A Sword from Red Ice

"Granda! Your nose is red!" Pasha's high, excited voice cut through Vaylo's thoughts, forcing him in to the present. Where he most definitely belonged.

"Granda's nose looks like beetroot," Aaron chimed. "There's only one thing for it," Vaylo proclaimed loudly, glancing from one pale and shivering grandchild to the next. "Last man to the top smells like cow fart."

Pushing Pasha and Aaron from him, Vaylo charged up the slope. They had been heading along a creek bed that ran along the base of a small hill, and the first part of the climb was steep. His knees creaked, a muscle in his left thigh started cramping, and all seventeen of his remaining teeth gave him grief as blood pumped at pressure through the roots. But dammit he was going to make it to the top of that hill-Behind him, he heard the bairns' feet thumping as they scrambled to catch up. Pasha called after her granda to wait, while little Aaron squealed excitedly at Hammie Faa to get moving. Vaylo laughed out loud at the thought of Hammie being dragged into the race, then wished immediately he hadn't Gods, but he was old. Lungs as holey as his had no business getting involved in anything faster than a brisk walk. And exactly which Stone God was responsible for making a man want to do a fool thing like win a race? Unable to decide whose domain it fell under, he cursed all nine just to be safe.

Pasha had the long legs of a colt and the sheer bloody-mindedness of a Bludd chief and within half a minute she had passed him. Vaylo huffed and puffed and willed himself up the hill. Rain blasted his face and the wind sent slimy, partially decomposed leaves splattering against his chest like bugs. It was getting so dark that he could barely see his feet. Just as he thought he might at least come in second, his grandson overtook him on the final stretch. Windmilling his arms and whooping with delight, Aaron streaked ahead. The Dog Lord growled at him as he passed.

"Granda!" Pasha shouted once she'd reached the top. 'You'd better hurry. Hammie's gaining."

That wont do at all, Vaylo thought. It was one thing to lose a race to a young whippetraf a girl, Sother thing entirely to lose one to a chunky spearman with two left feet whose favorite saying was "A thorough job beats a fast one every time."

Clamping his jaw together, the Dog Lord reached for his final reserve of strength. He found himself remembering the days he'd spent living at the fishing hole. The rod had worked like a charns. And with the fish nipping like puppies and a place to call his own he'd decided to stay away two weeks not one. That would show his father. When his son failed to return after the first week, Gullit Bludd would be beside himself with worry. Vaylo imagined the scene of his homecoming over and over again during the long nights camped out in the forestt; his father's gruff but relieved welcome, the playful cuffing, the peak in Gullit's voice as he said, "You had me worried for a while there, son." It had felt so real that the morning he returned to the Bluddhold, Vaylo had actually expected his father to be standing on the redcourt, waiting for him. Only Gullit Bludd had not been at the roundhouse that day. He'd taken his two legitimate sons on a longhunt four nights back, and had left no message for his youngest son, the bastard. The old hurt burned within Vaylo like fuel. Once a bastard, always a bastard. Well, just watch and see what a bastard can do. Fists pumping, Vaylo attacked the final stretch of the hill as it it were an enemy that needed beating. Hammie: had to be thirty-years younger than he was, yet the Dog Lord refused to think about it. Jaw was what counted in the clanholds, and no one had ever had more of it than the man who had stolen the Dhoonestone from Dhoone. One final push and the hill was to. Hammie tried to keep pace but his short sturdy legs were designed for distance not speed, and he fell back when Vaylo topped the hill.

As the bairns rushed forward to cheer them, both men shared a long, weary "What the hell were we thinking?" glance before dropping to their knees.. Hammie began to wheeze like a goat. The Dog Lord felt a familiar pain his chest, but ignored it.

"Hammie smells like cow fart!" Aaron dove on top of the spearman, propelling him farther to the mud. Laughing so hard she snorted, Pasha ran to join her brother and soon both childen were jumping up and down Hammie's belly roaring with laughter and yelling. "Cow Faa-rt!" at the lop of their lungs.

Hammie endured this for about as long as any man could before firmly setting the bairns on their feet. Wiping himself off he ran with some dignity. "Seeing as I haven't had a bath over a month, I'd say that cow fart might just be an improvement."

This statement started the bairns giggling all over again. Valyo was concerned about the noise, but glad in his heart to heat it. Pasha and Aaron deserved this. They'd been at good as gold these past five days, and quieter than was good for any child.