A Sword from Red Ice

So Bram had watched. When the Dog Lord had lunged forward to stab Guy Morloch's foot, Bram had spotted a movement. Immediately the motion stilled, but it was too late. Bram was known for his eyes. When riding out in company he'd lost count of the times when Robbie or someone else had turned to him and said, "Tell me what you see, boy." During the retaking of Dhoone, Robbie had waited to give the order to charge until Bram confirmed that only one of the Thorn Towers appeared manned. Even this very night it had been Bram who spotted the cloak thrown over the bush, Bram who was convinced he saw the gleam of eye whites deep within the shadow canes. Neither Guy nor Jordie had wanted to stop. They had a task to complete and were anxious to be done with it, Jordie was simply eager to return to the excitement of the Dhoonehouse where Robbie had created an atmosphere charged with gravity and purpose. Where as Guy had made no secret of the fact that he thought the task beneath him. Indeed, if it hadn't been for the fact that Robbie Dun Dhoone had asked for a personal favor, the Milkman would not be here this night, Guy Morloch was nobody's nursemaid. When Bram had forced a halt on the mud slope, stating his belief that someone was hiding in the blackthorns, Guy had punched a gloved fist through the rain. "We have no time malingering, boy. If we stop to investigate every shepherd taking a piss between here and the Milkhouse we won't be done until spring,"

Brain had nodded slowly, not expecting much else. He had used the time while Guy was speaking to study the bushes more closely. The cloak was brown as mud, but as the rain beat down on it some of the grime was washed away. After a few seconds he said, " I think the cloak is red."

It was enough to turn the party around to investigate. Red was the color of sunrise and sunset, raw iron and raw meat, eyes stung by woodsmoke and thoughts stung by anger. Red was the color of Bludd.

"Drop the spear," Bram shouted to the Dog Lord. His voice sounded small and puny to his ears, and it had clearly cracked over the word spear. To make up for it Bram stabbed at the blackthorns with his sword. "Now!"

The Dog Lord didn't move. Bram could see him thinking. The Bludd chief's portion of guidestone hung from his waist in a hollowed-out ram's horn sealed with a cap of crimsoned lead. His lore was suspended beneath it: three dog claws strung on a flax twine. Bram wondered about that. Three dog claws, yet the Dog Lord always commanded five dogs. Whenever one of the five died it was immediately replaced. Bram risked glancing over at the bitch that had been trampled by Guy's horse. The creature lay on its side in the mud. It was seizing, its chest and front legs jerking feebly as green mucus bubbled from its mouth. It would have to be killed, Bram realized. The Dog Lord would need a new dog.

"I canna set the spear down, lad," the Dog Lord said at last, "until matters are settled between us."

Bram was struck by how reasonable Vaylo Bludd now sounded. The spear he held was still clearly trained on Guy Morloch—one swift lunge and the Castleman would be dead—but something fundamental within the Dog Lord had changed. He was neither threatening nor threatened. His gaze did not stray once to the place were his grandchildren were concealed.

Bram had maneuvered his mare so he was almost directly above them. He could clearly see the boy and the girl, obviously brother and sister from their striking dark looks. They were shielded by a gray-haired Bluddswoman who clutched them tightly to her sides. The woman held a foot-long maiden's helper in her right hand, but Bram's new sword was four times that length and she had the sense not to engage him. Bram could see where one of the thorns had pierced her cloak at the shoulder. A perfect circle of blood was spreading through the wool. Seeing it, Bram recalled the tale told about Bluddwives: They would kill themselves and their children rather than risk falling into enemy hands. Something stoic and watchful in the woman's lined face made him believe she was capable of such an act.

Oh gods. What have 1 started? Bram felt the beginnings of despair. He wished suddenly to be gone, to ride away from the frightened faces of Vaylo Bludd's grandchildren and the jerking body of the dog, ride north as far as he could, past Dhoone and across the Rift Valley, right into the heart of the Want.

It was the sword. The damn sword.

He could barely look at it. "Bludd chief. Lay down your weapon or I'll cut the girl." Bram hardly knew where the words came from, but some anger meant for his brother made them sound like the real thing.

The Dog Lord must have heard it too, for although he didn't drop the spear, he raised its point so that it was no longer directly threatening Guy Morloch. "Lets not do anything hasty, lad. We're both here to protect our own."

"Run the brats through, Bram," Guy Morloch cried from the mud. "Don't listen to a word he says."