"Thou art human; I am Elf. I cannot bear thee any children."
Egil's eye widened.
"We are barren with one another-our two races cannot mix," added Arin.
"I do not understand," said Egil.
"Thou art from the Middle Plane, from Mithgar; I am from the High Plane, from Adonar. Elves can neither sire nor bear young on Mithgar; just as humans cannot sire nor bear young on Adonar. Some claim that the Fates have ruled it so. Others ascribe it to those who stand above Adon or Gyphon or aught others of the gods."
Egil shook his head. "Then it is true: there are those who rule even the gods?"
"Aye. And perhaps it is they who have decreed that human and Elf shall bear no young. Yet whether it is the gods, the Fates, a force of nature, or aught else, the fact remains that I can bear thee no child."
Egil frowned and fell into thought. Then he took a deep breath and said, "Often the men of my people fall in battle, leaving children behind. At times mothers fall ill and die. But these youngers do not grow up fatherless, motherless, for others take them in. They are loved no the less for being of other's blood. I was a foundling myself-my true parents unknown-but I was taken in and my new father and mother cherished me as if I were their own. They were barren with one another, yet our home was filled with love. We can do the same, Arin, should we find we want younglings underfoot."
Slowly Arin nodded, and Egil said, "That was two, my love. What is the third reason?"
Arin interlaced her fingers, gripping so tight that her knuckles paled to bone whiteness, and she stared down at the ground. "Thou art mortal; I am not."
Confusion filled Egil's face, but he reached out and covered her hands with his, finding her trembling. "Again I ask: what does that have to do with my loving you?"
"Just this: thou wilt grow old while I stay as I am, and when thou dost die as must all mortal things, it will shatter my heart."
"Were I one of your kind, could I not die?"
Arin nodded. "Aye, thou couldst be slain in battle or die in a number of other ways. Yet-"
"Then, love, let us savor the days we have and let tomorrow fend for itself."
Arin looked at the ground. "Egil, even should we both survive this quest, there is a chance that thou wilt come to resent what I am, as age grips thee but touches me not."
"Oh, my engel, how could you think I would ever resent you? You are my beloved."
Again, a range of emotions flickered across her face, warring with one another. And just as suddenly they disappeared, as if one or many had surrendered. With her heart in her eyes, Arin reached up and took his face in her hands and drew him down to her and gently kissed him on the lips, and Egil's own heart leapt within him, soaring into the high blue sky. And he scooped her up in his arms and spun about, laughing. And in that moment-
"Sate!" called Aiko, her arm outstretched, pointing.
With Arin yet in his arms, Egil turned to look. Down in the fjord, heaving into view 'round a turn in the distance came a ship.
"Is it a raider?" asked Arin.
Egil laughed. "No, my love; the lookouts sounded no horns of warning. Instead 'tis a Rianian carrack, a merchanter bearing wines and cheeses, salt and spices, trinkets and baubles, weapons and armor, and other trade goods. There will be a celebration in Morkfjord tonight." He embraced her tightly and then set her to her feet and grinned and said, "It is an omen of our troth, decreed by those above the gods themselves."
Aiko came to the crest of the tor to stand beside them. And as they watched the craft slowly make its way along the dark waters of the fjord, Arin said, "Dost thou think we can take passage on such a ship unto Jute?"
Egil barked a laugh. "If so, it would be a long, slow ride. Better we ask Orri to take us there, when he returns."
"Nay, Egil," said Arin. "I would come unto Jute on a ship of peace rather than a raider's rig."
"The Jutlander queen's court is in Koniginstadt, along the coast. We could slip ashore at night."
Again Arin shook her head. "Rather would I come announced unto this mad monarch than to scurry ashore in the dark, for I would enter her court invited, not in secret."
"But they say she's mad."
"Nevertheless, she is queen of a nation at peace with the High King. Hence, 'tis better we come in the open- and expected-than to be discovered skulking in the night."
Egil sighed and nodded. "As you wish, love. But tell me, my engel, how do you propose to garner an invitation?"
Arin turned to him and smiled and shrugged. "On such a ship as that one below, we will have time to think of a plan, neh?"
Egil laughed. "Aye. That we will. And though I would rather slip over the wall and snatch away the mad monarch's rutting peacock, there is much to say for your methods. Yet whatever plan we devise must succeed quickly, for I do not wish to spend a jot more time than necessary in any mad monarch's view. Hence, if it were up to me, I would simply grab the peacock and run-it is the raiders' way."
Arin laughed and then sobered. "One-eye in dark water. Mad monarch's rutting peacock. I do hope we follow the correct path."
Egil pointed to his crimson patch. "Love, you have me, and so that line of the rede is now fulfilled."
Arin sighed. "Mayhap, Egil, mayhap. Yet deep in my soul I feel Alos may have a part to play."
Aiko, who had remained silent, muttered something under her breath, then turned to Arin. "He is an old man. He is a drunkard. He is a coward. He would do nought but hinder us. Nevertheless, Dara Flameseer, would you have me find him and ask him again to join the quest? He will just run away screaming."
"What does thy tiger say?"
"On matters such as these, she is silent."
"I could talk to him," rumbled Egil.
Arin sighed. "We simply must find a way to convince him to come."
Egil puffed out air between his pursed lips and cast a glance at Aiko, then said, "Let us go down and see where next the carrack is bound. Perhaps indeed, it will bear us to Jute."
The two-masted ship was the Gyllen Flyndre, out of the port of Ander in northern Rian along the Boreal Sea. Her master was Captain Holdar. He had sailed along Fjordland, making port in town after town, where he had traded ship's goods for furs. Morkfjord was the last Boreal Seaport he would call on, after which he was bound for the walled city of Chamer on the east coast of Gelen, where he would sell the furs for a handsome profit.
Holdar rubbed his ruddy jaw, then said, "I'll not stop in Jute, milady, but if you've a boat we'll lade her aboard- or tow her ahind-and set you free in the waters nigh."
Arin glanced at Egil. "Is there a small craft we can purchase?"
"I think I know of a ship," answered Egil. "One I can handle alone, though 'twould be better with a crew of two or three."
"Aiko and I can learn."
Aiko cocked an eyebrow, but Egil grinned and said, "Aye, that you can. But first let's see if she's still up for grabs for a coin or two." He stood and stepped to the bar.
Captain Holdar shook his head. "I'd not be going to Jute, Lady Arin, if I were you, and that's my sound advice. The queen, they say she's mad; just how, I don't know." He turned to Aiko. "But this I do know, yellow lady: if I were you, I'd steer clear of her court, for they say she likes to collect exotic things-birds, animals, creatures, whatever, people not the least-and I'll wager she's not seen the likes of you, what with your golden skin. Why, she's like to throw you into a cage, I wouldn't wonder. But, oi, I've no need to travel those ports, and of that I'm glad, yea, what with the furs along this coast and the good market in Gelen-and here's to Chamer hats and muffs and coats and such." Holdar hoisted his mug of ale, then took a great swallow.
A short while later Egil returned. "Tryg says Orri still owns the sloop he doesn't want, a small knockabout some thirty feet long-won it as a prize on a raid in Gothon."