A Sword from Red Ice

People— lived here., for sometimes Effie would spot lights on the shore. Occasionally fbev passed oihei rivercraft shallow skiffs and one-seat longboats putted by gaunt — looking men and women wrapped in boiled skins and beavers fur. Waker and his father offered no greeting to their fellow boatmen. Effie guessed they were in the Graylands by then. She and Chedd didn't talk much about Clan Gray anymore. Eggtooth's words had thrown a large damp blanket on the subject She could no longer argue against Chedd's crazy notions of human sacrifices and bog baiting. She'd even started thinking that she and Chedd would have been better off if they'd been pirated by Eggtooth. You could stab a pig.

She wasn't so sure about half-things. Leaning forward, she touched Chedd lightly on the cheek. "What's wrong?" she murmured as quietly as she could.

Chedd shook his head. They were both aware that Waker's father was behind them, watching their every move. It was so dark now that you could see only the few feet of water beyond the boat that were illuminated by the bow lamp. Chedd made a small motion with his right arm, flexing it as if he was warding off a cramp. Something plonked into the water nearby and as it did so Chedd murmured over his shoulder to Effie, "It's like ghosts."

For her own sake just as much as Chedd's Effie Sevrance decided she was going to stay calm. She decided this very firmly, nodding her head. Whatever Chedd perceived—and she believed he perceived something—was probably not unknown to Waker and his father. They knew these waters. This was their clanhold. And unless it happened to be one of those special nights that came around once or twice a year when all sorts of spirits and dead things were permitted to walk the earth for reasons that were unclear to Effie—then this was a normal occurrence. It didn't mean it was good—Waker was paddling like a fiddler playing a particularly fast and difficult tune—but it didn't mean there was any reason to panic.

No reason at all.

We are Gray and Stone Gods fear us and leave us be. Repeating part of the Gray boast didn't help. So she tried the Blackhail one instead. We are Blackhail, first amongst clans. And we do not cower and we do not hide. And we will have our revenge. That was more like it.

Waker and his father executed a series of sharp turns that zig-zagged the boat around an island of woody rushes and steered them away from the main channel. Soon the rushes began closing in. They formed fences oi either side of the boat, rising as tall as ten feet, bristling and pale flattened in places and crushed in others. They stank like meat broth turned bad. Effie scrunched up her shoulders and brought her elbows to meetfeoss her chest. She did not want them scratching her. Festerers, that's what Drey would have called them.

Both Waker and his father sat. Waker ceased poling completely, but his father began a tilling motion with the paddle, gently keeping the boat in motion. The channel narrowed and the rushes created a tunnel around the hull. Rush heads scraped against the gunwales, rustling and scratching, bending and snapping off. A sting of pain on her cheek told Effie she had been stabbed, and as she raised her hand to bat the offending stem away she spotted the dim glow of lights reflecting in the water. The sight of them made her gulp. They were a deep, unearthly green.

Waker grunted something to his father, and the old man took his paddle from the water. Effie turned to look at him and she watched as he cupped his hands around his lips and issued a deep whooping noise, like a crane. A second passed and then the call was returned from two separate locations. Waker's father grinned at Effie as she turned to track them.

"Feed the dog a bone. Girlie's coming home"

Suddenly the reed stands cleared and water opened up ahead. Effie saw rings of green lights burning just above the surface. Waker stood again, but before he resumed poling he glanced over his shoulder at Effie and Chedd. A man checking on his cargo, Effie thought. She hoped Chedd had stopped feeling the ghosts. Behind her, Waker's father began rummaging noisily through a sack. Effie tried to resist thinking about what he was up to but in the end she could not bear it, and looked round.

It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. Waker's father was combing his near baldy head with a pickax, dragging the scant and greasy hairs back one by one. He had a mean and victorious look in his eye. Effie began work on her best, most withering glare— the man truly was insane—and then the missing piece of the puzzle fell into place. The memory of Waker's words from a month earlier burned through her brain like drops of acid. "Tomorrow I put leg irons on you. Once they are on there is nothing in my possession that can remove them. I carry no ax strong enough to cut the chains or no pick with the correct hore to punch out the pins."