For a moment, nothing.
Then a frog broke the surface of the water, and sprang into Isaiah”s cupped hands.
Another one broke surface, and likewise leaped into Isaiah”s hands, and then another, and
another, and another.
Soon the surface of the water was boiling with frogs as they leaped frantically into the
river god”s hands. As soon as they had made the leap successfully, they bounded up his arms
where, one by one, they faded and vanished as they were absorbed into Isaiah”s body.
When Isaiah finally made his way back to the palace, the river was empty of the Song of
the Frogs.
He went to Ishbel”s chamber, kissed her, apologized for not being there when she woke,
then went back to his own quarters where, reverently, he packed the Goblet of the Frogs into the
saddlebags he would carry with him.
CHAPTER THREE
The Eastern Plains, Gershadi
Jelial, Lord Warden of the Eastern Plains Province of Gershadi, could not credit what he
saw. His mind simply would not process the information. He sat his horse, growing colder by the
moment, staring ahead at what had been his home base, the castle and town of Hornridge.
It lay in smoking ruins. These tumbled ruins might have been a stark black scar against
the snow-covered plains save for one thing—it was covered in something gray, and red, which
undulated as if it were a sea of pale insects.
“Skraelings,” muttered his lieutenant, sitting his horse alongside Jelial.
He and his party of fifteen armed men had been away for six weeks, attending court at
Hosea to discuss the escalating military conflict with the Outlands. Jelial had returned to
Hornridge mainly to marshal his forces to join Fulmer in his push south against the cursed
Outlanders, who were pushing north and threatening to lay siege to Hosea.
Now it looked very much as if Jelial might not have any forces left to marshal.
In fact, it looked as if there was not very much left at all.
“Skraelings?” Jelial whispered. He could see it was Skraelings. There was a small herd of
them not fifty paces away, snuffling around in the remains of a pig herder”s hut and pens, but his
mind still could not comprehend the enormous numbers of them that it must take to completely
cover Hornridge and the surrounding countryside for miles about.
It reminded Jelial of something he”d seen as a boy when his father had taken him to hunt
the snow deer that lived in the borderlands of the Frozen Wastes. Every year the snow deer
migrated south to the rich pasturelands of the lower Sky Peaks in massive herds of million upon
millions of animals.
That was what this sight reminded him of, save the migration consisted of million upon
millions of Skraelings.
And they were heading south.
“My lord!” his lieutenant hissed, and Jelial looked to where he pointed.
Out of the mass of Skraelings investigating the pigpens came a man. Dressed entirely in
black, and with a black cloak billowing out behind him, he appeared to be crossing the snow
toward Jelial and his party with supernaturally long strides.
Jelial—as did all his men—drew his sword.
“I will not harm you,” said the man, halting a few paces away from Jelial.
He was of striking appearance, exuding power and confidence, and even though he
appeared unarmed, Jelial knew that if it came to blows, even a thousand men at his back,
bristling with weapons, would not protect him against this being.
“My name is Lister,” said the man. “I am Lord of the Skraelings.” His mouth twisted a
little, and his light brown eyes glinted. “As you can see, I command considerable strength.
Hornridge is gone, Jelial. Your family is gone—”
Something tore apart in Jelial”s chest, and he thought it was probably his heart, breaking.
“Eaten,” Lister said. “Consumed. The Skraelings are hungry, I am afraid.”
Jelial tried to speak, but couldn”t. Incomprehension and grief had utterly swamped any
anger he may have felt.
“Everything is very bloodied at Hornridge,” Lister said, his voice quiet now, his eyes
fixed on Jelial. “Quite congealed, in fact. I wouldn”t even attempt an entry, if I were you. My boys remain hungry, and Hornridge could get bloodier still.”
“I…” Jelial said, and could get no further.
“We”re heading south,” Lister said, one arm sweeping out in that direction, making his
cloak billow and heave in the wind. “As far as we can go. I have a massive army—”
Jelial wondered why he called it an army and not a herd. His mind, now utterly shocked,
kept trying to return to the memory of the migrating herds of snow deer.
“—and it is so very, very hungry. It will eat everything in its path, Jelial. Everything. I
suggest you return the way you came, and spread the news.”
Then he was gone, and Jelial and his men were left sitting their horses in the cold
wasteland, looking at the great mass of Skraelings heaving and swelling over what was once
their home.
And their families.
Lister, Eleanon, and Inardle stood to one side of the pigpens, cloaked from the vision of
Jelial and his party, watching as, eventually, they turned their horses” heads away from
Hornridge.
“Thank the gods,” Eleanon said. “I thought they might have actually tried to enter
Hornridge.”
“Grief is a strange beast,” said Lister, watching the group as they rode away, “and when
coupled with shock it can make men do foolish things.”
“I wish we could have saved Hornridge,” Inardle said. “No one deserved to die as those
people did.”
They fell silent, remembering the horror as the Skraelings overwhelmed the castle and
town, tearing terrified men and women to shreds.
No one had escaped.
“The entire world is going to be destroyed in far more horrific circumstances,” Lister said
eventually, “if we cannot manage the impossible.”
“Do you think the southerners will listen to Jelial?” said Eleanon. “Do you think they will
heed your warning?”
“I hope so,” said Lister, “for there is little else I can do to save them. It is not as if I have
ever controlled the Skraelings, is it?” He gave a bitter little laugh. “My title of Lord of the
Skraelings is completely useless, although I suppose it has served me well to this point. But, oh,
gods, how glad I shall be when I can slough it off my shoulders, and leave these disgusting
creatures far behind me, and assume my true face.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Dependency of En-Dor, the Tyranny of Isembaard
Maximilian”s party emerged from the FarReach Mountains into the very northern
reaches of the Dependency of En-Dor. Here Maximilian and StarDrifter and the rest of their
group farewelled BroadWing and the other three Icarii. It was an emotional good-bye,
particularly for Maximilian and StarDrifter, but everyone had come to like the Icarii and would
miss them.
It was too dangerous for the Icarii to remain with the rest of the party. No one knew what
kind of reaction they would elicit in Isembaard, and neither Maximilian nor StarDrifter wanted to
risk it, no matter how useful the Icarii would have been.
“We will go north,” BroadWing said, embracing first StarDrifter, then Maximilian, “and
wait for news. Be safe, and snatch back that bride of yours, Maxel. Stars, she will be making you
a father soon!”
Then he had grinned at StarDrifter and Salome. “And hide those growing hunchbacks of
yours under cloaks. The next time I see you, I expect it to be among the clouds.”
Travel through En-Dor was easier than anyone had expected. Maximilian had not exactly
known quite what to expect—Isembaard was such an unknown quantity—but the northern parts
of the dependency were sparsely populated (indeed, many villages were completely
deserted)—and those very few occupied small homesteads they did happen across were
relatively friendly.
Language was not a problem. Like the kingdoms north of the FarReach Mountains, the
Isembaardians spoke a version of the ancient common trading tongue. They spoke a different
dialect, and their intonation was very different, but neither presented an obstacle to
understanding.
When they did meet with Isembaardians, Maximilian let Venetia and, to a lesser extent,
Serge do the talking. Both were fairly dark, and both had come into contact with Isembaardians
in the past: Venetia from her conversations with Isembaardian witch-women she”d met in the
borderlands of the Land of Dreams, and Serge in his younger and wilder days, when he”d been
an assassin for hire, and had spent time in Isembaard.
Whenever their party neared a homestead, Maximilian sent Venetia and Serge in to buy
or barter for food, while the rest of them hung back. Maximilian supposed Venetia used a little of
her witch-woman skills in order to obtain the cooperation of the villagers, but he did not inquire
too closely, and was grateful for whatever food and information Venetia and Serge brought back
with them.
One day, a week after they”d farewelled BroadWing and his companions, Venetia and