The Dragonstone

CHAPTER 32

Egil gazed back and forth between Arin and Aiko, his one good eye wide in amazement. "Together you slew a stone-hided Troll?"

Alos shuddered and seemed to shrink within himself.

Arin glanced at Egil, her heart racing suddenly. Why does it please me so that he finds it astonishing? "Aye," she managed to say, "though 'twas mostly by Fortune's favor."

Aiko shook her head. "Fortune may have smiled down upon us, yet even had that Dame been looking elsewhere, or not looking at all, Dara Arin's aim was true, else we would have filled the Hitokui-oni's cooking pot."

"My arrow flew no truer than thine own cast, Aiko."

"Fortune or no," declared Egil, "the fact is, you slew a Troll."

With shaking hand, Alos poured himself a mug of ale and hurriedly gulped it down, brew running adribble from the corners of his mouth.

Egil rubbed his whiskery jaw. "I thought Trolls nearly indestructible. The stories say that only by a high fall, or by a great rock dropping on them, can they be killed."

Arin held up a hand. "A finely placed thrust, in eye, ear, or mouth, will do them in as well, Egil. Too, it is said they are tender of the sole of foot; a heavy caltrop will pierce them there, should they tread upon one."

Alos groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Arin looked at him. "Art thou well, Alos?"

"Leave me be," he moaned.

Arin looked at Egil questioningly, but he turned up his hands and shrugged, for Egil did not know why the oldster was distressed.

Finally Egil said, "I would hear once again the words of your vision."

Arin intoned:

"The Cat Who Fell from Grace;

One-Eye in Dark Water;

Mad Monarch's Rutting Peacock;

The Ferret in the High King's Cage;

Cursed Keeper of Faith in the Maze:

Take these with thee,

No more,

No less,

Else thou wilt fail

To find the Jaded Soul."

She looked at Egil. "Canst thou help us winnow the answers?"

Slowly Egil shook his head, lost in thought, his lone eye staring at a point unseen. At last he said, "You deem the Jaded Soul to be the green stone, aye?"

Arin nodded but did not speak.

"And to find it you need all the others named in the rede to go at your side… one of whom you believe is now with you: Aiko: the cat who fell from grace."

Again Arin nodded silently.

"And the one-eye in dark water you deem is either Alos or me, right?"

Alos groaned. "This talk of finding green stones and of Wizards and T-trolls-I'm not going!" Quickly he poured a mug of ale, slopping some onto the table in his haste. "The one-eye, it's Egil. Egil, y'hear. Not me. Egil's the one-eye you want."

"It could be this," said Aiko, stepping to Alos and thumping a tightly wrapped leather bag onto the table before him. "The rotting pierced eye of a Troll."

Alos shrieked and recoiled from the bag, and leapt up and bolted for the door, banging it open and stumbling out before any could stop him; and the measure of his desperation to be quit of this mad Elf and her yellow cohort was plain for all to see, for he had left his mug of ale behind and a nearly full pitcher as well.

"Aiko, that was unwarranted," said Arin. "Alos may be the one we need to obtain the green stone."

Unchastened, Aiko shook her head and gestured after the vanished old man. "Dara, for once I agree with that fuketsuna yodakari: Egil is the one we came here to find."

"We cannot be certain, Aiko. We cannot even be certain whether or no it is Alos or Egil or the Troll's eye we need."

Aiko sighed. "If it is your will, Dara, I shall fetch him."

Arin looked at the doorway, the door itself slowly swinging shut on its uneven hinges. She waved a negating hand. "Let be for now, Aiko. 'Tis plain to see he is frightened. Let him ponder it some days, then we shall see."

Aiko returned to her tatami mat, but she left behind on the table the bag holding the Troll's pierced eye.

"What is a, um, peacock?" asked Egil, looking up from his supper.

"A bird," replied Arin, "from far lands to the south and east. I have never seen one."

"I have," said Aiko. "They live in Ryodo and Chinga and Jung… and in the islands to the south. They have long, iridescent green tail feathers which they can fan upright in brilliant display. Each feather is marked with an eye."

"An eye?"

"The likeness of."

"Oh," said Egil, stirring his spoon in his bowl of stew.

Arin waited, but Egil did not speak. At last she asked, "Hast thou a thought?"

Egil shook his head. "I just wondered what they were, for like you, I have not seen such a bird."

He fished up a spoonful of beef and sat in thought a moment, then tipped the meat back into the bowl. He got up from his bed and went to the window and looked out over the courtyard and downslope at the fjord beyond, two longships at dock. "The Queen of Jute," he said.

"What?" responded Arin.

Egil turned. "They say she is mad, my engel, just as was her ancestor."

"Mad? How?"

"I know not."

"What of her ancestor? Mayhap there lies a clue in the past."

Egil shrugged. "The tales say she once… um." Egil stopped, as if reluctant to speak further; his eyes were downcast in embarrassment.

"Say on," Arin urged. "Whatever thou knowest, I would hear."

Egil looked up at her, then took a deep breath and blurted, "They say she once took a horse to her bed."

Aiko raised one eyebrow skeptically as Egil turned back to the window, unwilling to meet Arin's gaze.

"Um," mumbled Egil to the windowsill. "There's even a chanty about it."

Aiko sighed. "Has it come to this, that we are to believe the ribald songs of sailors?"

"Many songs are rooted in truth," said Arin, then asked, "How old is this song?"

"Ancient," replied Egil. "That Queen of Jute is long dead. But they say that madness runs in families, especially in that royal line," responded Egil.

"Has there always been bad blood between Fjordlanders and Jutlanders?"

"Aye, but-"

"What is to say this is not but more bad blood?"

"Nothing, my engel. Nothing at all… But true or no, rumor or no, she is, the only mad monarch I have an inkling of." Egil turned and faced her again.

"Is there more?" asked Arin.

Egil shrugged. "Only this: they say animals roam in the royal gardens at the court of Jute, yet whether or no any of these are rutting peacocks, I cannot say."

Evening fell, and Egil slipped into slumber. And even though his fever was gone, once again in the middle of the night he suffered ill dreams.

Days passed and days more, and each day Egil's wounds were better than the day before. Every day, Thar came and watched as Arin laid poultices and medicks on Egil's face and marveled at how fast he mended, swift by the healer's standards, slow by Egil's own.

Every day as well, members of the ship's crew came and visited awhile, including Captain Orri, who always brought laughter to the room.

But every night, Egil woke up weeping, calling out men's names.

There came a day, however, when he sat in a chair facing Arin and said, "My engel, I would tell you what I can of the vile Wizard Ordrune."