A Sword from Red Ice

What surprised her about river travel—at least river travel upstream — was how slow it was. A man could trot faster than two men could pole. The times Waker and his father got tip to their best speed was when they were in a deep, slow-moving channel, using their pad dles. Yet for some reason they usually stayed off the main river, choosing streams and tributaries that were cither shallow, frothing, narrow or twisty. And that meant using poles, not paddles.

Effie often wondered how far they'd come. She'd been with Waker and his father for many days now and had fallen into an easy routine. Up at dawn or some time before it, breakfast load the boat and float upstream until dark. The sparsest of camps would be raised, with neither tents, a proper campfire or latrines. A cold supper might be occasionally supplemented with lukewarm fish, and then to sleep, and the whole thing would start up again in the morning.

Effie had to give it to Waker and his father they ran a tight ship. Waker wasn't even especially mean to her and Chedd. Mostly he treated them like cargo. As long as they did what he told them, sat still in the boat and stayed within sight of the camp, he did not raise his voice or touch them. Waker's father was something different. Effie thought of him as an evil little marsh man who delighted in other peoples discomfort. She had noticed that when she was near him her stone lore felt muffled, as if it had been wrapped in thick blankets or plunged into water. It was alive and present just unable to get enough air.

"Boy. Hurry now" Waker Stone called out to Chedd. "We set off within the quarter." The nverman's otterskin pants were wet to the knee and the water bought out their blue-green iridescence, light bands around the tops of his mooseskin boob prevented the riverwater from pouring inside them as he and his father floated the boat. "-Girl. Cover the fire. Stow the pots aind blankets"

Effie jumped to do his bidding, Waker wasn't to be ignored when he was preparing the boat. Camp was a wooded and reedy inlet north of the Wolf. Chedd reckoned they weren't far from Croser now. Thinking about that Dhoone-sworn clan with its roundhouse of giant riverstones gave Effie a little thrill. She was a long way from home, heading into territory hostile to Blackhail. If they continued east they'd pass the Dhoone-pro-tected lands altogether and enter territory defended by Bludd. It was a long way from home, and the river, headlands, trees and rocks were all changing, becoming wilder. According to Inigar Stoop, the east was a barbarian place that the Stone Gods claimed but never wholly possessed.

"Look out." Chedd Limehouse came running toward Effie with his right hand at his shoulder as if he were about to launch a shot put. "Catch!" he cried, propelling his hand forward with force.

Effie made a little cry and ducked.

Chedd began laughing heartily, rocking back and forth at the waist as if what he had done was so funny it had caused his lungs to seize. "Got you!" he gurgled, actually becoming a little red in the face. "Never threw it." Holding up his hand he revealed the stone he had brought down from the top of the cliff.

Effie was denied the pleasure of giving Chedd a piece of her mind by Waker barking, "Here with you both. Now."

Chedd helped her carry the bedrolls and pots to the boat. Once he'd handed them off to Waker he tried to give Effie the rock—a dog tooth of yellow halite—but she wasn't having it A sharp look from Waker was enough to make Chedd drop the rock in the water.

As they pushed off rain began to fall heavily. Effie wished she had thought to save a blanket from the bedrolls, for her boiled-wool cloak was quickly soaked. If she turned around she could see the bedrolls— they were stowed beneath Waker's father's seat—but some kind of pride stopped her from asking for them. As they headed into the main river channel, Waker handed back a tin cup and told Effie to bail once the water covered her toes.

The water soon covered her toes. Thunder rolled from the south and the first of the big gusts hit the boat side-on. The long and narrow craft tipped wildly. Waker's father plunged his paddle deep into the water and turned in to the wind. Effie bailed, glad of something to do. The surface of the water was like a pincushion stuck with a million pins. The trees along the southern bank of the Wolf whipped back and forth as clusters of pine needles spun free. Directly ahead of Effie, Chedd Limehouse paddled with real force. Rain ran down Effie's face and into the neck hole of her dress as she fell into the urgent rhythm of bailing.

The river was wide here, a league across without a single island to block the view. Wooded hills formed the southern shore, and to the north lay impenetrable tangles of hardwoods, pines and winter dead vines.