Cheyne smiled, enjoying her spicy perfume and the softness of her skin. "I care because I like to know who my enemies are. My friends, too. Listen."

When his audience was thoroughly mesmerized, Og launched into a song. Or it could have been a song at one time, Cheyne decided, disappointed. Og seemed to do well enough when he wasn't trying to make musical sense, but his voice, like any fine instrument left to the merciless desert wind and weather, or submerged in raqa, had deteriorated and become tuneless. With every verse, and the song had twenty-two, Og fell further and further from pitch. By the end, there was little difference between his voice and the croaking of the tree frogs in the pool behind them. Cheyne ground his teeth; Claria had placed her head between her knees in an attempt to cover her ears.

The ores applauded rabidly; some were crying.

Og bowed deeply and touched his nose to the ground. "Now for the finale-" He glanced covertly at Cheyne, who nodded. "I will break the bonds of my

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friends before your very eyes. Truly a magical feat, since you tied them yourselves and know their incredible strength."

Og threw back his head and let loose a wild cry, the end of which was inaudible. Cheyne took the cue, grabbed Claria, and brought her to her feet in a grand, sweeping motion, twirling her around by the hand, her hair flying around them both in a glorious, dark swirl, rainbow ribbons dancing in the air. The ores loved it. They whooped and thumped the ground, spit at one another, and applauded. Cheyne brought Claria back to earth, thinking it would be a good time for them to try to make a run for it. But Og couldn't let go of the note. As Og clutched at his throat, trying to stop the unheard song, Yob sprouted mushrooms on his shoulders, then two of his troops turned blue from asphyxiation.

And Womba appeared.

The warriors in Yob's tattered company gave a universal sigh of delight at her sudden arrival, but Cheyne's reaction was a great, unexpected compassion for Og, just when he had managed to begin to really despise him.

Disoriented, taken from her sleep, Womba shook herself, her little yellow eyes not believing what they saw. Her huge green face was covered in flaking mud, her coarse black hair fell in chopped, uneven lengths over her eyebrow. She yawned capaciously, revealing a complete set of red-stained teeth, her upper lip catching in a delicate sneer above a crooked canine. Pointed ears, pierced along the edges and hung with teeth and bits of carved bones, framed her face. She wore a tunic of gaudy ghoma skin, its leathery scales glinting orange and purple in the bright light of day.

"Womba!" Og rasped pitifully, finally able to let go of the song. Yob's daughter perked her ears at the sound of her name, coming fully awake. Instinctively, Cheyne and Claria scrambled to push Og under a nearby bush,

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but Womba had already seen him. She bellowed triumphantly, ran to his side, picked him up, and clutched him to her scaly chest in a death grip.

"Put him down!" Claria shouted.

Womba blinked feebly until she could find the source of the sound. Then she turned, Og still flailing in her arms, his suffocation advancing nicely, and stomped over to Claria.

"He is mine. You cannot have him. Mine," she snorted, jabbing a grime-encrusted fingernail at the girl and shifting Og under one enormous arm.

"Put him down, my dumpling," growled Yob, raking from his arms the wilting mushrooms, perfectly nonplused at her appearance. "I think I have traded them a path across the erg to hear the song about my finest battle. I had almost lost the words from my head about how brave I was. No one sings better than Og. Besides, you are killing him. I told you to be careful, they die so easily."

Dejected, Womba slacked her grip and Og fell unconscious at her scaly, corn-studded, feet. Cheyne stepped in and propped the little man up as he regained his senses.

"What happened?" Og said hoarsely.

"Oh, I think you'll figure it out. You all right now?" asked Cheyne, picking orange scales from the top of Og's nose and eyeing the restless ores. They had found their spears again. The chance to leave was gone.

"I think we will take you to Rotapan, Og. He is smart enough to figure out your words. We leave now," said Yob, pushing his gnarled hand into his daughter's face. She had apparently already forgotten his words of a moment before. She looked at Og longingly through her father's splayed fingers and began to bray softly.

Cheyne turned resignedly to Og. "Looks like you'll get what you wanted, Og."

Og shrugged and held up his bony hands, feigning innocence, but not very well. "Just one minor detour in

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your journey. They can get us across the erg safely, too. Won't take long, might save some time in the end. What choice do we have anyway?"

Javin's mouth felt like cottonwool. He trudged across the erg in the darkness, the three sisters lighting his way, steering him ever westward. There had been no horse, no drom to be had in Sumifa. At least, no one would sell him one. From every livery he had tried, he received the same response: "We have nothing available today." Then silence, the attendants' eyes lowered and their voices fearful. It was as though they had expected him. The Ninnites had been there before him, of course.

Ahead of him, Riolla covered her eyes against the brilliant dawn on the western erg. It had been years-her childhood, really-since she had braved the full light of day; the Fascini never went out earlier than the late afternoon and not then without being completely covered. Sumifa's royalty were all very pale, and Riolla grimaced as she felt the sun penetrating the sedan's thin canopy.

She unrolled the map, checking for landmarks and direction, but until they passed the oasis, she had to hope that the Neffians knew where they were going. Riolla sniffed distastefully at Saelin, who drowsed in the other side of the chair, snoring softly, his long, curved knife loose in one hand and his sword resting in the other. She had had to let the assassin ride in the sedan when it became apparent that he could not keep up with the thin, wiry Neffians. She scanned the horizon, looking for Og and his friends, then checked behind, searching for any unwelcome followers.

She never saw Javin.

And Javin never saw the Neffian.

"Javin has left the ruin, presumably to find his son. He is wounded, but will not last long enough to do so. We

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have received a stroke of perfect luck from… from Caelus Nin himself, Raptor. The lad has fled his father and travels toward the Borderlands in the company of treasure hunters. He will search out the Clock and present himself to you without Javin's protection at the same time.™ The agitated voice fell silent.

"What you are telling me is that you have failed to kill the Circle's last mage," whispered the Raptor. "I like it not, Kifran. Such sloppiness is not what I have paid you so well for. I put Javin in his dream state- and I summoned the vermin. Was it too much for you to stay with him and make sure he was dead? Now he knows too much of me."

"Raptor, the water boy came to fill the jugs before I could make sure it was finished. I had to call for help, then; they would have killed me on the spot. The big foreman has a way with knives." Kifran scrambled for words, but found none of the right ones. The Raptor signaled to the tall, hooded guard at the door.

"Of course. So he does."

Kifran, thinking he was dismissed, bowed deeply, grateful to be leaving with his life.

"But so do others." Kifran never felt the guard's poniard as it entered his neck, pinning his tongue to the roof of his mouth.