Rotapan poisoned the Silver Sea." Og smiled. "But I've never been this far west. That's just a guess, from what the ores say and the old ballads I know about them."
Cheyne idly drew his foot across the speckled white sand. "Why would she want an ore, Og?"
"Oh, I would think she's taking him home with her. Remember, Rotapan has had their king in his water dungeon for years now. Something of a trade-off, I would guess…"
"Rotapan doesn't strike me as caring much about anyone except himself. Why would he ransom Yob?" asked Cheyne.
"He wouldn't. But Yob would ransom Womba," Og said slowly. I was hiding under Krota's broken pot-I heard Rotapan say to Yob was that he was holding Womba prisoner until Yob brought all of us back to the temple. Well, actually, just our heads."
"How would the selkies know that?"
"If Womba is in the water dungeon, they know from Wiggulf himself. He sings constantly. Nothing happens in the water without the selkies hearing of it within the hour."
"Let's follow them. If nothing else, we'll find our way through the wood safely," Cheyne said, thinking of the canistas he had seen earlier; a bedraggled group of exhausted travelers would be just the sort of prey the beasts liked best.
Warily, he led the way. Claria took the middle position, keeping a sharp eye on Og ever since she had seen him mooning over Riolla. The songmage clutched the serpent-headed staff tightly, the red ajada covered with a shred of Og's overshirt. Every so often, when Claria cast a glance at Cheyne, Og would look behind him, tuning his ears to any sound that might mean they were being followed. Especially any sound like Riolla's voice.
An hour more into the pine forest, the trees began to thin into deciduous, understory saplings, which provided almost no cover. Cheyne dropped the party back