Through the Ice by Piers Anthony, Launius Anthony, Robert Kornwise Read Free Book Online

bite into Seth's leg. Groping to his sides, Seth found a hefty rock; with a surge of strength he heaved it into the air and slammed it down on the troll's head. He scrambled up, knowing that more would soon be attacking.
    Seth looked toward Rame, who had apparently dispatched all but three of the trolls. Two of these were trying to drag him to the ground, while the third was biting his ankle.
    Seth looked about and saw his sword. He ran to fetch it, glad that while the troll who had bitten him had penetrated deep enough to hurt, it had not done serious damage; he had no trouble on his feet. He picked up the sword and charged Rame's attackers.
    Hearing his approach, the two trolls pushing Rame turned around. Seth did not hesitate. With one lethal swing he sliced through the necks of both trolls. The dark blood spouted, and they pitched over, their heads rolling away.
    Rame, now having two free hands, reached into his quiver, grabbed an arrow, and drove it through the neck of the last one, who was still gnawing his ankle.
    All was quiet. Seth noticed that the tassel on his sword was once again white. He stared at it. What was going on?
    "The tassel," Rame explained, "turns black when the person possessing the sword is in physical danger. Since it was on your back, I saw the color change before you did."
    Rame took out his reed whistle and played a powerful, lively melody. Seth watched in amazement as the bite on his leg and the one on Rame's ankle healed themselves with a visible speed. The pain, however, did not go completely away. There must, he thought, be limitations on the good the reed whistle could do. Malape's touch had alleviated the pain as well as the injuries.
    "Let us go," Rame said briskly. "We must find shelter. We will need to spend one more night in the wilderness before we reach the Teuton Empire."
    By Seth's judgment, according to the advice of Sen-Tree, they should have been there already. But they weren't going directly, and he suspected this was because the faun was taking them the safest way. The unsafe way would surely be no pleasure!
    They walked on until they reached a wooded area where they were able to build a shelter. It seemed that his own strategy for spending a night was valid here, where there were no lovely and friendly nymphs.
    They ate mostly in silence. Then Seth watched as Rame slept. He would wake his friend when he couldn't keep alert any more.
    He tried to figure out what was happening to him. Again he felt sorrow in his heart for his family. If they thought him dead—
    As before, he drifted without realizing it into sleep. Again, his dreams were of home. This time, however, Seth was not a participant. He was watching his family, and someone was there who was pretending to be him.
     
Four

The Chosen
    Seth woke, blinded by the brilliant rays of sunlight cutting through the tree tops and slanting into the hut. Rame was up, and he motioned for Seth to join him outside the shelter. There was a vaguely familiar aroma.
    "Is that bread?" Seth inquired.
    The satyr was tearing a large brown fruit off a plant. "It is not bread made from grain. It is, however, a fruit which tastes very much like it."
    "Why pick it if you can conjure it?"
    "Observe." Rame picked up his reed whistle and began to play a very compelling melody. The fruit began to quiver. It shook, until it was practically jumping. With the last staccato note, it vanished.
    "What happened?" Seth asked, dismayed.
    "Nothing negative. I could not conjure this fruit because I had never before encountered the plant, other than in satyr text books. Once it is in my instrument, however, I can conjure as much of it as I need."
    Rame played again, and the fruit reappeared. "Oh—like doing a cut and paste on a computer!" Seth exclaimed.
    The faun gazed at him blankly. "We shall cut it, but we have nothing with which to paste it to anything, if that were desirable."
    Seth laughed. "I'm sorry. I used a—an expression from my own frame. A way to