Topping a cracked shelf of granite, Raif turned to see if Addie needed a hand up the slope. The cragsman was wearing his brown wool cloak and carrying his oak staff, and he waved Raif away as if he were a bothersome fly. "Been scuffing the crags since afore you were born, laddie. And most days I was toting sheep. Only time I'll need a hand from you is to stir the beans while I make the tea."

He was only half joking, Raif realized, and nodded somberly. "Sorry, Addie."

Addie Gunn grumbled something that sounded like "Glad we've got that sorted" before hiking solidly onto the ledge.

The granite was weak here, veined with softer limestone. The limestone that had been exposed to the surface had worn away, creating dimples in the surface that were now filled with snowmelt. The shelf jutted out over the Rift and both men paused to look south. Snow had melted at a faster rate in the clanholds and most of the hills were bare. Winter-rotted groundcover made the north-facing slopes look burned. Raif wondered what Addie was thinking as he stood there and minded his former homeland. Wellhouse was likely due south of here; the cragsman's old clan.

"Lambs'll need stabling this year," the cragsman murmured softly, to himself. Turning to Raif, he said, "C'mon, lad. If we can get on the headland afore dark it'll make for an easier start in the morning."

Raif let Addie Gunn lead the way.

They had departed the Rift at dawn, at the exact moment the sun had appeared in the east above the rim. Arrangements had been made the night before, many of them while Raif slept. The attack by the unmade beast had left him exhausted and unable to fully catch his breath, and he had slept through most of that night and a good portion of the next day. When he had awoken at noon he had told Stillborn what he meant to do. "I'll need supplies for the journey," Raif had told him. "Pull together what you can. I have to meet with the outlander."

Stillborn had been bewildered and hurt. "Supplies for both of us you mean?" he had asked. At some point that morning he had shaved his face, and the bristles that normally stuck out of his facial scars were neatly clipped. "I will be going with you."

Raif shook his head. "I need you here, leading the Maimed Men."

No argument carried weight against the stark fact that Traggis Mole was dead, and Stillborn knew it. "But they want you," he had said. "Not me. It was you who killed that beastie right in front of their eyes. You who laid the Mole to rest."

"I know what they want," Raif said. "Tell them they'll have to wait." He made his voice hard because he had to, because he would not be thwarted in this. As long as he had known Stillborn, the Maimed Man had complained about Traggis Mole's leadership, and lusted after taking his place. Now that place was vacant and it was time for Stillborn to step up and lead. He had a look on his face like he’d thought he'd been trapped, but Raif ignored it. Stillborn should count himself lucky he'd been trapped only once.

'There is no one else," Raif told him. 'The Maimed Men respect you. You're the best hunter, the best blade fighter. And it wasn't just me who brought down the Unmade. If you hadn't distracted it I could never have gotten close enough to place my sword,"

The two had stared at each other, the air between them charged with tension. Raif had not blinked. Nor had Stillborn.

"Very well," Stillborn had exploded, throwing himself back as if he'd been physically repelled. "If this is how it is then so be it. I will guard them while you are away. But I will tell every single one of them you'll be back."

Raif heard both the warning and the plea in Stillborn s voice. It touched him, but he did not show it. "Do as you must."

Stillborn waited to see if there would be more, and when there wasn't he dragged his hands across his hair and face. "Gods, Raif, We're living in hell. How are we going to survive?" "Kill everything through the heart."

Raif had left Stillborn then. He had the sense that if he'd stayed longer he would say things counter to his purpose. And his purpose was to depart. The next meeting with Thomas Argola in his doored cave had gone no easier.

Mallia Argola had let him in. Sunlight shone right onto her face, turning golden upon her skin, and for the first time Raif wondered what was missing. In what way was Mallia Argola not whole?

It was a question he had no time for. "Leave us," he told her. "Take a walk."

She had meant to withdraw into the cave, into the shadows beyond the dragon-and-pear screen where she could watch and listen in, but quickly realized this was something he would not permit. Her green-brown eyes had looked at him carefully, and he felt shame at the way he had behaved toward her in Stillborn s cave. If that shame showed on his fece she did not react to it, merely saying. "I will return after you are gone." As die passed him in the doorway, she lightly touched his arm.

It was confusing, that unexpected show of understanding and goodwill, and it took him if moment to refocus his mind.

That was when Argola had tried to shut the door. Raif balked him, shooting out his hand and barring the space around the doorframe. He had not meant to do so, but could not seem to stop himself. Thomas Argola was a man who worked best on the periphery of crowds and in the shadows of closed rooms. Raif Sevrance decided he would conduct this interrogation in the light.

'When did you tell Traggis Mole about the sword?" The outlander glanced nervously at the open door. Sunlight, which had made his sister's skin look spun from gold, made his own skin look yellow. "The night after we talked I went to see him. He… was our chief."

Raif heard the excitement in Argola's voice and was repulsed by it.

"You told him everything?"

"I believe I never said I would not."

Were you paid for it? Raif wondered, glancing at the worn treasures in the cave. The silk rugs and copper bowls. The screens. It was not a question that mattered, he realized. A man must use what skills he had to live.

Trying to recall all that had been said four days back in this cave, Raif said, "What did you tell him about me?"

Argola shrugged. "He already suspected much."

"That is no answer."

"Close the door."

"No."

The outlander took a sharp breath. Backing away, he found himself a place to stand where he was no longer exposed to direct sunlight. "I told the Mole you were the Rift Brothers' only hope. No one else can hope to stop the Unmade when they break through in numbers. No one. Look at what happened the other night. You were the only one who knew what to do, the only one who could stop it."

"Someone else could have put a blade through its heart."

"Really?" Argola blasted. "You could barely put it through yourself."

In the silence that followed, Raif leant against the back of the door. His shoulder was throbbing, and he felt scarcely able to cope with the hard truths spoken by the outlander. He had come here for information, and, if he was honest, the chance to use up some anger. It seemed to him that Thomas Argola deserved it. He had been the one who was pulling the strings. He had been the one who had framed Traggis Mole's second-to-last words.

"Swear to me you will fetch the sword that can stop them. Swear you will bring it back and protect my people. Swear it."

Raif had sworn. A man was dying. The man who had saved his life.

The final words Traggis Mole had spoken were between a man and his gods, and Raif would never repeat them.

Now he wondered only one thing: Would Traggis Mole have sprung forward to stab the beast if Thomas Argola had not told him two nights earlier that Raif Twelve Kill was the Rift's only hope? Had Traggis Mole made the decision that RaiPs life was worth more than his own?

Raif glanced at the outlander. Thomas Argola had manipulated the Mole chief, just as he had manipulated Raif the night after Black Hole. What was the outlander's purpose? Did he realize his manipulations had brought death?