"Some years passed. One day, when she had come of age, and the princess had become enraged that Riolla had taken her young man from under her very nose, Riolla ran away and found my house, invited herself in, and begged me to teach her more magic. I confess that I fell in love with her then and there. She was beautiful and young-all that dark red hair, those blue eyes. And she could sing. She seemed to be so interested in the songs, in how to find and channel the power, how to work the silences.

"I taught her everything I knew, and then drove myself to learn more so that I could teach her. Every day, I loved her more, risking even death if the king found out she was there. I wanted to marry her, to give her my name. It is an old and respected one, you know, whether I look like it or not.

"One morning, when I believed I had found the right words, the words that would make her love me back, I gave her the ring. It is custom to pledge a ring when you are about to give a name," he explained to Cheyne as Claria unconsciously twisted at the one on her own finger. "It was my most valuable possession, and I wanted her to know that her love was even more valuable to me, and that I would share everything I had with her. She took the ring, pretending to be honored, saying yes, she would marry me, that we would make magic together for all time. I was the happiest man under the sun. I went to fetch Bandro, who was the Mercanto Schreef at that time, to marry us."

"Well-what happened?" said Claria, frowning, refusing to be caught up in Og's romantic story.

Og looked up at her, his face bleak and pale behind his reddened nose. "When I returned, she was gone.

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Everything she owned-and most of what I owned- had been packed and moved."

"So that's how Riolla got to be Schreefa!" Claria said, daggers in her words. "I knew she had to have had some kind of magic behind her. Maceo wouldn't fall in love with her otherwise."

"Oh, Maceo, yes. Well, she did use the magic, at first. She could spark a bit of a spell off the ring, but she never had the perfect pitch it required to really control the power in the four stones. Burned her house down once, changed some poor steward into a big white cockroach for bringing her the wrong drink. But in the end, she split up the ring-stones and scattered them. The first I heard about it on the street was that she had bought her freedom with one of the stones, then stole the gem back not three hours later. She gave the others out for political favor and privilege. Paid off the controllers of the caravan route."

Cheyne interrupted him. "This caravan route? Why would she need to do that?"

"Oh, well, the situation with the route is that the heads of the smaller factions of Almaaz let only Riolla's caravans go through unharmed for the price of the gems-otherwise, they would raid the caravans, and Riolla would end up with nothing soon-like the many other caravan owners she has driven out of business.

"See, this is, was, I mean, the shortest route to bring ch'mina into Sumifa. You can't grow it there, it's a mountain crop, and the main ingredient of bap-pir. Since the river dries up for six months every year, Sumifa lives off of it, actually. The longer route takes so much more time that the stuff spoils before it gets to the city. Riolla had cornered the market on it. She brought in tons and tons, converted it to a sort of meal that keeps indefinitely, and stockpiled it in those big round buildings between the Mercanto and the Citadel. Only her caravans were getting through, and so, Claria, that's how she got so rich.

"So now she doesn't actually direct all of the stones'

magic. Only I could do that, it turns out," he finished, still forlorn at the memory of better times. Cheyne looked away, and even Claria had momentarily faltered in her anger at Og.

"The stone on her necklace-is that part of the ring?" asked Cheyne.

"Yes. The black pearl of Nadrum. The one she used to buy her freedom. Its magic is easier to use than any other stone in the ring-not as exact a tone is called for. By itself, depending on a lot of things, but mainly the user, it can do anything from cure to kill. Very unstable, the pearl. But when it's used with the other stones, it provides bass and adds volume, amplifies the power I guess you could say, for my songspells. Even if all the other stones were put back together, Riolla could stand off their magic by sheer force of the pearl's dark, confusing noise. But it's very draining. You have bad dreams and pains for days after using it alone. Dreams of swamps and murky, foul places. Very unpleasant," said Og, wrinkling his nose.

Cheyne sat pondering Og's story for a white. One thing he knew: Riolla's caravan route had been closed for many years now. No matter how much ch'mina she had brought to the city, treated, and stored, she had to be getting to the end of it by now.

Still deep in thought, Cheyne removed his boots and tunic and entered the cooling spring. Despite herself, Claria could not help noticing how the water and sunlight played over his well-muscled body.

"Og?" Cheyne said, his eyes distant.

"Yes."

"Og, who else has the stones?"

Smiling, the little man considered for a moment. "The last I knew…" His face rounded into an endearing smile.

"What?" said Cheyne hotly, beginning to suspect the reason for Og's choice of routes. He pushed wet blond hair out of his eyes and swatted hard at a tenacious horsefly.

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"Well, the selkies have one that Drufalden once owned, and the elves-yes, the elves-have the fire-bane, but they got it through one of their own, who turned out to be a traitor. Riolia had made some kind of deal with him for monopolizing the ch'mina, and he used the stone to kill the fields that were promised to other traders and such. Shalikre, I believe, was his name, dead now, anyway, but the elves use the fire-bane only to heal.

"And… the Wyrvil overking has one, the ajada." Og grinned sheepishly. "We could go there and you could see it for yourself. The overking, Rotapan-his name means 'One-lip' in orcish, but never, never, call him that-has had it made into a staff. Never leaves his temple; quite a place, really, everyone should go there at least once. He can do one or two things with the ajada, nothing really of much import, though. Nothing that would hurt us. Oh, and seems I've heard that it even protects him from snake venom."

Claria combed at her hair with her fingers, drying it quickly in the brilliant sun. "Would it turn the poison on an orcish spear?" she asked flatly, her face rigid and white with fear.

"I don't know," replied Og.

"Why do you ask, Claria?" said Cheyne, angrily ducking under the water again to avoid the horsefly.

The answer missed his head and twanged into the striated trunk of a date palm on the other side of the pool, sending the parrots into frenzied flight and their cluster of dates raining down upon Og's unprotected head.

"Oh. Well, you could have just said," Cheyne sputtered, surfacing.