A Sword from Red Ice

No, he did not. Squatting by the fire, he picked up a birch pole and hooked the brass kettle that was resting on the edge of the coals. There were no cups, so he did not drink, just let his hands warm against the metal. When they were limber enough he set to work. The tension in his bow needed correcting, so he restrung it. Dry air had warped some of his arrows, so he whittled back the shafts. Last night's extreme cold had cracked part of the finish on the Orrl cloak, and Raif wondered if it could be fixed. As he ran his fingers over the surface, little chips of pearlized varnish fell off. Deciding he would need to consult with someone who knew about such things, he set the cloak aside and began oiling his leather goods instead. From time to time, out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of the lamb brothers moving around the camp. One went to consult with the man butchering the mule carcass, stayed for a while and then left. Raif thought it was probably Tallal. Later the same brother crossed to the corral and tended the ewe. It looked as if he were washing her mouth and teeth. No one approached the fire.

After a while Raif stopped and ate. Gluey rolls made of wheat and whey were warming in the cookpot. Curds of sheep's cheese with chunks of dried apricot stuffed inside made them taste both salty and sweet. The kettle was cooler now so he lifted it above his head and poured the sharp, greenish tea into his mouth. The movement sent a spasm of pain through his left shoulder.

When he was ready, Raif stood and made his way to Tallal's tent. In the eleven days that he'd been here he had learned many small things about the lamb brothers. One was the protocol for entering another's tent. Bending, Raif scooped a handful of pumice from the ground. With a light movement he threw the sand against the tent wall.

"Come," came Tallal's voice after a moment. It was telling that he had not spoken in his own tongue.

Raif entered the dim smokiness of the tent. Smudge lamps suspended from longbones ringed the room at waist height, giving off dull red light. Raif had not been in any other tent beside his own, and the differences drew his eye. Lambskins overlapped across the floor. The curve of a painted chest perfectly matched the curve of the tent and sat snug against the wall. There was no mattress, only a nest of thin yellow cushions piled around the central support. Hanging from the ceiling by lengths of wool thread were dozens of small leather pouches. Raif had to duck to avoid knocking them with his head.

Tallal was kneeling on one of the lambskins. His head was bare, the hood placed on a little bone stool by the door. Surprised, Raif hesitated to move farther into the tent.

"Sit," bid Tallal. "Look."

Holding his chin high, he watched Raif look at him. Proud, that was Raif's first thought. Tallal's black hair was cropped close to his skull. His cheekbones were wide and prominent and his brown lips were full. The three black dots above his nose were repeated on his chin, Just as with Farli, Tallal was younger than Raif had thought. Not young exactly, but far from old. Tallal's deep dark eyes with their strangely bluish whites tracked every shift in Raifs gaze. "Would you like to see my teeth?"

Raif thought Tallal might be gently mocking him, but couldn't be sure. "No."

Tallal bowed hid head gravely. "Eat," he said, indicating a silver platter no bigger than Raif's hand that was neatly laid with spiced nuts.

Recognizing the formality of a long-practiced custom, Raif slipped a nut into his mouth. It was sharp and salty, like the sea. After he swallowed, he surprised himself by asking, "Why did you butcher the mule?"

'Ten is an unlucky number for my people."

Raif thought back to his first conversation with Tallal when the lamb brother told him there were eleven in the party. His headcount had included the animals. So they were nine now.

"It is the number of the Dark One's children," Tallal continued. "Whenever ten are gathered it draws His eye."

But we are ten, Raif thought. Including me.

Tallal watched as the implications of his statement finally dawned on Raif.

"You knew I would leave today?"

"We hoped."

Raif took a breath and held it. The smoke from the lamps burned his throat. Of course they wanted him to go: they had seen what he was.

Tm sorry about your brother."

Tallal did not blink. "So are we."

Raif stood. Pouch things swung wildly around his head.

"You cannot leave," Tallal said. "You do not know how."

He was right.

Rising, the lamb brother removed his hood from the stool and offered the seat to Raif.

He hadn't brushed against a single pouch, Raif noticed, sitting. "What's in them?" he asked, jerking his head toward the roof.

"Souls."

Raif closed his mouth, looked up at the plain brown-and-tan pouches and then looked away.