Aiko looked up from the map and into Egil's good eye. "Rumor? Is there no accurate description?"
Egil shook his head. "None I know of. Those who have sailed closer than I report such things."
"Has anyone climbed either route?" rumbled Burel.
"If any did," replied Egil, "none has returned to tell the tale."
Alos moaned and looked out to sea, his gaze filling with tears, and he muttered, "Snap us up like sweetmeats all."
"Can we bring the ship nigh enough to see for ourselves?" asked Arin, studying the map.
"The Maelstrom has a long reach, love," replied Egil.
"Even so, can we sail 'tween here and here?" Arin pointed to the channel between the closest two of the Sea-bane Islands.
Egil turned to Alos. "What do you think, Alos?"
The oldster shuddered, then said in a flat tone, "Shipmates, my shipmates." Egil spread the map before the oldster. Alos wiped the tears from his good eye and stared at the drawing, his breath coming in short gasps. Finally he said, "Perhaps… but it will be too perilous, I tell you. I mean, there's a Dragon on the ledge above who can swoop down and swallow us whole, and there's Krakens in these waters who can rise up from out of the depths and drag us under and swallow us whole. And then there's the Great Maelstrom, and if it catches us, ship and all it will swallow us whole."
Arin sighed and looked at the oldster. "If we cannot sail nigh to see for ourselves and must trust to rumor, of the two approaches Egil has named I favor the Jordian side, for a crossing of Gron, no matter how brief, is perilous."
Arin looked up and 'round, receiving nods from all but Alos, who instead peered out to sea, tears again running down his face.
They spent three rainy days in the West Gelen port of Anster, and all the time they were there, Alos was deep in his cups, the oldster trying to drown his fear in drink. Aiko had given up on the task of keeping him sober for, after all, he had safely guided them into and out of Serpent Cove and, other than helming the ship to Jord, there was no part for him to play in the retrieval of the Dragonstone from the Kraken Pool, hence his role in the venture was done. And so she ignored the fact that he was falling-down drunk all the time they were aland, though she was more than fed up with his intemperate blubberings of the doom lying ahead.
On the second night they were in Anster, or rather just before dawn of the third day, as lightning strode across the sky Egil was plagued by a particularly hideous dream, reliving the horror of Miki's face being flayed, the skin being ripped away, the tiny muscles underneath being exposed in wet redness, each muscle then being plucked like individual strings on a grisly, bloody harp, and Miki screaming and screaming and screaming.
Arin held Egil while he wept.
Egil looked up from his plate. "What?"
"I just said, Egil, isn't it dead yet?" repeated Delon.
Egil looked back down. The rasher of bacon was hacked and chopped and torn, as if attacked by a savage beast. Egil slammed his knife to the table and hissed through gritted teeth. "I'm going to kill that bastard."
"Who?"
"Ordrune. When this is over, I'm going back to Serpent Cove and kill him."
"My thoughts exactly," said Burel. "He must pay for my father."
"And my men," added Egil.
"We will need to gather a force," said Aiko. "Enough to throw down his walls or to set siege if necessary."
"And a Mage or two to counter his castings," added Arin.
"That will cost," said Ferret, "yet there should be enough treasure within his walls to pay for all and leave much for us."
"Well then, I take it we know what we will do once this is finished," said Delon. Then he turned to Egil. "But tell me, my friend, why this sudden rage?"
Egil shook his head. "Oh, no, Delon. This rage is not sudden at all, but was forty hideous days in the making and has been tempered for years in the fires of wrath."
"Yes, yes, but why now, this morning?" He looked at Arin to see grief and compassion in her eyes. Enlightenment dawned and he turned back to Egil. "Oh. Another dream, eh? Particularly bad, I take it."
Egil took a deep breath. "Particularly. And I am cursed to relive his monstrous depravities each night."
Burel glanced at Arin and said, "Cannot the Mages at Rwn lift such a curse? If so, why not go there now? According to Egil's charts, the isle is but a week or so away-north and west of here."
Before Arin could reply, Egil said, "No, Burel. Let us first get the Dragonstone and then sail to Rwn. If they can lift the curse, that is the time to try. We've been on this mission for nearly a year-"
"Nearly two," interjected Aiko.
Egil looked at her, then nodded. "Yes. It's been nearly two years since Arin had her vision."
"Two years in July," murmured Arin.
"In July it will be a full year for me," said Egil, then added, "and for Alos. -Regardless, my thinking is that we know not when the doom is set to fall, and the sooner we can get the stone into safe hands, the better for all. After we deliver it to the Mages at the college on Rwn, then and only then should we see if they can lift this hideous curse from my nightly dreams. But whether they can or cannot, I'm going after Ordrune."
"And I will go with you," said Burel, raising his cup to Egil.
And so did they all, all but Alos, who was yet passed out in his room above.
At mid of night on the fourth day after leaving the port of Anster, Arin and her companions stepped out the Elven rite of the vernal equinox, for it was the twenty-first of March- Springday.
On the twenty-third they changed course from a northerly run to head north-northeastward, and late in the day of the twenty-fifth they crossed into the icy waters of the Northern Sea, the Brise bound for the wide channel 'tween Thol and Leut.
On April the sixth they came to the marge of the Boreal Sea, and beneath a waxing three-quarter moon they sailed into the broad harbor of Ogan, the port situated on the Long Coast of Thol.
"We'll sail along the shores of Thol and the Jillians and Rian, for it is April, the most unruly of months, and the Boreal's quite fickle this time of year. Should we need shelter from her sudden storms, land will be nearby."
"Well and good, Egil," said Ferret, "but tell me, how many days until Jord?"
Egil looked down at his charts. "Depending on the wind and waves, Ferai, a month, more or less."
"And Dragons' Roost?" asked Aiko.
"Within a day, the same," replied Egil, "for I plan on mooring in Hafen, some thirty, forty miles past. It's the closest port to our goal."
"And that's where we get the horses and cattle?" asked Delon.
Egil nodded.
Alos quaffed the last of his ale and called for another flagon. "Look. Listen. Um." He peered into his empty jack as if seeking his lost train of thought. Then he raised his good eye to Egil. "Do, do, do you truly believe… um… that the Dragon will prefer cattle to us?"
Egil shrugged, but Ferret said, " 'Tis a tribute we bring to him, Alos. Surely the Dragon will give us a hearing when he sees we bear a gift."
Alos shook his head, and his tongue was thick and slurred. "You think to take him a dinner, but I think we'll be the dinner instead." A sob welled up from within the oldster, momentarily stifled by the arrival of his flagon.
On the eighth day of April, in a light sleet, they set sail from Ogan, heading northeast, heading for the realm of Jord.
They followed the Long Coast of Thol for days, long days and long nights of unremitting sleet and rain and snow, for spring comes late to the bounds of the Boreal Sea. As they approached the waters off the Jillian Tors, the sun finally broke through the overcast, and they sailed for a week in fair weather, coming to the shores of Rian in the last of the April days. Past Rian they sailed, past the end of the Rigga Mountains, and along the marge of Gron, a fog-laden land of cold mists. Here Egil angled outward into the Boreal, aiming the Brise for the westernmost isle of the Seabanes.