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.

And still during the tail of each and every day, Egil was visited by cursed dreams, and in the mid of each and every night, Aiko sensed peril somewhere lurking.

As they rounded the crags of the Seabanes, to the east and low on the horizon jutted up their ultimate goal- Dragons' Roost-its crest crowned with white snow and glittering ice, the peak winter gripped year 'round. Yet Egil did not aim for this mountain, but swung slightly larboard instead, bearing for the port of Hafen in Jord. Even so, the mountain grew taller as easterly and north they fared, and they could not seem to take their eyes from that final crest in the arc of the Gronfangs, the chain itself curving away to be lost in the cold mists to the south. Their closest approach came just ere mid of night, a full moon shining down from above, the white pinnacle glittering silver in its light. But onward they sailed northeasterly, leaving the mountain behind.

Just before dawn on the ninth of May, six hundred seventy-eight days after Arin had had her vision, they haled into the port of Hafen and made fast to the docks.

As the sun rose they looked south to see their white-capped goal lying but forty miles away-forty miles to Dragons' Roost, forty miles to the Kraken Pool, forty miles to the Dragonstone, forty miles to doom.

CHAPTER 69

[Aye. They do be a path leadin' up,"] said the hostle-keep, eyeing the strange company before him, [but a man'd ha'e t' be a bluidy fool t' climb them dreaded steeps."]

Egil nodded and turned to the others and translated the 'keep's words, for he had spoken in the Jordian tongue- oh, not Valur, the battle-tongue of lord, for that was close-held by the people of this land, reserved for warriors and war. Instead he spoke in the customary Jordian speech, which Egil could clearly understand, for the Jordians and his own Fjordlanders are said to have sprung from the same root stock… and their languages had much in common.

Egil turned back to the man. ["We need horses. Cattle, too."]

The 'keep's eyes flew wide, wider than they had when he had first seen the Dylvana, wider than they had when he'd seen this strange, golden Warrior Maid. ["Ye dunt plan on goin' there, anow, d' ye? Up into Raudhrskal's domain."]

["We do. Yet we'll allow no others to accompany us."]

[" 'N' j'st who d' ye think'd be th' bluidy fool 'r fools who'd want t' go wi' ye, anow?"]

At dawn of the third day after arriving at Hafen, Arin and her companions set out from the port town. A gathering of citizenry watched as these strangers-four males and three females, seven fools altogether-embarked for Dragons' Roost.

That one there, he be th' one-eyed Fjordlander, a raider, no doubt. Aye, but don't ye find it passin' strange that there be two one-eyed men among them seven, th' old one wi' a regular evil eye, I'd say; but he be in his cups most o' th' time. Did ye hear that sweet-voiced bard sing, 'n' why do he be along? T' sing t' th' Drake, d' ye suppose? That big man there, he probably be a warrior, 'n' some tell they seen 'im lying flat on th' stones 'n' praying at Elwydd's shrine. Ha! As if prayin' t' Elwydd belike t' save 'im fra th' Drake. That one woman, th' one wi' th' daggers-I heard she be a Gothonian. Ar, but th' other one, th' yellow warrior maid, what land d' ye think she be fra, eh? That Elf, a Dylvana, no less, I'd say she be a sorceress o' great power. 'N' they be all headed f r Dragons' Roost, 'n' why d' ye think that be? Did ye see all o' them ropes 'n' stuff what they took wi' 'em on th' pack mules? T' get th' treasure, no doubt: th' bard t' sing 'im t' sleep; th' old man t' give 'im th' evil eye; th' sorcerous Dylvana t' charm th' Drake; th' yellow warrior maid t' cut 'im up wi' her magic swords; th' other three t' carry th' gold 'n' jools. But it'll fail, what e're their plan be: cattle 'r no, magic 'r no, swords 'r no, th' Drake Raudhrskal'll j'st burn 'em up wi' 'is fire 'n' be done wi' it…

And thus went the mutter of conversation as seven fools rode out on seven Jordian steeds, driving four head of cattle before them and trailing three laden packmules behind.

"Alos," said Arin, "thou didst not need come with us, but could have stayed in Hafen instead."

Alos shivered as he stared at the white peak ahead, but hi a monotone he said, "Unlike before, I'll not desert my shipmates in their time of need."

"Hmm," mused Ferret. "You've said that heretofore, Alos… several times, in fact. Tell me, was there a day when you did desert your shipmates?"

The oldster looked at her, then glanced across at Arin. The Dylvana smiled. Alos ducked his head, ashamed. "It was in the Boreal," he muttered.

"What?" said Ferret. "I did not hear you."

Alos took a deep breath. "It was in the Boreal," he repeated.

"What was in the Boreal?"

Alos again looked at Arin, his one-eyed gaze pleading, for he had told no one of his cowardice past.

Arin guided her horse next to his. "Thou dost need not speak of aught if it pains thee. Even so, I deem it weighs thee down, yet burdens become lighter when shared."

Tears welled in Alos's gaze. "It was in the Boreal. The Black Mage Durlok and his Trolls boarded my ship, the Solstrale, and took all prisoner… all but me. I hid in the bilge. Durlok sunk the ship."

"Ah," said Ferret, "now I recall you said something to that effect in Ordrune's gaol."