“Yes, all the way beyond the western glacier,” he replied, swinging down from his perch to settle on the bench near Moreen. “I drew the features on the chart-I have the map in the cabin, if you’d like to see.”

“Yes-but not till we’re in calm water again.” She pointed at the bank of darkness that had spread across the whole southern horizon. “How bad does that look?”

“Solid and black, but the main blow seems to be moving west, not north,” Kerrick assessed. He looked astern, where the eastern sea was a low, dark line on the horizon. “But we’ll be stuck in the wind and rain-ten or twelve hours of rough riding, unless you want to change course, look for smoother seas.”

“Turn aside already? I don’t think so.” Moreen smiled at him, a bold twinkle in her eye. “I didn’t eat anything too greasy today. Did you?”

Kerrick chuckled, acknowledging that her resistance to seasickness was extraordinary compared to most humans. “We’d best be putting the rain gear on,” he suggested. He went into the cabin, sidling past the bunk where Randall snored noisily. The elf opened his sea chest and gathered up a pair of oilskins, supple but protective garments made from the tanned pelts of seals.

In the chest was the box that held his father’s ring, and Kerrick suppressed a thrill of longing as he thought of it. It would be so easy to take it, to slide his finger through. He reached out, almost touched it, then snatched his hand away as if burned. Shivering, he realized that his body was wet with perspiration.

He also saw the thin, wreathlike object Dinekki had made for him when he had embarked on his intended journey to Silvanesti. He had kept it safe here in case he needed it, though he didn’t know exactly what it was or how it worked. It comforted him to know that the protection of the ancient shaman was with him here and now.

Closing the lid, he noticed that Randall had ceased snoring. He looked up to see the Highlander regarding him with a quiet, studious expression.

“Sorry-didn’t mean to wake you,” the elf apologized.

“No worry, you didn’t,” replied the man, closing his eyes and immediately lapsing back into deep slumber.

Kerrick emerged, and soon he and Moreen were comfortably ensconced on the transom bench, insulated by their heavy oilskins, close enough that through his garments Kerrick could feel the heat of her nearness.

“What of the ogres? Did you see lots of signs of them along this… what did you call it? The Dracoheim Sea?” Moreen asked.

“That’s what the thanoi called it. No, not a lot of ogre presence-just a few remote outposts. There were some watchtowers on promontories and a small fortress at the terminus of the glacier, where it looked like the ice had receded quite a bit since the place was built. I saw smoke from the chimneys, though I didn’t care to get too close. That was three years ago.”

“So it seems that they have these outposts spread all across the southern Icereach, doesn’t it?”

“Places in the shadow of the Icewall, mostly, leaving the humans, you Arktos and the Highlanders, to the north. Where you have trees, hot springs, gold mines, and fertile fields. I should say you have the best of the arrangement.”

“Yes, so long as we can keep things that way.

Moreen watched the approaching clouds roiling in the south. Kerrick continued to guide his boat between the swells.

“You have been paid again for helping the Highlanders build a whole fleet of curraghs, haven’t you?” asked the chiefwoman. “You must have collected quite a hoard of gold by now.”

Kerrick nodded, guilty and a little uncomfortable with the thought of his accumulating wealth. Of course, the humans paid him willingly and seemed to find the fees he charged more than fair in exchange for the skills he had taught them and the frequent short trips he made, ferrying passengers or goods back and forth across the White Bear Sea. A Highlander thane would think nothing of paying him twenty or thirty gold pieces for such a jaunt, a service which would have fetched only three coins in Silvanesti.

“Yes. I will be considered a wealthy elf when I return to my homeland. I have three chests of gold here in Cutter’s hold.”

“You could turn for home whenever you want… start over as a rich man,” Moreen mused. She narrowed her eyes, turning from the looming storm to study him shrewdly. A blast of spray came across the gunwale, and she blinked away the brine, then shook her head. “Yet still you stay here among us human barbarians,” she said, with wry sarcasm. “You risk your life to carry us into Chislev knows what kind of danger. Why?”

Kerrick squirmed. “I like it here. I like your people. I like you,” he finally stated. “Believe it or not, I’m going to miss you when I finally leave.”

“Oh, you’ll come back and visit, won’t you?”

“I imagine I will. Someone will have to show the elves how to find Brackenrock.”

“You really think they’ll come to trade?”

“I’m certain of it. Elven merchants will bring goods such as you’ve never seen-silks, and spices, horses, dyes, and exotic fruits.” He paused, looked at her earnestly. “I’d love to see you get your first taste of an orange.”

“Tell me, when you return to Silvanesti will you take a wife?”

Kerrick was startled by the blunt question, asked with a forthrightness that no elf would have tolerated from one of his own kind. Yet he had grown more comfortable among humans, and so he took no offense, merely drew a deep breath while he pondered his reply.

“I don’t see why,” he said slowly. “In Silvanesti marriages are mostly matters of alliance, of status and position. Often parents arrange the weddings, and you know that my parents are dead.”

“Yes, but perhaps some patriarch will eye you as a prize for his daughter’s hand,” Moreen said, again with that twinkle in her eye.

“Hmph!” Kerrick snorted, suddenly uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. No, he vowed silently, he wouldn’t be a pawn in some noble’s power scheme. He would never be a part of that world again.

“I don’t know why I should want to take a wife-I never lacked for lovers,” he said defensively, then regretted the words when he saw the frown momentarily darken Moreen’s expression.

“Did the wind change?” He raised his head and immediately saw that she had observed an important swing in the wind. Strongwind had noticed too. He came back to the cockpit, easing sideways past the cabin.

“Looks like it’s bearing right out of the south now. I guess we’re in for it,” the king of the Highlanders said, looking at both of them with narrowed eyes.

Indeed, the storm was blowing harder, wind lashing from port, needles of spray sweeping across them at intervals. Kerrick took a moment to steer along a trough between two rising crests. When one wave broke over the gunwale he, Strongwind and Moreen ducked their heads and held on as the chilly brine swept past, soaking their boots and leggings.

“You two go below,” offered the elf. “I’ll stay here and keep us afloat.”

“I’ll keep you company,” Moreen said cheerfully. Strongwind, looking glum, gamely declared that he, too, would stay out in the “fresh air”.

Another wave loomed high, and crashed down upon the boat. Kerrick gave the tiller to Moreen, tied a safety line around his waist, and moved forward to take in more sail. When he returned to the cockpit, Strong-wind was retching over the side while the chiefwoman clung to the steering bar, wrestling against the force of the sea.

Kerrick sat beside her, and together they held the sailboat on course. “Why don’t you go into the cabin and start the fire-warm up and get dry,” the elf urged the Highlander, and this time the king-his face with a decidedly greenish cast-agreed with visible relief.

For several hours the elf and the chiefwoman struggled to maintain their westward course against the power of the storm. At last, as yet another wave slammed into Cutter, soaking them and sloshing around their feet in the cockpit, Kerrick announced that they must yield.