Hanna snorted, but reached up a great hand to touch the cottony threads of her hair. “I do what I can… what I must. I have my household here, and gold mines aplenty. The Alchemist provides me with productive distraction. It is true, though, there are things in Winterheim that I miss.” She darted a sharp glance at Grimwar.

“The Alchemist is a valuable tool, indeed,” Grimwar commented dryly. “He is the reason for our visit. I wish to see him, as soon as possible.”

“Of course, my son and lord king. Even now he awaits you in the great hall of the castle.”

The monarch turned to his wife. “Let us go there now and waste no time. I want the Alchemist to begin at once.” He raised his voice to bark commands to Argus Darkand, who had remained on deck. “Make arrangements to bring my belongings to the royal suite. Then report to me in the castle.”

The helmsman saluted and turned to organize the unloading.

“May I come too, Sire?” asked Stariz, with a slight, mocking bow.

Grimwar ignored her. He knew she would do what she willed. Without another word, he started toward the road leading up to the great fortress, accompanied by a dozen of his loyal guards. Shrugging at each other over his impetuousness, the two queens followed behind.

* * * * *

Grimwar Bane was astonished at the frail appearance of the person who greeted him in the great hall. He had not laid eyes on the Alchemist for five or six years, since his last visit to Dracoheim. At that time, as he always did, he had found the place cold and forbidding and had vowed not to return until he had a good reason for the trip. Nor had he cared to hurry any next visit with the strange Alchemist.

At the time of their last meeting, the Alchemist had looked slender, perhaps even frail. Now he was positively cadaverous. Hair that had once been the color of straw was now bleached to a pallid white and in some places seemed to have been torn from his scalp in great clumps. His slender hands trembled as with palsy, and his legs were so sticklike that the king wondered if they might not break when the man feebly rose upon Grimwar’s entrance, then awkwardly genuflected.

The room itself was high, with musty beams arching across the ceiling, and several large tables and benches occupying the middle of the vaulted chamber. A fire burned in a large hearth, spreading welcome warmth, and whale oil lamps flared on each table. Around the edges of the hall, the light cast served to ease the sense of gloom.

“Your Majesty,” said the Alchemist. “This is indeed an honor. I only hope that you deem my meager efforts on your behalf worthy of acceptance.” He nodded at the pair of ogresses who had entered behind the king. “Worthy of the approval of the two great queens, as well.”

“Your discovery, the explosive powder, proved to be useful,” the king replied formally. “It was quite destructive, if I do say so myself. Yes, the golden orb turned out to be a mighty weapon, though flawed. I am hopeful that we can create a means of improving it. It is for that purpose that I come to you, now.”

“Please, shall we be seated?” The withered figure indicated chairs near the fire. “Tell me what you need. I exist to serve the crown, the royal family in all its forms.”

“So long as we see to his needs,” declared Queen Hanna, archly.

The Alchemist stiffened, his narrow face becoming even more pinched as he looked at the Dowager Queen, his mistress.

“My needs are simple, and straightforward,” he said, with a humble bow. “My Lady Queen has good cause to trust in my skills… when those needs, as you call them, are met.”

“You shall have whatever you desire,” declared the king, surprised and a little disturbed by the sudden gleam in the fellow’s eyes. “I need more of this powder, and I need it quickly. You must get to work right away.”

“The king is very wise and forceful,” the Alchemist agreed with a humble bow. “The hand of Gonnas is indeed mighty, but it remains the task of his followers and their loyal servants to put the proper tool in that immortal fist. I shall make the powder as soon as the ingredients can be collected. That task has already been begun.”

Stariz smiled tightly, looking down at the small man in the concealing cloak. “Excellent. Are you so eager to serve, that you do not even ask why?”

“Indeed, Your Highness. I do my utmost, working within the restrictions imposed by the barren nature of our remote outpost. I can only assume a wise purpose, from this wise king, and I obey. I am resourceful and can do much to hasten re-creation of the powder you desire. The Dowager Queen herself has provided me with the holy ash, and I can gather cinders from the summit of Mount Dracoheim itself-there is a whole mountainside of black, powdery stone. Of course, the admixture requires a catalyst, a liquid to trigger the reaction.” His eyes, downcast during his speech, suddenly rose to fasten, hungrily, on the face of the Dowager Queen.

“I understand what you want,” Hanna said tersely, betraying her scorn with a curl of her lip. “Rest assured that you shall have another cask of your elixir. Indeed, I shall create a potion that will aid you in the task at hand.”

The Dowager Queen stepped forward and gestured to the door on the far side of the hall, addressing the king and his wife. “Now, perhaps, you should be shown to your quarters. I ordered the royal apartments cleaned as soon as the approach of your ship was noted. They should be ready for you. The crossing from Winterheim is never pleasant, though I hope that your winds were fair.”

“They were capricious,” Stariz replied, “but you speak the truth. The sea is an unfriendly host, and I desire to clean and rest.”

“Very well,” said the king. “I would rest from the voyage too, but I repeat that I wish the Alchemist to commence at once. I do not wish to tarry in Dracoheim.”

“At once, indeed! As soon as my Dowager Queen can provide for my humble needs,” replied the Alchemist, with a sly look at the elder ogress.

“It shall be done,” Hanna agreed. “I will prepare a potion immediately and have the cask brought to his laboratory.”

A short time later the king and queen of Suderhold were shown by several human slave women into a sprawling suite of rooms high on one of the castle’s turreted towers. From here Goldwing appeared a mere sliver in the gray anchorage, surrounded by lofty summits and icy ridges that were as inhospitable as they looked.

“We have hot water running through the vaults of the castle,” one of the slave women said to the queen. “Would Your Highness care for a bath?”

“Yes, at once,” Stariz replied, clearly pleased.

A steaming bath was quickly filled, and the slaves withdrew. The queen relished the warmth, but the king ignored the water, striding out onto the encircling balcony, the parapet that surrounded this lofty suite. He paced around, thinking, his eyes riveted by the forbidding vista of sea, glaciers, and mountains.

* * * * *

Cutter danced on the crests of the waves, skipping from one to the next like a dancer garbed in a shroud of white silk. Kerrick, Moreen, Strongwind Whalebone, and Randall were all aboard, following the glacial coast to the west of Brackenrock, virtually retracing the route that had brought the elf into his fateful encounter with the thanoi Long-Swim Greatfin, some two months before.

“Did you see much more of this coastline during your mapping voyages of the past two years?” Moreen asked. She was leaning back against the transom, the tiller resting easily under her arm as Kerrick stood atop the cabin, hand braced on an overhead line. He squinted to the south, watching the mainland that was barely visible. Randall slept in the cabin, resting for a turn at the watch during the night. Strongwind sat near the bow keeping a lookout.