Iceblade Read online

  The abdomen wound seemed clean, with no apparent openings in her guts. That alone was miraculous. We cleaned her up and sewed her shut, then took a rag soaked in rumweed and washed the crushed leg. Selas had effectively tourniqueted Dera's leg and now placed what he would need around the small shape laying on the cook's table in the manor kitchen. Her eyes fluttered open.

  "Ada, my tummy hurts," she said quietly. Her eyes closed again, she didn't see Selas pick up the saw. I turned away.

  "No, girl," he said in his bony voice. "You're to hold her still." I took an involuntary step away from the table. "She may waken," he reminded impatiently. I gritted my teeth, then placed my hands on the undamaged part of her badly damaged right leg, just above her knee. "Lay across her so she won't interfere." Swallowing my anger at her suffering, I obeyed. The old man set the saw against her leg. I closed my eyes. I felt the leg move. I felt Dera jerk beneath me, and she screamed. I wept, holding her down and still. She screamed, but it didn't hide the noises, the sound of her flesh and bone being sawed through.

  "It's all right, little one," I whispered. She couldn't hear me, she was still screaming in agony. "It's all right. It will be over soon. I'm so sorry, baby." I prayed to the Goddess that She would allow me to bear some of the little girl's pain, but the Goddess did not assent.

  "It's done. Hold her while I bandage it up." I looked up against my will. There was less blood than I had expected. He had saved a flap of skin he stitched quickly in place to protect the stump. He packed the stump with clean cobwebs and certain herbs, then bandaged quickly and tightly with clean strips of linen. The little girl was shaking but unconscious when I stood. With trembling fingers I touched her face, speaking without understanding my own words in a low, soothing voice. Selas carried the child from the kitchen up to one of the many bedchambers. This one had no bloodstains. I tucked her in, by now the shaking had stopped, hers and mine, and she was back to whimpering as she exhaled. I felt my throat tighten up hard again, wishing I knew the way of making potions, so I could make something to ease her agony.

  "I'm going to sleep here with her," I said suddenly.

  "Not now, we've got bodies to tend to," Selas snapped.

  "I'm sorry," I managed. The room went black. I felt the air rush past my head but I never felt the ground hit me.

  I dreamed. Again I saw the crow's cloud descend on Judge Tally's fertile field, but this time I watched from above. I followed the black-painted soldiers out across the low hills west of Berowalt. They swept through Lanton, one more small town, no apparent survivors left behind, and camped overlooking their burnt-out handiwork.

  One of the painted soldiers, of high rank by the look of his fine black clothes, approached the unpainted leader. I came to rest with my feet on the ground, looking at myself I saw my body as real but not corporeal, dressed in the same blood-drenched and grubby brown workdress I had fainted in, the firelight and torches not casting their light on me or causing me to cast a shadow. My attention turned back to the painted soldier and his leader. Upon inspection I could see a resemblance between the two, were they family?

  "Another village here, one there, ten in the last week. No survivors, no witnesses," the painted man said. His voice seemed almost like a physical sensation to me, unpleasant and oily.

  "Have you sent out the backwards scouts?" The lean, unpainted man asked in a low, gravely voice. His voice twisted inside me, and even as I loathed him, I felt myself move closer. The physical sensation evoked by the sound of his voice was upsettingly pleasing. "They will testify to the truth of survivors or no." The two men watched a tent four times as large as my cottage being raised, as unaware of my presence as if I were only a bit of drifting smoke. The tent too was black, flying a black pennant marked with red fangs.

  I heard a deep growl behind the two men. "I have sent out the backwards scouts," an inhuman voice rasped. I looked more closely at the speaker. It was a wolverine in form, but stood at least four feet high at the shoulder, far bigger than any wolverine I had heard tell of. The fact that it spoke was also... unusual. "Unfortunately," it continued. "I did have to eat one for insubordination." It seemed to smile, baring long deadly fangs.

  The pale man glanced at it. "I hope he was totally consumed." He appeared unconcerned.

  "Of course," the animal said. "You don't have to remind me that our warriors are not to be seen, alive or as a corpse, whole or in little leftover pieces."

  "Very good, Cur," the pale man said. "Would you like to go down to this village and head the search for survivors?"

  "I do still feel a bit... peckish," the wolverine said. "And of course it will be my honor to serve you." I wondered if the pale man heard the bare thread of sarcasm in its voice.

  After the beast left, the painted man turned his sullen face to his leader. "You can't trust that creature, Tirk," he began, then caught the other man's unblinking gaze. "Iceblade. You can't trust that creature, Iceblade."

  "For now my name is Iceblade. You were there when Mother unleashed her formidable plan, both of us little more than children. She said the God told her I must shuck aside my name and birthright until the High King is beneath my blade, and that I must wreak endless havoc and destruction until that time comes. The enemy who knows my name may be the one who can bring us all to ruin. Mind your tongue, Tirith, brother of Tirk, bastard son of High King Guin and Lord Deirdre of Vansheen. Do not fear I forget my rank or that of my brother."

  "I do not believe in Dagar the Dark God. And I do not believe that Cur is a sign of His blessing. This is not some spiritual pilgrimage. This is a quest only for your rightful heritage as the oldest son of the High King of Dragon's Tooth."

  Tirk turned to face a campfire. The light caught his eyes and I felt my spirit still. The cold, inhuman appearance was gone, and his eyes, palest violet, held intelligence as unusual as his almost hoarse voice. "And you, noble brother, harbor only the loftiest ideals as you aid me in this quest."

  Tirith smiled. Though I could sense an abiding coldness in the leader despite his compelling appearance, his brother held only heated evil. "A newly crowned High King would not forget his... obligations." Tirk set a calm gaze on his painted lackey. Tirith held the gaze for a long moment, then wavered and looked at the ground.

  "Bring me Vankyar," Iceblade said grimly. "And no more foolishness. I know you've been at her, and her mind must be purely on this mission."

  "At her?" Tirith choked out. "She is our mother's half sister and you know I-"

  "I know you. Bring her," Tirk cut him off. His brother turned on his heel and left, returning with a bone-thin, black haired unpainted woman only slightly older than the two brothers. Her eyes, the same medium violet as Tirith's, were wild and bright. She licked her dry lips, and seemed to meet my gaze as I stood near them.

  "You've attracted a spirit, my nephew," she whispered. "It watches us. Perhaps we should not speak in front of it."

  "Can we go where it cannot, Aunt?" Tirk asked dryly. "If indeed one is watching?"

  "Perhaps not," she conceded. Her hands began to pick at her deep purple gown, dirtied along the front by recent meals. She seemed unaware of either the movement of her hands or the disarray of her clothing.

  "What can the dead do, after all?" Tirith added. She laughed. It sounded shattering in the quiet air.

  "Oh, but children! This spirit shall be the match of our dear Iceblade!" She clapped her hands and laughed again. "You could be a love-match." The woman laughed even harder. Tirk calmly reached out and slapped his aunt.

  "Control your mirth, Vankyar," he said with a nearly imperceptible trace of irritation. "You are here to tell us of tomorrow."

  "Oh-ho!" she said. "Vankyar, tell us of tomorrow!" She grinned but did not laugh again. "Two more villages to the north, then in two days, Treowbric, the heart-city of Kenway. It is partially walled, but it will fall without a sound to the High King's ear if your dog Cur and your associate Spider watch for scouts and escapees."

  "Which I will," growl
ed the wolverine. The three conspirators turned to face it. The beast grinned, blood dripping from its greasy maw. "There are no survivors in this village," it added when it saw it had their attention.

  "Good Queen!" Tirith said in disgust. "Clean yourself, animal!" Cur's black glossy eyes brightened and narrowed.

  "Do not think me the only animal in this party, brother of Iceblade." It bared its gory teeth in another grin.

  "The Queen, the Queen!" Vankyar sang. "The watching spirit and Queen Galiena, Goddess of Life, oh, Goddess of Order! But can She end the reign of the crow's army?" The madwoman sought my gaze again. In her eyes I saw a terrible unspoken pain. "Will the crows fall? Will the Iceblade be broken? Let Dagar speak!" The beast Cur turned to follow her gaze and sat, looking in my direction. I could not tell if it saw me or not, if it did, it made no mention of my presence.

  "Tirith," Tirk said, nodding at his aunt, who had begun laughing and sobbing in one breath. The younger man took hold of the woman's arm none too gently and began to lead her away.

  "Dagar, I wait!" she cried, her voice thin and trembling. "The answers begin at the first place! God of Chaos! God of Destruction! Oh, God of Darkness!" She began to laugh again, the sound slipping into the night like a spray of splinters.

  I awoke to daylight and an empty room. The stone floor was cold against my back, but someone had covered me with a heavy, red blanket and placed a soft pillow beneath my head. Slowly I sat up, relieved to find the pain in my head less insistent now. I remembered the dream and stood, unsteady, heading out to find Selas and young Dera.

  They were just outside the manor. Selas was standing near the garden wall, looking in toward Dame Lorenn's roses. Dera lay comfortably on a mattress dragged out into the cool autumn sun, covered with a thick blanket, dozing. I bent over and squeezed her hand, then walked over to Selas.

  Before him in the garden lay three fresh bodies. They appeared to have been done in by crossbow bolts in the back. They were black-clad and black-dyed, though their blood was as red as anyone's.

  "The backwards scouts," I said quietly. "They've been here already."

  Selas looked at me. "You know these people?"

  "I dreamed of them last night. They make sure that there are no survivors left. He'll send more when these ones don't return." I quickly explained my dream to him, he gazed at me with a closed expression. It was almost as if he had half-expected me to know these things, but I had no clue why he would.

  "We'd best be out of this place then, witch's daughter," he muttered. "I'll get back to my home and get some things. We'll move in one hour." I nodded and turned back to the manor.

  I made several trips back and forth between the manor and the pile of supplies I accumulated near Dera's mattress while the girl slept. I gathered up bread and cheese, wine, waterskins, the dried meat stores meant for the coming winter. Healing supplies and bandages, more than we needed, but better too much than too little. Dried fruits and fat. A canvas tent. Many blankets, because it was cold early this year. And a few toys, finer than any Dera had owned, left behind by Dame Lorenn's two children. Thankfully, I did not find the bodies of any of Judge Tally's family. Selas must have moved them or covered them up with the blood-soaked blankets I didn't look under. The Judge had been a generous and kindly man, good to his family, his workers, and his animals, but I had no tears for him. I felt a kind of distant grief, like I would someday catch up to it when I was not so busy.

  In a trunk I found clothes belonging to a smaller man. I am tall for a woman, so they fit me. I took indigo suede leggings, several pairs of woolen socks, a dark green tunic that belted with a wide black sash. I changed out of my brown work dress, dirtied and bloody, and into these more suitable traveling clothes. With hasty fingers, I braided my plain brown hair so it lay flat to my waist, and tucked my precious feather into the sash. I found some warmer clothes for Dera as well, including a fur lined cloak. There were also some battered but sturdy boots that fit me, and some fur-lined slippers, in red, blue, and green, that would fit Dera. I almost grabbed each pair, then sighed and took one slipper of each color.

  In the armory I took two daggers, a crossbow, and all the crossbow bolts I could find. There couldn't be any hope of my being able to adequately use a sword before I would need it to defend us, but the weapons I chose seemed self-explanatory.

  Nothing lived in the stables, and the stench drove me out. The crow soldiers had set the wooden innards of the stone stables on fire and barred the doors. I had no idea how we were going to transport everything I had gathered.

  Dera pushed herself into a semi-sitting position when I sat beside her on the mattress. Forcing myself to lift the blanket and look at the awful space where her leg should be, I saw that the bandage seemed fine. Her abdomen bandage wasn't even bloody. I felt a raw fury pass through me as Iceblade's face appeared in my head. Even as he drew me in with his voice and eyes, I hated him. I wished I could crush him with my bare hands. A child is sacred, and the crow's army had spared none, no matter how small. Dame Lorenn's youngest was only eight months old. If he had been spared, we'd have heard him cry by now. Dera placed her hand on my forearm and I realized that my hands were clenched.

  "It itches, Ada, but it's not bad," she whispered in a hoarse voice. She must have been breathing in the smoke from the burning houses for some time before we found her. She gave me a wavering smile. "I made Selas give you a blanket last night. Did you like it?"

  "Thank you, little one. It kept me very warm." I smiled at her, releasing the anger like steam from my spirit. I could do nothing about that army of murderers until Dera was safe. She lay back, clearly exhausted by her ordeal. "I brought this for you," I added, holding out one of the daggers. She closed her eyes, teeth gritted as if in pain, and refused to take it. "I'm sorry," I whispered and threw it into the grass.

  We watched the old man make his way back over the hills to the east. He had with him a cart and donkey. Even more amazing, he was wearing a superb and well-cared for set of leather-and-ring armor. From his belt hung a short, wide-bladed sword, over his back he wore an hefty battle axe. I raised an eyebrow as he approached.

  "I've always had this donkey," he snapped, pulling the leather helm off his mostly bald head. We lifted Dera off the mattress so we could put it in the back of the cart, then settled her back onto the mattress. I surrounded her with cushions and covered her with the thick blanket she had been using and the one she had chosen for me. She closed her eyes and snuggled in out of the chilly air.

  "I'm more curious about the armor and weapons," I said frankly as we stowed the rest of the gear under the seat and in compartments on the underside of the cart. I handed him a fur lined cloak and pulled on one of my own.

  "They're mine as well," he responded, clamping his mouth shut. He checked the bindings holding supplies under the seat at the front of the cart. "We'd best be going, before more come. Besides the scouts in the rose garden, the fact that I buried some folk in the fields will tip them off that there are survivors, and they'll be after us."

  "We go east," I said. "To the first village destroyed. We'll know what to do then." Selas nodded, and we started off due east, the old man leading the donkey, and me walking beside the cart where I could keep an eye on Dera, in case she awakened and needed me.

  Chapter 2

  On the Move

  We passed through an eerie, silent village, with the feeling hanging over me that I was lost in some oppressive nightmare and everything I saw was just the product of my own delirious mind. There were people and parts of people everywhere, but they weren't moving. They lay scattered and flung about, motionless, empty. Dogs lay beside them, some obviously chewed. I saw a few terrorized cats slink swiftly away as if they, too, were moments of delirium. The silence wasn't complete. Flies and crows were everywhere, heedless of my horror. The rest of the world moved on while I walked on the verge of screaming at a tragedy no fly cared about except as a food source. Dera covered her head and didn't come out for nearly an h
our after we left the shattered village behind us.

  Selas gave us a short rest to eat. My stomach was still twisting from the sight of the last village, so I used this time to check Dera's bandages. They were still clean, there wasn't any new bleeding going on, which was happily shocking. I peeked under the abdomen bandage. The wound seemed to be knitting itself together very quickly. Selas was no needleworker, but his stitches were adequate and the wound itself beneath the stitches looked like it had been healing for a week. At my mother's knee, I'd seen several piercing gut wounds, but I'd never seen one doing as well as Dera's. In fact, a gut wound the size of Dera's, about six inches, generally meant death, and a slow, painful death at that. All my mother could really do in the end was ease the pain as the wounded person passed. Somehow I knew Dera would not suffer too much from her abdomen wound, but I also knew it had nothing to do with me. Something else was responsible for the little girl's swift recovery.

  Very soon we were on the way again. It would have been easy to follow the swathe of destruction, from burning buildings to broad trails of dirt churned up by many horses, left by the crows' army, but it veered off sharply at times and we headed due east. I knew only that we could not stop for long until we reached the first ravaged village. Someone there would know what had to be done next. I have no idea how I knew that there was a survivor, but the knowledge was strong in my head. Selas accepted what I told him silently, but not unquestioningly. I could see in his eyes that he wasn't convinced I wasn't just insane, but he had no better plans. As for myself, I wasn't all too sure I wasn't insane, either. Perhaps this was how my mother felt when she began to get strange messages from somewhere beyond herself. There was so little I knew of her gift. It was important to her to keep me ignorant of it. If she'd known that someday I would need her advice, her knowledge of this strangeness, would she have done any differently?