A Sword from Red Ice

It didn't take Addie long to find the trappers' path, and they followed it south and a little west through the trees. A cube of spat chewing curd, an apple core, and a ragged piece of leather fringe were duly noted by the cragsman along the way. After holding the trail for the better part of an hour they knew they were getting close. The smell of woodsmoke was so strong you could taste it in your mouth, and the chunk of logs being split with an ax rang through the woods.

Addie wanted to c Jitinue down the path, but Raif stopped him. "Let's approach the camp from the back."

"Ain't neighborly," Addie said, by way of agreement.

The trappers' camp consisted of a large A-frame tent overhung with moose felts, two large wooden stretching frames for big game, a log pile and chopping block, a firepit hung with cookirons and a smoking rack, two cross sections of tree trunk that looked like they were used as seats, various cache bags strung from the nearest cedar and a butchering circle where the snow was trampled with blood. The man who was quartering logs with a small hand ax was tall and rangy. His skin was the color of red clay.

"Trenchlander," Addie murmured. "Poor cousins of the Sull." They were crouching amidst a small copse of cedar saplings about ninety feet behind the camp. Raif watched the axman carefully, reassuring himself that the man's rhythm hadn't changed and that his focus remained on his work. Raif wondered about the location of horses and pack animals, but then decided the A-frame was large enough to hold livestock.

"Bear pelts fetch a tidy sum in Hell's Town," Addie whispered, "and they sell the gall bladders to traders from the south."

Raif nodded, barely listening. He was fairly sure now that the axman was unaware of their presence. That was good. It meant he lacked the exquisite senses of purebred Sull. "He's probably not alone," Raif said quietly. "Aye. Maybe his friends're off walking the trap rounds. Shall we?" Raif felt a sudden twinge in his shouder, but ignored it. "Lead the way."

To disguise the fact they had sneaked up on the Trenchlanders' camp, they made their way partway to the front and then created a great deal of noise stomping through the remaining trees and snow. Addie began talking in a loud voice, telling some story about the time he'd got drunk in a stovehouse and singed off most of his hair. Abruptly, he halted the tale midway and hailed, "Friend! Good day to you!"

The axman had stopped chopping but he still held his ax. He had sunken cheeks and there was slack skin around his jaw. Frostbite had rotted the tips of both his ears. Like Ilya Spinebreaker before him, he inspected Raif's cloak and bow. Addie put up his hands, elbowing Raif along the way to do the same. Raif briefly showed the man his bare palms. "Trade," Addie proclaimed loudly, rubbing his thumbs and fingers together. "Fair exchange of goods."

Finally the man reacted. Thumping the flat of the ax in his free hand, he said, 'Tree. Over there." He waited for them to locate it with their gazes. "Tall man. Stick sword. Then talk trade."

His accent was heavy and his command of Common incomplete, but Raif understood him well enough. Leaving Addie's side Raif crossed over to the tree and drew Traggis Mole's longknife. With a light jab he embedded the point in the bark. At eye level. Turning on his heel he locked gazes with the Trenchlander. «Done» Addie declared.

The Trenchlander did not allow them the fellowship of the tent and indicated they sit by the fire on sawn-off logs. Addie was offended by this lack of hospitality, but Raif preferred it. This way he could keep an eye on his blade. As the Trenchlander unhooked the pot suspended above the flames, Raif heard the sound of braying coming from inside the A-frame. Possibly a donkey or a mule. Once the lidded pot was at the Trenchlander's feet, he deftly tossed three iron thumb cups into the fire. After a few seconds he fished them out one by one with his notched stick. When he poured broth into them it sizzled and spat, shooting out the aroma of meat and peppery herbs. The Trenchlander looked from Addie to Raif as the cup cooled.

Realizing he was expecting some courtesy from them, Raif said, "We are grateful for the hospitality of your hearth."

It was sufficient. The Trenchlander nodded, placed the cups inside larger, leatheiwsups and handed them to Addie and Raif. As was custom in such encounters, the guests drank first. Whatever it was— broth, tea, ale-it was good and spicy. Addie drank his quickly and then studied the dregs.

"Trade," the Trenchlander said.

A moment passed where Raif realized he possessed nothing he would give in trade. The Orrl cloak. The Sull bow. The stormglass. Traggis Mole's longknife. A man would have to kill him to get their hands on any one of them. Addie however seemed prepared for this and slid out one of his spare hareskin socks from his gear belt. A single swinging motion was sufficient to produce the clink of coins.