A Sword from Red Ice

Bev accepted her words with a solemn nod. Taking his leave, he headed down the drafty stairs, doubtless making his way toward the greathearth and the sworn clansmen who were gathering there.

Raina held herself steady until he was long out of sight She breathed and did not think, refilling. Time passed. Sounds of men calling out, children laughing, dogs barking, axes splitting wood, doors opening and closing, and footsteps, thousands of footsteps, filtered up to the top of the house. Someone exited the widows' wall, passing her right by. A gust of wind spiraling up the stair brought the scent of fried onions and grilled lamb chops.

That made her move. Hungry, she descended the stairs. As always when she reached the lower levels of the roundhouse she had to cover her distaste. Once clean, echoing corridors had been turned into filthy camps. Scarpemcn and their women continued to burn their foul oil lamps, let their mangy house dogs run wild, and squat and shit in open view. A group of Scarpewives were feasting on lamb chops, sopping up the gravy with Anwyn's fresh bread. Raina averted her gaze as she passed them but not before she saw what they were drinking: Gat Murdock's Dhooneshine. She would know that old goat's bottles anywhere: he'd filched them from her ten years ago. Four brown-and-tan glazed toppers that had once been filled with womanly unctions. Dagro had bought them for her during a clanmeet in Ille Glaive. She'd long been reconciled to the fact that Gat Murdock had claimed them. Gat was Gat, and every clan had someone like him. This was different. This was theft. Never in a million years would Gat let strangers drink his brew. Generosity was a concept the aging swordsman had never grasped. No. Someone had found, fancied and stolen it.

A Scarpe. They were like termites, eating away at Blackhail's house, undermining its foundations. Raina considered turning back and wresting the Dhooneshine out of the Scarpewives' bony hands. Five of them against one of her? Probably not the best idea. Even if she won, dignity would be lost. News of the chiefs wife in a scrum with a bunch of Scarpers would provide the roundhouse with enough delighted gossip to last a week.

She hurried on. When she reached the ground floor, she found the fifteen-foot-high clan door drawn open and a crowd of tied and sworn clansmen milling around the entrance hall. Black, muddy snow carried in on boot soles had slickened the floor and grown men were slipping. Stepping back up the stairs, Raina searched for a friendly face. From the looks of things a messenger had arrived. A slender young clansman wearing a marmot-fur hat and a coat caked in road dirt appeared to be the center of attention. Spying the misshaped head of Corbie Meese, Raina beckoned the hammerman over.

"What's happening?" she asked as Corbie wended his way through the crowd.

Corbie was wearing the fine gray wool cloak his wife Sarolyn had made for him. Designed to be worn over battle armor and a full complement of weapons, it had taken three bolts of cloth to finish. When he moved it looked like his shadow. "Jamsie's come from Duff's. The Dhoonehouse has been taken by Robbie Dun Dhoone. Pengo Bludd's seized control of Withy, and is marching an army south to meet the city men."

Raina blinked. This was news. In the days since the Sundering Blackhail had grown inward, an animal licking its wounds. Yet the world didn't stop when a guidestone shattered. Here was proof. Struggling to make sense of what she'd just heard she said, "I thought Withy was already controlled by Bludd."

"It was. Hanro the Dog Lord's fourth son, has held it for the past three months. Seven days back Skinner Dhoone launched an assault-probably fancied Withy as a base to retake Dhoone. Looked like he might claim it, then along comes Pengo with his big army and crushes Skinner against the walls of the Withyhold. Jamsie says it was a bloodbath. Eight hundred Dhoonesmen dead. No word yet on Skinner. Some whisper he fled the field."

Raina went to touch the powdered guidestone at her waist and had to stop herself. The guidestone was dead: there was no comfort for her there. "Why didn't Robbie send men to reinforce his uncle?"

Corbie made a hard sound in his throat. "Robbie Dun Dhoone's a cold one. Rumor is that he planned it that way. While Skinner was busy attacking the Withyhoid, Robbie was free to steal a march on Dhoone."

"No." Raina couldn't quite believe it. No clansman would knowingly send fellow clansmen to their deaths. It was evil, and the Stone Gods would not pardon it.

Corbie nodded solemnly, following her thoughts. "Pray he never becomes our ally."

Raina would.

"Pengo's seized control of the Withyhold," the hammerman continued. "He's older than Hanro and higher in the pecking order. Jamsie says he hasn't let the grass grow. Couple of days to rest his crew and he headed out for Ganmiddich."

"Dear Gods. That was fast."