A Cavern of Black Ice (38 page)

Resting the horn against his chest, he
tried to pick out the faces of Raina and Effie in the crowd. He
couldn't spot them. A small group of people stood in darkness behind
the greatdoor; perhaps they were among them.

"We must know what happened, lad."
It was Orwin Shank, his big red face grave and worried. "Take
your time, tell us as you see fit."

Raif nodded slowly. Why was everyone
treating him so kindly? It only made things worse. Forcing himself to
meet Orwin Shank's eyes, he said, "Bitty is alive and well. He
fought bravely, and his blade took at least two Bluddsmen that I
counted."

Orwin Shank reached out and clamped a
hand over Raif's shoulder. Tears sparkled in his light blue eyes.
"You always bring news to ease a father's heart, Raif Sevrance.
You're a good lad, and I thank you for it."

Orwin Shank's words were in such
contrast with those he had heard earlier from Inigar Stoop that Raif
felt his eyes stinging. He didn't deserve them. Glancing around, he
addressed the crowd, fearing that if he didn't get it over and done
with soon, he would lose his nerve. "The ambush was a success.
All went as planned. Corbie Meese led a crew from the north of the
road, Bailie the Red from the south. My brother was chosen to lead
the rear. The battle was fierce, and the Bluddsmen fought hard, but
we wore them down and forced them into the snow, and then took
victory for ourselves." Raif's gaze sought out Sarolyn Meese,
Corbie's plump, sweet-natured wife. "Corbie fought like a Stone
God. He was beautiful to watch."

"Is he hurt?" Sarolyn touched
Raif's arm as she waited for his reply. "No. A few nicks,
perhaps. Nothing more."

"And what of Bailie?"

Raif couldn't tell whom the question
came from, but he answered it as well as he could. Other questions
followed, everyone wanting to know of their loved ones and kin. Raif
found himself relaxing as he spoke. It was surprisingly easy to avoid
speaking of what came later in the clearing. All that mattered to the
clansfolk was if their sons, husbands, and brothers were alive and
well and had fought bravely. Raif was relieved to find himself
telling truths that hurt neither himself nor member of the ambush
party.

When Jenna Walker stepped forward and
asked about her son, it's relief left him as quickly as if it had
never been there at all.

"Toady was badly injured. He may
be dead."

Jenna Walker shook off the people who
moved swiftly to support and comfort her. Green eyes, sharp with
anger, pinned Raif to the spot. "Why do you not know for sure?
Why are you here before the rest? What happened after the raid?"

Raif took a breath. He had feared this
moment for five days.

"What happened to Banron?" It
was big, turnip-headed Berry Lye, pushing his way to the front of the
crowd. "How many Bluddsmen's skulls did he crack open with his
hammer?"

"Tell us why you're here, Raif
Sevrance." Jenna Walker's body shook as she spoke. "Tell
us."

Raif looked from Berry to Jenna Walker.
He opened his mouth to speak.

"Enough!" Raina Blackhail
stepped from the shadows behind the greatdoor. Dressed in soft beaten
leathers and fine black wool, she looked every bit a clan chief's
wife. Sable fur at her throat and cuffs rippled with every breath she
took, and a silver knife slung at her hip caught the light. The crowd
parted for her as she made her way forward. "The yearman has had
a hard journey through new snow. Let him name those he believes
wounded or dead, then allow him time to rest and eat."

Despite all her finery, Raina's eyes
were dull, and her face had lost all its fat. Raif was shocked to see
her widow's weals still bleeding. "Tell Berry of his elder
brother."

It was a command, and he obeyed it,
seeing in his mind Banron Lye's body lying in a ditch being worried
by dogs as he spoke. He gave Berry and his kin little hope, telling
them that Banron had not moved even after the dogs had been shot. The
belief that his clansman was dead grew in Raif's mind as he spoke. He
remembered standing across the Bluddroad from Banron.
Watching
…

You
are raven born, chosen to watch
the dead
.

"Any others?" Raina's voice
cut through his thoughts.

He shook his head. "I saw no
others fall."

The relief of the crowd showed itself
in relaxed fists and downward glances. Some of the older clansmen
touched their measures of powdered guidestone, giving thanks. Raif
saw Jenna Walker's questions held, unspoken, on many faces. Raina
ensured that no one spoke them out aloud, guiding everyone back to
the roundhouse by the simple act of heading there herself. Anwyn
helped, promising hot ale and fried bread to all who came inside out
of the cold. Raif stood his ground, watching the clansfolk disappear
one by one into the roundhouse. More than anything else he wanted to
go inside and find Effie, seize her in his arms, and press her
child's weight against his. Yet he no longer knew if that was the
right thing to do. Raina had kept her away from the meeting on
purpose, wanting to shield her from harm.

That was what
he
had to do
now: shield Effie, Drey, and his clan from harm. Inigar Stoop had
made him see that clearly.

"Raif."

Raif looked up as his name was spoken
by a voice he had not heard in five years. A broad bear of a man,
with stubbly reddish blond hair and light coppery eyes, stepped from
the roundhouse onto the court. Squinting into the snow clouds, he
said, "I was hoping for a more favorable light. With a good set
of shadows upon me I swear I look a full stone lighter."

"Uncle."

It took Angus Lok only three strides to
reach Raif's side. Catching him in a massive bear hug, Angus crushed
him so tightly, Raif felt his rib cage bend. Just as quickly, Angus
let him go and stood exactly an arm's length from him and examined
him as thoroughly as if Raif were a horse he meant to buy.

Dressed in undyed suede pants and
saddle coat, with high black boots and enough leather belts crossing
his chest to harness a team of horses, Angus Lok looked every bit the
seasoned ranger that he was. His cheeks were red with snowburn, his
lips were smothered with beeswax, and his earlobes were bound with
soft leather strips to prevent chilblains and the 'bite.

"Stone Gods, lad! But ye've
grown!" He knuckled the twelve-day beard on Raif's chin. "What
d'you call this? When I was your age I barely had that much hair on
my head, let alone my jaw!"

There was no answer to that. Raif
smiled. Angus was here, and he didn't know if that was a good or a
bad thing, but he knew that Angus could be trusted and was owed due
respect. Tem had said so many times, even after the person who had
brought the two men together had died: Meg Sevrance, wife of Tem,
mother of Drey, Raif, and Effie, and sister to Angus Lok.

Abruptly Angus' face changed. Hazel
eyes watched Raif closely. "I arrived early this morning. Raina
told me about Tern… He was a good man, your father. A fine
husband to Meg. Adored her, he did." Angus smiled softly, almost
to himself. "Though I must admit I hated him at first sight.
There was nothing that man couldn't do better than me: hunt, shoot,
drink, dance—"

"Dance? My father danced?"

"Like a devil in the water! Tem
only had to hear a tune once to start snapping his heels and making
steps. Quite a sight, he was, with his bear-claw cap and bearskin
weskit. I do believe it was the reason my sister first fell in love
with him, as he was hardly the handsomest of men. 'Least I didn't
think so at the time."

Stupidly, Raif felt close to tears. He
had never known Tem could dance.

Angus touched Raif's shoulder. "Walk
a while wi' me, lad. I've been in the saddle for two long weeks, and
I've a hankering to stretch these old legs."

Raif glanced back at the roundhouse. "I
need to see Effie."

"I've just been with her. She's in
good hands with Raina. She can wait a little while longer for her
brother."

Raif wasn't convinced, yet it was
obvious that Angus wanted to talk to him, so he let himself be led
away.

Sunlight had turned the graze into a
perfect slope, white and smooth as a hen's egg. Hemlock and
blackstone saplings were no longer recognizable as trees, just
strange, man-size mounds of snow that most clansmen called pine
ghosts. The snow underfoot was loose and grainy, the motion of the
wind preventing it from freezing hard. A few hare tracks broke the
surface, soft and discreet as snagged wool.

Raif found little comfort in walking
through familiar surroundings. Inigar Stoop's words prayed on his
mind. I
fear that if you stay amongst us, you will watch us all
die before your eyes have had their fill
. Raif shivered.
Everything looked different now the guide had spoken. Trying to save
the Bludd women and children from burning in the war wagon had been a
mistake. No lives were saved. And in the end he had only created
something worse. "Here. Drink this."

Angus Lok's voice seemed to come from a
very long way away. It took Raif a moment to pull his thoughts from
the field north of the Bluddroad. Angus pressed a flask into his
hand. Raif weighed it for a moment and then drank. The clear liquid
was so cold it stung his gums, completely tasteless, and strong
enough to render his breath invisible in the freezing air. Angus
slowed his pace. After a few minutes he stopped by a pine ghost and
rested his back upon it. Clods of snow dropped from the branches onto
his boots. He made a small motion toward the rabbit fur-covered
flask, encouraging Raif to drink more. Raif took only enough to heat
his mouth.

"You had a hard time on the
Bluddroad." It was not a question. Angus unbound his wrist ties
and stripped off his fine sealskin gloves. His undyed clothes, the
plain journeyman's blade strapped to his thigh, and his short-cropped
hair marked him as an outsider. He was not clan. Tem had said that
Angus and his sister grew up in the city-hold of Ille Glaive, close
to the Ganmiddich border. Tem had met Meg during the year he was
fostered at Ganmiddich, when that rich border clan held a summer
dance for its yearmen and clan maids. Angus had been invited—Raif
could not recall why—but he did remember that Crab Ganmiddich,
the Ganmiddich chief, had forbidden him to come unless he brought a
woman of his own to dance with. Angus had brought Meg. Tem saw her,
and according to Gat Murdock, who was also present, he never gave her
chance to dance with another man all night. They were married two
months later, on the very day that Tem was released from his
yearman's oath.

Meg Lok never returned home. On the day
she married Tem Sevrance she became clan.

"Raina told me that you can shoot
targets in the dark." Angus busied himself as he spoke, turning
his gloves inside out and scraping the lining clean with a handknife.
"She also said that when you and Drey returned from the
badlands, you mentioned something about sensing the raid as it
happened."

Raif felt his face grow hot. What right
did Raina have to say such things to an outsider?

"Others tell me you're having
problems with Mace Blackhail, arguing with him in front of clansmen,
disobeying his orders—"

"Say what you mean, Angus. I know
well enough how things stand in this clan."

Angus was unaffected by Raif's anger.
Finished with his gloves, he reversed them and pulled them back on.
Only when he had cleaned and resheathed his knife did he see fit to
reply. "I have business that takes me south to Spire Vanis. I
think you should come along."

Raif met Angus Lok's eyes. Irises shot
with flecks of bronze returned a steady gaze. How
much does he
know? Has he been talking to Inigar Stoop
? "Why make such
an offer now?" Raif said sullenly. "Who put you up to
this?"

Angus Lok gave Raif a look that made
him wish he hadn't spoken. Angus wasn't clan, but he
was
kin. Respect was his due.

"When a man arrives back ahead of
his party, it's usually a sign that there's trouble between him and
the other members of that party. And when a clansman walks away from
battle, he makes himself a traitor to his clan." Angus' face
hardened along with his voice. "I'm not a fool, Raif. I heard
what you said on the court. You knew enough about the fighting, but
you said as good as nothing about the wounded. You don't even know
for sure who's alive and who's dead. It's obvious you didn't see out
the fight. Something happened, didn't it? Something happened to make
you ride away."

Angus held up a hand to stop Raif from
speaking. "I don't want to know what it was. Clan business is
not my business. My sister's kin is, and from what I've heard this
morning, Mace Blackhail has a mind to be rid of one of them. Now, by
walking out on an ambush, that kinsman has as good as sharpened the
staves for his own hanging."

Raif looked down. One afternoon, two
people. Two people telling him it was best if he left the clan. His
hand rose to weigh his lore. Clan was everything.

All he loved and knew was here. Only
eleven days ago he had sworn an oath binding himself to Blackhail for
a year and a day. If Inigar Stoop had refused to hear his oath,
refused to warm the stone for his yearing, then everything would be
different. He would have been just another lad in the clan, not sworn
to anyone or anything. If he had left the battle as Raif Sevrance, he
would have been forgiven. Raif could almost hear Orwin Shank or
Bailie the Red speaking up for him:
The lad is young, unsworn,
and untested. Who can blame him for acting like a pelt-shorn fool
?
Instead he had left as a yearman. And no one would wear their jaw
finding excuses for a yearman who had left the field before battle's
end. Disobeying an order, quarreling with the clan chief, even
wasting arrows on a war wagon that was already alight, were offenses
that could be dismissed as heat-of-the-moment anger or overzeal
ousness. Clansmen could and
would
forgive such misdeeds. But
for someone to leave the field while the battle was still raging,
ride away without word or warning…