rather than in the orcish gibberish the ettins used. The beast might need to speak to Kitiara in order to lure her to Fever Mountain.
Janusz swore an oath to Morgion and crashed a fist against the frozen tabletop, sending the water slopping over the edge of the scrying bowl and cascading down the front of his robe.
He cursed again and dabbed at the black wool with a linen cloth. Once he'd aspired to the white robes of good magic. But now there were only snow and ice and evil in Janusz's life. Even now, within the ice warren, winds insinuated themselves through chink and crack to swirl around his wool-enshrouded ankles. The castle should have been warmer. After all, he'd supervised the building, overseen the crews of thick-backed and thicker-headed ettins. They'd performed the labor that his magic couldn't manage.
Janusz's robe, double-woven of the rarest wool, served him ill as a barrier against the needle-sharp winds of this cursed land. Everything in the room was bluish, bathed in the light that gleamed from Janusz's magical ice. There was no need for lanterns; the walls themselves lit the castle. But the mage longed for a warm lamp with orange-yellow flame. He longed for Kern.
These days he had only his memories to keep him warm. The banality of that thought, as well as its futility, brought a grim smile to his lips, for he did have something else to warm him-his hunger for revenge. He'd had plenty of time to devise ingenious methods of torturing Kitiara.
Suddenly the oak door shuddered beneath a great blow and crashed open. 'Janusz!'
The mage leaped up. His mortar and pestle tipped, rolled, and dropped with a clatter, spilling half-ground herbs over the table and floor. His shock quickly passed. The Valdane often thundered into a room like a god of war. Janusz tried to pull together a semblance of dignity before the tall man who came to a halt before him. 'By the god Morgion, Valdane,' the mage said laconically, 'what demon keeps you warm?'
The leader still dressed as he had in the warmest months back in Kern-black hose, white gathered shirt of watered silk, sleeveless purple doublet with gold braid, purple cape, black steel-tipped boots with steel rivets in the soles. The fashionable outfit, Janusz knew, had played well with the ladies back in Kern. Today, however, the Valdane's eyes were bloodshot against the carrot-orange of his lashes, brows, and hair. His complexion was nearly bloodless; the sun-enhanced freckles that had given him such a ludicrously boyish cast in Kern had faded in the long nights of the Icereach. His eyes, while still blue in the brightest light of what passed for spring here, now tended more toward gray.
'Hatred keeps me warm, mage,' the Valdane replied. 'That, and my plans for my future.'
The Valdane, who never seemed to be cold, also seemed never to sleep. Often late at night, as Janusz pored over his spellbooks and replenished his spell components, he heard the leader's metal-soled tread in the ice-girded hallway outside the mage's quarters.
The mage uprighted the mortar, swept spilled powder into his hand, and returned it to the bowl. 'You sought me for a reason, Valdane? Or merely to chat?' he asked mildly.
A flutter of the man's eyelashes suggested the ruler wasn't fooled by Janusz's nonchalance. 'When will you bring Kitiara here?' he demanded.
The mage sighed. 'I've told you that. As soon as the ettin can lure her to the top of the mountain.'
'You can see her by scrying. Use your accursed jewel to bring her here now.'
'She must be near the other ice jewel for the teleportation to work,' said the mage. 'Even then it is dangerous. How often must I explain this?'
'And if the ettin fails?'
'He won't.'
'Kitiara has the morals of an alley cat. You say she's picked up another lover? What if this new lover and the old one together are able to slay the ettin?'
Janusz didn't lower his gaze. 'I have faith in the ettin.'
'I believe you are losing control, mage.'
Janusz felt blood rush to his face. 'My powers are considerable, Valdane, but they, like all magical powers, have their limits.' He spat out each word. 'Spells weaken me physically, as with all mages. And also as with all mages, I lose a spell from my mind when I use it, and I must study it again. That takes me late into each night.' He gestured toward a shelf of parchment-leaved books with deep blue leather covers. 'You ordered that I transport hundreds of ettins and minotaurs to the Icereach-which, of course, required me also to create living quarters for them. I must maintain and enlarge this warren, provide what little heat I can spare to keep it warm, and do my best to control the ettins, minotaurs, and thanoi.'
'The walrus men,' the ruler said, 'are native to the Icereach. The thanoi sleep out in the open, so you didn't have to provide them shelter.'
'It's little relief. I must scry the ettin and Kitiara, expending vast bursts of energy to communicate with Res- Lacua over the vast distances. You're taxing the limits of my powers already, Valdane, and there's not a mage on Krynn who could serve you better.'
'Certainly none with better motivation,' the Valdane murmured.
Unheeding, Janusz went on.
The Valdane leaned against a brocade-covered stool, twin to the one the mage occupied. He waited until the mage's outburst had burned itself out. 'Yet think of the prize that awaits, Janusz. The man who has the ice jewels and knows their secret can rule Krynn. Think of the armies that could be teleported around Ansalon! The tactical advantage!' He licked his lips with a red tongue, and Janusz averted his eyes in revulsion.
'Think of the power,' the Valdane said, smiling. He studied the mage. Then he reached to his belt and withdrew an ornate dagger. Pointedly ignoring Janusz, he tested the point by using it to stroke the thin skin over the pulse at his wrist. It was like pricking the vein of a dead man. The wound remained clean and bloodless, then, in an eyeblink, closed smoothly, leaving no scar. 'Should we test the bloodlink further, mage?' Valdane teased. 'Or are you loyal to me?'
'Don't!' The cry was wrenched from the mage.
The Valdane laughed and slipped the weapon back into its sheath. He was still chortling as he reached the doorway. Once there, he commented without turning to face Janusz, 'Remember your family, mage. Your brothers and sisters would have been grown by now, wouldn't they?'
Remember his family? As if he could ever forget. The door slammed behind the red-haired man. As if he could forget.
As a child, Janusz had had the easy good looks of many children. He'd shown magical ability early, but his family had been as poor as the rest of the farm workers in the fiefdom north of the city of Kernen. The only relief in their pressing poverty came each midwinter, when the peasants gathered at the castle of the Valdane's father to seek their yearly boon-a special gift, determined by the Valdane himself.
Janusz's parents, burdened with too many children and seeking to provide training for at least one of their offspring, had brought him to the Valdane's castle in his tenth year. Bowing low, they'd asked that Valdane to take the boy into court and see to his training in magic. The boy would repay him amply in service and fealty, they were sure.
Janusz saw that midwinter festival now as clearly as though it were yesterday. He recalled the worried blue eyes of the then-Valdane and the sharper, more eager look of the boy, Janusz's age, who sat on a small throne next to his father and mimicked his sovereign's every move.
The Valdane drew Janusz and his parents out of earshot of the rest of the court. Yes, the Valdane told the couple, he would agree to their plan, but with one codicil-that the lad agree to a blood bond, sealed with magic, with the Valdane's own young son.
The Valdane then took the young Janusz aside. 'I know of you,' the old Valdane had said, his lined face close to Janusz's young one. He smelled of sickness;
his hands were desiccated claws. 'I have heard of your early promise in magic. My aides tell me you will have great power when you are grown.' He coughed, reached for the lad, and leaned heavily on the boy's shoulder. 'It speaks well of your parents to want the court to have the advantage of your considerable gifts.'
Janusz had looked at the marble floor, not knowing what to say. He knew why he and his parents, Sabrina and Godan, were here. They were expecting another child; the hut in the valley was already bursting with children. The man and woman needed strong offspring, children who could work from first light to the last in the fields. This
