A Sword from Red Ice

by Julia V Jones

  "You have been marked, Bram Cormac son of Mabb. The rangers have observed you for five years. We have minded you on the practice court and in the scribes' hall at Dhoone. We have asked others about matters concerning you and received answers that satisfied. Your part in Skinner Dhoone's downfall has been noted. Your actions the night VayloBludd was located on a hillside east of Dhoone are known to us. We see much that others do not, and we watch for others like us." A small, weighted pause, "And that watching has brought me to you."

  Bram swallowed. Who had told this man about the meeting with Vaylo Bludd? Guy Morloch? Jordie Sarson? The Dog Lord? And how did Mallin know that Bram had visited Skinner Dhoone all those months ago at the Old Round outside of Gnash? Did he know that Bram had looked into Skinner's Dhoone-blue eyes that day and lied? A glance at the ranger's hard, angular face gave Bram his answer. Yes, Hew Mallp knew. He knew and judged it satisfactory.

  The strange tightness that had seized Bram's chest in the cold room gripped him again. What was happening here? Why did he feel under threat?

  "We are the Brotherhood of the Long Watch, the Phage, and we have stood guard against the Endlords for four thousand years. We watch in this land and many other lands, in the cities and in the clan-holds, in the deserts and on the seas. Dark armies are massing and we stand ready at the gate. We are few against many, and while others on this continent fight wars, seize strongholds, kill, breed, sleep, we walk in the shadows and patrol against the darkness and the men and women who harbor it." Hew Mallin shifted his position, revealing a lean sword housed in an intricately etched steel scabbard. "Our ways are subtle and the tasks we undertake are seldom pleasant. We know truth but do not always speak it. Enemies forestall us and we must act to wipe them out. We do not serve one man or one people, and our home is on the horse paths, animal tracks, dirt roads and riverways. As darkness moves so must we.

  "We are the Phage and we know the names of the creatures in the Blind and are afraid. The world lies on the brink, and the first question I bring you, Bram Cormac, is this: How long can it stay there unsupported?"

  Snapping his gaze away from Bram, the ranger began to walk the rough circle of the clearing.

  Bram looked at the sky. He was about an hour late for Drouse Ogmore. Every day since the guide had asked him to consider becoming his apprentice Bram had gone to the guidehouse thinking, Today will be the day Ogmore asks for my decision. So far that day had not come. Now Dalhousie Selco wanted to make a master swordsman from him—and for a son of a swordsman that meant something. Bram had lost count of the times he had been told he was too small to wield the hammer, the ax and the big two-handed longswords that were favored by Dhoonesmen. Here at Castlemilk they preferred a smaller, fighting sword. And Dalhousie believed that given time Bram could wield such a weapon with skill.

  Already it was a wealth of choices. He had come here with nothing and now owned a horse. At Dhoone he possessed no worth save his kinship to Robbie. Now he had two trades to choose from, two ways to gain merit in this clan.

  Bram listened to the sound of the trees moving, the hemlocks shushing and the old oaks creaking like swinging doors. Leaves had budded on the elms too early and the frost was rotting them off.

  Not thinking any answer was required from him, Bram kept his silence. It seemed as if the world had sharpened. He could see the light in the snow as well as upon it, see the blues and greens that waited there like memories of water. The shadows were darker and more menacing, biding behind trees like coiled springs. When he saw his footprints had exposed earth as well as pine needles, he graded the stones. Nothing shiny or unusual. Nothing that went against the grain.

  When Hew Mallin's circuit turned him back toward Bram, he spoke. "You have guessed what the second question is but I will ask it anyway. Formalities serve their purpose." The ranger halted three feet from Bram and pinned him with a gaze so sharp Bram felt it cut like a wire through his head. "I, Hew Mallin of the Brotherhood of the Long Watch, ask you, Bram Cormac son of Mabb, to leave the clan-holds with me this night and beginning training as a ranger for the Phage."

  J cannot. Yet he was stirred beyond all sense. Hew Mallin was shaking. So was Bram. "Do you teach the histories?"

  "Knowledge is power."

  It was a yes. Bram swallowed. "I have spoken an oath to Castlemilk."

  "Break it.. The gods are dead, and what remains is here to destroy, not judge us."

  But the stones. Ogmore said the gods' presence could be read in the stones. Close to panic now, Bram thought about Ogmore waiting in the guidehouse, of Dalhousie training in the Chum Hall with Mabb's sword, of Wrayan Castlemilk standing in the water and saying, Now you are a Castleman for a year.

  "My sword?"

  "Swords kill. As long as a blade is sharp one will do as well as another."

  Bram breathed in great gouts of air. The snow was dazzhng him it was so full of light. He should not have come, that was his mistake. Should have walked right past Hew Mallin and taken the door-within-the-door.

  Wrayan Castlemilk knew, Bram realized quite suddenly. She had only come to deliver Robbie's greetings and gift him with Guy Morloch's horse after the ranger had made the crossing.

  But Dalhousie had not known. Nor had Drouse Ogmore.

  And what of Robbie?

  Did he send any message?

  No.

  A muscle pulled deep within Bram's chest. Hawk and spider, knowledge and sword: here was everything he wanted … and more. Meeting Hew Mallin's yellow-green gaze he gave the ranger his answer and broke First Oath.

  By nightfall Bram Cormac had started a new life.

  THIRTY-EIGHT A Pox Upon the Heart

  Raif Sevrance was awoken by a mule lipping his ear. Through sleepy, focusing eyes he saw many big teeth and a ridge of pink gums. Wet lips tickled him, and a little push of air revealed stupendously bad breath. Raif thought it would be a good idea to move, tried to move, but somehow could not roll off his stomach onto his back. Islands of pain—that's what they felt like, lumps of hurt sticking out above water level—emerged from the fog of sleep. His left shoulder was throbbing. The midsection of his left arm, but not the top, was so tender that the weight of the blanket resting upon it was excruciating.

  He was in a tent and blotches of light were coming through the uneven canvas overhead. The mule walked a few feet and began crunching on quartered onions that had been placed on a wooden board. A second animal stood some distance behind the mule; a white horse with a long, fountainlike tail. Its brown-blue eye watched Raif with both interest and caution.

  Voices were coming from outside the tent and Raif was relieved to hear Addie Gunn say quite clearly, "I think we've seen the end of the snow."

  Raif croaked Addie's name. Even the mule didn't look up. The blanket that was pulled up to his chin felt like sandpaper, and he tried to push it down with a motion of his right shoulder. Something wasn't right with his back. Something was there. Like a growth.

  "Addie," he cried. "Addie."

  "Whoa, laddie," the cragsman responded from outside the tent. "I hear you. I'm coming."

  Footfalls followed. Onion wedges dropped from the mule's mouth as it turned to look at the person entering the tent. Addie came into view. His eyes were very gray and bright. Quickly squatting by Raif's pillow, the cragsman said, "It's good … good to see you awake." "It's good to be awake."

  Addie Gunn seemed to find some wisdom in this. "Aye," he agreed softly. "It usually is."

  The cragsman left him briefly to fetch water from a tin canteen insulated with mouse fur. "D'you think you can get up to drink it?" he said frowning from the canteen to Raif and back again. Raif tried to roll onto his back.

  "No," Addie said in a dither, setting down the canteen and rushing forward. "You can't put weight on your back. The thing's there,"

  "What thing?" Raif heard the panic in his voice, and forced some movement from his spine.

  'The pox—on your heart." Kneeling, Addie helped Raif to execute a half roll ont
o his side, and then clamped him around the head and heaved him into a sitting position.

  "I hope you were gentler with your sheep," Raif said, dizzy with pain and seeing red splotches before his eyes. He could feel it now, something sticking out from his back, sucked hard against his skin. Rotating his neck as far as it would go, he saw something moving in a place where there should have been fresh air. Raif s right hand came up to swat it away, but the cragsman's hand was faster.

  Gripping Raif s wrist so hard it shook, the cragsman said, "It's a poultice of leeches and right now it's the only thing keeping you alive. That piece of shadow is pushing against your heart and those leeches—gods bless their black little souls—are sucking the other way."

  Oh gods. Raif relaxed the tension in his wrist and Addie released his grip. He thought he might be sick. "What's keeping them back there?" Addie shrugged. "They gorge, they drop off. Old Flawless sticks another one right in place. He's built up plaster around the wound so they can't crawl away and find a better spot. Had to cut into your skin to give the plaster something to bind on to, so I'm telling you now I ain't fetching no mirror." Addie paused to let the full meaning of this sink in. His gaze was frank and unflinching. "Here. Drink water. Be glad you're alive."

  Raif took the eanteen with his left hand, testing. The muscles were sore in the same way they would be if he'd chopped wood all day. And all night. Aware that Addie was waiting for some response from him, some sign that everything was all right with Raif Sevrance, he said, "Water's good."

  It was enough to satisfy Addie Gunn, and Raif could see something physically easing in the cragsman, a softening around the shoulders. "Old Flawless adds a pinch of soda to it. Who'd a thought to do such a thing?" He appeared genuinely impressed. "That Trenchlanders full o' tricks."

  Addie's accent got thicker when he was distressed or relieved, Raif realized for the first time. "How long have I been out?" "Three days."

  Raif understood then the worry he had caused his friend. "I'm sorry, Addie."

  Throwing a hand out, the cragsman rose to standing. "A man can hardly go apologizing for dropping clean dead. And even if he did it'd take a hard sort of nutgall to accept it." Again, the eyes were bright.

  From the back of the tent, the Sull horse made a wicking noise and threw back its beautiful elongated head.

  "Easy, lady," Addie said, using his sheep voice. He walked over and gently knuckled her nose. The animal pushed against him, calmed. "What happened?" Raif asked.

  Addie sighed. "You fell. Just crumpled clean at the knees right by the drying rack. Me and Gordo upped and ran straight for you.

  Neither of us knew what the hell to do. I set my ear to your chest—you were gone. Clean gone. That's when old Flawless gets there. Didn't run—he's not the sort—but he gets to it soon enough, starts pumping your ribs like they were bellows. All the while he's speaking in Sull, ordering Gordo to fetch this and that, telling me in Common to stop casting my shadow in his way. Sit, he tells me. I see to the boy. Next thing I know your legs start jerking, a noise comes from your throat like you're being strangled. Gordo's bringing all kind of medicines— leaves and tiny bottles and potions. Flawless pulls out his hunting knife, slices off your tunic as if it's a deerhide he fancies mounting for a trophy, and tells me to boil some water for the herbs. It all happened so fast I could barely track it. A minute later you're half naked on a horseblanket, being rolled onto your stomach so Flawless can have a look at the puncture wound."

  Addie patted the horse's head. Noticing her nose band had ridden up, he automatically pulled it back in place. "Flawless asked what was up with you and I couldn't see a way around it so I told him everything: the piece of shadow that was lodged in your shoulder, the thing Yiselle No Knife said about it stopping your heart. Too damned shaken to lie. Too afraid that if I didn't speak the truth you just might die there in front of that bloody skinned bear."

  Recalling the hollowed out eyes of the bear skull, Raif shivered. He could feel the leeches sucking on his back, feel hundreds of tiny teeth clamped to his flesh. "Who is this Flawless?"

  "Some old trapper coot. Been around awhile, knows some stuff. Flawless isn't his real name, but it's as close as these old gums can get to it. He doesna seem to mind—specially after I explained to him what it meant. That will be my new name, he says. He's quite a one. He'll be in soon to check on your, you know … back."

  Raif tried to control his revulsion. They were moving, that was the thing, their slimy bellies contracting as they pumped in blood. Motioning to the Sull horse, he asked, "Is that his?"

  Addie understood this question. "Aye. Flawless has some Sull in him, more than Gordo that's for sure. Don't think he has much love for them though. I get the feeling the Sull aren't too happy about him trapping bears." Lowering his voice, the cragsman returned to Raif's side. "Know that trap I sprung the other day by the fallen cedar?" Raif nodded. "Gordo finds it yesterday, tells Flawless, who's convinced it was the Sull that did it."

  Raif thought about this. "We're in Sull territory?"

  "Just about. Apparently the borders are a little hazy around the top of Bludd."

  "Help me up," Raif said, planting his palms on the tent floor.

  "You can't get up," Addie protested, stepping back. "You need to lie there and rest."

  "I need," Raif said, gritting his teeth as he leveraged his weight forward, "to find the Red Ice."

  "Traggis Mole is dead. What does it matter when you find the damn sword?"

  Pain shot along Raif s left arm as he pushed himself to standing. The tent spun and he stumbled as he tried to orientate himself. Light floated sideways and blurred. Addie's hand clamped on to his right arm. "Steady now."

  Braced against Addie's weight, Raif waited for the tent to stop spinning. He felt a small loosening on his back. Something moved. A leech dropped to the floor. Addie kicked it away with the side of his boot, but not before Raif had seen something brown and bloody, like a piece of liver.

  "Addie, I have to go. I need to find the sword." Swear to me you will fetch the sword that can stop them. Swear it. "I spoke an oath. I intend to keep it."

  He had meant to say more, to tell Addie that he had broken his word so many times that there was now nothing solid beneath anything he said, that his fate was to wield the sword named Loss and slay the creatures that could be destroyed only with such a blade, and that every day he spent in territory claimed by the Sull he risked both his own life and Addie's. Yet he stopped himself. At the end of everything it was the oath to Traggis Mole that counted.

  Addie had trained to be a Wellhouse warrior and then deserted his clan in favor of a life herding sheep. When Raif had asked him about it all those months ago in the Rift, the cragsman had said only one thing in his defense. I never took the oath. Those words defined Addie Gunn's life.

  The cragsman guided Raif to one of the tents vertical support poles. "Set here," he said, handing him off to the unstripped birch log. "I'll fetch Flawless."

  Raif held on to the pole as he watched the little fair-haired cragsman slip between the tent flaps. He didn't think he had ever met a better man.

  The mule wandered over to inspect the blankets Raif had been lying on. A piece of onion was stuck against its nose. The Sull horse moved forward a few steps and then stopped. Raif wondered if she had watched him while he slept.

  "Sick man go back to bed," came a voice from the far side of the tent wall. A moment later two small brown hands parted the canvas and the man named Flawless stepped through.

  It looked as if he had been hammered from bronze. He was tiny and his skin was darkly burnished. His cheekbones were high and angular and the rest of his face seemed to hang from them, His eyes were star-Singly blue. "Bed now." he said jabbing his finger accusingly at Raif. "A pox upon the heart."

  Shaking his head, Raif hung on grimly to the pole, "How long will it work for, the poultice?"

  The little man put his hands on his hips. He was dressed in hunter's greens with mam bells and
pouches strapped and slung around his waist and chest A silver bar as thick as a child's finger pierced the car-tilage of his right upper ear. "No leeches. Nowork. Bed."

  Raif realized he didn't even know what time of day it was. The light seeping in through the canvas had been diffused by thick cloud. Stubbornly he said, "I'm leaving today. So do whatever youneed to" — he jerked his head backward—"with that to keep me going awhile."

  Flawless hissed a few soft words in Sull. It sounded like he was curs-ing. Pulling a glass jar from the large rawhide pouch at his waist, he said, "Need another leech. Need at least twelve a day." As he unwrapped the twine holding the cloth lid in place, Raif saw the jaw was full of black squirming worms. Leeches. "Have thirty left."

  Raif made the calculation.

  "Turn," Flawless commanded, plucking a long wet leech from the jar. The creature's three-lobcd mouth was open and it wriggled in the old man's grip, trying to attach itself to his thumb.

  Raif turned. Forehead pressing against the tent canvas he waited. Flawless started whistling. Raif felt a light touch close to the center of his back, and then the suckers bit into his skin.

  "Bad back there," the Trenchlander said. "Keep clean."

  Raif unclenched his jaw. Deciding it was time he got dressed, he released his grip on the pole. His legs felt like wet sticks, and he willed his knees to firmness as he stepped toward the blankets.

  Flawless folded his arms and watched him. He was still holding the open jar in his fist.

  "Need go Hell's Town," he said in his sharp, biting voice. "See healers in Maggot Quarter. Cut it out."

  Raif nodded. He could not see his clothes, and remembered that Addie had said his tunic was cut into strips. The stormglass.

  "Friend has belongings," the Trenchlander said, batting the mule away as it came to investigate the jar. "You know where you go?"

  "Maggot Quarter."

  "No. Red Ice. Friend tell you where?"

  Raif kept his face calm. He did not blink. "You tell me."

  "Red Ice not far north. Many bears. Maygi hide it. Do not know where going won't find it. Bluddsmen ride past, never see. On border. Half Sull. Half Bludd. North.