A world of dazzling, liquid shimmer: Merlin, a realm of sun-wreathed ice.

Giant Aster's amethyst rings tinge its tiny neighbour with purple touches.

The ship's great sails fill with stellar wind, travellers stare through crystal portal, as into thin clouds they go down.

Ice against the oval window spatters, and so view the landless surface of a world of ice. No rock, no stone, just continents of hardened water.

And ice is not white, in blue and greens and even red, for miles the "land" is covered in rippled splendour. Always faint purple glitters here and there. Great blocks, big as countries, towering spikes bleak and high. Infinite shadows against ultra brilliance.

Hunter Port, a great cavern made from a lifted glacier sheet half a mile thick! Entering the vast maw of city cave, the bitter wind it ceases, like passing through a pane of glass. But still the cold shivers hardened spines.

At the helm, Silverblade guides the graceful vessel onto dry harbour cradle. A gentle thud rocks the elven Man-O-War, the comfort of ground beneath the feet.

Bear, in a sleeveless robe, seems right at home, hurling anchor ropes. Spying a face not unknown, he spins arm thick cable...and clouts the stevedore with a knout!

"Away ye thieving bas', afore I hurl ye in the waste by yer arse!" Chuckling, he bounces an ice crystal off the fleeing miscreant's head.

Expensive cargoes changing hands: platinum it's weight in spell-wrapped chest. Only Bear can lift alone, or would dare, for others would be vaporised into air!

The passengers disembark, wrapped in furs until they're quite round. Everyone makes their way to the "Glacier's Pass", the finest tavern in this shrouded, under-ice town. Light flickers through that colossal roof, glimmers floating over roofs and homes.

Through heavy drapes, into the inn, roaring heat and welcome din. Folk hail the sailor crew, or seek quick bargains with merchants, that too. Reeking of fish oil that feeds the fires, kelp and sea berry wine pass to thirsty throats left and right.

Pouring powder in is hand, BD Salron petrifies several folk: Chinda spice, hot enough to melt any ice! He puts a pinch in his bowl of fish stew, folk crowd around, while he eats with great, lip smacking gusto. Grown men dribble in their beards, and one entrepreneur throws a whale tooth on the table, and places his own bowl of soup.

Salron, seeming uncaring, pockets the ivory, and not looking, sprinkles spice in the hunter's food. Schlurps and then heated panting, the contented hunter settles back. Soon a huge pile of rare scrimshander teeth grows before Salron, and round him, burping, groaning, smiling folk.

Arenzat, a giant of a man, almost large as Bear, straight for Leah heads, the leader of the fur traders sits in front of her! The two quote a price after some talk, each holds their position, and as custom dictates, riddling begins: the one who loses must match the other's proposal. As usual, this goes on for ages, Arenzat wasn't chosen just for brawn: he's the best riddle master for a hundred miles around!

But Leah's no slouch either, quite the reverse! Besides which, she's unnerved him by having some of Salron's spice, and Arenzat's gurgling stomach can be heard over the crowd...After half an hour, the fur trader cracks and strains, as with relish Leah shows a roll soaked with wine and Chinda Spice, he gives in to her price!

"Well," she says to her friendly adversary, "I was looking forward to a bath, and the water's getting cold, so on your hunger I played right bold!" With a smile she pats his stomach and goes upstairs, leaving Arenzat taken quite aback, and his fellows laughing hard, tears tripping at their cheeks.

Captain Ohlsen, a tall, grim man of gaunt demeanour, master of the harbour and local men at arms, entered in his usual way, chill even in this frozen place. Before Silverblade his smiling lady can join upstairs, port fees he happy pays, but wishing glacier below his feet would open up and swallow greedy bloody Ohlsen!

Going from man to man, brother Fredericks asks for tithes, a priest of this world's water god, the sailors eager pay some coin, good grace of ocean lords they always wish, then....

Men startle, falling back! Woman hurls tankard at thing that now appears! Green hazed vision fills the room, a man nine feet tall, wrapped in yeti furs!

"Arenzat!...Help!" The spectre cries, and tumbles forward. Folks scatter from his fall. But the sorcerous image, disappears...