The Dragonstone Read Free Page B

man whined and tried to pull back, to no avail.
    “Aiko,” came the Dylvana’s soft words. “Let be.”
    Roughly, Aiko pushed Alos’s arm away, and the old man pulled back his sleeve and rubbed his age-marked skin and looked for damage, finding none.
    “This unclean
yodakari
cannot be the one,” said Aiko, turning her dark gaze to the Elf.
    The Dylvana shook her head. “Aiko, we know it not.”
    After a moment Aiko looked away, her black eyes impassive again.
    The Dylvana reached across to pat Alos’s hand, but the old man flinched back. She withdrew the gesture and instead took up her wine cup and stared into its depths as if seeking something within. At last she lowered the cup to the table and said, “I am called Arin, and my companion’s name is Aiko. We have journeyed far to reach Mørkfjord…perhaps to see thee.”
    Alos nodded, but his one good eye was on her nearly full wine cup as she absently turned it about and about.
    “Tell me, Alos, art thou the only one-eyed person in the steading?”
    Momentarily taken aback, he looked up at her, his white eye seeming to glare. Then he grinned gap-toothed and said, “As far as I know, mu—er, Lady Arin.”
    At this answer, Arin glanced at Aiko, but the warrior woman just shook her head and said nothing. Arin gazed back at Alos. The old man’s good eye was once again locked on her wine cup. Arin put her palm down over the top, and a look of resigned disappointment fell upon Alos’s face as he blew out through his lips and looked up at her.
    Arin leaned back in her chair, away from the oldster.
He smells like a wet goat and his rank breath could knock a camel off its feet. He is filthy and dirt smeared and probably hasn’t seen soap and water in a year or more. Even so, he could be the one, for there seems to be no other choice, at least not in this village.
    “Dost thou know of any other one-eyed person living nearby? Mayhap in another steading?”
    He shook his head and muttered, “None I know, Lady Arin.”
    “Thy blind eye, Alos, there is scar tissue all about, as if burned long past. Pray tell, if it bothers thee not to speak of it, how came thee to be blind?”
    Flinching, Alos looked down and covered his white eye with his right hand. “I take it you are looking for someone one-eyed, mu—er, Lady Arin, true?” He lowered his hand to the table and stared at her with his white eye. “If it’s to give a reward, then I’m your man; if it’s to reap one, I’m not him.”
    Arin smiled. “Thine accent, Alos, it does not sound Fjordlander to mine ear.”
    “I’m Tholian by birth, from th’ Long Coast.” Alos glanced at his empty mug and at Tryg, then asked in a plaintive voice, with a hint of whine in overtone, “Lady, could we have another nip?”
    His eyes widened as Arin pushed her cup across to him, for seldom did wine come his way. He held the nearly full cup to his nose and savored the aroma; perhaps it was some of Tryg’s best, her being a Lady and all, and an Elf at that. In two gulps it was gone, its warmth filling his belly and spreading outward. Smacking his lips he ran hislicking-finger around and down into the bottom of the cup, searching for a leftover drop or two.
    Her black eyes glittering in the lamplight, Aiko stared impassively at the dirt-streaked old man as he slurped at his digit, grime embedded under the split nail.
    “Ah. From the Long Coast of Thol,” said Arin. “Yes, I recognize thine accent now. But how came thee to be here in Mørkfjord?”
    Alos blew out a long breath and leaned slightly up on one hip and noisily passed gas, then peered about as if to find the miscreant. A look of disgust fell across Aiko’s face and she wrinkled her nose and glanced at Arin and raised an eyebrow, but Arin merely shook her head slightly.
    “My ship, uh…foundered,” replied Alos. “Yes…foundered.”
    Arin waited for him to continue, to elaborate, but he said no more.
    Lightning flared as Alos looked into the wine cup,