Song of Time

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.

Rotapan shut his eyes and screamed, crawling backward across the prickly ground like a cornered spider. Rafek raised the club.

It would have been over instantly had Rotapan not touched a piece of wood. He snatched the thick pole from behind and blocked Rafek's angry blow, then dodged the next two as he came to his feet. The wolf pup wove in and out, trying for the half-ore's throat, but Rotapan swung the makeshift weapon around himself madly, keeping the pup at bay. Rafek charged at Rotapan again and again, their staves clashing loudly over the river's rising voice, until Rotapan noticed that the staff he held was actually half of his broken scepter, the brass serpent's head still adorning one end.

He yowled in rage and swung the heavy ornament at Rafek's head with all his might, his sudden attack catching the Neffian on his blind side as the slave raised his club again. Rafek stood for a moment, the club poised over his shoulder, a look of amazement on his bloodied face. Then he dropped over backward, the weight of the club taking him off balance. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The wolf pup leapt viciously at Rotapan, but the half-ore hooked his broken staff over a low-hanging limb and swung himself up the tree, making his way high into the tall pine. Q'Tarin tried to climb after him, falling back time after time, barking, finally settling into a low keen for Rafek. But in the dense forest, with the rush of the river nearby, his requiem went unheard.

Up the tree, Rotapan sat hunkered over, nursing his scratches and bruises, his hands wandering over the broken staff's ornament, the serpent's third eye now just a dark pit above its long, bared fangs.

The girl had laughed. The staff was broken and the ajada gone. But his tower, faintly visible in the dawning day, still partially stood. Mighty Chelydrus would have his sacrifice of poison yet.

"Riolla has Claria? What do you mean?" Cheyne looked at the bedraggled songmage incredulously.

"Well, um, Naruq came into Riolla's camp with her, that's all I know. Needless to say, I was very surprised to see her. You, too," Og added.

Cheyne grimaced. "So she'll be wanting to trade Claria's life for the treasure under the Clock, is that it?"

"That would be what Naruq hinted at. He said you had some kind of book…"

"What we have is a sick man who won't live the rest of the night without help," said Cheyne. "Let's go! Dunsan, will you tell Wiggulf what has happened?"

"I will. He will be distressed about Naruq. They were very old friends. Come with me, orcess. You need some help with that cut."

She had awakened, but the loss of blood was telling on Womba. Though it meant leaving Og, she did not protest when Dunsan turned her toward the lodge and fell in behind her. Cheyne gave Doulos the signal to raise Javin, but Og raised his.

"Wait. As I said, I can do that at least. I still have the stones. Join hands."

Og took a breath and summoned his strength, bent over the two gemstones and began to sing, concentrating hard on the Sarrazan forest.

A place he had never been.

Naruq felt the surge of the curtain when Og took his party through. The elf stopped in his tracks and began to run back toward Riolla's camp. A quick check told him they had moved on and why: three feet of mud now covered the camp and clogged the spring. Naruq took to the trees, running the arboreal highways with greater speed and ease than the uneven ground of the forest road could provide. He caught up with Riolla just as she came to the edge of the curtain.

"Stop!" Naruq jumped down lightly in front of Saelin, who had his dagger drawn and ready. "Put that away, assassin. You were about to lose yourselves." The elf glowered.

"Where?" said Riolla, looking all around. "I don't see anything but trees, and the road goes straight through the forest."

"Watch," said Naruq, as he walked a few yards down the overgrown road. Riolla's jaw dropped as the elf shimmered into nothingness, then stepped back toward her, appearing to be solid again.

"The curtain parts over there. Come on."

Naruq motioned them off the road. A quarter mile later, they stepped through the invisible curtain, the air around them charged with unseen power. Where there had been only forest and sky before, Mount Sarrazan loomed over them, the sunrise glinting off a sparkling crystal mirror high upon its rocky slopes. Claria breathed in the pure air and felt her strength return. Riolla and Saelin exchanged looks of triumph.

"Yes. That's Mount Sarrazan. Beautiful isn't it? Wait here until I return. And remember, Saelin. We need the girl." Naruq vanished before Saelin had risen from his mock bow.

Og set them down in a bramble, but he knew they had passed through the curtain. So did the elves.

From every tree above them, the silver-haired Sarrazans dropped down, some carrying bows, others armed with blow pipes and darts fletched with tiny, brilliant feathers. All of them wore shades of green and brown, blending perfectly with the summer-clad forest. In fact, Cheyne had a hard time finding them if they stood still for any length of time. He raised his hand in greeting, while Doulos and Og shook off their dizziness. Javin remained unconscious.

His bow drawn, one of the elves stepped forward, looked at Cheyne carefully, then smiled. "The Treefather is expecting you. But where is Naruq? He was supposed to bring you in at one of the portals." The elf s voice seemed to carry toward them on the breeze.

"Naruq is a traitor to you. I'll be happy to tell you about that after we get this man to your healer," said Cheyne, climbing out of the thorn bushes.

The elf bent, holding his hand over}avin, but not touching him. He frowned his concern, motioned to the others, and they came forward quickly to lift Javin lightly between them.

"It's not far. Just follow. And only believe. He clings to life yet."

Cheyne did not notice anything special about the next two or three miles. Then suddenly the trees parted before them, leaving a clear view of a gleaming wooden causeway leading up to a massive living fortress.

Cheyne caught his breath at the sight. A wide ring of trees taller than Rotapan's temple rose against the backdrop of the dawn sky. The trees all bore peculiar markings, softly limned in the clear, red light. Curious animals twirled upon themselves and grasped their tails with hooked mouths. Ribbons of intricate scrollwork wrapped around the trunks in thirty-foot-high bands, and several of the trees appeared to have words carved into them.

Words in the language of Old High Sumifan.