Teri McLaren
from you? He stalks you now, and has the Sumifan Schreefa to help him. We cannot protect you beyond our own borders," said Frijan. The water sapphire glittered at her ear.
"No," she continued. "I will tell you right now that I cannot consent. It is better to have power that we have not learned to use than none at all."
She left Og at the table and moved toward the center of the hall, where a huge log crackled and sparked in the heart of a natural fireplace, a hollow rock formation that rose from the riverbed through the rafters. More than a hundred selkies sat rapt at a game in progress as Frijan found a place next to her father. Yob had showed them a Wyrvil game with daggers, and the competition had become serious.
Wiggulf had to stop his ears with his fingers when Yob's dagger sank into the cross-cut tree round's center yet again. In the fifth and last round of their game, the big ore had struck home every throw, besting even the selkies' finest marksman. With years of Javin's demanded practice behind him, Cheyne was the only one who could still throw as well, and if he made his target now, he would win the match. Wiggulf looked around his beloved hall with chagrin. If Cheyne missed, Yob would very possibly tear up the whole lodge in celebration.
"I will bet you that gold ring the ore wins. The man is good, but this is an orcish game," whispered Frijan to Claria.
Claria quirked her mouth at the selkie, her feelings stung beyond reason at the challenge. She twisted Maceo's ring on her finger, wondering if it was still stuck, but it floated easily over her knuckle. Strangely, Claria realized she didn't care if she lost the ring. She cared only that Cheyne won.
"All right. My ring if he loses. But your coral knife if he wins," said Claria, her hand awaiting Frijan's on the bet.
"May I have part of this wager?" said Og, suddenly at Frijan's elbow.