The Tale of Egils Drowning

The Tale of Egils Drowning

A Tale of old An Tir

It was very late that Friday night when Viscount Sir Edward Zifran and his squire arrived at the Third Egilskallagrimson Memorial Tourney. Sir Edward, having driven all the way from Bellingham after a day's work, rolled up in his cloak and left to his squire the task of setting up camp. It was very windy, so the squire found a sheltered hollow in which to set up his knight's pavillion and air mattress. When all was in order, he roused Sir Edward enough to get him to his bed and retired to the wain to sleep.

At some point during the wee hours it began to rain.

Sir Edward woke the following morning to sullen gray skies and a downpour sluicing down onto his pavilion canopy. Not quite fully awake yet, he rolled off his air mattress - into three feet of water. The sheltered little hollow had become a little pond during the dark hours.

Reginleif told me that when she rose and began to make the rounds of the event, Sir Edward was sitting over a small fire that was struggling to burn in the downpour, looking like a drowned vulture.

By
Sister Guineth the White
Copyright © 2005, Emily S D Thompson