The Red Ice. The Valley of Cold Mists. Mish'al Nij. The place where he was headed had many names. North, the Trenchlander had said, seeming to think that was instruction enough. Thomas Argola had been even less helpful. "The Lake of Red Ice exists at the border of four worlds and to break it you must stand in all four worlds at once." Raif had found the words so vague and self-important that he had barely thought of them since. To him they were just another of Argola's games.
Yet now he went over them again. Both the outlander and the Trenchlander had mentioned borders. Flawless had said the Red Ice lay on the border of Sull land and Bludd land. The clanholds and the Sulclass="underline" they were two separate worlds.
Could the Want be the third?
Raif ducked his head to avoid a low slung cedar bow. Out of habit he glanced over at Addie, reassuring himself that all was well with the little cragsman. Addie's gaze was focused on the way ahead, reading the paths between the trees, searching out all potential routes.
Perhaps there was a point where Bludd, the Racklands and the Want met? Addie had said the Bludd borders were uncertain this fit: northeast; and. Raif himself had firsthand knowledge of how intangible the margins of the Great Want could be. Perhaps here it dipped south? That might explain why the lake was difficult to find. If any part of it lay within the Want then it was no wonder Bluddsrnen could ride right past it If they didn't there was a chance they would never be seen again.
Feeling one of the leeches stir against his back, Raif shivered and spat out the grizzly remains of the liver. He was wearing two layers of trenchlandcr skins beneath the Orrl cloak, and he had tucked neither of them beneath his gear belt. That way when the gorged leeches disengaged they'd end up falling onto the ground, and not hanging around his waist. Like yesterday. It was possibly the strangest piece of wisdom he'd ever learned.
Knowing he had a short tolerance for leech thoughts, Raif turned his mind back to the Red Ice. If there was a possibility that Thomas Argola's words were right, then there should be a fourth border. Sull. Bhidd. Want. What was the fourth? Was there something he was missing? The Rack lands stretched from the Breaking Grounds to the Sea of Souls; the Trenchlands were contained within them. Did that mean something? Did the Trenchland border come into play?
"Addie," he said. "Where does the Trenchlander border lie?"
The cragsman shrugged. He was in the process of subtly adjusting their route, turning them due north into a mixed stand of spruce and white pine. "Trenchlands just a name. The lowlands around Hell's Town have been carved by the Flow—that's where it gets its name. There's no border as such."
Raif nodded, disappointed. "Is there any way we can tell when we're on the border between Sull and Bludd?"
Addie looked at him. Flawless had given the cragsman the same directions as he had given Raif, and Addie had probably already considered this problem himself. "In this part of the world the only way to know for sure whose land we're standing on is if someone steps out from the trees and attacks us. If that happens we should be sure to take a real good look at them."
Raif fell silent. He fellt stung by Addie's tone. Had he insulted the cragsmanby asking the question? It was hard to judge things with Addie now.
They stopped three times before noon for leech duty. One of the creatures wouldn't attach itself to Raif's back;, it looked as sick as a leech could look. Addte returned it to the jar, but they were both thinking the same thing: Spoilage had not been factored into the equation.
At noon they had a good meal of roasted venison and salted hard-bread that had been traded from the Trenchlanders. The cold was numbing so they ate with their gloves on. Afterward they greased their skin and slid on face masks. As they headed out, the first of the cedars exploded in the valley below them. The woodpeckers fell silent and the only sound was Raif s and Addie's boots crunching frozen snow.
After a few hours the land began to rise and warp, and bare rock broke through the forest duff. The cedars were not as tall here, and enough light penetrated the canopy to support groundcover; hagber-ries, bearberries, and balsam. Raif perceived animals denning beneath rotting logs and between cracks in the rocks. Their heartbeats were faint and winter-slow.
Raif tried not to think about his own heart, tried not to recall how easily it had failed him. One moment beating, the next stopped. A blink of an eye, a failure of muscle to contract: that's all it took to kill a man.
He forced his mind elsewhere, and ended up considering the name Yiselle No Knife had given to the Red Ice. Mish'al Nij. A place of no cloud, yet the lamb brothers had named it the Valley of Cold Mists.
More trees exploded as the sun moved into the west. One cracked right on the path, its trunk fracturing from the crown to the base as if it had been hit with a giant ax. The sudden release of pitch and gases made the air smell like a primed firestack.
As the sky grew dark Addie began to rest more heavily on his stick, and Raif thought about calling an early halt. Progress had not been good; nearly every hour they'd had to stop to apply leeches and Addie was getting no quicker with practice. His hands froze, Raifs back froze, the leeches were starting to get sluggish. Just as Raif opened his mouth to speak, Addie raised his stick.
"Stand of red pines beyond the rocks,"
The sign of the Bludd border. They headed west toward it, their spirits lifting. Here was a marker that could help them. The trees were planted along a north-south axis in angle file along a south-racing slope. It was— dark by the time rhey reached them, and you could no longer tell they were red pines.
"Let's set camp" Addie said, smiling for the first time in two days. "I think this calls for a spot of tea."
They set camp hard against the pines, both fearing that if they didn't the trees might disappear in the night. A new leech was applied, a fire built. Roasted meat was set to warm on rocks.
As they sat, bending their heads toward the searing heat of the fire and enjoying the dregs of the tea, Raif s raven lore stirred. It had been so long since the hard, black piece of bird ivory had moved he had not spared it a thought in weeks. Some disturbance in his heart or blood triggered the leeches, and the two that were attached to him dropped off. Raif stood, his hand feeling for Traggis Mole's longknife.
Addie rose a moment later, and both men pulled their bows and arrowcases from the gear pile that had been lazily heaped on broken-off cedar boughs. Swiftly they pulled off gloves. Neither spoke. Things had changed between them. But not this.
With his gaze facing out from the fire, the cragsman tugged at the cedar boughs, tumbling packs and blankets into the snow. Without looking at the flames he fed them. Raif faced north, toward a slope he could barely see. The stars were out in cold lightless force. There was no moon.
Crack.
Both men swung to face the sound of an exploding tree. In Sull territory: they could say that with conviction now as the noise came from east of the red pines. Addie Gunn and Raif Sevrance trained drawn bows into the darkness. Addie's sturdy self-made yew ticked with a reassuring sound as it held tension. The Sull longbow made no sound.
When a soft crackling noise came from the west neither one was expecting it. Addie swung around and immediately loosed his bow through the pines. Raif perceived the damning suction of an unmade heart.
And then felt its small and deadly echo a hair breadth away from his own. The Shatan Maers claw was trying to home.
Leeches are my friends, he thought inanely, his gaze searching for forms in the blackness. Addie raised a second arrow to the plate, and as he pulled back the twine Raif became aware of a second heart. Back in Sull territory, moving forward from a position not far from where the tree had exploded. Quickly he made a calculation. Swinging his attention fully east he left the creature on the other side of the red pines for Addie Gunn.