"Forgive me, sire, and be welcomed." Somewhat shaken by Wiggulf s changed appearance, it was all the young guard could do to sheath his coral knife and lower his bow. "It has been many tides since you were home. There has been much activity here this day. We have watched as a party of three travelers passed on the old caravan road, and then two more came in stealth behind them. The first group appeared to be going toward the queen's mountain, the last seemed to be following them. All wore their hoods low and walked on foot. We could not give them names, though one, strangely, resembled the Wyrvil king himself."

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"Thank you, Dunsan. We are bound for the lodge. Send ahead to them," said Wiggulf. "Watch well, my friend. You are the very image of your father, you know."

"Safe waters, sire," said Dunsan heartily, his eyes already back upon the road.

Wiggulf led them on without comment, his thoughts his own counsel in the early gloaming. The forest seemed to grow more dense the closer they came to the lodge, and a light mist swirled among the trees. The nightbirds flew from branch to branch, awaiting the small prey that scurried before the rustle of many tired and noisy feet.

"What do you think Riolla is up to?" Claria whispered to Cheyne.

"Would you credit my words if I told you that I truly do not know? I'm sure it has something to do with the totem, but I know no more."

Claria pulled out her combs and rearranged her hair. "What about your family? Are you alone?" she offered.

"What about them? Javin is all I have. He's just a foster father. Not the real thing. And right now, he has enough to concern him with worrying about me ever finding anything else about who I am."

Claria said in amazement, "You don't know who your family is? You don't have a name? But you are foreign- surely you have a name from your home country."

"Did I introduce myself with one? No, I have no name. No home country, either. That's why I'm going to the Sarrazan forest. The elves-"

"That's your final destination? Cheyne, there are no maps of the Borderlands. That place is so strange that time itself seems to bend around it. The elves come out of the forest only to trade their wares. What makes you think you will find them when they don't want to be found?"

"I have seen one in Sumifa. They are the only ones who might know."

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"That's absurd. There haven't been elves in Sumifa since-"

"I know, since before the Wandering." Cheyne sighed, recalling receiving the same reply during his futile search for the tall elf in the city. "But I did see one, and if he isn't in Sumifa any longer, at least I know he came from the Sarrazan forest. As I said, the elvish potters are the ones who will know."

"Know what?"

"About the last glyph on the totem I found at the dig. They still know the language. They use it on their wares as decoration."

"The totem… that's your quest, isn't it? You think the totem is your real family's." The picture of her chroniclave and its matching glyph flashed in her mind for the first time since she had opened Kalkuk's crate. "What has this got to do with the Armageddon Clock? I thought that's what we were after."

"That's probably what Riolla is after. That's what Og is after, I suppose it's what even you are after. I told you back in Sumifa that I was no treasure hunter."

Claria backed off. "So you did. Fair enough. I never thought you really meant it, though. I've never known a man who would swim oceans and wrestle vipers and tramp across deserts for anything that he couldn't spend. You are a very unusual man, Cheyne… forgive me."

"It's all right. Sorry you won't get what you came for."

"I have no name, either," she went on, ignoring his last comment. "I was about to have one-Maceo would have given me his. I would have been queen for the rest of my days. He told me so, and I believed it would have been true. People would have respected me, would have had me to tea and named their children after me. I wouldn't have had to lift a hand- Neffians everywhere. But now that won't happen."

"If that was your only choice, I wouldn't be too sorry if I were you."

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"How would you know what it's like to live in Sumifa without a name? How would you know what that feels like? People won't look at you, won't meet your eyes. They talk about you as though you weren't in the room, if they let you in the room to begin with."

"I just meant that you seem like someone who needs more out of life than to be waited on."

"Oh… like what?"

"Like a regular challenge, something that would make your talents shine, keep your mind sharp. You handle those combs like an assassin handles blades. You don't run from a fight-in fact, I'd bet you go looking for them sometimes, don't you? A woman like that doesn't sit still and be waited on very well."

Claria turned her head from him, letting the darkness hide how flattered she really was. Something about this cool-headed outlander confused her, made her think of herself differently than the way she had planned her life. Trouble was, she rather liked it. Though she had crossed the desert, been attacked by hostiles, and swam against time and tide to save her life, she had never had a better time in all her city-living days. Cheyne wasn't hard to look at, either. And he was right. Thoughts of herself as the queen of the citadel were somehow less appealing out here. She considered all that she might have had with Maceo, against what she had now-the only thing she truly owned, the chroniclave. It didn't seem so uneven anymore. As she turned the possibilities of what the matching glyph on the chroniclave's base might mean, one thing was becoming very clear. She would have to tell Cheyne about it, whether it meant giving up her inheritance or not.

"I have something to tell you…" she began weakly, but he did not hear her.

"Look, that must be the floating city." He pointed through the trees at what looked like a marooned forest, piles of timber and branches stuck on a bit of rock in the sluggish stream. AH along the water's edges, bits

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of debris tilted and bunched, frozen in an icy, haphazard hedge.

Wiggulf stopped to take in the sight of his home. Then he began to cry. "What has happened to it?"

"The ice queen has frozen the mother waters, Father. Barely a trickle of the mighty stream that once flowed under our feet in the lodge remains liquid. Our people are starving for fish and have taken to hunting the forest, instead-I tried to tell you how little food we have. But you are home now. All that will change," said Frijan.

"It looks to me like the river is still pretty high," said OgWiggulf shook his head slowly. "Not a tenth of it remains passable. None of the rock used to show. Where the stream passes under the lodge, there-that is the way all of it once was." He halted them at the icy shoreline and waited for the guard to appear.

Cheyne found himself fighting to focus on the misty island in the middle of the river, but after awhile, if he persisted in looking at just the same place, it took more definite form. He could make out what looked like a log jam, huge trees cut down and hauled into place to form a sort of floating barrier. A very effective one, he thought. If people tried to walk out on that, falling would be inevitable, and if the cold water didn't kill them, the disturbed logs banging together could easily crush swimmers before they ever got to the lodge. Then from the mist itself, Cheyne thought, six more selkies appeared before them and saluted Frijan.

"Your king is home. Clear the way for him and his guests," she commanded, and they immediately dove under the icy logjam, disappearing in the dark waters. In a few moments, the timbers parted, and several huge otters bobbed and swam in the wake.