A Sword From Red Ice (47 page)

It was hard work, and Addie built a spotfire so
they could be refreshed with tea. The little cragsman was delighted
when Raif handed him the muslin pouch containing the lamb brothers'
herbs.

"Treasure," he said, holding the pouch
to his nose and inhaling deeply. "Smells like all the places a
man could ever want to be."

Raif felt stupidly pleased. Sweat was dripping
from his nose and dried blood reached all the way up to his elbows.
"There's sheep's curd too, but I left that back at that Rift."

"Now that will be interesting," Addie
said, sprinkling a few of the precious herbs into the pot. "I
used to make me own back . . . back in another life."

Raif and Stillborn nodded soberly. All three of
them had once lived lives as clansmen. Addie had been tied to
Wellhouse as a cragsman, Stillborn had been born dead into Scarpe
before being revived by a midwife, and Raif had spoken an oath to
Blackhail and broken it. They were quiet for a while after that,
setting their backs against the rocks as they sipped on wormwood tea.

Finally, Raif set down his cup and asked the
question he needed to ask. "What has happened in the Rift since
I left?"

Addie and Stillborn exchanged a glance. Stillborn
nodded almost imperceptibly at the cragsman. You take it.

"Harmful times, Raif," Addie said,
taking a stick and breaking up the fire. "Mole's getting nervous
and it's making him quick with his knives. If you're not loyal to him
you'll be paid a call in the night. Ten days back a half-dozen men
were murdered in their beds. Throats slit from ear to ear, tongues
sliced down the center. They call it the Vor king's kiss. Kill them
and then split their tongues so even their corpses can't squeal. All
six of the men had been heard complaining about the Mole. You know
the sort of thing: Where's the food? Why did the last raid fail?
What's the Mole doing for us? Harmless stuff in harmless times. But
times aren't harmless anymore, and it serves a man well to shut up
and starve."

"Why's Traggis Mole afraid?" Raif asked.

Again, there was that look, passed between Addie
and Stillborn.

The cragsman took a deep breath, set down his
fire-poking stick. "Mole's worst nightmare's happening and he's
powerless to stop it. Night after we returned from Black Hole
something godless broke free from the Rift."

At Addie's words both Raif's and Stillborn's right
arms twitched. The ghost of clan, that desire to reach down and touch
your measure of powdered guidestone whenever you felt a beat of fear.
Addie must have seen and recognized the impulse, but he continued
speaking his rough, backcountry voice low as if he feared to be
overheard.

"Something not whole walked on the rimrock.
Those that saw it said it was like night made into a man, dark and
rippling, like it shouldn't have weighed anything at all. But I
myself saw the cracks that it made in the stone. Rift brothers tried
to stop it—Linden Moodie hacked off an arm—but it
couldn't be stopped. Took thirteen before it left. Women, bairns,
men." Addie shuddered. "The bodies blackened like they were
burned, then they were gone."

Raif thought of the lamb brother Farli, and the
Forsworn knight in the redoubt. "Next time the bodies must be
destroyed."

Addie Gunn studied Raif's face, understanding much
from the little he had said. "Aye," he said softly,
spinning the word into confirmation of his worst fear.

Next time.

"What did Traggis Mole do?"

"What could he do? Took a swipe at the thing
with his longknife, received a cut to the ribs. Ordered everyone back
to their beds. Was set to take care of the bodies . . . afore the
bodies took care of themselves." With that Addie seemed to run
out of strength.

Stillborn, noticing the slump in the cragsman's
shoulders, took over. "Mole's been telling everyone that it
won't come back. The Rift Brothers are scared out of their wits.
Those men the Mole killed? Sent to the Rift the next morning, as if
somehow that could help. Throw enough bodies down there and you stop
the evil getting out." Stillborn blew air from his lips. "People
are starting to say that the Mole can't help them. Mole's saying
right back, 'Step out of line and you're dead.' He's made mistakes,
and that's not like him. Two of the six men he killed were good
hunters. Means less meat, more discontent. Who knows how long Addie
and myself are safe? I used to think being a good hunter counted for
something. Now, I'm thinking if the man-thing from the Rift doesna
get me Traggis Mole will."

Raif nodded slowly. It was worse than he had
thought. Whatever he had done at the Fortress of Grey Ice had been
nothing more than shoring up a crack. Pressure was building. First
the Unmade in the lamb brothers' camp. Now this. They're searching
for weak points, he realized. They discovered one in the fortress but
now that's sealed they're finding other ways out.

He lost himself in his thoughts for a while,
remembering snatches of conversation from his past. Addie Gunn had
told him the Rift was the greatest flaw in the earth. If it were to
be ripped open life for the Maimed Men and the entire clanholds would
be over. Hundreds of thousands of Unmade would ride out.

And the Endlords.

Just their name alone sent a knife of fear into
Raif's heart.

Why me? Why was he the one who must fight them?
The two things he had wanted from life were to be a decent clansman
and a good brother to Effie and Drey. Now he would be neither. Now he
was Mor Drakka, Watcher of the Dead. How had that happened? When? He
didn't suppose the answer mattered much in the end. What choice did
he have here? What man or woman, knowing the things he did, would
walk away?

Raif Sevrance could not walk away. And perhaps,
just perhaps, there was a glimmer of hope in that. Perhaps from a
distance, in a most terrible and dread way, in a manner he could
never have anticipated, he could still be that good clansman and
brother. It was a hope. And it was his only one.

Coming back to the present was like emerging from
icy water. He was cold and disoriented and it took him long moments
to realize why Addie Gunn and Stillborn were watching him intently,
waiting.

Raif glanced over at the bloody carcass of the
snagcat and then said what he had to say.

"I will become Lord of the Rift."

And so it begins.

Pike

Effie Sevrance was rubbing boat oil into her
ankles. It felt good and not at all boaty, cool and soothing on her
chafed skin. The smell left something to be desired and it might
possibly be a bit rancid, but it was pretty interesting the way it
turned her legs all slick and green. Of course Chedd had to come over
and take a look.

"What you doing?" he asked. Possibly the
stupidest question in the entire world. He had eyes. He could see.

Effie said, "I thought if I put enough boat
oil on my ankles I could slip my feet through the cuffs." For
good measure she raised her legs above the deergrass and shook her
leg irons. "What do you think?"

She felt a bit bad when Chedd actually considered
this theory, squinting so hard it pushed his cheek fat up against his
eyes. Then immediately regretted it when he said, "No. Your feet
are too big."

"Dare you to drink it," she shot back at
him, nodding toward the calfskin flask containing the boat oil.

Chedd Limehouse was champion of the
worm-swallowing, vast-quantity-eating dare. He glanced down toward
the rivershore where Waker Stone was pulling in his fish trap, and
then at the beached and upturned boat. "Hand it over," he
ordered tersely, like a surgeon requesting his saw just before he
chopped off someone's leg to save a life.

Rolling forward onto her knees, Effie handed Chedd
the flask.

"For Bannen!" he proclaimed, holding it
high above his head. Popping off the stopper with his thumb, he
brought the nozzle to his mouth. And drank. Effie watched his throat
apple bob up and down, up and down, as he swallowed large quantities
of boat oil. Green grease began to spill from his mouth and roll
along his chin, yet he continued drinking.

Finally she could take it no more. Punching the
flask from his lips, she shouted, "Stop it."

Chedd grinned and belched. His jaw and neck were
slick with oil, and the collar of his fine wool cloak was black.
"Tasty," he said with deep satisfaction.

Effie glared at him, while secretly hoping that
boat oil was some sort of harmless plant oil. Like linseed or castor.
She didn't want to kill anyone, and she really did like Chedd.

Wiping his chin with shirtsleeve, he said, "See
that cliff over there. If you climb it you can see for leagues. It's
all open ground, heaths and rocks and things. Wanna take a look?"

Effie felt a pinch of the old fear. "No,"
she replied, knowing straightaway that she had disappointed him.
"Bring me a rock back from the top."

It was a good thing to give a person something to
do, she had learned. Chedd nodded. "Big or small?"

Effie brought both of her hands together and
cupped them. "This big."

After committing the size of the requested rock to
memory, Chedd set off. Halfway to the base of the cliff, without
looking around, he raised an arm in silent salute. Effie was
impressed that he had known she would still be watching.

Rising a little awkwardly to her feet, she started
searching for the flask's stopper. Gods knew how Chedd was going to
get up that cliff with his feet connected by two feet of iron chain.
Hop, probably.

It was not going to be a nice day today, she could
tell. The Wolf River, which was usually brown, was gray, and it had a
little angry chop to it that made the surface matte. Thunderheads
were shipping in from the south of all places and the hemlocks and
blackstone pines on the riverbank were beginning to sway. To make
matters worse Waker's father was just sitting by the boat, watching
her with eyes that were double-beady. Sometimes she imagined that the
little old man knew just what she was thinking. Clan Gray, that was
where he and his son were from. It was a strange clan and not much
was known about it. Perhaps the elders there had learned how to
divine unguarded thought.

Even though she knew she was being silly, Effie
made a face at him. It really was too much, all the staring and
silence and I-see-what-you're-about-girl knowingness. For want of
something better to do she shuffled down to the shore and offered to
help Waker Stone head the fish. At least she had the pleasure of
surprising him.

Waker had set the fish trap the night before after
they'd pulled ashore. He'd caught three fish in the wicker basket; a
shiner and two small trout. They were still skipping. "Take the
shiner," he said, handing her the trap. "Show me how you
mean to do it."

She did just that, handling all three fish with
confidence. The shiner wasn't much longer than her hand and it was
what Mad Binny would have called a "no-biter": you either
ate it whole or threw it away. It wasn't worth heading or gutting,
and Waker Stone knew it. Still, she laid it against the cutting
stump, pinned its tail fin with her middle finger, and began making a
scraping motion with the edge of her free hand. "Scaling,"
she informed Waker calmly. "Best done before you open the gut
and chop off the head."

"So you know fish then," he said,
looking at her with interest for the first time in all the days that
she had known him. Abruptly, he turned his back on her. "Take
it," he said over his shoulder. "Don't go lighting no
cookfire."

Effie didn't very much want the shiner, but the
habit of good manners, drilled into her over many years by Raina
Blackhail, was strong and she took it. After the time she'd spent
hiding in the waterfall hollow west of Ganmiddich she no longer cared
for fish. Especially raw ones. Trouble was, she'd stopped hearing
Raina's voice in her head and begun hearing Da's instead. You kill
it. You eat it. He could be hard, Da. Hard but right.

Better than boat oil, she thought as she raised
the wriggling shiner above her head. She had wanted to make a
dedication, like Chedd, but the words "For Blackhail!"
didn't mean very much to her. Perhaps she'd been gone too long from
her clan. Suddenly inspired, she cried "For Drey!" and
dropped the silver fish into her open mouth.

It took some swallowing, but now that Drey's name
was attached to it, it simply had to go down. She still didn't know
what had become of her elder brother after the raid on Ganmiddich and
in some hopeful and superstitious part of her brain she thought that
if she got the fish down in one gulp then Drey would be made alive
and well. The shiner went down. She could feel it bucking as her
gullet muscles pushed it into her stomach. After that she needed to
sit. Waker's father, who might or might not have been named Darrow,
followed her progress with jab-like movements of his eyes. She knew,
in the weird and unspoken rules of the mutual game they played, that
if she broke down and hid herself deliberately from his sight—say
behind a tree trunk or a rock—somehow it meant he had won. And
Effie Sevrance did not want to give him the satisfaction. So in plain
sight she sat, away from the boat and up high against the hemlocks.

From here she could see Chedd climbing the cliff.
He was close to the top now. His technique of pulling himself up by
his arms and then swinging his lower body behind him was pretty
impressive for a fat boy. Now she wished she had agreed to go with
him, but the old fears still had a grip on her feet.

Open ground. See for leagues. She shuddered,
though not nearly as strongly as in the past. A year back she
wouldn't have left the roundhouse unless bullied by Raina or Raif,
enticed by the thought of Shankshounds, or driven out by the word
"Fire!" Effie Sevrance had never liked outside. The more
open it was the less she liked it, therefore woods were better than
fields, low ground better than high. She couldn't say why this was
so. Well maybe she could but the explanation was so . . . illogical
that she didn't like to admit it, even to herself. You were exposed
outside. Revealed. You could see the lay of the land, the age of it,
the gnarled rootwood and weather-beaten stones. And it smelled too.
In the morning, that first wash of mist: that was the real true smell
of the earth. It was old and watchful and tricky. It looked wide
open, but all that air could be hard to breathe. The sky above was
big and loose and if you looked long enough you could see it spin.
Outside everything was moving, watching, growing, changing. Inside
all was still.