Stariz smiled tightly, looking down at the small man in the concealing cloak. “Excellent. Are you so eager to serve, that you do not even ask why?”
“Indeed, Your Highness. I do my utmost, working within the restrictions imposed by the barren nature of our remote outpost. I can only assume a wise purpose, from this wise king, and I obey. I am resourceful and can do much to hasten re-creation of the powder you desire. The Dowager Queen herself has provided me with the holy ash, and I can gather cinders from the summit of Mount Dracoheim itself-there is a whole mountainside of black, powdery stone. Of course, the admixture requires a catalyst, a liquid to trigger the reaction.” His eyes, downcast during his speech, suddenly rose to fasten, hungrily, on the face of the Dowager Queen.
“I understand what you want,” Hanna said tersely, betraying her scorn with a curl of her lip. “Rest assured that you shall have another cask of your elixir. Indeed, I shall create a potion that will aid you in the task at hand.”
The Dowager Queen stepped forward and gestured to the door on the far side of the hall, addressing the king and his wife. “Now, perhaps, you should be shown to your quarters. I ordered the royal apartments cleaned as soon as the approach of your ship was noted. They should be ready for you. The crossing from Winterheim is never pleasant, though I hope that your winds were fair.”
“They were capricious,” Stariz replied, “but you speak the truth. The sea is an unfriendly host, and I desire to clean and rest.”
“Very well,” said the king. “I would rest from the voyage too, but I repeat that I wish the Alchemist to commence at once. I do not wish to tarry in Dracoheim.”
“At once, indeed! As soon as my Dowager Queen can provide for my humble needs,” replied the Alchemist, with a sly look at the elder ogress.
“It shall be done,” Hanna agreed. “I will prepare a potion immediately and have the cask brought to his laboratory.”
A short time later the king and queen of Suderhold were shown by several human slave women into a sprawling suite of rooms high on one of the castle’s turreted towers. From here Goldwing appeared a mere sliver in the gray anchorage, surrounded by lofty summits and icy ridges that were as inhospitable as they looked.
“We have hot water running through the vaults of the castle,” one of the slave women said to the queen. “Would Your Highness care for a bath?”
“Yes, at once,” Stariz replied, clearly pleased.
A steaming bath was quickly filled, and the slaves withdrew. The queen relished the warmth, but the king ignored the water, striding out onto the encircling balcony, the parapet that surrounded this lofty suite. He paced around, thinking, his eyes riveted by the forbidding vista of sea, glaciers, and mountains.
Cutter danced on the crests of the waves, skipping from one to the next like a dancer garbed in a shroud of white silk. Kerrick, Moreen, Strongwind Whalebone, and Randall were all aboard, following the glacial coast to the west of Brackenrock, virtually retracing the route that had brought the elf into his fateful encounter with the thanoi Long-Swim Greatfin, some two months before.
“Did you see much more of this coastline during your mapping voyages of the past two years?” Moreen asked. She was leaning back against the transom, the tiller resting easily under her arm as Kerrick stood atop the cabin, hand braced on an overhead line. He squinted to the south, watching the mainland that was barely visible. Randall slept in the cabin, resting for a turn at the watch during the night. Strongwind sat near the bow keeping a lookout.
“Yes, all the way beyond the western glacier,” he replied, swinging down from his perch to settle on the bench near Moreen. “I drew the features on the chart-I have the map in the cabin, if you’d like to see.”
“Yes-but not till we’re in calm water again.” She pointed at the bank of darkness that had spread across the whole southern horizon. “How bad does that look?”
“Solid and black, but the main blow seems to be moving west, not north,” Kerrick assessed. He looked astern, where the eastern sea was a low, dark line on the horizon. “But we’ll be stuck in the wind and rain-ten or twelve hours of rough riding, unless you want to change course, look for smoother seas.”
“Turn aside already? I don’t think so.” Moreen smiled at him, a bold twinkle in her eye. “I didn’t eat anything too greasy today. Did you?”
Kerrick chuckled, acknowledging that her resistance to seasickness was extraordinary compared to most humans. “We’d best be putting the rain gear on,” he suggested. He went into the cabin, sidling past the bunk where Randall snored noisily. The elf opened his sea chest and gathered up a pair of oilskins, supple but protective garments made from the tanned pelts of seals.
In the chest was the box that held his father’s ring, and Kerrick suppressed a thrill of longing as he thought of it. It would be so easy to take it, to slide his finger through. He reached out, almost touched it, then snatched his hand away as if burned. Shivering, he realized that his body was wet with perspiration.
He also saw the thin, wreathlike object Dinekki had made for him when he had embarked on his intended journey to Silvanesti. He had kept it safe here in case he needed it, though he didn’t know exactly what it was or how it worked. It comforted him to know that the protection of the ancient shaman was with him here and now.
Closing the lid, he noticed that Randall had ceased snoring. He looked up to see the Highlander regarding him with a quiet, studious expression.
“Sorry-didn’t mean to wake you,” the elf apologized.
“No worry, you didn’t,” replied the man, closing his eyes and immediately lapsing back into deep slumber.
Kerrick emerged, and soon he and Moreen were comfortably ensconced on the transom bench, insulated by their heavy oilskins, close enough that through his garments Kerrick could feel the heat of her nearness.
“What of the ogres? Did you see lots of signs of them along this… what did you call it? The Dracoheim Sea?” Moreen asked.
“That’s what the thanoi called it. No, not a lot of ogre presence-just a few remote outposts. There were some watchtowers on promontories and a small fortress at the terminus of the glacier, where it looked like the ice had receded quite a bit since the place was built. I saw smoke from the chimneys, though I didn’t care to get too close. That was three years ago.”
“So it seems that they have these outposts spread all across the southern Icereach, doesn’t it?”
“Places in the shadow of the Icewall, mostly, leaving the humans, you Arktos and the Highlanders, to the north. Where you have trees, hot springs, gold mines, and fertile fields. I should say you have the best of the arrangement.”
“Yes, so long as we can keep things that way.
Moreen watched the approaching clouds roiling in the south. Kerrick continued to guide his boat between the swells.
“You have been paid again for helping the Highlanders build a whole fleet of curraghs, haven’t you?” asked the chiefwoman. “You must have collected quite a hoard of gold by now.”
Kerrick nodded, guilty and a little uncomfortable with the thought of his accumulating wealth. Of course, the humans paid him willingly and seemed to find the fees he charged more than fair in exchange for the skills he had taught them and the frequent short trips he made, ferrying passengers or goods back and forth across the White Bear Sea. A Highlander thane would think nothing of paying him twenty or thirty gold pieces for such a jaunt, a service which would have fetched only three coins in Silvanesti.
“Yes. I will be considered a wealthy elf when I return to my homeland. I have three chests of gold here in Cutter’s hold.”
“You could turn for home whenever you want… start over as a rich man,” Moreen mused. She narrowed her eyes, turning from the looming storm to study him shrewdly. A blast of spray came across the gunwale, and she blinked away the brine, then shook her head. “Yet still you stay here among us human barbarians,” she said, with wry sarcasm. “You risk your life to carry us into Chislev knows what kind of danger. Why?”