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Authors: J. V. Jones
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two Scarpewives as she passed them.
She was bold and she was right. Raina raised a
hand and rubbed her temples. Her head was beginning to hurt. Of
course she agreed with Merritt. How could she not? As she stood here
waiting to see who would come through the door, she could smell the
foreign cookery, see the weasel-pelted Scarpe warriors gathering to
discover who had returned and why, and feel the oily smoke from their
pine-resin cook stoves passing through the membranes in her lungs.
Now was not the time to take action against them, though. Why
couldn't Merritt see that? The Hailstone had exploded, taking the
heart of the clan with it. The Hailhouse was no longer secure. There
was no clan guide. Blackhail was at war with Bludd and Dhoone, and
right now, like it or not, most warriors were loyal to their chief.
Realizing she was pressing her head when she
should have be rubbing, Raina flung her arm up and out. If Dagro had
taught her one thing it was caution, and caution told her to wait for
a better time show her hand. It was all very well for Merritt to play
at making a stand. In reality she wouldn't have the nerve to repeat
to Mace what she just said. No, she was banking on Raina Blackhail
doing the dirty work for her, delivering a nasty little message to
the chief.
Well I won't do it, dammit. Raina stamped her
foot, crunching debris from the Sundering beneath the heel of her
boot. Now all she had to do was come up with a plan. Surely the tenth
one she'd needed this week.
Raina's mind slid from her problems as she saw who
walked through the doorway. Arlec Byce and Cleg Trotter, two of the
original Ganmiddich eleven who had held the Crab Gate for over a week
whilst the Crab chief returned from Croser, entered the roundhouse.
Saddle-bowed and weary, the two men shied back when the smoke from
the cookfires reached them. Arlec's twin brother had been dead for
many months, killed by the Bludd chief himself on Bannen Field, and
Raina still wasn't used to seeing him alone. He was wearing his
betrothed's token around his throat: a gray wool scarf, knitted
lovingly if rather hastily, by Biddie Byce. When Arlec noticed
Raina's gaze upon him, he bowed his head wearily and said, "Lady."
Raina smiled gently at him, knowing better than to
inquire at his return. Whatever news he held must be first revealed
to his chief. Ullic Scarpe and Wracker Fox, two of the Scarpe
warriors crowding around the door, knew no such discretion and began
blasting the pair with questions. Big Cleg Trotter, son to
gentle-mannered Paille and the first-ever warrior in his family, had
no experience with interrogation and after frowning several times and
trying unsuccessfully to ignore the Scarpes, he blurted it all out.
"Drey sent us with word. He needs
reinforcements. Ganmiddich's under attack—by city men!"
An excited murmur passed through and then beyond
the room. Within exactly a minute, Raina reckoned, everyone in the
entire roundhouse would know the news. Ganmiddich under attack by
city men. Would the ill tidings never stop?
"Arlec, Cleg."
Gooseflesh erupted on Raina's arms and shoulders
at the sound of her husband's voice. Mace Blackhail the Hail Wolf,
had emerged from his parley in the greathearth. Dressed in
Scarpe-dyed suede tunic embossed with wolf fangs, he took the stone
stairs swiftly, without sound. Already aware that the chance for
secrecy had been lost, he fired off his first question.
"Which city?"
Cleg swallowed nervously. Arlec spoke. "Spire
Vanis."
A murmur of fear darkened the room. This was not
the answer all had expected. It was no secret that Ille Glaive, the
City on the Lake, had long had its eye on the wealthy border clans,
but Spire Vanis? What were the Spire King and his army doing so far
north?
If Mace was surprised he did not show it. Nodding
once he said "And their numbers?"
Cleg swallowed again. His lore was the red-footed
goose and he wore what might have been one of their desiccated feet,
hooked through a ring
She was bold and she was right. Raina raised a
hand and rubbed her temples. Her head was beginning to hurt. Of
course she agreed with Merritt. How could she not? As she stood here
waiting to see who would come through the door, she could smell the
foreign cookery, see the weasel-pelted Scarpe warriors gathering to
discover who had returned and why, and feel the oily smoke from their
pine-resin cook stoves passing through the membranes in her lungs.
Now was not the time to take action against them, though. Why
couldn't Merritt see that? The Hailstone had exploded, taking the
heart of the clan with it. The Hailhouse was no longer secure. There
was no clan guide. Blackhail was at war with Bludd and Dhoone, and
right now, like it or not, most warriors were loyal to their chief.
Realizing she was pressing her head when she
should have be rubbing, Raina flung her arm up and out. If Dagro had
taught her one thing it was caution, and caution told her to wait for
a better time show her hand. It was all very well for Merritt to play
at making a stand. In reality she wouldn't have the nerve to repeat
to Mace what she just said. No, she was banking on Raina Blackhail
doing the dirty work for her, delivering a nasty little message to
the chief.
Well I won't do it, dammit. Raina stamped her
foot, crunching debris from the Sundering beneath the heel of her
boot. Now all she had to do was come up with a plan. Surely the tenth
one she'd needed this week.
Raina's mind slid from her problems as she saw who
walked through the doorway. Arlec Byce and Cleg Trotter, two of the
original Ganmiddich eleven who had held the Crab Gate for over a week
whilst the Crab chief returned from Croser, entered the roundhouse.
Saddle-bowed and weary, the two men shied back when the smoke from
the cookfires reached them. Arlec's twin brother had been dead for
many months, killed by the Bludd chief himself on Bannen Field, and
Raina still wasn't used to seeing him alone. He was wearing his
betrothed's token around his throat: a gray wool scarf, knitted
lovingly if rather hastily, by Biddie Byce. When Arlec noticed
Raina's gaze upon him, he bowed his head wearily and said, "Lady."
Raina smiled gently at him, knowing better than to
inquire at his return. Whatever news he held must be first revealed
to his chief. Ullic Scarpe and Wracker Fox, two of the Scarpe
warriors crowding around the door, knew no such discretion and began
blasting the pair with questions. Big Cleg Trotter, son to
gentle-mannered Paille and the first-ever warrior in his family, had
no experience with interrogation and after frowning several times and
trying unsuccessfully to ignore the Scarpes, he blurted it all out.
"Drey sent us with word. He needs
reinforcements. Ganmiddich's under attack—by city men!"
An excited murmur passed through and then beyond
the room. Within exactly a minute, Raina reckoned, everyone in the
entire roundhouse would know the news. Ganmiddich under attack by
city men. Would the ill tidings never stop?
"Arlec, Cleg."
Gooseflesh erupted on Raina's arms and shoulders
at the sound of her husband's voice. Mace Blackhail the Hail Wolf,
had emerged from his parley in the greathearth. Dressed in
Scarpe-dyed suede tunic embossed with wolf fangs, he took the stone
stairs swiftly, without sound. Already aware that the chance for
secrecy had been lost, he fired off his first question.
"Which city?"
Cleg swallowed nervously. Arlec spoke. "Spire
Vanis."
A murmur of fear darkened the room. This was not
the answer all had expected. It was no secret that Ille Glaive, the
City on the Lake, had long had its eye on the wealthy border clans,
but Spire Vanis? What were the Spire King and his army doing so far
north?
If Mace was surprised he did not show it. Nodding
once he said "And their numbers?"
Cleg swallowed again. His lore was the red-footed
goose and he wore what might have been one of their desiccated feet,
hooked through a ring
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