A Cavern of Black Ice (17 page)

Raif sucked in breath. His gaze flicked
to Raina Blackhail, who stood in her own space, slightly apart from
the other women. Mace Blackhail had put her in a difficult position;
to speak against blood or fosterkin in front of clan was unthinkable.
Most especially against a foster son who had just paid his foster
mother a compliment far greater than due respect.

Spent air burned as it left
Raif'slungs. Mace Blackhail maneuvered like the wolf he was:
isolating his target, then forcing it to run alone.

Raina Blackhail was not the sort of
woman to be hurried, though, and with a slow shrug of her shoulders
she let the black bear pelt fall to the floor. Everyone in the Great
Hearth watched as she deliberately stepped upon it. Her lips and
cheeks were pale, her dress of housespun wool dyed a subtle shade of
gray. The only bright spots on her entire body were the blood seeping
from her widow's weals and the film of unshed tears across her eyes.

"Foster son," she said,
placing a slight but unmistakable emphasis on the word
foster
.
"Like my husband before me I am a person rarely given to hasty
judgment. You have spoken well, and humbly, and have gained the
support of many of the clansmen who lie above you in rank." A
pause followed, where Raina let the clansmen remember for themselves
that her foster son was but a yearman.

For the first time since he had entered
the chamber Raif felt a spark of hope. No one in the clan was
respected as highly as Raina Blackhail.

"I believe you are a strong man,
Mace Blackhail," Raina continued, "with a strong will and a
strong arm and the ability to make others do your bidding. I have
seen you on the practice court and know you wield both the ax and the
greatsword deftly. You are clever with words—as the men from
Clan Scarpe so often are—and I suspect you will be clever at
battle as well. Given these qualities, you may indeed make an
excellent clan chief. However, I am Dagro Blackhail's widow, and his
respect is my due, and as such I demand that no decision be made
tonight."

As the last words left Raina
Blackhail's lips and the clan responded to the mettle in her voice,
Raif heard the pounding of footsteps on the outer stairs. Even as he
gave silent thanks for Raina Blackhail's caution and saw for himself
that no man or woman present would dare defy her on this matter, the
double doors of the Great Hearth burst open.

A clansman, his forehead and cheeks red
with sudden exposure to heat, his nose and eyes running, and his
oilskins shedding snow, dashed into the room, stumbling forward in
his haste. Breathless, his hair damp with sweat and his boots lip
high in mud, he stood a moment, gulping great mouthfuls of air to
still himself. Raif recognized him after a moment as Will Hawk's son,
Bron. A yearman, fostered to Dhoone.

Raif felt his skin cool as surely as if
Bron Hawk had brought the cold from outside with him. His stomach
knotted, and beneath his buckskin tunic and wool shirt, his raven
lore burned cold like ice.

All gathered held their breath as they
waited for Bron Hawk to speak. Mace Blackhail and the pile of pledged
weapons standing below him were forgotten. Raina Blackhail's words
and her husband's final token lying beneath her feet slid from the
clan's minds like runoff down a slope. Five hundred pairs of eyes
focused with blind intent toward the door.

Bron Hawk pushed the fair hair from his
face. After a brief glance around the chamber, his gaze finally
rested upon Raina Blackhail and the small swordsman Shor Gormalin,
who stood at her back. "Clan Bludd has taken the Dhoonehouse,"
he said. "Five nights ago. They slaughtered three hundred
Dhoonesmen with weapons that drew no blood."

A single hiss of shock and anger united
the room. Raif felt the knot in his stomach unfold with soft liquid
slowness. No one would ever question Mace Blackhail's story about the
badlands raid again.

Trapping in the Oldwood

"Come on. Put on your coat and
oilskin. You're coming with me." Raina Blackhail grabbed the
corner of Effie's blan-ket and heaved it from the pallet.

Effie Sevrance blinked. The lamplight
hurt her eyes, and she didn't much like the idea of going outside.
The land beyond the roundhouse was big and open and cold. A person
could get lost on the fellfields and never be found. "Please,
Raina, I don't want—

"No, my girl," Raina said,
cutting her short. "I don't care what you say. You need some
fresh air on that pale face of yours, and sure as the Stone Gods
created the clanholds, I'm going to see you get it." She patted
Effie's thigh. "Come on now. We're going to the Oldwood to check
my traps, and I want to be there and back before morning's end."

Moving around the small cell where
Effie slept alone, Raina Blackhail plucked oilskin, dog mitts, and a
wool coat from the chair and the dog hook where they had been neatly
hung or folded. Effie told herself she didn't mind Raina being here,
not really. She wasn't like some people who just wanted to be nosy
and make fun. Letty Shank was always here, stealing stones,
scattering them around the chamber, snatching the lore from Effie's
neck and wearing it herself. "Look at me," she'd call to
Mog Wiley and all the others. "As dim as the rock the clan guide
gave me."

Effie bit her lip. Everyone would laugh
as if it were the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Crowding around
Letty Shank, they would try to take the lore from her, anxious to
wear it themselves.

Rising from the box pallet, Effie
frowned at Raina. Raina wanted to put on the coat and mitts for her,
but Effie preferred to do it herself.

This made Raina smile. "There's
some good rocks out on the west side of Oldwood, you know, by Hissip
Gluff's place. You might be able to find something new for your
collection."

"They're sandstone," Effie
said. "Like the roundhouse."

"Oh, I don't know about that,
Effie Sevrance. When I was up there last I could swear I saw
something shining beneath my fox trap."

"You did?" Effie was
instantly interested. She knew Raina Blackhail wasn't the sort of
woman to lie about anything, most especially rocks.

Raina bent and kissed the top of
Effie's head. "Yes. Hurry now. If your oilskins and boots aren't
on in the next minute, I'll have Longhead come down here and plant
mushrooms over your bed. I swear it's wet enough to grow them here."
She shivered. "I really do."

Effie almost laughed at the idea of
mushrooms growing on her bed, but she didn't like the way Raina had
turned up her pitch lamp and was now looking around the little stone
cell with a disapproving air. Effie spoke to head her off. "I
don't want to go and sleep with the other girls. Please. Anwyn has
given me her best goatswool blanket. And I keep a torch burning most
of the night."

The worried look that always made Effie
feel bad appeared on Raina's face. "Bind your mitts tightly,"
was all she said. "It's white weather outside."

Effie liked the roundhouse best in
early morning. Few people were around, mouthwatering smells of bacon
and scorched onions wafted up from the kitchen, and light pouring
through the high windows promised good things to come. It was as if
whatever had gone on the day before was completely canceled out. As
they walked up the ramp to the entrance hall, the only person they
encountered was the lunt-woman Nellie Moss. The skin on Nellie's
hands was red and shiny with old scars from torch bums, and all the
other children including Letty Shank and Mog Wiley were afraid of
her. Effie wasn't… not
quite
. Nellie Moss got to move
about the roundhouse unheeded and did most of her work in the dark.
Effie rather liked the idea of that.

Raina Blackhail stopped Nellie from
walking straight past by putting a hand on the luntwoman's arm. "Any
sign of their return?"

Nellie shook her head. "Nay.
None's come back this night."

Raina nodded. The worried look crossed
her face again. "If they do come back, be sure to let them know
I'm in the Oldwood with my traps. I'll be back before noon."

"In the Oldwood with yer traps,"
repeated Nellie in her low mannish voice.

Effie thought she saw something
unpleasant in Nellie Moss' face, but when she blinked it was gone.
Briefly Effie remembered the little luntman Wennil Drook, who had lit
the torches before Nellie. Effie didn't believe what anyone said
about him stealing Corbie Meese's knife. Wennil had known things
about rocks. Hardly a week went by in summer when he didn't bring her
some new bit of stone for her collection.

"Effie. Pull up your hood."

Effie did as Raina said, and together
they left the roundhouse by the side door that led out past the
guidehouse to the stables. Everything, the stables, the graze, the
clay court, and the gray stone roof of the guidehouse, was covered in
a thick layer of snow. Even the little stream that ran behind the
birches—the one Orwin Shank called the Leak on account of its
yellowy green water—was now running beneath a sheet of
snow-covered ice. It had been snowing on and off for seven days now,
ever since Bron Hawk had returned from Dhoone.

The clan had split up the following
morning. Mace Blackhail and his pledged men had ridden east to scout
the Dhoonehouse. Drey was in the party… Effie worried about
that. Raif had gone with Shor Gormalin and others to Clan Gnash, to
learn what they could from the Gnash chief, who shared borders with
Blackhail and Dhoone. More men still had been put on east and
southwatch, and all tied clansmen had been ordered to the roundhouse
to defend it in case of raids. Mace's and Shor's parties were due
back any day. Then there would be a big meet where only the sworn
clansmen were allowed.

Effie supposed they would make Mace
Blackhail chief. Finally.

"Don't just stand there, Effie
Sevrance," Raina said, following the much trodden path toward
the stables. "You must help me kit and saddle Mercy."

Glancing over the graze to the low
sandstone ridge that lay beyond, Effie chewed on her lip. The snow
made everything seem wide open. Vast. The countryside stopped being
identifiable parts, like the sheep graze and the cow graze and
Longhead's apple orchard and the Wedge, and became one whole thing
instead.

Inside her chest, Effie's heart began
to beat a little faster. The land was a big white nothingness, like
the spaces in dreams that stretched on and on and on…

"Oh no you don't, Effie Sevrance,"
Raina said, tugging on her arm. "You're not bolting on me this
time. There's nothing to be afraid of, only fresh air and snow. I
won't leave you. I promise."

Effie let herself be dragged into the
stables. She liked the stables, but not as much as the dog cotes. The
stables were enclosed by thick stone walls, but they were large and
high roofed, and there was too much space above a person's head. Not
like the cotes. The little dog cote was so low that no grown man
could stand in it. Effie grinned at the memory of Shor Gormalin's
bent back as he'd come to drag her from it two weeks ago. He was
nice, Shor Gormalin. He'd understood when she'd told him that she
hadn't really run away at all. "Just finding a fair spot to
think," he had said with a thoughtful nod of his head. "I
can see that. Do it myself from time to time. Though I daresay I'm
inclined to pick somewhere warmer and less chancy than the dog cotes.
Those shankshounds could tear off a man's head."

Shankshounds
. Effie's grin
widened. Orwin Shank's dogs were as soft as puppies around her.

Seeing Effie smile, Raina smiled.
"It'll be nice, you know. I've grilled us some apple slices
wrapped in bacon."

Suddenly feeling a lot better, Effie
began buckling Mercy's bridle. She loved it when Raina smiled.

When the filly was saddled and two
empty leather saddlebags were laid over her docks, Raina trotted her
onto the court. The Oldwood lay to the west of the roundhouse, past
the graze and up over the north ridge. Tall spires of paper birch and
black spruce broke the skyline, and high overhead a line of geese
flew south. Fresh snow crackled beneath Effie's boots, its surface
hardened by overnight frost. It was bitterly cold, and Effie could
feel her cheeks burning beneath her fox hood. Ice crystals glittered
on the branches of Longhead's saplings.

Effie crossed her arms over her chest
and walked with her mitted hands thrust under her armpits. Winter
always came fast to Clan Blackhail. Da said it was because…

Effie stopped dead.

There was no Da.

Da had gone.

"Effie." Raina spoke softly,
her voice sounding very far away. "It's all right, little one.
You'll be safe with me. I swear it."

Something hurt at the back of Effie's
eyes. She blinked, but it wouldn't go away. Raina said things and
squeezed her shoulder, but Effie barely felt or heard. Her lore
pressed against her collarbone like a poking finger. Da was gone. And
she had known something wasn't right from the very first morning he'd
ridden away. Her lore had told her so.

"Come on, Effie Sevrance. Up on
Mercy." Effie felt Raina's hands slip under her arms and lift
her clear off the ground. She saw the sky come closer, white and
choked with snow clouds, then felt her bottom come down on the hard
leather saddle. "There. Take the reins. Mercy will treat you
well. Won't you, Mercy?" Raina patted her filly's neck.

Effie took the reins and let Raina
adjust the stirrups to her feet. Beneath her oilskins and wool coat,
Effie was aware of her lore pushing,
pushing
, against her
skin. It wanted to tell her something… like the day Da had
ridden north to the badlands.

Effie shook her head. She didn't want
to know. Her lore told bad things. It made her feel queasy inside.
Clutching the reins in her left hand, she reached down inside her
oilskin and pulled out the little rock given to her by the clan guide
at birth. One sharp tug was all it took to snap the twine. Even
through her dogskin mitts the rock felt alive. It wasn't warm and it
didn't move, but somehow it
pushed
.