On the other side of the abrupt mountain there lay Minartee, the pagan´s city, its golden carved spires and marble veined domes rising lofty in the chilly morn´s overclouded sky. He lurked behind the mossy crags beside the North path coming from the Last Sea until he managed to rob a lonely pilgrim heading for the unwholesome city. He put on the man´s coarse wool clothes and so he entered Minartee´s stony enclosure without being noticed. Once into the city he headed toward the heretic´s temple. It was said their impious priests eager exchanged their advice in return for some blood. So he did it, passing himself off as a pilgrim. No answer was handed over to him.
Presently he left Minartee due North, across the marshy lands. If both toads and fauns actually croaked the answer smirkingly, he did not understand it. The Last Sea reached, he talked a water wrinkled seamen´s group into going on board in a lustrum journey all around the known lands coast. He met and asked many people. None of them could tell him.
Eventually he went back home, saddened and old-looking, his eyes forever lost in the distance, still searching for an answer. He went to the palace, and entered the princess´ chamber without being announced. She was sitting in her royal throne. As remembrance came to her on seeing him she just smiled briefly and stared at him. Then he knew it.
Both ebony and ice were lying there, throbbing upon an ivory throne.
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