The Dragonstone Read Online Free PDF

the yellow woman shed their dripping cloaks.
    “Ah, good and well done, Aiko. Good and well done, Yngli,” said Arin, looking up from her red stitchery as she sewed Egil’s sword gash shut. She’d had to cut the flesh anew so the wound would grow back together, and her fingers and hands were slathered with his fresh blood. “Thar, separate the flowers from the snow. Tryg, put a kettle over the charcoal. We’ll use pure melt to make the tea.”
    Yngli stepped up to the bar and handed the bag to Thar as Arin continued to stitch. Then he slapped himself on the chest and gestured to Aiko and called out, “Hoy, Tryg, give me and her a tot o’ brandy. We’re soaked t’ th’ bone and dead chill.”
    Tryg grunted at Olar, and the fisherman fetched a flask and two cups and filled them nearly to the brim.
    The small man took up both cups and handed one to Aiko, then he quaffed a stiff drink from his own.
“Whuk!”
he choked, then began hacking and coughing. Bili pounded him on the back repeatedly till he caught hiswind and voice again. With his eyes watering he looked ’round the Cove and finally declared, “
Whoo!
Good stuff.”
    As the laughter died down, Yngli glanced at Egil, then turned to Orri. “How were it, Captain? Egil, I mean.”
    Orri shook his head, and for the first time Yngli saw that the raider had a bloody nose. “By gar, he woke up when we put th’ hot knife t’ him. Berserk he was. It took eleven o’ us j’st t’ hold him down. Broke my nose, I think. Then she”—Orri nodded toward Arin—“soothed him with a song and got him drunk on brandy till he passed out. Adon’s blood, Yngli, look at him: he’s happy as a clam, drunk as he is, or would be if he were awake.”
    “I think not,” said Thar, shaking his head. “Were he awake he’d be in pain, no matter th’ brandy.”
    Arin cinched the final stitch and tied off and clipped the gut. “There. It is done. Thar, wouldst thou bandage this man’s hurts?”
    Thar took up the muslin to swathe Egil’s wounds; as he did so he examined the work. “As fine a job o’ tackin’ as could be, Lady—tight, close, tiny—I c’d ne’r do as well. He’ll ha’e a scar, though a fine one, what wi’ th’ splendid work ye ha’e done.” He began carefully wrapping cloth about Egil’s head, covering forehead, eye, and cheek, leaving the man’s mouth and nose and good eye free.
    “He will be in pain for some days to come,” said Arin as she washed her crimson hands and arms in the basin Tryg had brought. “Hast thou no sleeping draughts at all? Nought to relieve the ache?”
    Thar shrugged and muttered, “Nought,” as he finished with the wrapping.
    Arin sighed. “Then we must needs make some, can we find the ingredients.”
    “What is it ye need?” asked Thar, tying the last knot.
    Above the glowing charcoal the teakettle began to hiss and steam.
    “At the moment, healer,” said Arin, looking ’round while toweling off her hands and forearms, “I need to make the arél tea. As to the draughts, we will speak of them after.”
    The Dylvana turned to Tryg. “Hast thou a teapot? No? Then an earthenware vessel will do.”
    With Thar watching, Arin plucked blue petals from the flowers and cast them in one of Tryg’s wide-mouthed mulling jugs. When she judged she had enough, she poured the boiling snowmelt in as well—sufficient to make a bit over a quart of tea altogether. A sweet fragrance wafted up from the jug, heartening all those nearby.
    “Aiko, Yngli,” she called to the two as the beverage steeped, “ye need both drink a cup of this as well, for I would not have ye come down with fever, drenched as ye were.”
    Moments passed and moments more as the benefit of the petals infused throughout the hot melt. Finally Arin dipped up a spoonful of the steaming liquid and blew on it and then tasted it. With a nod, the Dylvana filled a cup and motioned Aiko to do likewise and to pour one for Yngli too. As Aiko complied, Arin stepped