A Sword from Red Ice

Gull could have said more, gone on to mention current speculation about the deaths, or the fact that the magistrate was anxious to locate the owner of the farmhouse, but he stopped himself. Something had caught his eye whilst he was speaking and the thought that formed after it set him spinning.

This man had dug up the graves. The dirt was there to see, under his fingertips. The truth was in his copper eyes.

Of course. How else could he know that one of his daughters might still be alive? He would have had to view the remains.

Gull § throat began to ache. What a life this is. What a terrible, terrible life.

Angus Lok regarded Gull with a steady gaze. He had seen Gull glance at his fingernails, watched as the revelation took place behind his eyes. "My daughter's name is Casilyn Lok. We call her Cassie. She's eighteen, tall for her age, with hair" He took a breath to steady himself, "hair the same color as your tavern maid, and hazel eyes."

"I have not seen her." Gull spoke quickly, to kill false hope. "Nor have I heard of a young girl traveling alone."

Angus Lok accepted this, unsurprised. He stood. "One day you may hear of something. If that happens send word to Heritas Cant in Ille Glaive."

"Heritas Cant in Ille Glaive," Gull repeated, anxious to show this man that he did not take the task lightly.

Sheathing the sword in a soft buckskin scabbard, the stranger gave Gull no thanks. Gull had not expected it. He was struck with the idea that this man was on a journey into hell.

And few ever made it back.

"The farmhouse," Gull said, speaking to delay him. "If the magistrate is unable to locate the owner within a year he'll claim it as revenue for the Glaive."

Angus Lok threw on his cloak and made his way toward the door, his last words to Gull Moler, "Let them keep it."

Wind howled across the tavern as he left.