were to lead me to the Sarrazan forest, not straight into a war party of ores. And you were supposed to be on watch. What happened?" Cheyne muttered under his breath as he worked at the ropes.

"I was upset. All that talk about Riolia. Every time I think of her, it seems to happen all over again. Besides, if we aren't dead right now, he's probably not feeling threatened enough to kill us. The leader is Yob, a Wyrvil underking. He has a camp not far from here. The two with the heads hanging from their belts are Rotapan's boys. See the notches in their ears? The ores' ears, not the humans'. Rotapan bites them out himself when they enter his service. Yob is wearing his full battle gear; he's too dressed up for a routine hunting party. They're probably all going to the temple… quarterly payments or something. This could work very well for us, if I can remember a song or two. They can take us exactly where we need to go."

"You mean exactly where you need to go," groused Cheyne, his large fingers fumbling with the same knot for the fourth time. Og finally turned his face as directly toward Cheyne's as he could.

Teri McLaren

"Look, my friend, here's the situation. Rotapan has the ajada. I need those stones back, or you won't get to where you want to go either, plain as you please, and don't even think about turning back, because in case you don't remember, someone is hunting your head, too. Be calm. Save your energy. Tying us up is just routine for Yob. Impresses the big boys and gives him a chance to think, though that could take all day. Anyway, I'm terribly sorry, you know. About deceiving you, that is." Og ended, exhausted from his tirade. It was more than Claria could bear.

"Oh, once again, a man apologizes and he thinks everything is all right," she fumed. "'I'm so sorry, Claria, for getting you into this mess.' 'I'm so sorry, Claria, for not watching better, and for demanding we take the most dangerous trail possible.' 'I'm so sorry, Claria, but it could never be. We are too far apart in all the important ways.' Hey. That's my hand you've got now."

"Sorry-er, sorry," Cheyne muttered.

Then he sat up straighter, took a deep breath, and caught hold of the stubborn knot. "That's the last time I apologize for apologizing. Claria, I'm just trying to get us free. The inconvenience of having to touch me or having me touch you is temporary, I assure you. Now if you will just hold that end-good. Thank you." Cheyne unraveled the nest of knots with a quick jerk. "Now sit still."

"We can get loose and you want us to sit here anyway?" she grated.

"Please. No disrespect to your considerable fighting talents, but think about this: they are twelve and we are three, one lame. They have their spears and our daggers now, too. Let Og talk to them. Just cooperate for now. Besides, any one of them is twice as big as you are, Claria. Perhaps you didn't see the heads hanging from the biggest one's belt? Here they come. Og, you know them, you do the talking. And keep us alive, do you hear?"

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"Of course," said Og, practicing his best diplomatic tone. "Take your cue when I give it; do something showy, if you can."

The ore Cheyne had guessed to be the leader sauntered over and towered over them, sniffing the air. "Og. You have been gone so long. My daughter cries every night for you. You are the only thing she does not forget. You did not say good-bye, even. You are missing her, too, perhaps? This is why you have come back to my desert?"

The ore's heavy teeth clacked together when he spoke, and two or three flies wafted in and out of his mouth, seeming very much at home there. Cheyne could not tell if he was smiling or not. Claria, the tension too much for her, broke into nervous giggles at the mention of a lovestruck daughter, shifting her head to squelch them and avoid tbe ore's odor, unmistakably the same as the slaughterhouse on a busy day in the Barca.

"Womba is well, I presume." Og smiled engagingly. "I have thought of her often. To tell the truth, Yob, we are just passing through, and we will pay you due honor by letting you escort us to the Borderlands."

Cheyne had to admit there was a certain power in the little man's voice; the ore did not squeeze their heads from their bodies instantly, as might have been expected in the face of such a demand. All the same, he was wondering if letting Og speak had been such a good idea.

Yob scratched his head, trying to figure out the convolutions of Og's reply, what benefit it held for him, and just who was in charge here. "You always make my head hurt, Og. I had forgotten this thing. Now you must sing for us."

The others in the group raised their spears and shouted a deafening cheer.

"Looks like they like that idea, Og," Claria teased.

"They like any idea. That's why Yob is the leader. He has ideas," said Og miserably.

Teri McLaren

"I will bargain with you, Yob. A song for our release and safe conduct. And maybe do you have a flask-"

"Og!" warned Cheyne.

"Maybe later. But I will do some magic for you right now."

Og curled his lip at Cheyne and began to hum softly, a low-pitched, almost tuneless sound that immediately got under Cheyne's skin and made it itch. Claria seemed to be squirming also. Then Og jumped free, flipped twice in the air from a standing position, held up his hands, and smiled hugely.

Yob jerked back as though stung, his yellow eyes wide with amazement. Before the others could react, he began to laugh in great rolling guffaws, shaking the teeth and bone necklaces that hung across his chest, making a weird sort of music himself.

"Good one, Og. Loved that one. Ha!" He wound down to a spitting chuckle. "Do some more."

Og whistled a little and began to pirouette and leap, his blistered feet completely forgotten, turning back-flips and somersaults, pretending to slip and fall, then catching himself awkwardly at the last moment. He found the skull Cheyne had flicked into the underbrush, found another one and a couple of shin bones very near it, and began to juggle them. The ores dropped to the ground laughing and put down their spears.

"What's he doing now?" asked Claria, her shoulders aching from holding her arms behind her back.

"I don't know yet," replied Cheyne, laughing as heartily as the ores. "But he has them spellbound. He's as good with them as you were in the fight back in the city. And I meant to say it earlier: thanks for the help. Where did you learn those old juma moves?

"What do you know about the juma?" Claria shot back at him.

"Well, just what I learned at the university," said Cheyne, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.

"Then you would have learned that there are no

SONG OF TIME i 3 9

more juma now," she said stonily. After a long silence, Cheyne tried a different subject.

"Tell me about Maceo."

"Maceo! Why do you want to know?" hissed Claria, suddenly angry again.

"Is he your lover? Check the ropes again," said Cheyne, leaning around her to follow Og's act.

"He was my fiance, if you must know. But not anymore. Since he's about to be invested as king, he has accepted a proposal of marriage from Riolla. He told me just before you came into the shop, may her complexion glow divinely… from the drinking of poison. And I'm already over it, thank you very much."

Claria felt around her hands for the cast-off bindings. She turned her head sharply into Cheyne's nose when she did not find them. "Ow. You mean he really can do magic? Why do you care about Maceo, anyway?" she whispered, her face jammed uncomfortably into his stubbled cheek.