A Sword from Red Ice

Bram swallowed. Who had told this man about the meeting with Vaylo Bludd? Guy Morloch? Jordie Sarson? The Dog Lord? And how did Mallin know that Bram had visited Skinner Dhoone all those months ago at the Old Round outside of Gnash? Did he know that Bram had looked into Skinner's Dhoone-blue eyes that day and lied? A glance at the ranger's hard, angular face gave Bram his answer. Yes, Hew Mallp knew. He knew and judged it satisfactory.

The strange tightness that had seized Bram's chest in the cold room gripped him again. What was happening here? Why did he feel under threat?

"We are the Brotherhood of the Long Watch, the Phage, and we have stood guard against the Endlords for four thousand years. We watch in this land and many other lands, in the cities and in the clan-holds, in the deserts and on the seas. Dark armies are massing and we stand ready at the gate. We are few against many, and while others on this continent fight wars, seize strongholds, kill, breed, sleep, we walk in the shadows and patrol against the darkness and the men and women who harbor it." Hew Mallin shifted his position, revealing a lean sword housed in an intricately etched steel scabbard. "Our ways are subtle and the tasks we undertake are seldom pleasant. We know truth but do not always speak it. Enemies forestall us and we must act to wipe them out. We do not serve one man or one people, and our home is on the horse paths, animal tracks, dirt roads and riverways. As darkness moves so must we.

"We are the Phage and we know the names of the creatures in the Blind and are afraid. The world lies on the brink, and the first question I bring you, Bram Cormac, is this: How long can it stay there unsupported?"

Snapping his gaze away from Bram, the ranger began to walk the rough circle of the clearing.

Bram looked at the sky. He was about an hour late for Drouse Ogmore. Every day since the guide had asked him to consider becoming his apprentice Bram had gone to the guidehouse thinking, Today will be the day Ogmore asks for my decision. So far that day had not come. Now Dalhousie Selco wanted to make a master swordsman from him—and for a son of a swordsman that meant something. Bram had lost count of the times he had been told he was too small to wield the hammer, the ax and the big two-handed longswords that were favored by Dhoonesmen. Here at Castlemilk they preferred a smaller, fighting sword. And Dalhousie believed that given time Bram could wield such a weapon with skill.

Already it was a wealth of choices. He had come here with nothing and now owned a horse. At Dhoone he possessed no worth save his kinship to Robbie. Now he had two trades to choose from, two ways to gain merit in this clan.

Bram listened to the sound of the trees moving, the hemlocks shushing and the old oaks creaking like swinging doors. Leaves had budded on the elms too early and the frost was rotting them off.

Not thinking any answer was required from him, Bram kept his silence. It seemed as if the world had sharpened. He could see the light in the snow as well as upon it, see the blues and greens that waited there like memories of water. The shadows were darker and more menacing, biding behind trees like coiled springs. When he saw his footprints had exposed earth as well as pine needles, he graded the stones. Nothing shiny or unusual. Nothing that went against the grain.

When Hew Mallin's circuit turned him back toward Bram, he spoke. "You have guessed what the second question is but I will ask it anyway. Formalities serve their purpose." The ranger halted three feet from Bram and pinned him with a gaze so sharp Bram felt it cut like a wire through his head. "I, Hew Mallin of the Brotherhood of the Long Watch, ask you, Bram Cormac son of Mabb, to leave the clan-holds with me this night and beginning training as a ranger for the Phage."

J cannot. Yet he was stirred beyond all sense. Hew Mallin was shaking. So was Bram. "Do you teach the histories?"

"Knowledge is power."

It was a yes. Bram swallowed. "I have spoken an oath to Castlemilk."

"Break it.. The gods are dead, and what remains is here to destroy, not judge us."

But the stones. Ogmore said the gods' presence could be read in the stones. Close to panic now, Bram thought about Ogmore waiting in the guidehouse, of Dalhousie training in the Chum Hall with Mabb's sword, of Wrayan Castlemilk standing in the water and saying, Now you are a Castleman for a year.

"My sword?"

"Swords kill. As long as a blade is sharp one will do as well as another."

Bram breathed in great gouts of air. The snow was dazzhng him it was so full of light. He should not have come, that was his mistake. Should have walked right past Hew Mallin and taken the door-within-the-door.

Wrayan Castlemilk knew, Bram realized quite suddenly. She had only come to deliver Robbie's greetings and gift him with Guy Morloch's horse after the ranger had made the crossing.

But Dalhousie had not known. Nor had Drouse Ogmore.

And what of Robbie?

Did he send any message?

No.