A Sword From Red Ice (101 page)

This man had dug up the graves. The dirt was there
to see, under his fingertips. The truth was in his copper eyes.

Of course. How else could he know that one of his
daughters might still be alive? He would have had to view the
remains.

Gull's throat began to ache. What a life this is.
What a terrible, terrible life.

Angus Lok regarded Gull with a steady gaze. He had
seen Gull glance at his fingernails, watched as the revelation took
place behind his eyes. "My daughter's name is Casilyn Lok. We
call her Cassie. She's eighteen, tall for her age, with hair—"
He took a breath to steady himself, "hair the same color as your
tavern maid, and hazel eyes."

"I have not seen her." Gull spoke
quickly, to kill false hope. "Nor have I heard of a young girl
traveling alone."

Angus Lok accepted this, unsurprised. He stood.
"One day you may hear of something. If that happens send word to
Heritas Cant in Ille Glaive."

"Heritas Cant in Ille Glaive," Gull
repeated, anxious to show this man that he did not take the task
lightly.

Sheathing the sword in a soft buckskin scabbard,
the stranger gave Gull no thanks. Gull had not expected it. He was
struck with the idea that this man was on a journey into hell.

And few ever made it back.

"The farmhouse," Gull said, speaking to
delay him. "If the magistrate is unable to locate the owner
within a year he'll claim it as revenue for the Glaive."

Angus Lok threw on his cloak and made his way
toward the door, his last words to Gull Moler, "Let them keep
it."

Wind howled across the tavern as he left.