Dennis McKiernan: The Dragonstone

Arin fixed him with an eye. "Dost thou oft cure the ill by doing such?"

"A good half o' them," responded Thar with some pride.

"Then that means thou loseth half as well, neh?"

"We lose a share o' them, aye, but that's t' be expected."

"Nay, healer. By bleeding, thou weaken the afflicted when they can least spare strength. Instead thou shouldst fortify the blood of the sick and not drain it away."

"Fortify?"

"Aye."

"How?"

"They be borderin' on ruddy red!" called Tryg.

"How?" Thar asked again.

"Thou hast the means nearby," said Arin, and she beckoned to Aiko.

"Dara?"

"Ride swift to the high fell and gather a handful of the blue flowers we saw at the foot of the glacier. Take up as well some pure snow and pack the flowers therein. Then return within a candlemark."

Aiko glanced left and right and then leaned forward and hissed, "Dara, I would not leave you alone among these iyashii men."

The Dylvana made a sharp gesture of negation. "Go now, Aiko. I will be safe, and this man needs aid; else he will die, and he is perhaps the one we need."

Yngli took up his cloak as well as Orri's lantern and stepped to Aiko's side. "Though I don't own a horse, I'll ride wi' ye, double that is, t' light y'r way if ye'll ha' me. I know a shortcut t' th' fell."

Aiko looked at Yngli, then at Arin. At the Dylvana's nod, Aiko strode back to the table and donned her own cloak while Yngli lighted the lantern, then she gestured for Yngli to follow.

As they left the room, Thar turned to Arin and raised a questioning brow.

Arin set the flame-cleansed tweezers down next to the bronze needle, then wetted her fingers and snuffed out the candle. "When we rode down into Morkfjord, we saw in the high fell at the foot of the glacier small blue flowers nodding on their stems."

"Blue flowers?… Ah, blue-eyed ladies."

"Blue-eyed ladies in thy tongue; arel in mine. Yet by any name a tea brewed from their fresh petals is a potent foe of fever."

"Th' knives be cherry red and some, m'Lady," called Tryg.

Arin took a deep breath and slowly let it out as she looked down at Egil. "Hast thou a sleeping draught, Thar?"

The man shook his head. "Nay, Lady. Egil'll j'st ha'e t' bear up."

Arin sighed and then turned to Orri. "I shall need six of thy strongest."

"Six?"

"One on each limb and two t' hold his head, Orri," said Thar. "Can't ha'e him jerkin' about when th' burnin' knife goes in."

"Aye." Orri gestured to five more men, then stepped to the bar himself.

"A moment, Captain," said Arin, and she took up the flagon and again used brandy to wash her hands, indicating for Thar and Tryg to do likewise. Then she turned to Orri. "Now, Captain, take hold."

"Arins and legs, lads, and hold hard. He'll thrash quite a bit. Bili, help me up here."

The men grasped Egil's limbs, and Orri and Bili stood opposite one another and braced his head by jaw, temple, and pate.

Arin glanced across at Thar. "Art thou ready?"

At the healer's nod, Arin held out a hand to Tryg, and, using a square of clean cloth he took up a knife by the handle and carefully handed it to the Dylvana, its blade glowing yellow-hot.

Arin grasped the handle through the cloth and picked up the tweezers, then said, "Peel back his eyelids, healer; the rest of ye hold firm."

In the stable at the Blackstein Lodge, by Yngli's lanternlight Aiko pulled tight the saddle cinch. She drew her cloak hood over her head, and with Yngli following, led the steed outside, where rain fell in torrents and lightning strode across churning skies. She mounted up and then gave a stirrup and an arm to Yngli, and he swung up behind her. As he did so there came the faint sound of agonized screams muted by the storm and distance. Yngli shuddered and looked far downslope at the light shining out from the windows of the Cove. And then Aiko put spurs to the horse and they rode away through the black night.

Within a candlemark of plucking the flowers, drenched and mud spattered, Aiko and Yngli returned to Morkfjord, Yngli bearing a leather sack filled with snow, the blue-petaled blossoms within. As they strode to the dock, the rain pattered down gently, the rage of the storm having moved off to the east, though now and again the sky was lit by the backflare of distant lightning. Yngli opened the door to the Cove and followed Aiko in, the small man holding up the bag and declaring to one and all, "Hoy, everyone, we're back wi' our bouquet." A shout greeted the announcement as Yngli and the yellow woman shed their dripping cloaks.

"Ah, good and well done, Aiko. Good and well done, Yngli," said Arin, looking up from her red stitchery as she sewed Egil's sword gash shut. She'd had to cut the flesh anew so the wound would grow back together, and her fingers and hands were slathered with his fresh blood. "Thar, separate the flowers from the snow. Tryg, put a kettle over the charcoal. We'll use pure melt to make the tea."

Yngli stepped up to the bar and handed the bag to Thar as Arin continued to stitch. Then he slapped himself on the chest and gestured to Aiko and called out, "Hoy, Tryg, give me and her a tot o' brandy. We're soaked t' th' bone and dead chill."

Tryg grunted at Olar, and the fisherman fetched a flask and two cups and filled them nearly to the brim.

The small man took up both cups and handed one to Aiko, then he quaffed a stiff drink from his own. "Whuk!" he choked, then began hacking and coughing. Bili pounded him on the back repeatedly till he caught his wind and voice again. With his eyes watering he looked 'round the Cove and finally declared, "Whoo! Good stuff."

As the laughter died down, Yngli glanced at Egil, then turned to Orri. "How were it, Captain? Egil, I mean."

Orri shook his head, and for the first time Yngli saw that the raider had a bloody nose. "By gar, he woke up when we put th' hot knife t' him. Berserk he was. It took eleven o' us j'st t' hold him down. Broke my nose, I think. Then she"-Orri nodded toward Arin-"soothed him with a song and got him drunk on brandy till he passed out. Adon's blood, Yngli, look at him: he's happy as a clam, drunk as he is, or would be if he were awake."

"I think not," said Thar, shaking his head. "Were he awake he'd be in pain, no matter th' brandy."

Arin cinched the final stitch and tied off and clipped the gut. "There. It is done. Thar, wouldst thou bandage this man's hurts?"

Thar took up the muslin to swathe Egil's wounds; as he did so he examined the work. "As fine a job o' tackin' as could be, Lady-tight, close, tiny-I c'd ne'r do as well. He'll ha'e a scar, though a fine one, what wi' th' splendid work ye ha'e done." He began carefully wrapping cloth about Egil's head, covering forehead, eye, and cheek, leaving the man's mouth and nose and good eye free.

"He will be in pain for some days to come," said Arin as she washed her crimson hands and arms in the basin Tryg had brought. "Hast thou no sleeping draughts at all? Nought to relieve the ache?"

Thar shrugged and muttered, "Nought," as he finished with the wrapping.

Arin sighed. "Then we must needs make some, can we find the ingredients."

"What is it ye need?" asked Thar, tying the last knot.

Above the glowing charcoal the teakettle began to hiss and steam.

"At the moment, healer," said Arin, looking 'round while toweling off her hands and forearms, "I need to make the arel tea. As to the draughts, we will speak of them after."

The Dylvana turned to Tryg. "Hast thou a teapot? No? Then an earthenware vessel will do."

With Thar watching, Arin plucked blue petals from the flowers and cast them in one of Tryg's wide-mouthed mulling jugs. When she judged she had enough, she poured the boiling snowmelt in as well-sufficient to make a bit over a quart of tea altogether. A sweet fragrance wafted up from the jug, heartening all those nearby.