'Look, that must be the floating city.' He pointed through the trees at what looked like a marooned forest, piles of timber and branches stuck on a bit of rock in the sluggish stream. And along the water's edges, bits of debris tilted and bunched, frozen in an icy, haphazard hedge.
Wiggulf stopped to take in the sight of his home. Then he began to cry. 'What has happened to it?'
'The ice queen has frozen the mother waters, Father. Barely a trickle of the mighty stream that once flowed under our feet in the lodge remains liquid. Our people are starving for fish and have taken to hunting the forest, instead-I tried to tell you how little food we have. But you are home now. All that will change,' said Frijan.
'It looks to me like the river is still pretty high,' said OgWiggulf shook his head slowly. 'Not a tenth of it remains passable. None of the rock used to show. Where the stream passes under the lodge, there-that is the way all of it once was.' He halted them at the icy shoreline and waited for the guard to appear.
Cheyne found himself fighting to focus on the misty island in the middle of the river, but after awhile, if he persisted in looking at just the same place, it took more definite form. He could make out what looked like a log jam, huge trees cut down and hauled into place to form a sort of floating barrier. A very effective one, he thought. If people tried to walk out on that, falling would be inevitable, and if the cold water didn't kill them, the disturbed logs banging together could easily crush swimmers before they ever got to the lodge. Then from the mist itself, Cheyne thought, six more selkies appeared before them and saluted Frijan.
'Your king is home. Clear the way for him and his guests,' she commanded, and they immediately dove under the icy logjam, disappearing in the dark waters. In a few moments, the timbers parted, and several huge otters bobbed and swam in the wake.
'Go, ore. They will see that you don't drown, fust lie back and relax,' said Wiggulf.
Yob obeyed, having little strength to do otherwise. The otters caught him from underneath and ferried him somewhat roughly to the lodge, but his head never sank below the waterline.
'Can't you do some magic here, Og? I don't want to dip into that water again.' Claria stood frowning at the river's edge.
'I'm a little worn out, if you please. And I haven't had a drink since before we left Sumifa,' said Og, his eyes bleary and tired behind his huge, sun-blistered nose.
'Are there no rafts?' asked Cheyne.
'We keep nothing around that would provide access to our lodge by our enemies. Unfortunately, it discomfits our friends as well. It will be a quick crossing, though the water will be unnaturally cold,' said Frijan to the others. 'Concentrate on your breathing and know that we will be there to bear you up should you falter.'
Claria set her jaw and went next, under her own power, then Og with Cheyne's help. Wiggulf and Frijan brought up the rear, visible only as sleek, dark streaks under the low fog.
As the cold, black water swirled around his head, Cheyne felt rinsed of the layers of salt from the seawa- ter, his skin soothed by the river's gentle current. But for Og clinging to his back, he could almost have fallen asleep, sinking down into frigid peace, forgetting why he had ever wanted to be anywhere else. At length, Claria brushed against him, and he reached numbly for the rock that appeared in front of him.
'Cheyne, are you all right?' She crawled up after him onto the river-worn boulder.
'I think so. Yes.' He shook his head, clearing it, his thoughts coming sharper and faster again. A few seconds passed before Wiggulf and Frijan appeared from behind them.
'You did well. Despite our best efforts, the water is still fouled with deathsleep from Drufalden's cold heart. Let's get inside where the fires are. You're all shaking,' said Frijan, climbing over the smooth rocks to a wooden platform.
Og slung off his pack and dripped steadily, regard2 1 6
Teri McLaren
ing the selkie's blue-and-purple earring, which he still clutched tightly in his hand.
'I might be able to help you,' the songmage managed to stutter, despite his chattering teeth. 'But I'll need to ask to keep your stone,' he added quietly, his eyes upon Wiggulf.
'My daughter knows the state of our affairs with Drufalden far better than I at this time, Ogwater. I must defer to her judgment.'
Frijan shrugged, pointing to the doorway. 'When Drufalden's heart thaws, the river will be warm and the fish will return. Until then, we suffer her icy curse. And we need the stone. I can never give it up.'
'No, I mean, I could really help you. With the river,' said the songmage, reluctantly handing the sapphire to Frijan under Cheyne's hard glance.
Frijan peered at him intently, then turned to examine Wiggulf s solemn face. 'All right, we will counsel together.'
Cheyne and Claria helped Yob up the slippery, ice-encrusted stairs, and soon they were all resting, higher and drier, in the great hall of the lodge around a crackling driftwood fire.
'Move faster, Rotapan. I have never been this cold in my entire life,' complained Riolla through her chattering teeth. 'How does Drufalden bear this?'
She pulled her thin silk robe around her shoulders more tightly and gave the half-ore a bit of a kick. He turned on her with sharp little fangs bared, but then remembered that Saelin, who had wordlessly joined them moments earlier, was once again at his heels, and hurried his steps a bit more. It was hard going. Drufalden's mountain was really an old burned-out volcano, and the sides were covered in alternate patches of thick ice and barren lava runs, which were encrusted by layers of hardened ash and natural glass fragments. Here are there, steam vents offered relief from the frigid air and the bleak landscape, their pockets of lush greenery scattered like so many oases over upon the mountain.
'Look ahead-I see a rising mist, honored Schreefa. Perhaps there is warm spring there.' Saelin pointed to a low-hanging white cloud just ahead of them. 'In any case, we are losing the light. Perhaps camping would be preferable to this current misery?'
'Yes, I believe there might be a warm spring over there. There used to be one on the caravan road, I recall. Perhaps I can be warmed, after all.' She gave Rotapan another boot toward the rising steam, much to Saelin's relief. 'We camp for the night. Rotapan, you will climb the mountain, make the arrangements for the army, and return to us here.'
'What? Am I not just as weary as you? You would send me up there alone?' whimpered Rotapan.
Giving him a grimace and no more, Riolla entered the small but dense jungle that had grown up around the warm spring. Huge arrow-shaped leaves dripped condensation off their pointed tips and the warm spring filled the thick air with a soothing gurgle.
'Your archenemy has no more power than you right now. I have it on the best authority that she'll see you. Saelin will go with you as your bodyguard. Stop whining, Rotapan,' she admonished, giving the crestfallen Saelin a signal to find some food. 'Drufalden's spies have surely told her we are here. Their eyes are everywhere. Do you forget whom I represent? I'm sure if you explain that the Raptor himself has interest in this, she will listen. Here, take this.'
She handed him the coin the Raptor had given her. Rotapan looked at the gold piece with keen interest, then dropped it into his deep pocket. She picked a spotted orchid bloom from a low-hanging limb and put it in her hair as Saelin summoned his last bit of patience, bent a short tree, and cut down its hand of ripe miniature bananas for her.
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Rotapan curled his mouth into a silent, bitter sneer as he turned toward the trail up to the summit, up to the ice-ridden castle, Saelin close behind him, Riolla's whispered instructions fresh in his ears. High above, at the mist-shrouded summit of the old volcano, Rotapan thought he saw a dark whirlwind stirring the snow into a blizzard.
'Do not harm the young man. Do not touch him, do not let him be touched by any of your Rimscalla guards,' said the Raptor.
Drufalden's pale, almost colorless, eyes followed the shadowy figure as it paced back and forth in her darkened chambers. She studied the sway of the crimson cloak as it brushed over the polished floors, never quite touching them. The click of the Raptor's heels echoed through the carved ice hallways and played against the stone archways like music over water.
Here, inside the mountain, she had always been safe, never really believing this man, if he were man, existed. But here was the Raptor, just as Riolla had said so long ago. Just as her mother had spoken of in her
