A Sword from Red Ice

The puncure wounds caused by the Shatan Maer's claws had stiffened his left shoulder muscle, and as he worked on Bear's hooves he felt some pain. When he made a quick movement up her leg, a cold little tingle traveled toward his heart. Stopping for a moment, he put a hand on Bear's belly to steady himself. Something about the pain, a kind of liquid probing, had unseffied him, and he couldn't seem to get the Shatan Maer out of his head. He could smell its rankness, see its cunning dead eyes as it came for him.

Shivering, Raif stepped away from the pony. "Do I look mad to you?" he asked her as he massaged the aching muscle.

Bear flicked her tail lazily; a pony's equivalent of a shrug. The gesture was strangely reassuring. Sometimes that was all it took to drive away your fears: the indifference of another living thing. The pain was just the last remnants of an infection, nothing more.

Although he didn't much feel like it, Raif set about taking stock of his meager supplies. Fresh water had become a problem. The aurochs' bladder rested slack against a block of limestone, its contents nearly drained. The little that remained tasted of rawhide. Raif doubted whether it would last the day. There was food — sprouted millet for the pony, hard cheese and pemmican for himself-yet he knew enough not to be tempted by it. He wanted to be sure where his next drink was coming from before he ate. Yesterday he'd learned that it wasn't enough,just to see water. In the Want you had to jump in it and watch your clothe get wet before could be absolutely certain it was there. Yesterday he and Bear had tracked leagues out of their way to persue a glassy shimmer in the valley between two hills. They stood in that valley today. It wasn't just dry, it was bone dry, and Raif had been left feeling like a fool. You'd think he would have learned by now.

Unable to help himself, he flicked the cap off the waterskin and squirted a small amount into his mouth. The fluid was gone before he had a chance to swallow it, sucked away by parched gums. He was tempted to take more, but resisted. His duty to his animal came first. As he poured a careful measure into the pony's waxed snufflebag, Raif wondered what heading to take next At test he could tell, five days had passed since bed left the Fortress of Grey Ice. The first few days were lost to him, gone in a few dream of blood poisoning and pain. He did not recall leaving the fortress or choosing a route to lead them out of the Want. He remembered waking one morning and looking at his left arm and not being sure that it belong to him. The skin floated on top of the muscle as if separated by a layer of liquid. It leaked when he pressed it, clear fluid that seeped through a crack Raif supposed must be a wound. The strange thing was it hadn't hurt. Even stranger, he could not recall being concerned.

At some point be must have regained his mind, although there were times when he wasn't sure. The wound on his neck were healing He'd stitched the deepest one without use of a mirror; so gods only knew what he looked like. As for his arm, it certainly looked a lot better. And he was definitely sure it was hit. Hn mind wet a different story though, a little foggy around the edges and prone to fancies. The first day that he tried to ride his head had felt too light, and he'd con-viced himself he was better off walking instead.

He hadn't been on Bear since then, and he'd spent the last three days stubbornly walking. Occasionally Bear looked at htm quizzically, and had once gone as far as head-butting the small of his back to encourage htm to ride. She had wanted to help, he knew that, and the one thing the had to offer was her ability to bear his weight.