A Sword from Red Ice

He did not even warn me to keep up my side of the bargain and I release his grandson and armsman as agreed. He simply expects it be done. That act of trust buoyed Bram as he hiked up the hillside toward Guy and Jordie.

The heavyset armsman looked uneasy as Bram approached. His knife had been lowered for some time, but his grip was unrelaxed. Poorly outfitted in a shaggy cloak, boiled-wool pants and a deerhide tunic, he was soaked through and dripping. His warrior queue was not nearly as magnificent as his chiefs. Early balding had seen to that. Bram said, "My name's Bram Cormac. What will I call you?" "I'm Haimish Faa of the Bludd-Faas. Most people call me Hammie." The armsman spoke with a soft backcountry accent, and Bram guessed he was younger than he looked. Sometimes it was hard to tell when a man was plump and balding.

"Hammie. Why don't you bring out the boy and go and sit with him on the ridge while we wait" "Aye, sir."

Bram had never been called sir in his life. It wasn't right, and he would have said so if he hadn't realized that right now Hammie Faa wanted to believe in him. His own safety and the safety of Vaylo's grandson depended on it.

I.caving the armsman to lift the small boy from the bushes, Bram crossed to where Jordie was binding Guy's foot Jordie had just taken off his greathelm, and his face had that pink, steamed look of something left too long in the tub. He said nothing at Bram's approach, but smiled gently, letting Bram know that everything that had happened was just fine with Jordie Sarson. Bram felt absurdly grateful. He liked Jordie. The young axman was one of Robbie's favored companions, yet he had none of the arrogance that usually went hand in hand with the blue cloak.

"You're not just going to let them stand there," Guy Morloeh said, gesturing toward Hammie Faa and the boy from hit seat atop Jordie gray stallion.

"No. You're right. I should take them a blanket to sit on." Guy snorted harshly. "Think you're so clever, don't you? Negotiating with the Dog Lord." He made his voice mince like a girls. "You do this and I'll do that and we'll all have tea and oatcakes when we're done."

"Guy, stop" Jordie tried to defend Bram, but Guy simply overran him.

"And as for you, Jordie Sarson. Hog-tie the fattie and the boy. I'm hauling them back to Dhoone."

Jordie's mouth fell open. After a moment of consideration he shook his head. "I won't do it, Guy. We both heard the agreement— Bram gave his word."

"Bram! What does he know. His mother was a rabbit-catcher from Gnash."

"It doesn't matter, Guy. When a Dhoonesman gives his word he gives … "Jordie struggled a moment. "His soul."

All three of them fell quiet. The sudden drop in temperature had made the mud begin to steam, and as Bram walked to his mare he could feel icy tendrils creeping up his thighs. Shivering, he took his sleeping roll from the harness. He could feel Guy watching him, and knew it was only a matter of time before the Castleman spoke. There was nothing Guy could do about the mutiny—without Jordie's help he couldn't even mount a horse—yet he had to assert his authority somehow. "Boy. Move yourself and find my gelding."

Bram nodded. "After the agreed time has passed and I've released the hostages."

Guy didn't like this answer very much, but he had the sense not to challenge it and risk a second mutiny. The skin on the Castleman's face was gray and slack, and he was shaking in short bursts. Dark blood was seeping through the woolen bandage on his foot. "Fine, but if you can't find head nor tail of him I'll take the mare in payment.”

"Here," Bram said to Jordie a few moments later, handing the axman a leather-bound flask. "Unbind Guy's bandage and clean out the wound with this.When you're done smear the wound with beef tallow before binding it. And give him a dram of malt before vou start."

'Thanks, Bram." Jordie grinned in relief. Doctoring was beyond him. Guy simply looked disgruntled and said nothing.

Bram cairied the blanket and a few other items to Hammie Faa. Vaylo Bludd grandson shied behind Hammie's chunky legs as the Dhoonesman who had threatened him with a sword drew near. He had to be about seven, Bram reckoned. Skinny as a stalk with large hands and a large head. "What's your name?"

When the boy made no reply Hammie elbowed him gently. "Come on, lad. When a clansman asks a question, you answer."

"Aaron Bludd," the boy said at last, not looking Bram in the eye. "But I'm known as Arrow."

Hammie lifted an eyebrow toward Bram as if to say, That's the first I've heard of that, but he allowed the boy his dignity and did not contradict him.

"I brought a few things. Salt beef. Cheese. Hardtack." Bram handed the armsman a small package, hastily wrapped in one of his old nightshirts. "And there's a couple of honeycakes." He hesitated, suddenly shy. "For the lady."