The Dragonstone

CHAPTER 13

Token of power?" Despite the amount Alos had drunk, his speech was not slurred by ale. "And just what might one of these tokens be, hey?"

Aiko snorted, but Arin said, "Something empowered to fulfill a destiny."

"Eh?" Alos shook his head. "Empowered? Destiny? You speak in riddles, and I need another drink." He held out the empty pitcher, his blind white eye fixed on Arin.

Aiko growled and shifted a sword, its blade glinting wickedly. Alos hurriedly thunked the empty pitcher back to the table and held out his hands and whined, "No offense, Lady. I meant to give no offense. It's just that posers work up a thirst… and tokens of power are posers all right, what with their destinies and dooms and all."

Egil shifted in his bed. "I would also like to hear more about these tokens. From what you say, my engel-my Lady, it seems they, too, carry wyrds… as do we all."

"Wyrds?" Aiko raised an eyebrow.

"Aye," answered Egil, his good blue eye glittering in the lamplight, for eve had fallen during Arin's telling and the room was now illuminated by a soft, yellow glow. "Wyrds: that which drives men in the deeds they do… or the thing that awaits them in the end."

"Hmph. Just men? You grunt like the priests of Hodakka. Baka-gojona dokemono." Aiko turned her face and stared out the window.

"Dost thou believe thou hast a wyrd, Egil?"

"Aye, Lady Arin: a spear through my heart, a sword thrust, a death at sea, or some such. What it is I cannot say, but surely a wyrd awaits me."

Aiko again fixed him with her dark gaze. "And what if you die of old age in bed?"

Egil barked a laugh. "Me? Die in bed? Not likely."

Arin cast a glance at Aiko and then turned to Egil. "Mayhap thy wyrd has already come to pass, Egil. Mayhap it did so in Jute."

Egil raised a hand to his bandages but did not reply.

Alos peered into his empty mug and sighed. "Wyrds I understand. -Oh, not that I believe in them… But these tokens of power, well, they seem to be another thing altogether." He looked up at Arin. "Just what are they and how do you know?"

All eyes shifted to Arin. She turned up a hand and said, "Tokens of power-at times hard to recognize, at other times known to all. They can be for Good or Ill: Gelvin's Doom was a token of power for Evil-a feartoken. So, too, was the Black Throne of Madron's Hall. Those for Good are sometimes known: one is the Kammerling, Aden's Hammer, destined to slay the greatest Dragon of all-though where the Kammerling is, none can say. Too, there is a sword in Adonar, Bale by name, and it would appear to fit the mold, though what its destiny may be, none can say. Others are unknown and seem to be one thing-jewels, poniards, rings, a trinket-but are truly something else altogether. Many look as if they hold no power at all, until, that is, they manifest their doom."

Alos took a deep breath and blew it out and shook his head in puzzlement. But Egil said, "What if I bore one of these tokens of power-say, a ring or some such-but when the time came I did not know how to use it, or tried to use it but failed? What then of the destiny?"

"Aye," blurted Alos, "what if Egil failed?" Alos held out an apologetic hand of denial toward the younger man abed. "Not that you are likely to fail, Egil. No offense. No offense."

They both looked at Arin.

The Dylvana returned their gazes. "What then of the destiny if thou didst fail to use a token as it was meant to be?"

They both nodded.

"A token of power seems to have ways of fulfilling its own destiny," answered Arin. "If thou didst fail, still would the token strive to achieve its doom. By another's hand, if not by thine.

"Aye, I'll grant thee, tokens of power are mysterious things, perhaps guided by Adon from afar, or by Gyphon… or Elwydd or Garlon or any of the others-who can say? Yet none but perhaps the gods know for certain which things are tokens… until their ordained work comes to pass.

"Hear me, though, for this I do believe: the green stone is a token of power, yet one which I pray never fulfills its destiny."

Silence fell over them all, the stillness broken only by the scrape of Alos turning his empty mug around and around on the tabletop. At last Egil said, "If you are right, then it would seem that we all are driven to fulfill the destinies of these tokens of power. What then does it matter that we strive to reach our own ends? For whether or no we wish it, we are compelled by these things. -I hope I never come upon one of them."

Aiko looked at Egil. "Think on this: perhaps it is your wyrd to, as you say, come upon one of them. Perhaps you have no choice."

Egil gazed back at her. "What do you believe, Aiko? About tokens of power, that is, and whether or no they compel us to pursue their destinies?"

Aiko took a breath and said, "If I were to come upon one, then perhaps I would choose the token for it would suit my aims, and perhaps the token would choose me for the selfsame reason."

"Then you believe that you could also reject the token if it did not suit your aims?"

Aiko nodded.

"Then, Lady Warrior, you believe that the paths of the tokens and their bearers happen to be going in the same direction, aye?"

"Yes, Egil One-Eye, I do. I have free choice, all things being equal."

"All things being equal? What do you mean by that?"

"Just this: the gods may will it otherwise that I do a thing I would rather not. Then I would have no choice at all in the matter."

Egil nodded. "Except for my wyrd, I, too, believe I have unfettered choice in all things. But as to my wryd, I have no choice whatsoever. No matter the path I freely take, in the end I will meet the blade with my name on it, or the ship or spear or come what may; as it is with all men, I cannot escape my wyrd. The power that rules even the gods makes it so, though the gods themselves may have a hand in it."

"Pfaugh!" snorted Alos. "The gods are capricious and visit nought but afflictions down on mankind." He lowered his head and put a hand over his scarred, blind white eye… and of a sudden began weeping. Concerned, Arin stepped to the oldster and laid a hand on his shoulder. Sobbing uncontrollably, Alos looked up at her, his face twisted in anguish. Long strings of tear-driven clear mucus dangled down from his nose. Feebly he groped for his kerchief, blubbering all the while.

Aiko glanced at the old man in disgust. Then she turned back to Egil and asked, "Only men have wyrds? What of women… and what of the Dylvana and Lian and Dwarves and all other of Elwydd's creations? And what of the Foul Folk made by Gyphon? Am I and all of these others completely bereft of wyrds?"

As Alos blew his nose, Egil looked at Aiko in astonishment. Then he cocked his head in inward reflection. Still Alos blew and blew. At last Egil said, "Yes, Aiko, all have wyrds. It's just that I-"

"It's just that you had never considered anyone or anything other than men. Rikotekina otoko!" She turned her back to him in disgust.

Alos finished blowing and held up his sodden handkerchief and peered at it blearily, then wadded it up and squished it into his pocket. Still tearing, he smiled his gap-toothed, ocherous grin at Arin and said, "Let's all have us a drink, aye?"

Arin did not tell more of her tale that night, for Egil was weakened and weary, and she insisted that he get some sleep.

Alos was all for making his usual rounds of the taverns, but decided to stay after Arin told him that there was more of the tale to tell, and that ale would be served on the morrow and she'd rather he stayed in the room. He pondered for a moment and glanced at the door, then smiled to himself and agreed.

And so all settled down for the nighttide: Egil asleep in his bed; Aiko in cross-legged meditation in front of the door, her swords lying on the tatami before her; Alos prostrate on his pallet, disgruntled, unable to get out without awakening the yellow warrior, if indeed she was truly asleep; Arin sitting by the fire, staring deeply within.

Sometime ere dawn, Egil began thrashing abed, crying out men's names, cursing, a berserker look in his open but unseeing eye. Arin stepped to his bedside and tried to soothe him, to no avail. Aiko stood at hand in case there were a need. Still shouting and cursing, he awakened at last and looked wildly about… then buried his face in his hands and wept. Arin sat on the edge of the bed and sang a soft Elven song, and Egil lay back down weeping. After a while he fell deeply asleep. Arin returned to her chair and Aiko to her tatami mat. The Dylvana stared into the fire, but she soon looked away, unable to focus, for her thoughts kept reverting to the man in the bed. Ill dreams, indeed.

The next morning at break of fast, Healer Thar came by to check on the patient, and after the Dylvana applied an unguent to the raw wounds, he and Arin laid on fresh bandages.

Thar stayed long enough to have a bite to eat, but then went onward to make his daily rounds.

Orri came right after-bluff and full of cheer-and he brought with him a leather eye patch, dyed the brightest scarlet with a small golden symbol scribed thereon. " 'Tis a gift fr' th' crew. They wanted ye t' ha'e it. Ach, ye'll make a fine figure o' a Fjordsman when we go back at th' Jutes, lad, and ye take y'r revenge. We e'en had it scribed wi' Aden's sign-th' war-hammer one, it be: th' Kammerling, or so they say 'tis. Right fitting, too, for what better symbol to bear on a raid of vengeance than th' thing the Dwarves call the Rage Hammer, aye?"

Orri stayed till midmorn, sharing a pitcher of ale with Alos, much to the oldster's dismay, for Orri got the most of it before he left.

It was nigh mid of day when Arin took up her tale once again…