An anguished groan brought Arin to her feet. Egil began to stir, and then to thrash and shout, his hands clawing at the bandages. She hurried to the bedside and tried to hold him still, but in spite of his weakened state, she had not the strength to do so. Aiko appeared at the opposite side of the bed and grabbed an arm. Egil's good eye was wide open and filled with berserker madness, and he hissed in muted rage, yet drugged as he was he could not overcome the two of them. Of a sudden he slumped and began to weep and mumble men's names-"Ragnar, Argi, Bram, Klaen…"-his voice fading as he spoke, and then he closed his eye and fell unconscious once more. Arin felt for his pulse. It was strong and steady.

An unspoken question in her eyes, Aiko looked across at the Dylvana. "Orri said he had ill dreams," whispered Arin.

"Is it safe to let him be, Dara?"

Arin nodded. "He seems to be sleeping again." She glanced at the window. It was yet night. "Return to thy rest, Aiko. I will remain on watch."

As the first light of day seeped through the lodge windows, Arin stood and stretched, then stepped to the bedside and again measured Egil's pulse. As she did so she looked down at his face only to find his good blue eye fixed upon her, his gaze now filled with sanity and not berserker madness.

"Am I dead, Lady? Gone beyond the sky?"

Ann smiled. "Nay, Egil, thou art yet in Mithgar."

Egil put his hand to his bandaged head. "I should have suspected. I am in too much pain to be dead. Though you are the vision of an engel."

"Engel?" Arin's face clouded momentarily. Then she laughed. "Oh, I see: one who lives beyond the sky."

A faint smile crossed Egil's features, then he grunted and struggled to a sitting position. "Where am I? Who are you? Last I remember, the damned Jutes were pursuing and flaming arrows were thick as flies on a dung pile."

Arin began preparing a potion, adding tepid water to a white powder in a cup and then stirring. "Thou didst fall to thy fever."

Once more Egil touched the wrappings passing 'round his head and down his cheek and under his chin only to go back up and 'round and down again several times. "Poisoned blade, I wonder?"

Arin shook her head. "I think not. Unclean, mayhap, even foul, perhaps from grume long past, but not poisoned. Thy comrades did well to treat the gash with salt water, for it washed the wound free of filth, but not ere some of the foulness tainted thine own blood and thou didst succumb to the ill vapors. But thou art now on the journey to wellness, for Thar and I treated thy wounds and thy fever."

"Thar? Healer Thar? Then, Lady, I am in Morkfjord?" Egil looked 'round the room.

"Aye. In Blackstein Lodge."

Egil's eye widened at the sight of Aiko sitting as still as a statue of gold and of an old man snoring on the floor, his fingers scrabbling at the pallet as he dreamed. "Again I ask, Lady, who are you, and who are your companions?"

"I am Arin, Dylvana of Darda Erynian, the Great Greenhall to the south."

For the first time Egil saw what she was. "Elf," he whispered half to himself.

Arin canted her head toward Aiko. "My companion is Aiko, Ryodoan by birth, past Warrior of the Mages of Black Mountain, but now in service to me."

Egil started, and stared at the meditating woman. "Warrior? Mages? Black-?"

"The old man thou shouldst know, for he is Alos of Morkfjord."

"Alos?" Egil slowly shook his head, then winced with the movement of it. "I would never have recognized him as the beggarly old man who sleeps in Norri's boathouse. Why, he's clean for a change."

Arin smiled faintly. "Scrubbed to a fare-thee-well by Aiko." The Dara set the spoon aside and held out the cup to Egil. "Drink. It is a potion to relieve thine aches."

"Good," grunted Egil. "My head is pounding and my stomach churns as if I'd been on a ten-day drunk; my forehead and cheek are sore to the touch; and my left eye burns as if it has been dipped in a molten pit of Hel."

"Thy head pounds loudly for we had to fill thee with brandy ere we could work on thy wounds. Thy stomach suffers for it."

Egil smiled above the rim of the cup.

"Thy forehead and cheek ache from the sword slash; it is yet a raw wound, though now sewn shut. It will hurt for some days and leave a scar."

"A handsome scar, I hope," said Egil. "What about my eye?"

Arin did not immediately answer, but waited until he had downed the potion, then said, "Egil, thy left eye is gone, destroyed by a reaver's sword."

Egil took a deep breath and gradually let it out, and handed her the empty cup. "Then it is as I feared: I am now Egil One-Eye."

Slowly Arin nodded.

As morning drew upon the land 'neath overcast skies, Egil slipped back into a restless sleep. Arin returned to her seat by the fire, and time passed.

There came a tapping on the door.

Golden Aiko opened her eyes.

Again came the tapping.

Taking swords in hand, Aiko rose to her feet. She looked at Ann staring intently at the flames, for the moment completely oblivious to her surroundings. Aiko padded to the door and opened it. Thar stood there, a serving girl behind him bearing a great tray on which was piled eggs and rashers, tea and toast, jams and butter.

Thar looked at the yellow woman in black chemise, a baleful red tiger staring out, then said, "Would ye break y'r fast wi' me?"

Aiko stepped aside and gestured him in with her shorter blade.

Thar crossed to the bed and took Egil's pulse as the serving girl, amid rattling crockery, scurried into the room and set the tray on the sideboard table and distributed the dishes along its length while darting quick glances at the golden warrior and her gleaming swords. When she had finished, she excused herself with a hurried bounce of a curtsey and fled from the chamber.

By this time Arin was on her feet. Aiko glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. Arin shook her head, No, and moved to the side of Egil's bed opposite Thar.

"Strong and steady," said Thar, lowering Egil's hand back to the cover. He felt Egil's forehead. "Fever's down and he seems t' be resting well enough." Thar looked up at Arin. "But ye, ye look drawn; did ye get any sleep at all, my dear?"

At this familiarity of address, Aiko growled, "Bureina yabanjin," low in her throat and started forward, but with a gesture of negation, Arin waved her back.

As they sat in the midst of breakfast, Alos awoke, the old man gummily smacking his lips and blearily staring about. When his good eye fell upon Aiko, he shrieked and scrambled away from her, crawling on hands and bony knees toward the door to escape, only to scrawk and clutch his hands to himself when he discovered he was naked. "My clothes! Someone has stolen my clothes!" he sniveled. Ineffectual in his modesty and still on his hands and knees, back to the pallet he scuttled, where he snatched up his blanket and, struggling, wrapped it 'round his scrawny self, all the while keeping his one good eye on Aiko, as if she would attack.

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?"