raving madness, before dying in the coldest dungeon in Almaaz. Drufalden wondered how he had moved past her guards; his cloak showed no evidence of travel, or of the snow that locked her land. And just as Riolla had said, he had demanded near darkness and that every reflective surface in the room be covered. And Drufalden could not, no matter how hard she tried, see his face. The hood concealed every feature, and his voice seemed to come from the air around her ears instead of from under that dark red hood.
It had been a long time since a man with any power had stood in her presence. It was… enticing. How refreshing and invigorating it was to have a new mystery, a new territory to… explore. Drufalden smiled alluringly into the shadows.
'Cooperate with my agent, let the digger pass unharmed to the Chimes, and you will have your trinket back, and the Wyrvil kingdom along with it. And by the way… your tribute to Nin is long overdue, Drufalden. We can begin with that coin the Wyrvil will give you. I hope your spies have already delivered the rest to Riolla's shop.'
'So you will heal our waters, but your price is our stone?' said Frijan, her eyes upon Og.
After a hearty meal of fish and zebramussels, Frijan and Wiggulf sat with Og over cups made of conch shells, drinking mead in the low firelight of the lodge's great hall. Og stretched lazily, but his eyes were sharp and attentive behind his bulbous, peeling nose.
'Yes. I think I can bring the warmth back to them. Melt the ice upstream,' said Og.
'The stone is our only defense against two enemies, Muje Rifkin,' she countered.
'If I melt the ice that keeps your waters locked, Drufalden's kingdom falls to ruin. It's only the cold that keeps her magical forces alive. They are made of ice and thought alone. And Rotapan has only an imaginary god to contend with. He is of no real threat without this ajada. It seems to me that this is your only hope of recovery. Until her spell is broken, your waters will continue to freeze, the ice continue to creep toward your lodge. Moving again and again will force you closer to the poisoner's waters. If you give me your stone, I can take care of that problem, too.'
'Perhaps. But what guarantee do we have that you will break Drufalden's icespell? We have tried and tried ourselves, ever since we found the stone. Nothing works for long. How do we know you would not melt the waters for a day or two, be on your way, and then they would freeze again? And how do we know that Rotapan will not find a way to take back the ajada from you? He stalks you now, and has the Sumifan Schreefa to help him. We cannot protect you beyond our own borders,' said Frijan. The water sapphire glittered at her ear.
'No,' she continued. 'I will tell you right now that I cannot consent. It is better to have power that we have not learned to use than none at all.'
She left Og at the table and moved toward the center of the hall, where a huge log crackled and sparked in the heart of a natural fireplace, a hollow rock formation that rose from the riverbed through the rafters. More than a hundred selkies sat rapt at a game in progress as Frijan found a place next to her father. Yob had showed them a Wyrvil game with daggers, and the competition had become serious.
Wiggulf had to stop his ears with his fingers when Yob's dagger sank into the cross-cut tree round's center yet again. In the fifth and last round of their game, the big ore had struck home every throw, besting even the selkies' finest marksman. With years of Javin's demanded practice behind him, Cheyne was the only one who could still throw as well, and if he made his target now, he would win the match. Wiggulf looked around his beloved hall with chagrin. If Cheyne missed, Yob would very possibly tear up the whole lodge in celebration.
'I will bet you that gold ring the ore wins. The man is good, but this is an orcish game,' whispered Frijan to Claria.
Claria quirked her mouth at the selkie, her feelings stung beyond reason at the challenge. She twisted Maceo's ring on her finger, wondering if it was still stuck, but it floated easily over her knuckle. Strangely, Claria realized she didn't care if she lost the ring. She cared only that Cheyne won.
'All right. My ring if he loses. But your coral knife if he wins,' said Claria, her hand awaiting Frijan's on the bet.
'May I have part of this wager?' said Og, suddenly at Frijan's elbow.
'What would you have to bet, songmage?' asked the selkie.
'My other stone. For your stone. Since you won't part with it any other way, let me give you a chance for both of them.'
Claria met Og's blank face with horror, but he kicked her sharply under the trestle table before she could make a sound. From deep in his sleeve, he brought forth the ajada, hummed a little low song over it, and put it on the table in front of Frijan. The selkie's eyes widened with amazement as her sworn enemy's source of power glittered within her reach. The human had only to miss, and he was long overdue. She looked up at Og, unable to resist such a possibility.
'You're on,' she said amid the noise and shuffle of other wagers and the dull clink of shell cups. Og smiled genuinely while Claria snatched up his brimming cup and downed its contents in one toss.
The dank, smoky room became very quiet as Cheyne, completely unaware of what rode on his skill, loosened his shoulders and stepped back to throw. He glanced at Claria, who smiled at him a bit drunkenly, and drew back his arm. Yob's little yellow eyes followed his every motion, his face tight and drawn, his sharp claws drumming lightly on the tabletop, where he nursed a bucketful of mead. With no further thought, Cheyne brought the dagger to its mark in a quick, hard throw. It sank deeply into the center of the tree round with a satisfying thunk.
Wiggulf strode over to check the degree of accuracy, pulled out the dagger, and proclaimed, 'He has crossed the ore's cut! It is a perfect throw!'
The selkies cheered, Frijan handed over her coral knife to Claria, and Og raised a new cup in salute, wishing fondly it was full of raqa instead of Wiggulf's cloying mead.
Cheyne took a mock bow, chuckled at his victory, and went to shake Yob's hand. But Yob only looked at Cheyne with stunned silence. He set the mead bucket
down quietly, and Wiggulf held up his hand for silence. The chatter stopped immediately. Yob took a deep breath and raised his hand to Cheyne.
'No one has ever bested me, human. You own my service now. I offer you my life.'
'What?' Cheyne blinked as a strong whiff of woodsmoke washed over his face, and when it cleared, Yob still had one hand in the air, but the other held his own dagger at his heart. 'I await your choice, human. My life or my death.'
Cheyne looked for Og in the crowd, and the song-mage stepped out dramatically, bowed to Yob, and began to explain.
'Such a thing is customary among the Wyrvil. If a Wyrvil takes on an opponent in this game, he or she must win or their life is forfeit. Yob is a Wyrvil underk-ing. This very game was the way he won his kingdom,' said Og. Yob nodded, his eyes trained on Cheyne.
Cheyne stared back in disbelief. 'You have played for your life?'
The songmage pretended not to notice the look Claria threw him as he pocketed Frijan's earring.
'You did not know? This game is always for life. Had you lost, you would be my subject now, or you would have to take your own life. But say what you would have of me. Service or death,' said Yob, unflinching.
'Yob, I am unwilling that you should die for such foolishness-'
'It is no foolish!' roared the ore.
'All right. All right. Then… service. Live, my… friend,' said Cheyne, still baffled.
Yob's knees buckled under him as he returned his bulk to the bench. He sheathed the dagger and raised his drink.
'To service,' he said, and the selkies nervously joined the toast.
'His entire kingdom is yours now. That's all the land outside Sumifa from the oasis to the scrubland,' whispered Og excitedly to Cheyne.
Cheyne pulled the songmage back into the shadows, picked him up bodily, and dangled him by his collar out the only window in the lodge. 'What do you mean, letting me throw with him? I could have lost my life to that big greenskin! And you would have lost your fee! Does this make any sense at all, Ogwater? Hmmm?'
Og hung onto Cheyne's arms for all he was worth. The mist had cleared and the ice in the river was clearly visible under the bright starlight. 'I knew you would win!' he choked out. 'There was no need to make you nervous. We need the water sapphire!'
