The grain drum had been built abutting the roundhouse's northwestern wall and its main door, located two full stories off the ground, faced north. Emerging into the chill grayness of midday, Raina stood for a moment on the stone landing and gazed across the pine forests of Blackhail toward the Balds, Blackstone pines, bristlecones and black spruce were shedding snow in the quickening wind. Hunters' tracks cut between the trees led north in white strips. Turning east she saw the Wedge, the great forested headland that rose on granite cliffs. The snow had already fled from those trees, which were a mixture of hard and soft wood. A swath had been logged ten years back, but the new growth had come in so quickly that unless one rode amongst it, it was difficult to tell where the clear-cut had been.

Raina knew the paths through the woods; knew where the clan boys staked claims over fishing holes and swim holes, knew the secret green pool where the clan maids bathed naked and obsessed over boys, knew the hollows where the old women set their traps, and knew the fruit trees where a hunter dressed in field gear might spend a day, waiting for deer. She had been thirteen when she came here from Dregg. Twenty years of her life had been spent here, and looking back now she could not pinpoint the moment when she'd ceased being a Dreggswoman and become Hail instead. Not her marriage to Dagro, for she remembered wearing the hotwall roses in her hair and carrying her portion of Dreggstone in a filigreed silver locket that overhung her tightly laced breasts. Perhaps later then, when she became established in her role of chief's wife and fell into the rhythm of working hard and receiving respect. But no, if she were honest she still held part of her-self back. I will go home to Dregg when 1 am old and widowed, she had told herself, and the thought had given her comfort. Even when word of Dagro's death had come south from the Badlands she had borne the ill news by making the sign of the rose. So no. The most likely moment she had become a Hailsman to her core was when she'd spoken the words in the gameroom. I will be chief.

Descending the steps Raina fought the wind's desire to tug away her blue wool shawl. People had said that once the storm was over the temperature would come up and the snow would melt so quickly you'd hardly remember it had been here at all. People were wrong. This was the fifth day the snow had failed to melt-and spring planting was due.

Aware that it was as close to noon as it was ever likely to be, Raina decided she'd go and check on the progress of the east wall. She'd be damned if she were going to attend Stannig Beade's parley as promptly as if she wire an apprentice toolmaker the first day on the job. The path that led east around the Hailhouse had been cleared of snow by Longhead and his crew. The wooden gates of the kaleyard had been flung open and a couple of men stood in the large walled kitchen garden, digging soil or snow or both. Raina waved at them and they waved back. The east face of the roundhouse was where the majority of its outbuildings were located—dairy sheds, hay barns, eel tanks, styes, the oast house, the remains of the stables and guide-house—and Raina encountered many clansmen as she made her way toward the scaffolding.

The hole blasted in the east wall was visible as she drew close, and it gave her an uneasy tick of surprise. Surely by now they could have sealed it? Blackhail was not wanting in stone. Approaching the frame of ladders and plank platforms, Raina hailed the nearest man. Squatting at the top of the scaffolding, he was busy carding mortar. His fingers were wet with slurry.

"When will it be finished?" she asked him.

"Tomorrow," he said chopping the mortar into squares and then flattening it. "Though it'll be a week afore the curing's done and we can start the new ward."

Raina stared at him and then the hole, and had the sense not to ask: What ward? Now that she was closer she could see that the hole had been framed into an arch, enlarged in parts and built up in others. A border of polished granite slabs rimmed this new portal, and as she looked on the workman buttered another slab and plugged it into place. When had this happened? Five days back she had been out here and just seen a hole. Had she failed to look properly? Leaving the man to his work, Raina went in search of Longhead.

It took a while to locate the head keep, as he was performing one of the more obscure tasks of his office: batting. Now that the horses were housed in the dairysheds, the high lofts had to be cleared of bats. Apparently the cows didn't mind the winged rodents flitting around at night, or at least had grown used to them, whereas the horses took fits and started bucking whenever one of the little devils squeaked by. Raina was with the horses, and found herself surprisingly reluctant to climb up the tall ladder to the hayloft.

, "He went up there an hour ago, lady," said one of the grooms helpfully. "You can smell the smoke."

Raina nodded doubtfully. She was having trouble understanding what people were saying to her today.

"For the bats," the groom added, proving that he was a smart young boy, capable of reading his chiefs wife's face. "He's making 'em drowsy."

Raina turned and smiled at him. He was one of the Lyes, a cousin to slain Banron, and you could see the family similarities in his broad cheekbones and wide-set eyes. "Isn't that something?"

"Yes, lady," he agreed. "It certainly is."

The pleasure of that small exchange stayed with her as she hiked up the ladder and landed in the hayloft. The air was warm here and it had some of the same itchiness as the grain drum. Blue smoke rose in bands from two brass smudgers. Longhead was crouching amongst the bales, plucking drugged bats from the hay. With an efficient twist of both wrists he broke their necks and threw them in a steel bucket. As Raina walked toward him a bat dropped right in front of her, landing at her feet. Its leathery wings trembled as its tiny red eyes rolled back in its head. It had a snout like a pig, she noticed, stepping around it, and ears the size and shape of mussels.

"Is it all right to breathe the smoke?" she asked Longhead.

Longhead spun around to face her, and for the second time that day Raina realized she shouldn't be inhaling the air. The head keep of Blackhail was wearing a black felt mask. He shook his head, chucked another bat in the bucket and then picked something from the nearest hay bale and threw it toward her.

It was a mask just like his, and she slipped it over her nose and mouth and tied it tightly.

"Nightshade. It'll make you sleep," the keep said, his voice muffled by the felt.

Raina came and knelt close to him, trying hard not to look at the dead bats in the bucket.

"They'll go to the Scarpes," he said flatly. "They eat them."

Hay pricked jfer knees through the fabric of her dress. "Was it true they wanted the horses?"

Longhead nodded. The black mask made his long pale face seem even paler and longer. Bat's blood was drying beneath his thumbnails. "They came to me, seeing if I could stop the burials. Said it was a waste of good meat."

A dozen horses had died when the Hailstone exploded and five more had to be destroyed because of their injuries. Raina had arranged the burials. She had heard a rumor that the Scarpes wanted the carcasses, but had given it little credit. Butchering horses reared for meat was one thing, but eating riding horses was a practice abhorrent to Hailsmen. She was glad now that she'd had the carcasses carted to the Wedge-she wouldn't have put it past Scarpes to dig up the graves.

Another bat dropped from the overhead rafters as Raina leant in to the keep. "What's happening with the eastern wall? I thought it was being shored." Distorted by the mask her voice snaked over the «s» sounds.