Fortress of Ice by C. J. Cherryh Page A

chill himself and thought to wrap the coverlet around Paisi, who let it fall.
    â€œPaisi?” He closed Paisi’s hand on the cloth. “Take it.”
    Paisi’s hand closed and he held on to it, still looking into the coals, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t see ’er, Otter. The cottage is dark, an’ the fire ain’t lit.”
    â€œI dreamed, too, about the chimney being out. I dreamed it just now.”
    â€œShe’s fevered,” Paisi said. “She’s got the fever, she ain’t fed ’erself since yesterday.”
    â€œWhat can we do, Paisi?”
    â€œI don’t know, I don’t know what to do.” The note of unreasoning fear in Paisi’s voice would have sent a chill through him if none had been there to start with. “You dreamed it, too?”
    â€œI dreamed about the chimney.”
    â€œThe fire,” Paisi said. “The fire not bein’ lit, in this weather—”
    â€œWe can tell the king!”
    â€œAbout what, Otter-lad? Can we tell him we dreamed it? Can we talk about dreams wi’ these Quinalt priests hoverin’ near? She’s sick abed, is what. That damn chimney’s choked up again, and it never were right. I wanted to tear that crooked thing down this summer an’ build it anew, an’ she wouldn’t have it, no, no, the fields wants weedin’, the shed wants the door fixed, it ain’t no great matter, run a stick up it, and it’ll do, it’s always done. If the smoke don’t kill us in our sleep…Damn it, Otter-lad!” Paisi ran his hands through his hair so it stood on end. “Maybe I’m makin’ trouble that ain’t trouble. Maybe she’ll wake up and take one of ’er potions, won’t she? She’ll poke the broom handle up an’ unstick that chimney.”
    â€œIf she can reach it.”
    â€œOh, I was worri’t leavin’ her! We stacked that firewood high as she could deal with, but the rest in the shed, it’s all big pieces, an’ if her coughin’ starts up fierce…”
    â€œLook, she can bring the animals inside. Remember the winter we did that. They’ll heat a room.”
    â€œThat don’t feed them. Or her.”
    He drew a deep breath. “Paisi, it’s just three days back there.”
    â€œIt ain’t three days wi’ this storm.”
    â€œBut wouldn’t you go?”
    â€œAye,” Paisi said. “Aye. I would. I would. But she’ll skin me. I swore I’d watch over ye!”
    â€œWe could tell the king, all the same, and he’d keep secret how we knew. He was Lord Tristen’s friend. Wizard-work isn’t any surprise to him.”
    â€œThere is that.”
    â€œHe could just write a letter to Lord Crissand.”
    â€œOh, aye, and they’d take their time, and some soldiers would come out t’ th’ house an’ ask if she was well, and she’d swear she was well if she was dying.”
    â€œThen go, go right this morning and see how she is, and fix the chimney. And then I’ll tell the king what’s happened, and I’ll come after, soon as I can.”
    â€œNo, now, me lord, don’t be foolish.”
    â€œI’m not ‘my lord.’”
    â€œYe’re his son. The king give ye them fine clothes for holiday. He’s got ’is mind set, is what. It’s what you got to do. I’ll go see to Gran, and you stay an’ do as ye have to.”
    â€œAnd what will I do if Gran died?”
    â€œDon’t say it!” Paisi said, and made a ward sign against the thought. “Oh, I should ’ave prepared better! I should ha’ fixed that damn chimney…”
    â€œYou did everything you could! We didn’t reckon with the snow just keeping on and on like this. We didn’t plan on Gran needing help, but you know what she says: some dreams are a warning, is all, and it’s what may