A Sword from Red Ice

"Finally they arrived at the Valley of Cold Mists. 'Here; the Outlanders said, 'is where their armies will rise. My people had heard those words many times before and did not believe them. My people made a mistake. The wralls rose that night in vast hordes. Their armies spread across the horizon like the sea. My people were caught unawares in their sleep. As quickly as they took up their bows and spears they were ridden down, run through with blades as dark as the night. The histories tell of many dread beasts that could not be killed by men. Even the Outlanders with their forged steel could not match the wrall kings. My people were slaughtered. The Outlanders were decimated, down to their last thousand when the raven lord rode through. The raven lord was not one of us and our histories do not record his name or his people. We know he wielded a sword that was as black as well water, and that he used it to slay a wrall king.

"After the battle ended the raven lord was dead. He had driven back the wrall hordes but his body was broken, ravaged by many cuts. The few Outlanders who still lived walked to high ground and slept, and in the morning when they awoke they found the valley below had been flooded and frozen. A lake of red ice now lay in place of the battlefield, and every man and every beast who had died there was now frozen beneath the ice."

Raif shivered. As Tallal had been speaking, a gusting wind had set the leather pouches rocking overhead. They rocked now, out of time with each other, swinging like pendulums back and forth. I need to think, but Tallal didn't plan on giving him time.

"When the lamb brothers heard this tale from Meesa they began to keen. Thousands of our souls lost, taken by the wralls and impossible to reclaim. Meesa told them to quiet their grieving for the souls had not been claimed by the Dark Lord. The souls were frozen with their bodies and as long as the lamb brothers found them while the ice still held we could claim them and set them free."

Tallal looked at Raif, looked into the substance beyond his eyes. "Last night, Raif Sevrance, you showed us what we must do when we find those bodies: we must destroy them as soon as they are released from the ice. It is not a lesson that pleases us, for our most sacred law prohibits the desecration of the dead: God asks that when we come to Him we be whole."

Raif bowed his head. He could not look anymore at the sorrows revealed in the lamb brother's eyes. "How do you know the ice is still frozen?"

"We hope."

More sorrow there. Remembering the patterns on the prayer mats, the raven pecking at the ice, Raif said, "You search for this place, the Valley of Cold Mists." It was not a question. Understanding was coming. The lamb brothers' purpose was not the same as his own, but there was a point where they intersected. The Red Ice. That was why Tallal had led with the sword. It had seemed to come out of nowhere, the lamb brothers concern for his blade. Now Raif saw it for what it was, a carrot to lead him to the other side. Tallal sought to recruit him to the search.

Stirred but cautious, Raif said, "All was frozen, good and bad?" Tallal nodded.

"What happens if the ice melts? Would the Unmade … the wralls … come back to life?"

"I do not know."

If was not a reassuring answer. Raif moved on. "You are sure the sword is there?"

"Yes, frozen on the raven lord's chest. It is said that it was once wielded by Sull kings."

Raif licked dry lips. "What made the valley flood?"

Tallal shook his head.

"And you do not know where it is?"

The lamb brother glanced at the tent flap, at the thin sliver of light coming through. "We believe it lies in the north of this continent. East, west, center: we are unsure."

"You hope for help," Raif said, thoughts still forming, "yet you do not want me in your party."

Ten is an unlucky number."

"With the mule it would have been eleven." Raif was surprised at the heat in his voice. "Why will you not have me?"

Tallal's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. Absently, he reached up and steadied one of the leather sacks that was still swinging. "You may not much like the answer."

Raif had not imagined he would. "Tell me."

"Two of our party are dead. You killed neither but you drew their deaths as honey draws the sand flies." Tallal stood and lifted a small glazed jug from the floor of the tent. Walking the circle of smudge lamps, he poured a drop of oil in each one. "If you journey with our party we fear more deaths. The lamb brothers do not judge you, for we are taught all creatures born of God have a purpose, but the path you walk is dark. The raven must feed."

One by one the smudge lamps sizzled, releasing the crushed-grass odor of wormwood. Raif wondered if it was mildly poisonous, like the drink. Even though he had guessed what Tallal might say, it was not easy to hear it. When people learned what he was and what he could do would they always push him away? What of the Maimed Men-would they be any different?