A Cavern of Black Ice (27 page)

Ash felt free to relax only when he was
gone. Cob was just about the gentlest horse she had ever known, and
in all the years she had been riding her, Ash had never managed to
coax the old mare into anything faster than a trot. She didn't have a
name. Master Haysticks called her Cob because that's what she was.
This past year he had taken to calling her Old Cob, which meant she
didn't have many horse days left.

Turning onto the horse run, Ash put
aside all bad thoughts. Now she was higher from the ground, she could
see a little of the city over the northern wall. Spires, sharply
sloped roofs, and cast-iron turrets rose above the wall like weapons
in an arms case. If she listened very carefully she could hear the
clatter of carts in the street and the roar and bustle of Hoargate
market.

Ash had always wanted to see Hoargate.
Of all the gates in the city, Hoargate was considered the most
beautiful. Its great arch was carved from a thousand-year-old
bloodwood, cut and carted all the way from the Storm Margin on the
western coast. Hoargate faced west; that was the thing. Each of the
four gates was built from materials that came from the direction they
faced. Vaingate was raised from the plain cream limestone of Mount
Slain; Wrathgate, which faced east, was cut from a huge slab of
granite quarried from the stonefields of Trance Vor; and north-facing
Almsgate was cast from the blue iron that was mined beneath the
clanholds.

Hoargate was the only gate made of
wood. Yet according to Katia, who had seen it several times, it
hardly looked like wood at all, more like shiny black stone. The
masons had forced hardeners and preserves into the wood, turning its
insides to steel. Even so, its elaborate facing still managed to
attract a thick layer of hoarfrost in midwinter, and it was after
this it was named: Hoargate.

Then there was Vaingate, the dead gate,
built from plain limestone, carved with a mated pair of killhounds
and their one silver blue egg. The gate where she was found.

Abruptly Ash looked away from the city.
It wasn't worth thinking about. Her foster father had never once
allowed her to step outside Mask Fortress. The most she had ever seen
of Spire Vanis was when she was small enough to clamber over the
battlements in the Cask and wriggle her way though to the archers
gallery at the top. The entire city could be seen from up there:
steaming and smoking, its snow black with cart oil, its streets
clogged with barrow boys, dog carts, and horses, and its street
corners afire with the red eyes of a thousand charcoal braziers.

Beneath it all, beneath the dark,
diseased mass of Almstown, the fine mansions and lodgements of the
grangelords, and the ever-expanding marketplaces with their
hide-covered awnings and elk-bone struts, the hands of the original
masons could clearly be seen. Walls were as wide and straight as ox
backs. Original stonework was cut as precisely as clock parts, and
roads were flat enough to skate on in midwinter, weighted down with
enough hard stone to prevent even the dead from rising.

People said Robb Claw had broken the
back of a mountain to build Spire Vanis. Ash wondered if the mountain
would ever strike back.

Shifting her gaze forward, she saw that
Cob was picking a path toward the Splinter. Even from this distance,
wisps of ice smoke steaming from its walls were clearly visible. Ash
shivered. Like a belt of blackstone pines along a timberline, the
tallest tower in Mask Fortress created a climate all its own. It was
so cold. Icy air slipped inside Ash's chest, wrapping long blue
fingers around her heart.

It's just a tower, she told herself.
Stone and mortar and wood.

Cold or not, Cob seemed happy enough to
go there. Ash reasserted her grip on the reins, ready to pull the
mare away, then remembered the splinters in the horse's mouth and let
the reins fall slack. What was the harm in drawing close? She glanced
at the sky. It was daylight, she was in full view of the Red
Forge and the Cask, and it was impossible to enter the tower from
outside. The external door had been sealed shut for years.

As rational as all that sounded, Ash
still found herself stiffening in the saddle as she approached. Her
thighs gripped the mare's belly tightly.

She was hardly surprised when Cob took
it upon herself to step from the horse run and trot over to the path
that led behind the tower. The old mare was bent on going her own
way. Craning her neck, Ash risked a glance at the stables. Still no
sign of Katia or the Knife. Katia had once told Ash that when a man
and a woman took a tumble together, it took longer for them to unlace
and unhook their clothes than to do the actual act. Ash frowned. She
could have her own dress stripped off within a minute.

As she puzzled on that, Cob rounded the
curve and entered the short run between the curtain wall and the
tower. Puzzlement slid from her face when she spotted tracks in the
snow. Footsteps, two pairs of them, and two thick drag lines leading
straight to the spire's unused door. Fresh tracks, by the looks of
them, leading in but
not
out.

"Easy now," Ash said, as much
to herself as the mare. Looking ahead, she saw that the footsteps had
come from the direction of the south gate. Ash knew from experience
that if she were to head that way, she'd be stopped before she
reached the endwall. The gate was patrolled by a dozen
brothers-in-the-watch.

"Whoa," she murmured, pulling
briefly on the reins. The old mare seemed happy enough to stop and
quickly found something to sniff at alongside the curtain wall. Ash
slid down, booted feet thudding onto hard ground. Glancing left, then
right, she approached the tower door.

Wooden boards had been pried away from
the frame, leaving an outline of bent nails around the door. Candle
ice hung from the lintel in fat chunks, and Ash felt water drip on
her hood. The keyhole was set in a brass plate as large as Cob's
head, and someone had spent many minutes scraping rime ice from the
lock. Ash hesitated, took a step back, then surprised herself by
reaching out and pressing against the door. It held firm.

She should have been relieved, yet the
nerves in her hand continued to register the contact seconds after
she withdrew. Against her will the memory of the night she had walked
along the east gallery came back to her. She hardly knew what she'd
felt, had tried to convince herself many times that the whole thing
had been a figment of her imagination, brought on by extreme cold and
fear and darkness, yet the feeling of
want
returned so
sharply it brought the taste of metal to her mouth.

Something in the Splinter wanted what
she had.

A deep part of her mind had known it
all along, from the very first instant she had felt the thing's
presence in the tower, yet she had thrust it to the back of her mind
with such force that everything had become jumbled and unclear. It
was clear now, though. Perfectly.

Slowly, taking a child's careful steps,
Ash backed away from the Splinter. She nursed her hand as she
retreated; the fingers that had touched the door felt like ice.

"Come on, Cob," she said,
hating how weak her voice sounded. "Let's get back to the
stables." Cob paid her no heed, forcing Ash to spin around and
fetch the mare herself. She didn't like turning her back on the door,
and the desire to run was so strong that she had to bite down on her
lip to fight it. Yet she couldn't very well leave a horse in the
quad. Master Haysticks would have a few choice words to say to her if
she did.

Cob was still sniffing at the wall, and
as Ash dipped down to grab the bridle, she spied the object of the
mare's attention. All the heat drained from her face. A blue ribbon
lay embedded within the snow like a vein beneath a hand. She
recognized it at once. It was a tie from a nightgown she had given to
Katia to mend. The fabric was wearing thin, and several of the
ribbons were loose. One or two had fallen off. Ash plucked the ribbon
from the snow. Katia had asked if she had any clothes that needed
mending before winter, and Ash had handed her an armful of cloaks,
dresses, and nightgowns. They hadn't been returned, but that was
nothing strange. Seamstressing was not one of Katia's strong points.
It took her a whole morning just to pick the hem from a skirt.

The ribbon was cold and limp, a tongue
of blue ice. Turning back to face the tower door, Ash studied the two
drag lines that ran alongside the footprints. Something large and
heavy had been hauled inside.
Like a bed
. Ash frowned. Where
had such a thought come from? Any number of objects could have left
similar tracks in the snow. In fact, things were beginning to make
more sense now. The interior door was only half the size of this
one, cut narrow to match the scale of the east gallery. Nothing wider
than a man could be brought through. So if Iss needed something large
brought into the Splinter, this was the only way he could do it.

Ash rolled the ribbon between her
fingers. What had her old clothes got to do with anything?

…
and of course there'll be
a new chamber
…

No. Ash shook her head, sending Katia's
words away. It was madness. Her foster father couldn't be planning to
move her here. Not to the Splinter. He loved her and worried about
her, and just last night he'd told her how pale she looked and
encouraged her to take a ride in the snow. Ash crushed the ribbon in
her fist. She needed to get back to her chamber. Suddenly nothing
felt right.

Walking alongside Cob, she made good
time. Marafice Eye and Katia still hadn't emerged from the stables,
and even Master Haysticks hadn't sent out a groom to watch for the
horse. Ash was out of breath by the time she reached the stable door.
Her stomach was cramping wildly. She hardly knew what to do, didn't
know what to think, couldn't believe the ideas that kept shooting
through her head.

"Whoa, lady. Watcha doing in
'ere?"

Ash wheeled around. She had walked
straight into the stables without thinking.

A young groom with bad skin and a flat
head stepped out from behind a stack of hay. "Best step outside,
lady. Haysticks don't like no high collars strutting about when he's
not around." The groom moved forward. " 'Ere. I'll take Old
Cob."

Feeling like a fool, Ash held out the
reins. What had she been thinking? Leading her own horse into the
stables like a journeyman. Just as the groom took the reins, a great
rumbling noise shook the building. Already on edge, Ash flinched.
Suddenly the far end of the stable block was flooded with light as a
whole section of the endwall was wheeled back.
Of course
,
she thought, relaxing instantly,
the stable has a second entrance
to service the trade gate
.

Marafice Eye picked that moment to
emerge from the nearest horse stall. His big dog hands were busy with
the buckle on his belt. As soon as he saw Ash he sneered and turned
the simple business of belt buckling into something she couldn't bear
to look at. Feeling her face growing hot, she turned and ran
from the stables. Laughter followed her.

The moment she was free of the
building, Ash threw the ribbon onto the ground and kicked it into the
snow. She was sick of being out here. She hated Marafice Eye and the
pimply groom and Master Haysticks. She hated all the things going on
behind her back.
Where was Katia
?

"Aaw, miss. Are we going back so
soon?"

Ash spun around. Katia, her wool cap
gone and thick curls disheveled, leaned against the stable door and
smiled lazily at her mistress. "I've come over all flushed. I
swear I'll need to take a roll in the snow to cool my blood."

Three steps and Ash was on her.
Grabbing Katia's arm, she marched the girl from the stables.

Katia fought back. "You're hurting
me!"

Ash wrenched Katia's arm and twisted it
behind her back. She was filled with fury, angry at everyone and
everything, sick to her stomach of being afraid. "I don't care.
Now walk on."

Katia did as she was told, yet it
wasn't in her nature to go quietly. "You
told
me to go
to the stables! Said you didn't want me around. Taint my fault if
you're jealous of me and the Knife. Taint my fault you're flatter
than sheet ice and no man would give you a second glance. What you
need—"

"Be quiet!" Ash twisted
Katia's arm another degree. Her own anger surprised her. She was
shaking, yet for the first time in months it wasn't with fear. It
felt good to have control over someone—even if it was just a
servant girl. "Open the door. And be quick about it."

In the fourteen months that she had
known Katia, Ash had never seen the girl move so quickly. She snapped
down the door latch faster than she pocketed rose cakes. Two
brothers-in-the-watch were walking along the great circular corridor
of the Cask, their leather cloaks fastened to their tunics by lead
broaches the size of sparrows. Both men wore quarter helms that cast
shadows across their eyes. It was telling that neither man smiled or
reacted in any way to what they saw: by now the whole fortress knew
that wherever the Foundling was, the Knife was only paces behind. Ash
slammed the door shut with her boot heel, then pushed Katia directly
into the path of both brothers, forcing them to step aside to let
mistress and servant pass.

Climbing the stairs to her chamber, Ash
was aware of her heart racing in her chest. Just one touch! One touch
and the thing, the presence in the Splinter, had known she was there.
In all her life she had never felt such need. It pulled at something,
some part of her she had no name for.

Reach, mistressss. We smell you.
Smell of blood and skin and light.

"Aargh! Miss! You're breaking my
arm."

Ash started. Looking down, she saw
where she was holding Katia so tightly that blood had stopped flowing
to her hand. Abruptly she let her go. Katia stumbled forward and
immediately began rubbing her arm. She said things—a whole
stream of them—yet Ash cut them away from her mind. Calmly, as
if Katia were perfectly silent, not in the process of sobbing and
issuing threats, she said, "Follow me."