from across the room. But now he stood no more than a stride away from what seemed to be the desiccated remains of a living corpse, and Lone wondered, What the frog has my mentor foisted upon me now?
A t dusk, once again came a light tapping on the door. When Rogi answered it, he saw the young woman who had called him an ugly little creature and had fled.
Even as she recoiled once more, Rogi smiled and looked up at her, the irises of his eyes such a pale, pale blue that the whole of them looked dead white … white with black dots where his pupils were. Rogi began fumbling at the rope at his waist. “You would like to thsee my dragon, yeth?”
She huffed and said, “I would see your master.”
Rogi’s shoulders slumped. He turned and called out, “Mathter, thome woman to thsee you.”
A hollow whisper came from the adjacent room, and Rogi responded.
In moments, Rogi exchanged the ruby ring for a small but fairly weighty pouch, and the young woman fled once more.
Rogi sighed, and closed the door, then untied the pouch strings and fished out from among the coins two rather large and squarish silver ones—shaboozh—and one small gold piece—a royal—and pocketed them for himself. After all, he had worked hard for his wages: Not only had he found the “boxth,” he had wandered around in the shadowy woods in the moonlight with a bag of “beanth,” and he had searched all over town to find Chance and Lone and had been jeered at by fishermen and had nearly been thrown out of the Golden Gourd and …
From nearby and for perhaps the hundredth time came Lone’s frustrated shout: “Frog! Froggin’ chest!”
D ressed in white and wearing her ruby jewels, Nadalya, smiling, sauntered among the crowd of personages gathered in the courtyard to celebrate the visit of per-Arizak, known as Ariz to some and, because of his fiery temper, as the Dragon to others. Big and brawny and brown-haired, as were most of the Irrune, he was a man who clearly had gotten his height not only from his father, but also from his mother, Verrezza, Arizak’s first wife. In the courtyard to greet his eldest son was Arizak, who sat in a chair with his damaged left leg propped on a pillowed footstool. Tall, gray-haired Verrezza was there, too, for certainly she would not miss an event where the “one true” heir to the throne was present at court. Naimun, first son of Nadalya and Arizak, stood off to one side surrounded by his coterie of plotters, many of the young men laughing over something that their own pretender to the throne had said, or at some gaffe by Ariz, an uncouth but dangerous boor in their eyes, living in the hills with the bulk of the savage Irrune people as he did. Red-haired Raith was elsewhere among the crowd, the second son of Nadalya and Arizak. At seventeen, Raith was lithe and of a middling height, taller than his petite mother, shorter than Naimun, and certainly shorter than Aziz. Raith was the brightest of the lot, or so his mother deemed, and would make a better ruler than either of the two other contenders.
Additionally, there were merchants and their wives from Land’s End, powerful in their own right, as well as ladies of the court and daughters of various guests, all hanging on the words of so-called men of power or of their sons, especially those of Aziz, Naimun, and Raith. The smarter ones, though, sought out Verrezza or Nadalya, for that’s where the true machinations of the court as well as the progression resided.
Nadalya wove her way among the crowd, pausing here to jest with a youth, stopping there to speak of the tide and times with a merchant, lingering at another gathering to compliment the gems or hair or dress of some lady. Across the courtyard, she espied Andriko and caught his eye, and he nodded toward a cloth-draped table on which sat casks of wine used by the servants to replenish pitchers they bore through the gathering to refill goblets and glasses held by the guests.
Slowly, working
A t dusk, once again came a light tapping on the door. When Rogi answered it, he saw the young woman who had called him an ugly little creature and had fled.
Even as she recoiled once more, Rogi smiled and looked up at her, the irises of his eyes such a pale, pale blue that the whole of them looked dead white … white with black dots where his pupils were. Rogi began fumbling at the rope at his waist. “You would like to thsee my dragon, yeth?”
She huffed and said, “I would see your master.”
Rogi’s shoulders slumped. He turned and called out, “Mathter, thome woman to thsee you.”
A hollow whisper came from the adjacent room, and Rogi responded.
In moments, Rogi exchanged the ruby ring for a small but fairly weighty pouch, and the young woman fled once more.
Rogi sighed, and closed the door, then untied the pouch strings and fished out from among the coins two rather large and squarish silver ones—shaboozh—and one small gold piece—a royal—and pocketed them for himself. After all, he had worked hard for his wages: Not only had he found the “boxth,” he had wandered around in the shadowy woods in the moonlight with a bag of “beanth,” and he had searched all over town to find Chance and Lone and had been jeered at by fishermen and had nearly been thrown out of the Golden Gourd and …
From nearby and for perhaps the hundredth time came Lone’s frustrated shout: “Frog! Froggin’ chest!”
D ressed in white and wearing her ruby jewels, Nadalya, smiling, sauntered among the crowd of personages gathered in the courtyard to celebrate the visit of per-Arizak, known as Ariz to some and, because of his fiery temper, as the Dragon to others. Big and brawny and brown-haired, as were most of the Irrune, he was a man who clearly had gotten his height not only from his father, but also from his mother, Verrezza, Arizak’s first wife. In the courtyard to greet his eldest son was Arizak, who sat in a chair with his damaged left leg propped on a pillowed footstool. Tall, gray-haired Verrezza was there, too, for certainly she would not miss an event where the “one true” heir to the throne was present at court. Naimun, first son of Nadalya and Arizak, stood off to one side surrounded by his coterie of plotters, many of the young men laughing over something that their own pretender to the throne had said, or at some gaffe by Ariz, an uncouth but dangerous boor in their eyes, living in the hills with the bulk of the savage Irrune people as he did. Red-haired Raith was elsewhere among the crowd, the second son of Nadalya and Arizak. At seventeen, Raith was lithe and of a middling height, taller than his petite mother, shorter than Naimun, and certainly shorter than Aziz. Raith was the brightest of the lot, or so his mother deemed, and would make a better ruler than either of the two other contenders.
Additionally, there were merchants and their wives from Land’s End, powerful in their own right, as well as ladies of the court and daughters of various guests, all hanging on the words of so-called men of power or of their sons, especially those of Aziz, Naimun, and Raith. The smarter ones, though, sought out Verrezza or Nadalya, for that’s where the true machinations of the court as well as the progression resided.
Nadalya wove her way among the crowd, pausing here to jest with a youth, stopping there to speak of the tide and times with a merchant, lingering at another gathering to compliment the gems or hair or dress of some lady. Across the courtyard, she espied Andriko and caught his eye, and he nodded toward a cloth-draped table on which sat casks of wine used by the servants to replenish pitchers they bore through the gathering to refill goblets and glasses held by the guests.
Slowly, working
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