by Teri Mclaren
"Nothing I care to discuss. But I have a bit of information you might like to hear. For a price, of course," said the elf.
"How much?"
"I think half of what you let the digger find under the Clock will do."
Riolla looked at him levelly. But he knew he had guessed the truth.
"Surprised that I knew you planned to take it alt for yourself?" he continued. "I could have told the Raptor back in Sumifa, but then 1 would have had to do your job, too. And this way, we both get what we want. You can have Sumifa, but I want Sarraza and what lies below it."
"What do you know about the Clock?" growled Riolla. Og perked up his own ears, but pretended to drowse from fatigue.
"Enough. But you don't."
"What do you mean? she hissed.
"Well, — there is the matter of how it works."
"What do you mean? Stop toying with me, Naruq."
"The digger has what he needs now to find and open the Clock. It's in that book his father has carried with him all over Almaaz. You did not know you were being followed? Yes, I thought that might bring a pique to your complexion. But the digger and his book are not a problem, even if he gets the Treefather to read it for him."
"Why not?"
"We now have something he wants."
Naruq stood and parted the foliage behind him to reveal Claria, her golden eyes molten with anger, her hands and feet tied, and a gag in her mouth.
Already agitated by Claria's perfume, Womba could contain herself no longer. When she saw the girl, she roared and leapt from her hiding place, ripping the small tree that Og was tied to from the ground by its roots. Og bounced free from it just before she swung it. Naruq, caught totally by surprise, barely managed to dodge the blow himself. Riolla rolled her eyes, the orcess's appearance just one more inconvenience. Claria could only roll under another sturdy bush and hope for the best.
Womba missed her again and again, each swat of the tree breaking it farther down its shaft until the orcess held only a stick of kindling in her scaly hands. Naruq had drawn his dagger, but could not get his aim until she turned her face toward him and he brought the knife across her cheek with a vicious slash. Her eyes full of blood, Womba bellowed again, grabbed Og, who had not yet worked free from his ropes, and ran into the night.
"That was brilliant. Now he can go and tell the digger what we plan to do," said Riolla.
Naruq chuckled, wiping his dagger on Claria's robes. "Oh, but don't you see, Schreefa? The orcess will take him as far from the others as she can. By the way, you did check his pockets, didn't you?"
"Of course not. Why should I; he didn't even have Rotapan's staff. You expected me to actually touch him? It was all I could do to tie him up, the little cockroach. He would never hurt me anyway."
"He had two of the stones."
Riolla's face went ashen. Naruq looked down his long angular nose at her with disdain. "The digger is headed for the Treefather. He's the only one who can read the book. I'll have to take him into the forest, so I'll hear what the old graybeard has to say and be back as quickly as I can. Your job is to take care of her while I'm gone. Don't hurt her or let her get away, Riolla. You need what only I can provide, or you'll never get to the Clock… think on that, and be grateful I have decided to give it to you."
Riolla sneered at his back as he melted into the forest. Then she turned to Claria and smiled, her mouth a little pink rosebud of false pity.
"We meet for the first time, my dear. I had hoped you would see me at the wedding. Maceo was quite taken with you at one time, I know. But of course, all that is over now. And your little insignificant life will be over soon, too. I'll just take his ring back to him for you."
Riolla reached for the ring on Claria's finger, and to her great surprise, the girl did not try to draw back her bound hands. Instead, she wiggled her finger, now swollen again, right under the Schreefa's nose. Riolla cocked an eyebrow at Claria and tried to remove the ring.
Which, of course, would not come off. Claria laughed behind her gag. Riolla was not amused.
"Ah… well, then. There are other ways, my dear," she cooed.
Rotapan finished reciting Riolla's request and fell silent.
"All right, Wyrvil. Hand over the coin," said Drufalden, tapping the arm of her throne with a long silver nail.
Rotapan blinked and rolled his eyes, adjusting them to the blazing brightness of Drufalden's chambers. Saelin had removed the half-ore's blindfold only after they had been escorted through the maze of ice and stone that formed Drufalden's personal corridor.
Rotapan fished into his pocket and reluctantly brought forth the Ninnite coin. Drufalden examined it carefully, at last satisfied that it matched the Raptor's description.
"You just saved your miserable life, Wyrvil. I've been waiting for years at the chance to have you standing before me. Tell Riolla her escort will be waiting. I'll send five hundred of my finest assassins to wait at the curtain. She can meet them there.
"Get him out of my sight before I forget myself, Saelin." Drufalden waved her hand at the assassin.
Saelin smiled, bowed, and dropped the blindfold neatly back over Rotapan's head. As they moved through the frozen corridor, the air seemed strangely warmer and smelled different. Rotapan felt water beneath his feet. Then he heard a peculiar sound.
Like the thawing of a river. Like the cracking of ice.
Saelin heard it, too. There was half a mile of corridor left to go. The assassin ran for his life, splashing down the long maze, leaving the half-ore to stumble blindly into the melting walls, the roof of the corridor already dissolving at a rate far faster than a natural thaw.
Rotapan tore off the blindfold and raced after the assassin, Saelin's footprints a fresh trail in the sugary, ice.
Exhorting Chelydrus's mercy the entire distance, Rotapan coughed and wheezed through the slippery corridor, the roof raining icy water down his neck, but holding up in spite of the sudden thaw. The half-ore slid the last several feet out into the courtyard, barely avoiding a drenching puddle of slush, picked himself up, and looked around for Saelin. The assassin had vanished.
Leaving Rotapan with nowhere to go. Except home. He wrapped his thin cloak about himself disgustedly, set himself in alignment with the sisters, and proceeded through the melting courtyard and down the mountain.
Behind him, Drufaiden's crystalline kingdom seeped into dirty rivulets that became muddy streams, which then emptied into the rivers below. By the next day, ice that had stood in walls a hundred feet high would flood the land below the mountain and end up pouring into the Silver Sea. Rotapan paused as he passed by the remains of the magnificent sculpture of Chelydrus, now a featureless lump amid a growing puddle.
"Mighty Chelydrus, you alone survive, your face perfect and your form without blemish. Nothing can touch your glory. I wilt rebuild your temple, my lord. Only see me safe home, and 1 will raise it again. I will hold the staff again. I am Rotapan, Rex Serpens to the ten tribes!" he shouted aloud, and moved down the mountainside as though he still were.
Behind him, the slave the guards had taken, his face beaten raw and one of his eyes already swollen shut, slipped out of the corridor and waved his hand in a sharp downward motion. The wolf pup came bounding out of his hiding place in the rocks and leapt playfully into his arms. The Neffian knelt painfully and let the wolf sniff his wounds, but hushed him when he began to whimper, then led him into a dark crevice under an overhang at the edge of Drufaiden's courtyard.
"Rafek! Where have you been? What happened to you?" the voices seemed to come from all around the Neffian as he moved from the secret entrance of the colony to the main cavern.
"There's no time to explain. The guards have melted! Yes! Even as they beat me-I was out hunting with the wolves and couldn't get back to the doorway before the guards sensed me-but the guards just turned to water before my eyes. 1 thought I was dead and dreaming. Now 1 see that the whole place is going-something has changed out there."
A h
undred old Nefftans, all past work, but still bearing the silver collar with Drufaiden's mark, looked at Rafek like he was mad.
"You can't mean that, man, look at you-it's probably from the beating. But where are Jepli and Carsh?" said one of the older men, whose name was Salmak.
"The Wyrvil king killed them both. Only QTarin survives." The wolf pup licked his hand at the sound of his name.
"The… Wyrvil king? You saw the Wyrvil king up on this mountain? Rotapan, who traded us all into slavery again when we had run from Sumifa?" Salmak began to shake his head and roll his eyes. A few of the others politely covered their toothless smiles.
"I did. I thought he was a lost traveler at first and I tried to help him. For that kindness, he killed my wolves. From the guards' loose talk, I know that another, an assassin, took the Wyrvil in to see Drufalden herself. I didn't see the assassin when I came out of the corridor, but the half-ore is on his way back down the mountain now. Apparently alone," added Rafek. "I tell you, things have happened. The New King is at hand, just like the juma said. My brother Doulos was right-we are about to be free! Where are the house servants? The men in the mines? The smiths? Ask them if this kingdom is not melting. Or look outside for yourself if you don't believe me!"
The old man smoothed back his thick mane of white hair and pulled on his silver collar, then motioned one of the others to take a cautious look out the secret entrance.
"All right, Rafek, calm down. If Silufe brings back water, we will act on this," the elder said, giving Silufe an empty cup to take with him. In a few moments, Rafek's eye was bandaged and the other man had returned with a smile and a cup of water.
"The guards are gone. But the assassins have manned the courtyard," said Silufe. Rafek settled, glad that they finally believed his news.
Salmak smiled in his white beard. "I never thought I'd live to see it. But perhaps we have a chance now. They are just men and women. We could not fight magic. But we can fight flesh and blood and bone. We will have to plan carefully. There are still many more of the assassins than there are of us, but we will have our chance." He pulled again on the silver collar. "She is not invincible anymore."
Rafek hugged the wolf pup and stood up to leave. "Take care of Q'Tarin. I'm going after that Wyrvil snake."
"Rafek-the Ninnites will take you down in a heartbeat. The courtyard is crawling with them," said Silufe.
"I have to go. It may be the only chance we have at him while he's alone and unprotected. And he killed my wolves, Silufe. You know I cannot let that go." Rafek threw on a heavy cloak and crept back out to the secret entrance.
He had to wait only a few minutes before the assassins gathered in the center of the yard to light their rations of shirrir. When their backs were turned from the wind, Rafek moved shadowlike out of the rocks and down the trail.
And Q'Tarin, who had bitten every hand that had tried to restrain him, trotted silently behind.
18
Riolla brought forth her little jeweled dagger and flashed it before Claria's golden, unflinching eyes.
"You think we will need this to remove the ring?" asked the Schreefa.
Claria shook her head, her gag still in place.
"Good. Now you take it off."
Claria held up her bound hands.
"Nice try," said the Schreefa, bringing the dagger closer.
"Riolla!" Saelin came crashing into the dense undergrowth like a falling boulder. "Gather yourself. There is no time. We must move to higher ground immediately," he puffed.
"Ah… well done, my esteemed empress. Is this a special treat for your honored servant?" He brought his hand to his face, tracing the raw, red scratch lines of Claria's comb.
"What are you talking about, Saelin? Why do we have to leave here now? And where is Rotapan?" Riolla replaced her dagger.
"When the melt began, there was no time to dispense with him as you had planned. But I am sure he is dead. I left the Wyrvil in the palace's corridor. Do not fear-he'll never find his way out, and the Wyrvil tribes will continue to remain hostile to the ice queen. He was blindfolded and the walls were melting. I am sure the corridor has fallen in on him. He delivered your message and Drufalden has summoned your sabers. They will await you at the Curtain."
Saelin kept looking up toward the mountain. "Schreefa, there is a wall of mud ready to come down on us. We must move now."
Riolla kicked at Claria to get her on her feet. "The old coot must have used the selkies' stone," she muttered. "Never mind. We need to move fast anyway, but I wish your dagger had found Rotapan's heart instead of leaving him to chance. No matter, he is out of the way, and I don't have to pay him. Perhaps, Saelin, you would do well in his old position."
The assassin bowed and smiled under his dark mustache. It was enough to make him forget all about the lost chroniclave.
Ogwater bounced along atop Womba's massive shoulders like a bag of melons. The orcess had not slowed her pace since she had thrashed her way out of the jungle and into the forest that surrounded the selkies' river. Og had no idea where she was taking him, but wherever it was, he thought it was too far.
Until he saw Dunsan. The sentry ran toward them, his face hot with exertion.
"Where have you been? We have been searching for you at Wiggulf s most urgent order. Do you not know that the mountain falls also? This place will likely remain dry, but you could be trapped here until the river recedes."
At the sound of Dunsan's voice, the battle frenzy departed from her, and Womba looked at him as though she did not comprehend his words. But Dunsan's appearance had stopped her long enough for Og to squirm loose from her grip and drop gracelessly to the ground.
"I have to find Cheyne. Does he yet lodge with Wiggulf?" the songmage asked.
"He left to go to his father. They are up the path a bit. I can lead you," said Dunsan, slicing through the ropes still binding Og's hands.
Og strode quickly after him, with Womba right on his heels. Dunsan wove through the forest until they came upon Cheyne's party. Yob and a Neffian were with him: they were transporting a wounded man between them, moving along the path Cheyne and Og had taken to the selkies' lodge earlier.
"Cheyne! Yob! Help!" he cried.
Cheyne halted the group, and Yob took off after his daughter. Moments later, he came walking back with Womba, unconscious and draped over his shoulders, with Og rubbing his bruised hands, but making his own way beside them.
Cheyne had no smile for Og. "Where have you been? We needed your help." Og followed his stony stare as it fell upon the wounded man.
"Well…* For once, Og was speechless. He bent to look at the man, but when he touched Javin's cold hand, he drew back. "He's dead. Who was he?"
Doulos bowed and answered. "He is the young Muje's father, the true king of Sumifa. And he lives yet. But if we cannot get help for him, he will die very soon."
Og pulled at his scrip and emptied the stones into his hand, making ready to sing the life song. But after the first few notes into the melody, the light generated by the two stones faded and died away, leaving Og croaking the words out of tune and so tired he could hardly move.
"What is the poison? I cannot unsing this," he marveled.
"It's the Ninnites' dark magic, Og."
"Then we have to get him to the Treefather. The firebane is the only stone that can counter this. The elves know how to bring the magic to that one even better than I did," said Og. "Come on. There is no time to lose."
Cheyne began to lift Javin into a more comfortable carrying position.
"Wait… maybe there is something I can do anyway. And I have news, Cheyne. Our friend Naruq has none of your good in mind. He works for the same one as Riolla, and he works for himself, too. He had planned to lead you into a trap. Riolla will have five hundred Ninnites waiting for you after you find the Clock for her. And…" He swallowed hard, not wanting to tell the next part.
"And what, Og?" Cheyne said quietly.
"And Riolla has Claria."
Rotapan halted in the depths of the forest to sniff the air, fearing the sounds behind him. For several miles he had heard the rumble of the shifting mountainside above, the rush of the rising river, and worse, far worse, the snap and rustle of dry twigs beneath the feet of a careless follower. He pointed his nose in the air, closed his eyes, and concentrated on the smells the wind brought. Neffian? And another wolf?
Rotapan was puzzled. And very close, now…
So close that when he opened his eyes, he saw them standing before him, the Neffian's face bruised and grim, a good-sized club in his hand. Rotapan braced himself against the tree trunk at his back and fumbled for the dark obsidian blade he had used on the wolves up the trail.
"You lost it a couple of miles down the mountain, Wyrvil. But you're on different ground here. No rocks. It'll do you no good to run any further. You and I have a trade to make," said Rafek. At his feet, the half260
Teri McLaren
grown wolf pup sat poised to leap, his teeth bared and a low growl rising from his throat.
"A trade? What kind of a trade?" croaked Rotapan, his hands groping at the tree trunk.
The Neffian moved closer, a step at a time. "Your life for all the lives of my people that you sold to Drufalden, after they had paid you in labor on that monstrous temple to let them pass freely through your kingdom. And your life for the lives of my wolves. Hardly seems a fair trade, does it? You owe far more than you can pay. But this will be a start!"
The Neffian lunged at Rotapan, bringing the club crashing into the tree trunk at the precise place where Rotapan's forehead had been a split second earlier. Rafek leveled his club again while the wolf pup leapt upon the fleeing half-ore; his weight, if not his skill, brought Rotapan down instantly.
Pressed under the pup's big paws, Rotapan struggled madly in the soft, sandy pine forest floor, groping at the cast-off cones and needles under the tall, swaying trees, but finding no weapon. When Rafek whistled the pup off him, Rotapan crouched cowering on the ground, mumbling to himself, his eyes glassy. Rafek moved in to finish it.
