Free A Cavern of Black Ice by J. V. Jones

them, sitting perfectly still on the archers' block as brazen as
you like. The shadows on the stairwell were deep, slanting, and Ash
leaned into them, pressing her shoulders against the limestone wall.
The voices grew louder. Footsteps clicked over tile,
click,
click, click
.
    'Don't hold the bowl out at arm's
length like a used chamber pot, you great moose. It'll cool in no
time that way. Hold it against your chest. Can't have His Coldness
complaining about lukewarm beans—not with them being late and
all."
    'And why not? It's certainly not him
that eats them. Beans is common fare, and we all know how high and
mighty the Killhound is. Wouldn't eat a pork sausage if his life
depended on it."
    'I don't know nothing about that. Beans
in soft butter he's asked for, and beans he's going to get. Now
deliver 'em sharpish—they're long past due as it is. And be
sure to let him know that no one in the kitchen's to blame.
Furnacemen! Hmph! When I find which of those dog-faced devils killed
my stove, I swear I'll…"
    The voices trailed off as the two
figures disappeared along the corridor, and Ash pulled back from the
wall. It was just Mistress Wence and
    a manservant. They hadn't even glanced
up as they passed. From the sound of things, they were late
delivering food to her foster father. Which meant that Iss was still
in his chamber. Annoyed, Ash brushed lime dust from her shoulders.
What was she going to do now?
    Matters were decided for her by the
sound of booted feet descending the stairs. A brother-in-the-watch,
judging from the faint jingle of metal that accompanied each step, so
there was no going back. Leaving the safe haven of the shadows, Ash
took the last of the steps and moved into the corridor below. The
entrance to the Red Forge lay on the south side of the tower, so she
took the way north instead, following Mistress Wence and the
manservant toward Iss' chamber.
    At ground level the curvature of the
Cask's corridors was so slight, it was easy to forget they ran in a
circuit around the base of the tower. Only a quarter of the rotunda
was given over to Iss' private rooms. The remaining space was taken
by state rooms: the Hall of Trials, the Blackvault, and the main
entrances to the quadrangle and the Red Forge. Along the entire
length of the circuit ran a series of life-size statues hewn from
marble the color of smoke: the Founding Quarterlords and Impaled
Beasts of Spire Vanis.
    Ash shivered hard as she heard the
brother-in-the-watch open the main rotunda door behind her. Cold air
pushed against the backs of her legs. She was beginning to wish she
hadn't started this. But then, doing anything these days was
preferable to sleeping.
    Dreams woke her every night. Her mind
drifted… she saw the ice cave, felt the terrible cold breath
that steamed from its shining walls…
    Another door banged closed, bringing
Ash back. Voices again. Mistress Wence and the servant returning from
Iss' chamber. They would be here any moment.
    Panicking, Ash wheeled around. Smooth
walls, an iron-plated door that led to the unused east gallery and
was kept locked at all times, a lit greenwood torch, and a recess
housing a statue of Torny Fyfe, Bastard Lord, swordsman and glutton,
and least highly regarded of the Founding Quarterlords were the only
things in sight.
    Mistress Wence's heels tapped a march
against the limestone floor. Her thin nasal voice piped in
displeasure.
    Ash ran for the greenwood torch, tugged
it from its pewter casing, and rammed the burning end against the
wall. The flames died in I stantly, killing the light. Thick smoke
from the charred end curled toward the ceiling as Ash recouched the
torch. The smell of burned resin helped clear her head. Turning
about, she ran for the statue of Torny Fyfe, squeezing herself behind
his great marble thighs and thanking the Maker for every eight-course
meal the Quarterlord had ever eaten. The shadow cast by his
overhanging belly was enough to provide a team of dogs