Raif set down the jar of leeches, dragged a blanket from the tent floor, and covered his bare chest. The woolen fabric dragged against the thing on his back and he realized he would have to be careful with clothing from now on. Holes would need to be cut. That made him smile. Grimly.
For some reason then he thought of Mallia Argola. Perhaps it was something to do with the careful way she had mended his Orrl cloak. He imagined the curve between her waist and hips, and the way the fabric of both her dresses had strained across her breasts. Shaking himself, he took a drink from the canteen and then went over to take a look at the Sull horse.
No partition separated the animal space from the human space, though the ground here had been spread with pine boughs. Raif imagined that when the animals soiled, the trappers merely brushed out the branches and spread new ones. A makeshift trough had been dug out of a halved log. The Sull horse kept her head level as he approached but her tail was high and twitching. Raif raised a hand so she could smell it and watched as her de» te black-and-pink nostrils twitched. Easy, girl." She did not make any move toward him, and he did not force it. After a moment he letifcis hand drop.
It was time to go.
Addie came a few minutes later, bringing several folded items and two small sacks. Raif found his boots and Orrl cloak in good order, but his tunic, pants and undershirt were not there.
"Weren't worth the mending," Addie said smartly, about to take no fuss. "Here. These were Gordo's. Good skins. Just a bit stiff, is all."
Raif barely looked at them. "Where's the small brown pouch that was in my tunic?"
"You mean this?" Addie said, fishing into his underarm pack. He pulled out the sleeve containing the stormglass and handed it to Raif. "I didna look to see what was inside."
Raif had not thought for one moment he would. An odd silence followed and Raif tried to understand what, if anything, was happening. The cragsman left the sacks on the ground and went to look at something on the other side of the tent. He might have been checking on blankets.
Suddenly it dawned on Raif. "What do I owe you, Addie?" All the medicines and attention, the shelter, leeches, clothes. The price of Flawless' betrayal of the Sull.
The cragsman stared hard at the blankets piled against the support pole. "You owe me nothing, lad."
"I don't believe that." Raif was surprised by the emotion in his voice. Surprised by how quickly this had become serious between them. Addie had thought Raif had nothing of value, but now he knew the object in the pouch was worth something. And it upset him. Raif remembered back to the negotiation by the campfire, the meager clink of coins in Addie's sock. "How did you pay for all this?"
Finally the cragsman turned and looked at him. "A gold bar. It was my cut for the raid on Black Hole."
Of course. Any meaningful kind of betrayal was always paid for in gold.
Raif slid the stormglass from the sleeve and watched as it sucked in the light. The tent actually grew darker. Holding it out toward Addie, he said, "Take it."
Addie's head was already shaking. "Nay, lad. What's done is done. It's a pretty bauble. Keep it."
You knew when there was no arguing with Addie Gunn. Raif closed his fist around the icy piece of glass. A gold bar was enough for a man to buy himself a piece of land with a building upon it and a half-dozen sheep. The cragsman had given that up. Raif swallowed; there was a soreness in his throat. "I will pay you back, Addie. I swear it."
"I do not accept your oath," he said softly. "Save your word. Do not waste it on a cragsman like me."
His gray eyes met Raifs, and Raif knew something had forever changed between him and Addie Gunn.
Watcher of the Dead. He had nearly forgotten all the things that meant. If the stormglass had been given to Raif Sevrance, son of Tern, Raif knew he would have given it up three days ago when Addie brought out his sock. But the stormglass had been given to Mor Drakka, Watcher of the Dead. And it was not a gift. It was a marker.
Raif slid the piece of glass back into its sleeve and dressed himself in new skins. In one of the sacks he found his daypack, arrows, gear belt, weapon pouch and Traggis Mole's longknife. In the other he found the simple items Addie had first traded for: the medicine herbs, food and tea. He could barely look at them. Locating the scrap of fabric and length of twine that formed the lid of the leech jar, Raif sealed in the black worms. Leaving the jar on the floor for Addie to pick up, he headed outside.
Flawless was sitting on an upturned log by the fire, rubbing some kind of clear fluid into the Sull bow. Raif immediately saw the bow was brighter, bluer. The silver markings beneath the surface rippled like liquid mercury. "Nice work," Flawless said when he saw Raif. "Shoot arrows long way."
Raif wanted to snatch it away from him. Instead he said, "The Red Ice. How far?"
The Trenchlander shrugged. "Couple days. Trade for bow?"
He did take the bow then, yanking it from the old man's clawlike hands. Inches above Raifs heart, the coven of leeches stirred.
Flawless whistled as Raif walked away from the camp.
As he waited for Addie by the first stand of big trees, he tried to work out what time of day it was. The sun was hidden from view by banks of slow-moving clouds, but the light still had some force to it. Not long after noon then. Good. It was above freezing, and the ground snow was full of holes. The air smelled of cedar and damp earth. Raif itched to be gone.
The second bear trapper, the one whom Addie had called Gordo, emerged from the woods not far from where Raif was pacing. He was walking a thick-legged stallion that was carrying something dead on its back. When the trapper saw Raif he raised a hand in greeting, and Raif remembered that the man had been friendly in his own way, eager to talk to Addie about herbs. Raif looked at him but did not wave back.
The carcass slung over the horse's rump was a fine, white-throated doe. Fresh blood oozed from an arrow wound high on her back, just below her neck. One of her rear legs was crushed and older, blacker blood stained the dun-colored fur. The tale told by the two wounds disgusted Raif. The man hadn't even allowed the trapped animal the dignity of a swift death with a well-placed blade. He had shot her from distance with his bow.
Quite suddenly Raif could not bear it and headed off into the woods. Addie Gunn would have to catch up with him.
Watcher of the Dead was on the move.
And he wanted to kill something before he reached the Red Ice.
THIRTY-NINE Spire Vanis
Marafice Eye squinted at the horseman riding at full gallop from his slowly advancing army and thought, If I had any sense I would kill him. Order a mercenary or one-in-seven to loose a nice thick quarrel at the back of his leather-capped head. Whoever had said "Don't kill the messenger" was a fool of the highest order. Kill all messengers and stop all messages: that was wisdom to live by.
"Should I?" Tat Mackelray asked, tapping the small and wicked-looking crossbow that he had taken to wearing in a sling at his waist.
Marafice grunted the word "No." At this point they were so damn close to the city that if they set out to kill everyone who intended to dash ahead of them with news and details of their arrival it would take a considerable toll on the population. Not to mention be a waste of good cross bolts.
News had to have arrived by now. An army with foot soldiers, carts and walking wounded moved at a snails pace. Any codger with a cane could outrun it. Word had probably arrived days back, passing from village to village, tavern to tavern, relayed by teams of professional messengers who'd likely have fresh horses ready at each post. Information like this could earn good money in the Spire. Off the top of his head Maraficc could think of at least six people who would pay gold for it. Exact position, number makeup, condition every detail was worth to own separate purse.