Chapter 292: The Trail of House Redford and the Driftboat

"Ophelia, with me," said Kellar, and set off toward the river without waiting for an answer.

The girl settled her dress and followed. Grok closed the march in silence, three paces behind, hand on his axe and asking nothing.

"And while we walk," said Kellar, without turning his head, "you tell me where you come from and how you reached this forest. All of it."

"From the south, master," answered Ophelia, and did not falter. "Beyond the great range."

Kellar said nothing. He knew the wind mountains, to the southwest. He had never crossed them. The south, to him, was a smudge at the edge of the maps.

"And what lies there?" asked Kellar.

"The Kelder pass," answered she. "And my father’s house at its foot. Three hundred years closing that pass, master. Nothing climbs through it without the Redfords knowing."

"What climbs through it?"

"All manner of things," said Ophelia. "Beasts, mostly. And now and then men who do not offer greeting."

Kellar let her talk.

"They fell on us at night," she went on, in the same even voice. "In a storm. They cut the sentries on the wall and no horn sounded. They came in through the service yard."

"How many?"

"I do not know. Many. More than fit in a hall."

"Weapons?"

"Dark mail and short blade. No sigil. No shield."

Kellar furrowed his brow.

"Did they take anything?"

"That is the strange part, master," said Ophelia, and for the first time her voice drew tight. "Nothing. They left the silver on the tables. They left the horses in the stable. They only killed and moved on."

"And how did they find you?"

"By name," answered she. "They went counting. Redford. Redford. And when one fell, they said the next."

Kellar slowed without meaning to.

A list of names. They did not come for plunder. They came for the blood... thought Kellar.

"How did you escape?" asked Kellar.

"Because three days before, the Bear God spoke to me," said Ophelia.

Kellar glanced at her.

"How?"

"The way it speaks to a person," answered she, without irony. "A bear of snow and root, standing in the middle of the dormitory. It told me to go north, to the forest, and that the master waited for me there. That I should bring my men and not look back."

"And your father believed you."

"No," said Ophelia. "My father loved me, but he held me for a fool. The next morning they came."

"They?"

"The ones the Bear God sent me," answered she. "Fifty riders and fifty men on foot at the gate, asking for the lady who dreams. They said the Bear God sent them. My father let them in because he had nothing left to fight with."

Kellar nodded slowly.

"When the slaughter began, Captain Vane pulled me out through the back door," said Ophelia. "My father held the pass with twelve men so we could reach the forest. He held it until his men ran out."

"And your mother? Siblings?"

"My mother in the hall. My brother Cedric in the stable, with the horses. My sister Elise at the well," answered she, and her voice did not break. "All three by the same steel."

Kellar walked in silence for a few paces.

"And how did you cross the beasts of the forest?" asked Kellar. "A hundred people do not pass without leaving sign."

"The White Eagle Knights are experts, master," said Ophelia. "They had orders not to slaughter beasts. They moved by night, with lances sheathed and hooves wrapped. They killed only what stood in the path."

"Why?"

"Because they did not want to make unnecessary trouble for the master of the forest," answered she, and turned her face toward him. "Even before they knew him."

Kellar looked at her a good while.

A hundred men crossing a forest full of beasts, killing only what they had to so as not to inconvenience a lord they had never met... thought Kellar. These are not refugees. These are troops with doctrine.

"Can you fight?" asked Kellar.

"No," said Ophelia. "I cannot lift a sword."

"Then why do I want you."

"To see," answered she, simply.

"And what do you see?"

Ophelia stopped. She turned her face toward the river and the wind moved her hair.

"Right now, master," said she, "there is an empty boat against the stone bank. It came with the current and no one rows it."

Kellar quickened his pace.

The boat was where she said. A rowboat, the kind southern fishermen use so as not to stray from the bank. The oars sat stowed in their crutches, in order, and the hull did not bear a single smear of blood.

Grok planted himself in front of him, on the sand, axe clear of his belt.

"It came alone, Great Shaman," said Grok, without lowering the edge. "There is no one on the bank. Not a track."

Kellar stepped toward the water.

In the bottom of the boat, beneath the stern bench, lay an open travel sack and an empty scabbard, without a sword.

"Who let it go?" asked Kellar.

"I do not know," said Ophelia, at his back. "But it is not quite empty."

Kellar stepped toward the water and halted with his boots in the mud.

"Should I take it?" asked Kellar.

"It is a gift from the bear god," answered Ophelia.

Two of the guards stepped into the water, grabbed the gunwale, and hauled the boat onto the sand.

Up close it was just as she had said. Nothing more. A sack and a scabbard without a blade.

Kellar crouched, took the sack, and opened it.

Inside lay three slats of fine wood, the size of a hand. On each one, carved with impossible precision, a drawing.

A snowflake. A flame. A lightning bolt.

"What devilry is this?" asked Kellar.

A few paces away, Halvard stopped striking the runes on the wall. He came down from the scaffold without hurry, crossed the sand, and halted beside the shaman. He offered no greeting. He asked nothing. He only looked at the slats, and his mouth fell open on its own.

"Magnificent," said Halvard. "Magnificent work. Look at the cut, look at the pulse of the line. No human hand carved this."

"Are they of use?" asked Kellar.

Halvard lifted his face, and for an instant the old man looked young.

"If this is a gift from the Bear God, it is more than I could ask for," said Halvard.