A Cavern of Black Ice (86 page)

"Why not?" The Knife leered.
"Are you smitten with the bitch, too?"

Vaylo stood. "I would have the
girl delivered safely to your master. If you and your men had done
your jobs properly and found the girl yourselves, you would not be
dealing with me now. But you didn't, and you are here, on newly made
Bluddground, and you will abide by the Bludd chief's terms."

Marafice Eye listened to Vaylo Bludd in
silence.

Sarga Veys made a thin, snorting noise.
"I know my master's wishes. The girl must—"

"Silence!" The Knife took a
step toward Sarga Veys. "Do as he says."

Sarga Veys took five steps back and
might have taken more if it hadn't been for the fact that his
shoulders came in contact with the wall. His lower jaw shook
violently as he said, "Very well. As you wish." Slender
fingers unhooked a dun-colored pouch from his belt and retrieved a
vial from within. The vial was the length of a pea pod and sealed
with brown wax. Veys held it out toward the Dog Lord.

Vaylo considered knocking it onto the
floor. He hated drugs and sorceries—
all
things that
could play tricks with a man's mind—yet there was little choice
here. Not because of the power of the two men standing before him, or
even the power of their master in Mask Fortress. No, rather the power
of the girl. If she were awake when they carried her away from Raif
Sevrance, Vaylo did not know what she would do.

He took the vial. In a harsh voice he
called to Strom Carvo, who was standing guard beyond the door. Sarga
Veys gave his instructions to the dark-skinned swordsman: Use all the
vial, pour it in her sotted oats and drinking water, and whip it in
the butter and honey she spreads upon her bread. Vaylo spat out a wad
of curd as the Halfman spoke. He had a bad taste in his mouth.

As Strom withdrew, Sarga Veys said, "I
think it best if I go with him to overlook the preparations. I have
some skill in such matters." Vaylo didn't doubt it. "No.
You will stay here and wait." He slammed the door shut. He would
not have the Halfman walking freely about the roundhouse. With
Drybone and his crew gone to Dhoone, they were short of men, and that
was one fact the Dog Lord didn't want anyone to know.

Marafice Eye said, "Name your
terms for the other two prisoners." His small mouth pulled tight
like scar tissue as he spoke, and his hands—the largest Vaylo
could recall seeing on any man—pushed against a rotten timber
in the wall.

Vaylo suddenly longed for the company
of his dogs. One of the bitches was in heat, and the rest were
half-crazy with jealousy or lust, and he'd had little choice but to
shut them away for the night in the dog cote. He ill liked being
without them, but nature was one thing he knew better than to fight.
Marafice Eye was another thing entirely. He said, "Angus Lok and
the Hailsman are not for ransom."

The Knife smiled, his lips splitting
like a sausage on a grill. "I
said
, name your terms,
Dog Lord." As he pushed himself off from the wall, Vaylo marked
the bulge of a handknife concealed above his right kidney.

"And I said the prisoners are not
for ransom."

"You owe my master," hissed
Sarga Veys. "He won't be pleased when he hears of this. I shall
advise him to withdraw all assistance—

"Tell him
do it
!"
Vaylo roared. "I want no more kindness from the Spire King.
Stone Gods help me, I wish I'd never given ears to him or his
schemes. Tell him from me, the Dog Lord, that once his foster
daughter leaves Bluddground this night, all agreements between us are
sundered. The girl is payment in full."

Sarga Veys opened his mouth to speak,
but both Marafice Eye and Vaylo Bludd moved forward to stop him. For
one moment the Knife and the Dog Lord locked gazes, and shared intent
and shared opinions on the Halfman made passing comrades of them. He
was a fighting man, Marafice Eye. He knew better than to squawk and
bluster when he was outmanned and far from home.

With a mock bow, Vaylo stepped back and
let him deal with his man.

Marafice Eye approached Sarga Veys,
drawing so close that their shoulders touched. Putting his small lips
to the cartilage of the Half-man's ear, he said, "Silence,"
in a voice so cold it caused the flames in the Crab Hearth to shrink.

Sarga Veys sat… quietly.

Vaylo poured two drams of malt liquor,
keeping the first for himself and offering the second to Marafice
Eye. The Knife accepted it, and the two men struck cups and drank.
Any other time Vaylo might have savored the silent companionship that
came with sharing a fine malt with a man he did not hate, but his
mind was too agitated, and he drank his liquor fast and with little
joy. When the Knife returned the empty dram cup to the stone surface
of the chief's table, Vaylo said, "I'd have you take a message
to your master."

The Knife raised his chin, indicating
he would listen.

"Tell him to keep his fingers out
of the clanholds. I know what he's doing, and if he doesn't stop,
I'll gather all the clans that are loyal to me—Clan Broddic,
Clan HalfBludd, Clan Otler, Clan Frees, and Clan Gray—and ride
south to Mask Fortress and tear down his gates. Iss has played me for
a fool once, and I'm an old man with a high opinion of myself and
I'll not let him use me again.

"I know I wasn't the only chief he
approached with his dirty little promises of sorcery and aid; while
one of his faces was busy whispering Dhoone secrets to me, the other
was talking treason to the Hail Wolf. Mace Blackhail and your master
arranged the raid on the hunt party in the badlands, made it look as
if Dagro and his clansmen were attacked by a troop of my men. The
Hail Wolf got a chiefdom for his trouble, and Iss drew Blackhail into
the war. Now I don't know which other chiefs he's approached and what
other deals he struck, but I do know he'll make no more. The
clanholds are no longer his business. Tell him that from me, the Dog
Lord. Tell him that from this day forth all wars we wage will be of
our own making."

Vaylo was shaking by the time he was
finished, his throat raw. He was not one for speeches, but a warning
needed to be sent. Penthero Iss had to be told that the clanholds
were no longer his field of play.

Marafice Eye held Vaylo's gaze for a
long moment, then said, "I'll pass your message on, Dog Lord,
though I see no easy end to the Clan Wars."

He was right. Lines were too clearly
drawn and hatred too deeply entrenched for any clan chief to face
another over a table and speak of peace. Yet that wasn't the point.
"It's a matter for the clans now."

Marafice Eye nodded, understanding
immediately. Vaylo respected him for that.

They waited in silence for an hour.
Marafice Eye did not sit once during that time, though Vaylo noticed
that he rested his left leg from time to time and favored his right
when walking. Sarga Veys sat exactly where the Knife had placed him
and neither moved nor spoke. Vaylo resisted the urge to drink more.
Waiting made him weary. He longed for Nan's gentle company and the
closeness of his dogs. He worried about his grandchildren and
wondered if Drybone had them riding through the night.

Every now and then he would glance at
the southeast wall in the chamber and fix his eyes upon the window,
shuttered and bolted, there. Raif Sevrance was never far from his
thoughts. Even to look in the direction of the Inch brought on
feelings so intense, he could taste them in his mouth. Vaylo wished
Drybone had broken down just once in his self-controlled, iron-willed
life and beaten the lad to death where he had found him. At least
that way there would have been swift, unthinking justice. Not this
slow, ever more complicated torture of truth and lies.

Vaylo pushed a hand through his braids.
It had been a mistake to see him. He didn't want to see Raif Sevrance
as a young yearman still protecting the honor of his clan from a cell
that stank of death. He wanted to look upon a Hailsman and see a
murderer instead.

Vaylo called for Strom Carvo and gave
the order to check on the girl. Only when she was gone and a new dawn
had come to the roundhouse could he finally put steel to the
Hailsman's throat.

"She's sleeping, Chief,"
Strom said when he returned four minutes later. "I called her
name, but she didn't respond. I shook her arm, and still she slept."

Vaylo nodded. "Bring her to me,
Strom. Pull on her coat and boots as best you can—

"And make note of how much food
she has eaten."

The Dog Lord raised an eyebrow Veys'
way. Hadn't anyone bothered to tell him that no one interrupted a
clan chief when he was speaking? Strom's dark, storm-lined face
brightened at the prospect of
a
verbal lashing, but Vaylo
let the incident pass. He would not waste breath on the Halfman.
Placing a hand on Strom's arm, he walked with the swordsman out of
the chief's chamber.

When they were past earshot, Vaylo
said, "Do as the Halfman says, Strom. But first, find Ranald or
one of the others and tell him to search the Halfman's saddlebags and
remove all powders or potions." It was little, but it was
something. Henbane was scarce in winter, and Sarga Veys would not
easily lay his hands on more.

Strom nodded.

"And tell Branon that I want all
clansmen and clanswomen war dressed and mounted within the quarter.
When Marafice Eye and his sept leave Ganmiddich I want the last thing
they see to be the armed might of Bludd." Strom turned. Vaylo
halted him with a final caution. "We must be careful, Strom.
Marafice Eye has a soldier's mind; he'll spot our poor numbers given
chance."

Strom Carvo, who was Cluff Drybannock's
blood-brother and one of the finest swordsmen in the clan, simply
nodded and said, "Due care has already been taken."

Vaylo felt better for hearing those
words. They made the next waiting period bearable.

High winds blasted the walls of the
roundhouse as the Knife, the Halfman, and the Dog Lord stood in
silence and waited for Strom to bring the girl. When hail began to
batter the shutters, Vaylo was neither worried nor surprised. A storm
suited his feelings well enough.

When the knock came it seemed too soon.
Sarga Veys' tongue came out to moisten his lips. Marafice Eye stopped
pacing and shifted the massive
fact
of his body toward the
door.

"Enter," called the Dog Lord.

Strom Carvo carried the girl into the
room. The swordsman had taken care to wrap her tightly against the
storm, and her slim body was thick with as many layers of wool and
oilcloth as the remaining Bluddswomen could spare. Strom had even
thought to tuck her lovely ash blond hair beneath her collar, where
the wind could not find it as she rode. The girl herself was
lifeless. Her head lolled back and forth with every step Strom took.

Sarga Veys moved forward. Vaylo heard
the excited inhalation of his breath. It sickened him.

"Lay her on the table."

Strom obeyed his chief, yet Vaylo saw
the glint of anger in his eyes. He didn't want to give her up to
these men.

Sarga Veys was first to approach,
pulling down the fox hood that Strom had tied in place. "Oh
yes," he said. "It's her." Then to Strom: "How
much food has she eaten?"

Muscles on the swordsman's face shifted
with the deceptive smoothness of ice plates riding a rough sea.
"Nothing. She drank only the water."

Vaylo closed his eyes.
Only water.
How strong is the drug, the Halfman gave her
?

As Sarga Veys plucked open her eyes and
picked up her limbs and dropped them, Marafice Eye moved toward the
table. His face darkened as he beheld Asarhia March, and his large
hands came together to crush the air above her chest. Watching those
hands, Vaylo almost said, You
cannot have her
.

Sarga Veys produced a second vial of
poppy blood from his pouch. "The few drops she drank with the
water are not enough. She'll wake in the night if we're not careful."

Strom looked to his chief. Vaylo said,
"Take the vial from him and put two drops only upon her tongue."
Strom did his bidding in silence.

When all was done and Marafice Eye was
busy cracking his knuckles in readiness to bear Asarhia's weight, the
Dog Lord approached the table. The girl's face was pale, her lips
almost blue. Frozen. It was easy to imagine her mouth full of snow…

Abruptly he turned away. "Go!"
he commanded, chasing ghosts and men alike. "And be sure to tell
your master that all debts are paid in full."

*** Raif woke.
Ash
.

His hand clutched at his throat,
seeking his lore. It wasn't there. Memory flooded back to him; the
Dog Lord had cast it into the standing water at his feet. It hadn't
seemed important to search for it at the time. The raven lore always
came back.

Steeling himself against pain and
weakness, Raif rose from the stone bench and waded through the
shin-high water. Storm darkness filled the cell. He couldn't see
anything, not even his hands as he plunged them into the black
substance of the river and began questing for his lore.

Weeds wrapped around his fingers, slimy
as uncooked meat. Other things floated by his wrists, soft things,
jellylike things, bits of something smooth like hollow bone. He
smelled his own filth and the filth of those who had been here before
him, yet he could find nothing within him that was repulsed. He had
to get to his lore.

His body was weak,
weak
, and
he cursed it a dozen times in the darkness. When his legs began to
tremble beneath him, he knelt in the water and continued searching.
Raking his fingers along the cell floor, he probed the cracks and
creases and river-worn hollows, disturbing centuries of mud and shit
each time he moved a hand. The water was bitterly cold, yet he barely
felt it. Outside the storm howled like a wild beast, swiping at the
tower with claws of wind and hail, yet it mattered less than the hiss
of his own breath. Something was wrong with Ash.