A Sword From Red Ice (69 page)

He was only half joking, Raif realized, and nodded
somberly. "Sorry, Addie."

Addie Gunn grumbled something that sounded like
"Glad we've got that sorted" before hiking solidly onto the
ledge.

The granite was weak here, veined with softer
limestone. The limestone that had been exposed to the surface had
worn away, creating dimples in the surface that were now filled with
snowmelt. The shelf jutted out over the Rift and both men paused to
look south. Snow had melted at a faster rate in the clanholds and
most of the hills were bare. Winter-rotted groundcover made the
north-facing slopes look burned. Raif wondered what Addie was
thinking as he stood there and minded his former homeland. Wellhouse
was likely due south of here; the cragsman's old clan.

"Lambs'll need stabling this year," the
cragsman murmured softly, to himself. Turning to Raif, he said,
"C'mon, lad. If we can get on the headland afore dark it'll make
for an easier start in the morning."

Raif let Addie Gunn lead the way.

They had departed the Rift at dawn, at the exact
moment the sun had appeared in the east above the rim. Arrangements
had been made the night before, many of them while Raif slept. The
attack by the unmade beast had left him exhausted and unable to fully
catch his breath, and he had slept through most of that night and a
good portion of the next day. When he had awoken at noon he had told
Stillborn what he meant to do. "I'll need supplies for the
journey," Raif had told him. "Pull together what you can. I
have to meet with the outlander."

Stillborn had been bewildered and hurt. "Supplies
for both of us you mean?" he had asked. At some point that
morning he had shaved his face, and the bristles that normally stuck
out of his facial scars were neatly clipped. "I will be going
with you."

Raif shook his head. "I need you here,
leading the Maimed Men."

No argument carried weight against the stark fact
that Traggis Mole was dead, and Stillborn knew it. "But they
want you," he had said. "Not me. It was you who killed that
beastie right in front of their eyes. You who laid the Mole to rest."

"I know what they want," Raif said.
"Tell them they'll have to wait." He made his voice hard
because he had to, because he would not be thwarted in this. As long
as he had known Stillborn, the Maimed Man had complained about
Traggis Mole's leadership, and lusted after taking his place. Now
that place was vacant and it was time for Stillborn to step up and
lead. He had a look on his face like he'd thought he'd been trapped,
but Raif ignored it. Stillborn should count himself lucky he'd been
trapped only once.

"There is no one else," Raif told him.
"The Maimed Men respect you. You're the best hunter, the best
blade fighter. And it wasn't just me who brought down the Unmade. If
you hadn't distracted it I could never have gotten close enough to
place my sword."

The two had stared at each other, the air between
them charged with tension. Raif had not blinked. Nor had Stillborn.

"Very well," Stillborn had exploded,
throwing himself back as if he'd been physically repelled. "If
this is how it is then so be it. I will guard them while you are
away. But I will tell every single one of them you'll be back."

Raif heard both the warning and the plea in
Stillborn's voice. It touched him, but he did not show it. "Do
as you must."

Stillborn waited to see if there would be more,
and when there wasn't he dragged his hands across his hair and face.
"Gods, Raif. We're living in hell. How are we going to survive?"

"Kill everything through the heart."

Raif had left Stillborn then. He had the sense
that if he'd stayed longer he would say things counter to his
purpose. And his purpose was to depart. The next meeting with Thomas
Argola in his doored cave had gone no easier.

Mallia Argola had let him in. Sunlight shone right
onto her face, turning golden upon her skin, and for the first time
Raif wondered what was missing. In what way was Mallia Argola not
whole?

It was a question he had no time for. "Leave
us," he told her. "Take a walk."

She had meant to withdraw into the cave, into the
shadows beyond the dragon-and-pear screen where she could watch and
listen in, but quickly realized this was something he would not
permit. Her green-brown eyes had looked at him carefully, and he felt
shame at the way he had behaved toward her in Stillborn's cave. If
that shame showed on his face she did not react to it, merely saying.
"I will return after you are gone." As she passed him in
the doorway, she lightly touched his arm.

It was confusing, that unexpected show of
understanding and goodwill, and it took him a moment to refocus his
mind.

That was when Argola had tried to shut the door.
Raif balked him, shooting out his hand and barring the space around
the doorframe. He had not meant to do so, but could not seem to stop
himself. Thomas Argola was a man who worked best on the periphery of
crowds and in the shadows of closed rooms. Raif Sevrance decided he
would conduct this interrogation in the light.

"When did you tell Traggis Mole about the
sword?" The outlander glanced nervously at the open door.
Sunlight, which had made his sister's skin look spun from gold, made
his own skin look yellow. "The night after we talked I went to
see him. He . . . was our chief."

Raif heard the excitement in Argola's voice and
was repulsed by it.

"You told him everything?"

"I believe I never said I would not."

Were you paid for it? Raif wondered, glancing at
the worn treasures in the cave. The silk rugs and copper bowls. The
screens. It was not a question that mattered, he realized. A man must
use what skills he had to live.

Trying to recall all that had been said four days
back in this cave, Raif said, "What did you tell him about me?"

Argola shrugged. "He already suspected much."

"That is no answer."

"Close the door."

"No."

The outlander took a sharp breath. Backing away,
he found himself a place to stand where he was no longer exposed to
direct sunlight. "I told the Mole you were the Rift Brothers'
only hope. No one else can hope to stop the Unmade when they break
through in numbers. No one. Look at what happened the other night.
You were the only one who knew what to do, the only one who could
stop it."

"Someone else could have put a blade through
its heart."

"Really?" Argola blasted. "You
could barely put it through yourself."

In the silence that followed, Raif leant against
the back of the door. His shoulder was throbbing, and he felt
scarcely able to cope with the hard truths spoken by the outlander.
He had come here for information, and, if he was honest, the chance
to use up some anger. It seemed to him that Thomas Argola deserved
it. He had been the one who was pulling the strings. He had been the
one who had framed Traggis Mole's second-to-last words.

"Swear to me you will fetch the sword that
can stop them. Swear you will bring it back and protect my people.
Swear it."

Raif had sworn. A man was dying. The man who had
saved his life.

The final words Traggis Mole had spoken were
between a man and his gods, and Raif would never repeat them.

Now he wondered only one thing: Would Traggis Mole
have sprung forward to stab the beast if Thomas Argola had not told
him two nights earlier that Raif Twelve Kill was the Rift's only
hope? Had Traggis Mole made the decision that Raif's life was worth
more than his own?

Raif glanced at the outlander. Thomas Argola had
manipulated the Mole chief, just as he had manipulated Raif the night
after Black Hole. What was the outlander's purpose? Did he realize
his manipulations had brought death?

But Traggis Mole was dying anyway; those were
words Raif needed to avoid hearing at all cost. If Thomas Argola ever
said them he would kill him.

Suddenly weary, Raif said, "I leave at dawn.
Tell me what you have learned about the Red Ice."

Argola had protested, asking for more time, but he
of all people had to know that once you set a top spinning it was out
of your control. Raif guessed he had discovered something, for he had
not forgotten Mallia's words. My brother sends a message: Come see
him tonight.

In the end what Thomas Argola had been able to
tell him was little. He was one of the few people in the Rift who
could read and write, and had managed to collect many parchments that
had been seized by Maimed Men on raids. They saw no value in them and
traded them gladly, though it was known that all manuscripts
containing maps were to be surrendered to the Mole. Argola had
discovered little from searching his own collection and wanted time
to search the Mole's. The thought of the outlander rifling though
Traggis Mole's possessions was distasteful to Raif and he hoped that
Stillborn would not allow it.

"If you are determined to leave tomorrow then
all I can advise is this," Argola had said at last. "It is
written that the Lake of Red Ice exists at the border of four worlds
and to break it you must stand in all four worlds at once."

Raif had been frustrated. The words sounded like
nonsense, designed only to confuse. "You said east."

Argola's smile had been indulgent. "Yes,
there is that."

Raif had turned and left him. He had not spoken
any word of farewell. Thomas Argola knew either less or more than he
claimed, and Raif could not decide which was worse: To know more and
not reveal it? Or fake what you didn't know?

Maimed Men hailed him as he returned to
Stillborn's cave, and Raif had no choice but to ignore them.
Acknowledge their calls of "Twelve Kill" and he risked
undercutting Stillborn's position. Raif Sevrance was not yet ready to
declare himself Lord of the Rift. That thankless job went to
Stillborn, and Raif knew that the best way to support Stillborn was
to remove himself from the Maimed Men's attention. And not run the
risk of anyone naming him "Chief."

Briefly, he had looked for Mallia as he climbed to
the higher ledge, but Argola's sister was nowhere to be seen.

Once he had arrived back at Stillborn's cave he'd
eaten the small meal of smoked meat and panbread that had been left
for him, built up the fire at the cave mouth, and then lay on
Stillborn's mattress and slept. He dreamed there was a black worm
living in his shoulder, gnawing its way through his flesh.

The next morning he was awakened by Stillborn in
the dark hours before dawn. "Addie's waiting outside," he
had said, handing him a cup of water.

It took Raif a while to understand this statement.
He swallowed a mouthful of water. "No."

Stillborn was ready for this. "You tell him
then. He's been camped there for the past five hours. Won't listen to
a thing I say. Doubt if he'll listen to you."

The Maimed Man was a bad schemer, Raif reckoned,
for all the time he was speaking, Stillborn had not once looked him
in the eye. It made a refreshing change from Argola.

"It's nothing to do with me," Stillborn
continued, compelled to fill the silence. "Just told him when
you were leaving. Didn't put no ideas in his head."

Raif rose and went out onto the ledge. He noticed
Yelma now had two iron pots for breasts.

"You cannot come with me," he had said
to Addie before the cragsman had chance to speak. "You are old
and you will slow me down."

Addie Gunn had been sitting on a camp chair with
his back to the fire and the cave mouth, and did not bother to turn
at Raif's approach. "Fancy a journey east," he said,
looking straight out across the darkness of the Rift. "Got a
hankering to see trees—real ones not piss-thin bushes. I
imagine I'll set off soon. 'Magine when I do no one will try and stop
me, it being a free world and all and a man being free to travel
where he pleases."

Raif breathed softly and deeply. It occurred to
him that all you had to do to know a man's resolve was look at the
back of his neck. "Addie I do not know where I go. How can I
allow someone to accompany me when I don't know the dangers or how
long I will be gone? Traggis Mole took a fatal blow to save my life.
His death weighs on me. Do not put me in a position where yours might
too."

The cragsman continued staring ahead. Time passed.
The fire crackled and spat as a willow knot filled with pitch went up
in flames. Eventually Addie Gunn stood and turned to face Raif. "I
hear you, lad," he said, "but do you ever wonder if some
might feel the same about you? Your death would not be a weight this
Rift Brother is willing to bear."

Raif had bowed his head, defeated and heartsore.
He had needed this and didn't even realize it: someone to stand
second to his oath. "We travel light and take no animals."
Addie nodded wisely. "I imagined we would." It was hard to
believe that conversation had taken place less than twelve hours ago.
Already it seemed to belong in the past, in the city they'd left
behind. Look west now and you could not see it. Not even the smoke
from the grass fires.

With Addie leading the way they made better time.
He had a goat's instinct for the ways between the crags. Raif was
content to follow, glad to have no responsibility for a while beyond
the placement of his feet. The sky grew bluer as they moved to higher
ground and subtle changes took place in the air. Below them the Rift
was a trough filled with shadows, narrower here than in the city of
Maimed Men.

The discussion as to whether or not to take the
hidden bridge across to the clanholds had been a short one. Raif had
not been for it, and the cragsman had acceded to his choice. "It
means a couple of days on the journey," he had told Raif, so
there was no misunderstanding. "The path to the north is rocky
and we'll have to put our backs into it. After the third of fourth
day it should begin to level off."