A Sword from Red Ice

"Give him the lentils too," Stillborn said magnanimously, reaching for the largest pack. "Little orange buggers make me fart."

They had a good breakfast of sausage dipped in honey and nuts dipped in melted sheep's butter. The minute he stopped eating Stillborn fell asleep. His chin dropped against his chest, his massive shoulders slumped, his mouth fell open, and he began to snore vigorously and, oddly enough, in tune.

Raif drank water and watched the fire. The mist was receding and the flames brightened as he poked air between the sticks. The Rift was silent now. A slight shimmering of the darkness at eye level told him that it was venting heat. Time passed and after a while Raif reached inside his tunic and pulled out the pouch containing the stormglass.

It was beautiful to look at in the starlight. Light reflected and refracted, twinkled into existence. Moved. Its rounded sides felt good in his hand, like a talisman, and as he held it the glass warmed.

I give no promises. Raif mouthed the words he'd said to Tallal. Disturbed by their hollowness he said them again out loud.

"I give no promises."

"What? Where?" Stillborn said blearily, his head snapping up from his chest. A line of drool rolled down his chin as he look accusingly at Raif. "A man can't sleep nowhere nohow in this place." Standing abruptly, he said, "Fuck it. We'd better get going."

They got their gear together and killed the fire and the lamp. As they climbed up through the city, air rising from the Rift cooled the exposed skin on Raif's neck and face. Maimed Men walked and climbed through the thinning mist, heads hooded against the damp, torches swinging before them on long poles. Stillborn greeted some with curt nods. Others he ignored. He was wearing a tunic sewn from pieced wolverine skins edged with black leather, and a flat-paneled bearskin kilt. His arms and lower legs were bare, though they looked as if they'd been rubbed with lard for warmth. He carried no hunting bow but had brought a single, case-hardened throwing spear, five feet long and tapered at both ends. He used the spear as a walking stick, tapping the rimrock as he walked.

Raif was wearing the Orrl cloak and he noticed that some men did not see him until he was right upon them, so perfectly did the cloak match the mist. The Sull bow was strung crosswise against his back and his arrowcase, containing the scant half-dozen arrows he had left, rode high on his right shoulder. The borrowed sword swung from his waist. He had not drawn it yet, so could claim no firsthand knowledge of the blade, but judging from the ring pommel and iron crossguards, it was probably a basic cut-and-thruster.

As they made their way east the sky began to lighten and the smell of grass and willow smoke grew stronger. Children emerged, rumpled and sleepy-eyed, from lean-tos built against the cave mouths. Some caves had been closed off by cane screens or animal hides. Others were open to the night. Custom demanded that you did not peer into those spaces as you passed them. Maimed Men expected privacy in their caves.

Addie Gunn was waiting on the easternmost point of the city, a jagged granite promontory that extended fifty feet over the Rift. He was alone, cloaked and hooded in plain brown wool and leaning upon an oak staff. His lips pressed to a thin line when he saw them and he declared without greeting, "You are late."

Stillborn said, "And a fine morning to you, Addie Gunn" Addie ignored this and said to Raif, "You're looking better, lad." "Looked like hell last night," Stillborn said, clapping Raif hard on the back. "A night's sleep prettied him up quite considerably." The cragsman nodded, thoughtful. "We'd best head off." Stillborn bowed, somewhat creakily, at the waist "Lead the way." The sun floated beneath the horizon as they headed north from the rim, turning the sky red and then pink. Breezes snapped at groundlevel but there was no real wind. Raif had never traveled east or north of the Rift and was interested in the paths Addie chose. The cragsman led them across a rocky headland strewn with boulders and overgrown with spiny yellow grasses, juniper and holly. Small, dun-colored birds flew out from beneath bushes as they passed. Raif spotted hares in molt, ground squirrels, rats, mice and voles. As always it was difficult for him to tell if he actually saw the animals, or simply felt their beating hearts. He'd pass a loose pile of rocks and know that a vole was hiding within the shadows, quivering.

"Does anyone set traps?" he asked Addie as they made their way along a brush-choked draw.

Addie shook his head. Now that the sun had risen he had drawn back his hood, revealing his closely shaved scalp and big ears. "A few do. Mostly it's not considered worth it. Land's like dry bone."

Raif wanted to disagree, but didn't. A reluctance to reveal how different he was to other men stopped him. Instead, he made a mental note about traps. Hungry men and women would be glad of squirrel, vole and hare.