It was the sword. The damn sword.

He could barely look at it. "Bludd chief. Lay down your weapon or I'll cut the girl." Bram hardly knew where the words came from, but some anger meant for his brother made them sound like the real thing.

The Dog Lord must have heard it too, for although he didn't drop the spear, he raised its point so that it was no longer directly threatening Guy Morloch. "Lets not do anything hasty, lad. We're both here to protect our own."

"Run the brats through, Bram," Guy Morloch cried from the mud. "Don't listen to a word he says."

Bram and Jordie Sarson exchanged a glance. The young blond axman had had the sense to keep the visor on his thornhelm lowered, which meant that the Dog Lord perceived only one boy in the party, not two. Jordie was barely eighteen, but you could not tell that from his build. Executing the smallest possible shrug, he gave command of the situation to Bram. Jordie Sarson was over six feet tall, a sworn clans-man with a third of his face covered by the blue tattoos. He'd been trained to the ax by Jamie Toll, who everyone called the Tollman, and he shared the fisher lore with Robbie Dun Dhoone. Yet he was only two years older than Bram. And he didn't know what to do.

Guy Morloch was breathing hard. Bram could not make out his face in the darkness, but he could see that Guy was curled up in the mud, nursing his bleeding foot. A stream of rainwater running downhill was hitting the Castleman's back and then forking into two to flow around him. The rain itself was finally slacking, and a bitter cold was setting in. Bram shivered. Realizing his arm had been pulled down by the unfamiliar weight of his new sword, he made a clumsy adjustment. Glancing up at the Dog Lord, he saw the weakness had been noted.

"You know what we've got here, lad?" the Dog Lord asked in a leisurely droll. Softening a cube of chewing curd between his fingers, he answered his own question. "We've got what city men call an impasse. Way I see it, neither of us wants to budge. Now that could mean we stay here all night until one of us gets spooked or frozen and makes the sort of mistake that ends lives, or we could come to an agreement man-to-man." The Dog Lord looked Bram in the eye. "Which is it going to be?"

All the time while the Dog Lord had been speaking Bram had been concentrating on keeping his features still and his sword arm up. He had watched his brother often enough to to know that you had to keep your expression guarded during parley. Robbie Dun Dhoone rarely let his true feeling show. So what would Robbie do here? After he'd thought about it for a moment, Brain decided that Robbie would never have got himself into a situation like this in the first place. Which didn't help matters one bit. Bram took a deep breath and held it. He felt a bit light-headed, as if he might be sick. "I'll listen"

The Dog Lord nodded judiciously, as if Brarn had been very wise. Indicating Guy with the butt of the spear, he said, "The Milkman called you Bram. You know my name. I'd appreciate the rest of yours."0 Guy Morloch shouted, "Tell him nothing." Bram frowned. Although he knew it wasn't very charitable he wished Guy would just shut up. For a reason that he couldn't quite understand he wanted to say his name out loud. If he were to die here, on this muddy hillside in the middle of the southeastern Dhoonewilds, his remains torn apart by dogs, then he wanted the man before him to know exactly who he killed.

Holding his voice steady, Bram said, "I'm Bram Cormac, son Mabb."

The Dog Lord pushed the softened black curd into his mouth and chewed for a while before speaking. Raindrops beaded on his five-day stubble as the downpour finally ended. "I knew Mabb Cormac. Your father was a fine swordsman. I fought against him at Mare's Rock. Had two pretty blades, as I remember. Called them his Blue Angels, on account of their watered steel." Vaylo nodded toward Bram's "Would that be one of them?"

Bram could not reply. Looking down at the sword, he saw his his reflec-tion weirdly distorted in the folded steel. His face was pale and elongated and his lips had been warped to a bloody slash. Still the same brown hair and brown eyes, though. The silver metal would not change that. Abruptly, he looked away. The Dog Lord had to know by now that the boy he was talking to was brother to Robbie Dun Dhoone, yet he had made no mention of it. Bram found himself grate-ful for that, but he still did not trust himself to talk about the sword. Here, Brain, take it. Bear it across your back wlim you go.

The words were too new and too painful, and Bram spoke quickly to bury them. "The sword is my own business, Bludd chief. We have matters here that need settling. You are an enemy to this clan and a trespasser on this clanhold. Withdraw your dogs and release my man."

As the final word got out, Jordie Sarson drew a sharp breath. Guy Morloch made a noise that sounded as if he were choking on a fish bone. Even the wolf dog stopped snarling. Cocking its head and raising its tail, it looked expectantly toward its master. Vaylo Bludd nodded slowly, as if such a declaration was just what he had been waiting for. For one crazy moment Bram imagined he saw a spark of approval in the older man s eyes.

"So your'e Robbie Dhoone's brother after all." The Dog Lord spat out a wad of curd and ground it into the mud with the heel of his boot 'Well you're young yet and have a fair bit to learn about parley, else you'd know better than to issue demands." A quick glance at Guy Morloch. "Robs a man of his dignity, you see, makes him feel like a cornered bear. Now I can't speak for you, Bram Cormac, but I've seen a man mauled by a garnered bear. He lost his left arm and three fingers from the right one, and even though a sawbones stanched the wounds and saved him, he never thanked him for it. Woke with the terrors every night, you see. Drank himself soft every day." The Dog Lord paused a moment to scratch the rain from his stubble. "Me, I believe it wasn't the loss of a limb that ruined him. It was the memory of the attack. An old bear, down on his luck and baited to the brink of madness, is about the scariest thing you're ever likely to meet."

Black eyes twinkled coldly as the sentence snapped to a close. Bram felt the heat of the warning flush his cheeks. This is the Bludd chief, he realized fully at last. The most feared man in the clanholds, and I'm sitting here threatening his grandchildren. Bram tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry and his jaw just clicked queerly instead. At the same time he became aware that a muscle in his sword arm had developed the queasy ache of imminent cramping. He had to do something— now—before the heavy blade started wobbling.

Lay down your arms and call off your hounds and I'll release the woman and the girl" The Dog Lord started to interrupt, but Bram plowed on, knowing full well that if he didn't get it out now he never would. "The three of fill will walk east with the dogs. When a hour has passed and I'm satisfied that you've completed your part of the bargain I'll release the boy to your armsman."

"Give him nothing!" Guy Morloch cried from the mud. He was trembling violently; you could hear the shiver in his voice. "As soon as he gets his hands on the boy he'll send his dogs back to savage us."

"Not if he gives his word," Bram answered, looking straight at the Bludd chief. "And I give mine."

The Dog Lord watched Bram without blinking. The strength in his right arm—his hammer arm, Bram guessed—was so great that he held the nine-foot spear aloft with no sign of strain. Bram had handled Guy's spear; its shaft was rolled iron and its butt was counterweighed with lead. It had to weigh close to two stone. Just thinking about it was enough to make Brain's weapon arm start to cramp.

Oh gods. Clamping his jaw tight, Bram concentrated on keeping his sword arm level. From the blackthorns below him, the Bluddswoman watched with knowing eyes. His arm had begun to shake minutely and she read the motion in his sword. Slowly, deliberately, she released her grip on the two children. Her maiden's helper gleamed wickedly as she gave herself room to move.