Dennis McKiernan: The Dragonstone

Thar cackled in glee; Aiko stared in loathing. Smiling, Arin stood, and at this movement the oldster cowered down and threw up a warding hand. "Don't hit me!"

"I was not thinking of striking thee, Alos, but instead of inviting thee to break thy fast with us." She gestured toward the laden table.

Anticipation flickering across his face, Alos craned his neck up and peered at the food on the sideboard. "Be there any morning ale? No?" His countenance fell, then perked up again. "Wine? A hearty breakfast wine perhaps?"

Aiko snorted in disgust, but Arin said, "Nay, Alos. Neither ale nor wine nor brandy nor spirits of any sort. Yet there is food aplenty and tea to drink."

Alos sighed and muttered, "Tea? Just tea?"

"Wilt thou join us, friend?"

"Friend?" Alos looked up at her in surprise.

Arin smiled.

"Well"-Alos struggled to his feet and hitched the blanket tighter about-"perhaps I will have a bite to eat." He cast a glare at Aiko and ran a hand over his bald pate, wincing when he discovered the sore knot atop his head. "But only if you keep that yellow demon off, her and her torturing ways."

Aiko bristled- "Inu!" -and started to gain her feet, and Alos cowered hindward, but at a sharp word from Arin, Aiko settled back. Then the Dylvana turned her gaze upon the old man and smiled, and Alos, taking that as a promise of protection, stepped to the table and took up a plate, all the while muttering under his breath: "… like to have rubbed me raw, she did… like to have torn my balls off, too… and gouged loose my teeth… And another thing…"

Quiet laughter came from the bed, and then an "Ooo, but it hurts to smile." Arin turned. Egil was awake.

"Wouldst thou break fast with us, Egil?"

Egil nodded. "Aye, I would at that. But first I've got to relieve myself." He started to swing his feet out from under his blanket and to the floor.

"Egil, wait!" Arin hurriedly stepped to the bedside. "Aiko, aid me."

"Adon," exclaimed Egil, clutching the mattress. 'The room reels."

" 'Tis the dregs of the fever," said Arin as she slipped his left arm over her shoulders and Aiko did the same with his right. Together they got him to his feet and slowly led him toward the private bathing room adjoining. Blinking, he looked side to side and down at them: Egil at five feet ten, stood fully eight inches taller than Aiko and fourteen taller than Arin. They were scanty compared to him, though at a lean eleven stone six he was by no means heavy. To the contrary, he was slender and lithe and muscled well enough.

They stood him before a chamber pot on a pedestal and braced him as he fumbled at his breeks. He looked at them. "Are you going to stand and watch?"

Aiko sighed. "Would you rather collapse, orokana ningen?”

Egil snorted and braced one hand against the back wall. "There."

Reluctantly they released him and turned the other way.

Moments later he desperately clutched at them to keep from falling down. Modesty would have to wait for another day.

Following breakfast Egil fell asleep again, and Thar was called away by a message from the widow Karl. Shortly after the healer had gone, fresh clothes were delivered to Alos, clothes ordered by Arin last eve: soft woolen brown breeks, a tan linen jerkin, tan woolen hose, pale linen underwear, new brown boots, a brown leather belt with a black iron buckle, a dark brown woolen jacket, and a tan linen pocket kerchief. He slipped the new garments on his gaunt frame and strutted and preened in front of the small chiffonnier mirror, standing in profile and sucking in his tiny potbelly, more sag than fat.

"A fine figure of a man," he declared, brushing with his palms the long thin strands of straggling hair fringed 'round his bald pate; and he ran his fingers through his scraggly white beard and smoothed it. Then he turned to Arin and smiled, his wanting teeth somewhat less yellow coated, though still brown stained. "And now, m'Lady, I must be going. Much to do, you know."

Aiko shook her head in disgusted disbelief, but Arin said, "Nay, Alos, I would have thee stay."

"Stay?"

"Aye. There's a tale I would tell thee, but after Egil wakens, for I would have him hear it as well."

"But there's one or two down at the Stag who'll buy me a mug of ale, I'm sure of it, and I mustn't keep them waiting."

"Yopparai, " muttered Aiko, loathing in the word.

Arin took a deep breath and then let it out. "If thou wilt remain, Alos, I shall have ale brought to the room."

Briskly, Alos rubbed his hands together and smiled his missing-toothed brown grin. "Well, now that you put it that way, I suppose the Stag can wait."

Arin stood at the window watching Aiko in the courtyard below. The Ryodoan warrior was now dressed in her armor and she slowly stepped through an intricate drill, her gleaming swords in hand. Across the way the stableman stood and watched, his jaw agape. Likewise, down below stood the cook and the lodge boy, equally fascinated.

In the near distance down the steep slopes Arin could see the deep waters of the narrow fjord. Morkfjord was well named, for the waters were truly dark, nearly ebon.

"I say again, Lady, my mug seems to be empty," whined Alos behind.

"Thou hast had three, Alos," replied Arin without taking her eyes from Aiko's morning exercises. "I shall have the 'keep fetch another as soon as Egil awakens."

Disgruntled, Alos blew his nose into his new kerchief. As he examined the result, he said, "But I'm certain that my friends at the Stag would surely have given me four or five by now."

Arin turned about. "Alos, thou canst go and chance that thy friends at the Stag will serve thee up with all the ale thou dost desire, or thou canst stay here and take the ale certain to come when I choose to call for it."

Sighing, Alos rolled up his sodden kerchief and jammed it into his pocket. Then he peered into his mug once again, searching for an overlooked drop or two, drops that were not there.

Time passed…

Aiko returned and stepped into the bathing room and stripped and washed the sheen of sweat from her body and wiped down her armor as well.

At last Egil stirred and opened his eye. Momentarily he seemed to be at a loss. Arin stepped to his side. "Ah," said Egil. "My engel."

At the sound of Egil's voice, Alos looked up from his mug. "Good. He's awake. Now we call the 'keep, aye?"

"In a moment," replied Arin as she felt Egil's forehead and took the measure of his pulse. "Thou art strengthening, Egil."

"I need to use the privy again, and I could do with a drink."

"Me too," chimed in Alos. "Use a drink, that is."

Again Arin and Aiko aided Egil to the chamber pot, but this time he stood on his own.

When Egil was safely back in the bed, Arin unwound his bandages to examine the wound.

"I would see, Lady Arin," said Egil.

"Alos, bring the hand mirror from the chiffonnier, please."

Alos stopped sliding his ale cup back and forth on the table and fetched the mirror, then stood nearby holding his mug and shifting from foot to foot.

Egil looked at the raw sword wound. "Ugly."

" 'Twill subside, leaving a white scar behind."

Egil glanced up at Arin. "A patch. I need an eye patch. What color would you say? Red? Yellow? Something bright, regardless. Something the Jutes will not forget when Egil One-Eye returns and wreaks his vengeance on them."

"Mayhap thou wilt postpone thy vengeance once thou hast heard a tale I will tell."

"Ha! Not likely," barked Egil. "As the Dwarves say, vengeance delayed is vengeance denied."

Arin did not reply as she swathed his head with fresh bandages.

The moment she stepped back, Alos said, "Now for the ale, aye?"

Egil looked at the old man. "I wouldn't mind a mug myself, Alos. I've worked up a thirst, getting hacked by the Jutes and all." He turned to Arin. "Lady Engel?"