She ignored him. "What has happened?" she asked Corbie Meese.

The big hammerman with the dent in his head glanced once at the guide before speaking. "The Spire army took Ganmiddich. Then they themselves were routed by Bludd. Between the two attacks every Hailsman at the Crab Gate was lost."

No. Cold prickles passed up her legs to her womb and stomach. Mull Shank. The Lowdraw. Rory Clect Bullhammer? Had Bullhammer been there? Dozens more.

Drey Sevrance.

Raina Blackhail held herself very still. She was no longer touching Orwin Shank. All were watching her. She could feel the blood behind her eyes. "Where is Mace?"

"He camps on Bannen Field with the two thousand and plans to retake what has been lost."

She told herself she was not disappointed that her husband was still alive. " and the Crabmen?"

"No survivors. the Crab chief is dead."

Crab Ganmiddich gone. "Who is the new chief?"

Stannig Beade sucked in air with a small hiss. As if driven to scorn by such trivil questions he told her, " The new chief is also named Crab."

She had a choice then for sh could have fired back, Do not tell me what I already know. Who was this man before he declared himself chief and took the name Crab? Instead she thought of the dead clansmen, and gave them her silence and respect.

The silence passed from her, breathed out with her breath like Longhead's drowsy smoke, and passed from man to man to man. Within seconds everyone on the greatcourt fell quiet and the silence passed through the greatdoor and into the house. People milling in the entrance hall stilled. Stannig Beade watched this happen, his eyes cold and flat.

He is my enemy, Raina understood then. And in some ways he was worse than Mace. At least her husband did not covet the power she held in Blackhail's house. Mace was warrior and chief—let his wife take care of matters of home and hearth. Stannig Beade was different. He could not rule men in fields of battle. His power existed only in the confines of clan walls, and that put he and Raina at odds.

She saw all this in the silence, and then let it drain away. It would snow again, she decided, glancing at the clouds. Let it snow.

Drey Sevrance dead. He had brought her Dagro's last token, the brown-bear pelt Dagro had been skinning when he died. "Lady," Drey had said, standing at the door of her private chambers, "I have finished it for you." In all the days of horror that followed, that act of chivalry had stayed with her. In the long dark night after the Oldwood she had clutched the bearskin to her breast and belly, lost. If she had not had the skin for comfort she might have passed beyond lost, to the place where insensibility and insanity waited to trap your mind. Since then Drey had brought her small tokens every time he returned to the roundhouse, little things he'd won or bartered; a pebble of amber fine enough to be drilled for a pendant, a pair of mink skins that could be cut for gloves, an embroidered noseband for Mercy. Drey Sevrance had handed these gifts to her without words or ceremony, and she had derstood that to him she represented something worth returning to in clan.

Raina inhaled deeply, drawing back the silence she had spun. “Orwin,” she said. "Come into the house."

With a light touch she guided him round. His swollen, arthritic fingers grasped her dress sleeve, pinching the skin beneath, but she did not think he was ware of it. Nor did she mind the pan.Corbie Meese stepped from the group, meaning to follow them, but Stannig Beade halted him with a question. "What of the women and children of Ganmiddich?"

Raina felt the words like stones flung against her back. Here is the question you should have asked, chiefs wife. Shame on you for not inquiring about the innocents.

Corbie replied that most of the women and children had been transferred to either Bannen or Croser. Few had been at the Crab Gate on the day of the attacks.

Raina listened until she moved beyond earshot. Orwin s fingers continued pinching her arm as she led him into the roundhouse. Anwyn Bird was there, waiting at the foot of the stairs, and Raina found herself so happy to see her plain yet pleasing face that idiotic tears sprang to her eyes.

"Hush now," Anwyn said to both Orwin and Raina as she approached. And though neither of them was making a sound they understood what the clan matron meant. I will care for you.

The three of them climbed the broad stone steps to tliepreathearth and passed beneath the granite doorway. Sworn clansmen stood to attention as they entered the great circular space of the warriors' hall. "Put more logs on the fire," Anwyn commanded, and three men sprang into action to do her bidding. One of them was a Scarpe, Raina noticed. A young man whose hair had that greenish tint to it that meant Scarpe's black dyes were fading.

Anwyn pointed and nodded with force, and things were done. Blankets were brought, her twenty-year malt rushed up from the still-room, Jebb Onnacre, Orwin's son-in-law, sent for. Men who had no relation by friendship or kin to Orwin Shank were dismissed. Soon the room was warm and peopled only with Hailsmen and Hailswomen. The vast, vaulted space with its stone benches arranged in concentric circles and its horse-size central hearth had probably never known so few to stand within its walls. Berta Shank, Orwin's only surviving daughter, sat next to her father and Anwyn wrapped a single blanket around both of them. Orwin was numb. He had not said a word since he'd spoken Raina's name on the greatcourt. When Anwyn handed him a dram of malt he took it from her but did not drink. Raina sat next to Jebb. Her arm was smarting and she knew she would have an ugly bruise by morning.

"Here," Anwy said, passing her a wooden thumb cup filled with malt. "Drink."

Raina did, throwing the golden liquid to the back of her throat in a motion that would normally have the clan matron up in arms. You did not gulp a twenty-year malt. You sipped and savored. Raina enjoyed the burn as the hard liquor slid down to her gut.

Drey Sevrance dead.

She watched the fire. All in the room were quiet now, their movements subdued. One of the double doors opened and Corbie Meese stepped in. Quickly assessing the mood, he found himself a seat, not close to but within sight of Orwin Shank, and settled down for a long stay. Gat Murdock came next, and although Raina had never felt much affection for the crotchety old swordsman, she could not fault him this day. Silently and without fuss he chose a seat near the back. Others came, Hailsmen and Hailswomen, and over the course of the next hour those who had at first been exiled from the greathearth were allowed back.

Raina felt moved by a strong and invisible force. Goodness, she decided later. Everyone watched the fire. Anwyn moved between the benches like a nurse bringing blankets and water and malt. No one wept, though many had taken losses. It was understood that Orwin Shank's loss was the greatest and respect was paid by minding his expression and his silence. Even the bairns who were allowed in later upheld the quiet of the hearth.

How long they sat and mourned as a clan was hard to say. The fire was kept stoked and there were no windows in the greathearth to let in light. When Raina felt someone sit next to her on the opposite side of the bench from Jebb Onnacre, she glanced around, prepared to give a silent nod of greeting. She expected the mourning to continue into night and to be present until its end.

Sitting next to her was Jani Gaylo. "The guide wants to see you," she whispered. "He awaits you in the chiefs chamber."

The parts of herself that had been buoyed by the dignity shown by her fellow clansmen sank and Raina stared at the girl coolly. She stood. Motioning to Anwyn that she was fine and nothing was amiss, Raina Blackhail took leave of the greathearth. Jani Gaylo, dressed in pretty orange and blue plaid, followed her from the room.