A Sword from Red Ice

Hurrying down the stairs she pretended to be busy, waving away those who hailed her and frowning in a preoccupied manner as if she were thinking about hop toasting, milk churning or some other household task. Things had changed since news had arrived from Ganmiddich, and the house was subdued. Men got a little drunker at night. Women had trouble applying themselves to everyday work and would sit morosely and chat. Everyone was waiting on more news. Raina had heard a rumor that Stannig Beade had begun to cut hearts from the new Hailstone.

As she crossed the strange gods-charged space of the east hall, she realized that she had abandoned her task of loading the supply wagon. Orwin Shank had arranged for a cart to be sent south with an armed escort, and Merritt Ganlow and Raina had been in charge of filling it with food, ale, blankets and other home comforts for the Hail armies camped north of Ganmiddich. Merritt would not be pleased. As far as the head widow was concerned, Raina could barely do anything right these days,

Raina suspected she had a point. Ever since Stannig Beade had hit her she had not been able to think clearly. Her attention jumped from one thing to another like a bouncing ball, and she did not like to be alone inside in the house. Jittery was the word she would use to describe herself. It was the first time she had ever felt such a way in her life.

She did not stop to admire the newly completed arch that led east from the roundhouse. The wall scaffolding was in the process of being reconfigured to support the building of the guidehouse and the east ward. Work crews were taking their afternoon break, and men were sitting on chunks of rock and upturned lime barrels, gnawing on bird bones and drinking foamy brown ale. Longhead was the only one still working. The head keep was squatting on a cracked paving stone, drawing a line in chalk.

"Raina."

She was surprised to hear him call her name, and considered pretending not to hear him. The memory of their last meeting together in the hayloft was not a good one. Longhead had admitted to letting himself be influenced by Stannig Beade. The guide had warned the head keep that Raina might start fussing if she were told about the plans for the new ward. And Longhead had lapped it up. It was a kind of betrayal, that setting aside of all the years they'd spent working together for the good of this house. If anyone should have given her the benefit of the doubt it should have been Longhead.

Halting before him, she was cool. "I have not much time."

The head keep rose to standing. He was dressed in his usual attire of a leather work apron over burlap pants and a brown wool shirt. Chalk from his fingers was transferred to his forehead as he wiped the hair from his eyes. "Where you off to?"

Raina thought the question impertinent. "I have work in the stables," she lied.

"I'll walk a ways with you."

"Very well," she agreed huffily, realizing she had misjudged the nature of his question. Longhead did not query where she went or what she did. He just wanted to talk to her alone.

If the head keep had noticed her agitation, he made no show of it, and guided her between piles of logs, cut stones and lime barrels with respectful attention, touching her arm lightly to prevent her from stepping into puddles of tar and gray sludge. Snow had been cleared to a distance of thirty feet around the roundhouse, and only when they had reached the end of the clearing did Longhead speak.

"You told me I should inform you when Stannig Beade wants things done in the house," he said, wasting no time on small talk, "and I think perhaps you were right."

Raina's boots punched though the melted then refrozen snow, leaving deep pits. She did not trust herself to say anything—speak and she would make a mistake—so she kept her silence and watched her feet.

Longhead's oversize jaw came up as he squinted at the clouds. "Beade has asked me to prepare your old chambers for the Scarpe chief, Yelma Scarpe. She will visit next month."

Raina's mouth fell open. Of all the things Longhead could have told her she would never have imagined this. The Scarpe chief, here? It was so astonishing|she didn't know what to think. Glancing up, she saw the head keep was watching her carefully. She closed her mouth. Had he been looking at the remains of her bruise?

"It's not fitting that she stay in your chambers," he said, shaking his head. "A chiefs wife must be allowed superiority in her clan."

I do not care about my chambers, Raina wanted to tell him, not kindly, but didn't. She could see that he was offended as a Hailsman. "When will she come?"

Longhead seemed relieved that she had finally spoken and jumped to answer her question. "When the weather clears. Beade says she will not travel while snow is on the ground."