday passed, with Arin and Thar monitoring his progress and treating Egil’s scar with herbal ointments, and Arin and Aiko walking with him as he regained his strength, each day the Ryodoan choosing more and more difficult paths as they trekked across the slopes.
During the seventh of these rambles, as they trudged up toward the crest of a tor overlooking the fjord, Arin said, “We must set out soon to find the mad monarch’s rutting peacock.”
On Ann’s left, Egil looked down at her diminutive form—she but four feet eight and he at five feet ten. “Then the time has come for us to sail for Jute, aye? To the court of the mad queen?”
Arin smiled up at him. “Then thou dost plan on going with us?”
Egil glanced out at the deep, black fjord. “Is it not so that I am one-eye in dark water?”
“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 sh
atter 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.”
The Dragonstone Page 19