A Sword from Red Ice

Vaylo pushed one of the dogs out of the way and squatted close to the hearth. Heat made blood rush to his face. Pasha brought him a cup of water and a thumb cup of malt. The liquor had been a gift from Gangaric, carried all the way from Bludd. It was such a treasure that Vaylo thought he'd be quite happy never to drink it; just uncork the flask once a day and inhale.

"Why you being so good to me?" he said, his eyes narrowing at his granddaughter. "You think I'm going to forget about the foot rub?"

It was then as he rolled onto the rug and made a great show of pulling off his left boot that all three dogs stood. Ears moving, they tracked a noise the Dog Lord could not hear. Immediately Vaylo pulled himself to his feet. Fear jumped so quickly in his heart it must have been there all along.

The bitch began to growl, a terrible low whirring that sounded like the moving of gears on a war machine.

"With me," he told her. To the other two he said, "Guard my granddaughter." His voice was so fearsome they shrank away from it.

Pasha's black eyes were bright. Her features moved through several uncertain states as she stepped toward him. "Granda"

"Stay here!" he roared, his voice harder than it had been with the dogs. "Draw the bolt when I have gone and let only those you know in."

The girl's bladder gave way and uringtshot down her dress, splashing at her feetfihe stood still, and pressed her liljjSrcogether very tightly. Her jaw and teeth started doing something behind them, like gnawing, but he did not have the time to comfort her.

The black-and-orange bitch pushed her head into his thigh as she followed him from the solar. The last thing he saw as he closed the door was the remaining two dogs moving to flank his granddaughter. He waited until he heard the charge of the bolt before he and the hound made their way downstairs.

It was full dark now and few torches were burning. Vaylo had left his rushlight in the solar and had to step carefully through the shadows. Below him he was aware of noises, of sharp calls and urgent footsteps and chiming metal. The first person he spotted coming down the stairs was red-haired Midge Pool. The young swordsman was running between the east ward and the west. Vaylo hailed him.

Midge had a lot of freckles, some of them on his lips. "Drybone spotted mounted men to the north. He's raising a party to meet them."

North? The fear ticked softly in Vaylo's chest, seemed almost to turn over and reveal itself for what it really was: recognition. Nothing but the Rift lay to the north. No Dhoonesmen or Hailsmen were out there about to knock down the door. A Bluddsman's true fate lay beyond the simple taking and defending of land and houses. A Bluddsman's true fate lay on the borders.

We are chosen by the Stone Gods to guard them.

"Wait for me," Vaylo commanded Midge Pool.

On their way to the stables, Vaylo arranged the securing of the fort. Aaron was located and sent up to Nan's solar in the company of Mogo Salt. Just as Mogo and Aaron were about to leave the ward, Vaylo stopped them.

"Your father's hammer."

Mogo nodded with understanding and returned to his bedroll, where his gear lay. Like all the men in the fort this day Mogo was a swordsman, but his father Cawdo had been handy with a hammer and he had taught Mogo a thing or two about hatchet-wielding. He had also left him his hammer. Vaylo ill-liked commandeering a man's weapon, but in this case it was not Mogo's primary armament. The five-foot longsword holstered at his back was the weapon Mogo Salt would draw in a melee.

"I don't have the cradle or chains," Mogo said handing the wedge-shaped hammer to his chief.

"Less to rattle," Vaylo said, winking at his grandson. "I thank you, Mogo Salt, son of Cawdo. Fetch Nan. Watch my grandchildren."

Mogo bowed formally at the neck. "Chief."

Vaylo left them, and hurried down the stairs to the stables. He'd lost Midge Pool somewhere along the way but the bitch was still at his heels.

Through a throng of men saddling hfies, checking cinches, and harnessing swords, Vaylo Bludd met gazes with Cluff Drybannock. The flame blue eyes were always a shock. The|Batenseness of them, the fuel that burned there.

"What do we face?" Vaylo asked his fostered son as he came toward him. Drybone was wearing the red wool cloak with the owl-feather collar and the lead weights sewn in to the hem. The opal bands that bound his waist-length hair glowed like coronas around the moon. "Nine mounted. They head from the direction of the Field of Graves and Swords."

Nine. Vaylo looked into the holes at the center of Dry's eyes and saw his worst fears confirmed. He said, "We ride with thirty. I will not leave this fort undefended." His name was Vaylo, not Pengo, Bludd.

"Aye." Cluff Drybannock nodded tersely, went off to make the cull. The wolf dog trotted after him.