had fallen during the night, a thick layer fresh upon the ground, but the roof of the world was cloudless now, a pale, fresh blue that felt like it went on forever, the air cold and sharp. Drem found it refreshing after the night of thick heat and hammer blows in the forge.
Drem rode behind his da, staring at his back with a mixture of dread and awe.
What happened last night? A sword forged, my da casting a spell …
His mind tried to pick apart the events, to unravel them and piece them back together in a shape that resembled logic. It wasn’t working.
Who is my da? It was a terrifying feeling, to realize that he did not know the man he’d spent his whole life with, almost like vertigo, as if the world were shifting beneath his feet.
They had spoken little after Olin had started shaping the white-hot metal, hammering, twisting, cooling, heating and hammering again, dross leaking from the metal like black tears. Drem fed the bellows, between hammering he dipped the shaping sword in water and oil, and towards the end he shared the hammer-work with Olin. The din and smells of the forge filled Drem’s senses as he struggled to make sense of what his da had told him. In the end he had become lost in the rhythm and roar of their labour.
Drem’s eyes fixed upon the sheepskin bundle that was tied to Olin’s saddle, little more than a shadow in dawn’s first light.
We’ll finish it at home. A handle of ash, bound with leather. Those had been the only words Olin had said as they’d stood and stared at the result of their labour. A long blade, tapered to a fine point, a heavy crosspiece and fuller like a black vein running down the blade’s centre.
Kergard’s gates were closed when they reached them; Olin frowned at that.
‘Calder is supposed to be here,’ Olin said, searching the shadows for the big smith, but he was not there. Drem jumped from his horse and hefted the bar across the gates. It was heavier than he’d thought, judging by the way Calder had lifted it last night. The gates opened with a creak, Olin hovering a few more heartbeats, waiting for Calder.
Drem looked at his da enquiringly.
‘He’s supposed to be here,’ Olin muttered again.
He sounds worried.
Olin scanned the streets that converged on the gates. They were silent and still, only melting shadows for company. ‘Don’t like leaving the gates open and unguarded,’ Olin said.
‘Guards should be along soon enough,’ Drem said.
‘Aye,’ Olin agreed.
And if we’re still here, Da’ll have to explain what he’s doing.
That thought seemed to have run through Olin’s mind, too.
‘Can’t wait any longer,’ Olin said and with a shrug from Drem they were riding through and breaking into a trot as a world of white opened up before them.
Drem looked at Fritha’s hold as they passed it, and he was pleased to see that there was no hound still tied to the rope and ring in the yard. A sound echoed in the distance, from the woodland to the north. Dim and muted. Drem strained to hear it. A crashing, perhaps a roar. He and Olin shared a look.
Wolven bringing down their prey. Something big, anyway.
As they began the long stretch of track to their hold Drem noticed tracks in the snow, following the path they were on, then veering off, towards woodland framed in the distance by the Bonefells. Olin saw them too, reining in his mount.
One man, one hound. Maybe a woman – small feet for a man.
A jolt of worry.
Fritha?
Drem looked up at the sky, heavy with more snow, a strong wind gusting down from the north, bringing with it the taste of ice. Drem looked to his da. At any other time there would have been no question, no hesitation, but Drem knew his da wanted to get the sword home. It was written all across his face.
Drem just waited, knowing what the outcome would be, but letting his da go through the process of it.
‘Best go see who those tracks belong to,’ Olin said.
‘I think we’d better,’ Drem agreed.
Drem heard something, away to his left, coming from the scrubland that fringed the wood as it rolled down from the Bonefells.
‘You hear that, too?’ his da asked him.
A nod, and together they were pulling on reins and riding away from the track, towards the scrub and woodland.
They followed the footprints in the snow, heard a voice calling out, the same