Raif shivered. He decided to stay on course, but could not say why. At his side, Bear blew air at force through her nostrils, forming two white clouds. The little pony had been bred to live at high elevations in the far north. Her coat was thick and wiry and her leg hair formed shaggy skirts around her hoofs. She would probably fare better than him, but he wasn't taking any chances. He unrolled her blanket and threw it across her back. As he fastened the toggles beneath her belly he contemplated for the first time having to kill her. He would place his sword here, well below her rib cage, and thrust up through her first and second stomachs to her heart. It was the swiftest death he could give, the instant cessation of blood pumping from her heart to her brain.
Heart-kill, it was called. All hunters aspired to it: that perfectly placed, perfectly powered, blow that would stop all animals in their tracks.
Oh gods. Why am I even thinking of this? Straightening up, Raif slapped Bear's rump, encouraging her to walk on.
For a while after that he did not think, simply walked. They fell into a rhythm, Bear matching him exactly in speed and rate of climb. Occasionally she would nudge him. Sometimes he nudged her back. As he walked he savored the pleasure of working his body hard and forcing his lungs to expand against his chest wall. It could last only so long. They had no water, and he had no choice but to consider his responsibility to Bear. She was his animal. He owed her food, water, shelter and safety. In the event of injury or sickness he owed her a swift death. Tern, his father, would have stood for no less. "You have an animal, Raif—I dont care whether it's a dog or a horse or a one-legged flying squirrel—it gets fed before you. get fed, watered before you drink, and if it's sick you take care of it." Even then as a boy of eight he had understood all that his father had meant by "taking care of it."
Raif held himself back a moment, let Bear walk ahead of him on the trail. He wished it were that simple. Wished that he hadn't felt a small thrill of anticipation as he contemplated running his sword through the hill pony's heart.
Kill an army for me, Raif Sevrance, Death had commanded him. Any less and I just might call you back.
Ice cracked down as they headed Want-west along the bluff. Clouds disappeared, abandoning a sky that had grown perfectly blue. The landscape clarified. Rocks, mountains, even the distant horizon became sharper and more easy to read. The wind had died some time back and the air was diamond clear. Raif could see for leagues in every direction, and spun round to take it all in. He saw a vast dead volcano rise from the valley floor, saw boulders as big as roundhouses strewn across a dry lake bed, spied thousands of gray stumps rising from the headland, a forest of petrified trees, and spotted a deep flaw in the landscape where a vast shield of rock had been pushed up by underground forces. None of it was familiar. And there was no telltale glint of water.
Raif licked his lips and winced in pain. He wondered if they'd turned black. It had to be midday by now and he hadn't had a drink since dawn. The day before he had allowed himself only a cup of water. Time was running out on him. He knew some of the dangers of dehydration from his time spent on longhunts. There was little freshwater to be had in the badlands of Blackhail. The majority of standing pools and lakes were brackish, thick with minerals percolated from the bedrock. Running water was little better, mostly sulfur springs salt licks and leachfields. A man had to be sure where his next drink was coming from. Dehydration could make your eyesight deteriorate and your muscles cramp, and just like the cold it could play tricks with your mind and have you seeing things that weren't there. Raif smiled grimly. One way or other he would likely be insane by the end of the day.
Giving in to his thirst, he held the limp waterskin above his head and squeezed a few drops into his mouth. His tongue felt big and clumsy, barely able to register the wetness of the water. Bear, noticing the waterskin was in use, trotted over and butted his chest. He shook the skin. So little liquid was left that it didn't make a sound. Raif glanced at his sword.
Not yet.
Prying open Bear's jaw, he thrust the waterskin spout deep into her mouth and then collapsed the skin with force, ejecting the last of the water. He was taking no chances: Bear was a sloppy drinker.
His spirits lifted after that. Bear's wounded expression made him laugh. The sun was shining. He could even see where he was going-no small mercy in the Want. The bluff gradually broadened into headland and they began to make good time. Directly ahead the mountain ridge loomed closer and Raif could now see that its lower slopes were mounded gravel. He tried not toilet that bother him. Experience had taught him that climbing loose stone banks was hard work. Still, it would keep them warm.
And make them sweat. Raif blinked, and noticed for the first time that his eyes felt no relief. He was out of tears.
What are we going to do?|
Three days back they'd passed a narrow canyon that had contained ice. The frozen liquid had been the color of sheep urine, and he just couldn't bring himself to pick it. Water hadn't seemed like much of a problem then. One thing the Want never seemed short of was ice. Now he would give anything to return to that canyon…but in the Want there was no going back.
Raif scratched Bear's ear. There was nothing to do but carry on.
As the day wore on the cold deepened. Hoarfrost glittered on every rock face and loose stone. Raif's fingers began to ache and the tip of his nose grew raw from constant rubbing—ice formed every time he took a breath. Bear's muzzle had to be removed. Metal was a lightning rod for frostbite and could not be left resting against skin. The hill pony seemed grateful enough to be free of the bit, but Raif could tell she was growing listless. Instead of walking abreast of him, she had fallen behind, and she was becoming less particular about her footing. Twice now she had stumbled when a front hoof had come down on loose scree.
It wasn't long before their pace began to slow. Raif lagged, allowing Bear to catch up with him. He leaned into her and she leaned into him, and they bumped against each other with each step. The corners of Bear's mouth were in a bad way—the edges crusted with little red sores—and her tongue had started to swell. Raif s throat was swollen. When he swallowed, saliva no longer filled his mouth. His teeth were so dry they felt like stones. The worst thing was the drifting. He caught himself doing it from time to time, allowing his thoughts to float away, light as air. He thought of his little sister, Effie, of her shy smiles and serious gaze. He and Drey had taught her to read, though neither of them had been scholars so they probably hadn't done a very good job. She'd probably overcome it. Effie Sevrance was smarter than both of them combined. How old would she be now? She had been eight when he left the roundhouse. It upset him wheal he couldn't decide whether she was still eight or had turned nine.
And then there was Drey. There was always Drey. An image of his older brother came to Raif immediately, the one that never went away, the one of Drey on the greatcourt that winter morning, stepping forward when no one else would. I will stand second to his oath. The words burned Raif even now. He had broken that oath and shamed his clan. Yet the worst was that he'd let down Drey. Drey…
Raifs thoughts drifted into a dark place. Falling, he thought of the men he had killed: some named and many nameless. Bluddsmen, city men, the lone Forsworn knight in a redoubt filled with death. Thirst followed him down, gnawing, gnawing, like a rat at the back of his throat. His lips had shriveled to husks and when he smiled at something playing in the darkness they cracked and bled. Pain brought him back. Blinking like a man shaken suddenly awake, Raif looked around. The Want had shifted. Something subtle had changed, a rotation of perspective or a shortening of distance: he could not decide which. The mountain ridge that they'd been heading toward all day was now upon them, looming dark and rugged and barren. Part of Raif had been hoping to find glaciers in the high valleys but from here he could tell that he'd badly misjudged the ridge's ele-vation. What he'd imagined were mountains were little more than spine-backed hills.