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down as they headed Want-west along
the bluff. Clouds disappeared, abandoning a sky that had grown
perfectly blue. The landscape clarified. Rocks, mountains, even the
distant horizon became sharper and more easy to read. The wind had
died some time back and the air was diamond-clear. Raif could see for
leagues in every direction, and spun round to take it all in. He saw
a vast dead volcano rise from the valley floor, saw boulders as big
as roundhouses strewn across a dry lake bed, spied thousands of gray
stumps rising from the headland, a forest of petrified trees, and
spotted a deep flaw in the landscape where a vast shield of rock had
been pushed up by underground forces. None of it was familiar. And
there was no telltale glint of water.
    Raif licked his lips and winced in pain. He
wondered if they'd turned black. It had to be midday by now and he
hadn't had a drink since dawn. The day before he had allowed himself
only a cup of water. Time was running out on him. He knew some of the
dangers of dehydration from his time spent on longhunts. There was
little freshwater to be had in the badlands of Blackhail. The
majority of standing pools and lakes were brackish, thick with
minerals percolated from the bedrock. Running water was little
better, mostly sulfur springs, salt licks and leachfields. A man had
to be sure where his next drink was coming from. Dehydration could
make your eyesight deteriorate and your muscles cramp, and just like
the cold it could play tricks with your mind and have you seeing
things that weren't there. Raif smiled grimly. One way or other he
would likely be insane by the end of the day.
    Giving in to his thirst, he held the limp
waterskin above his head and squeezed a few drops into his mouth. His
tongue felt big and clumsy, barely able to register the wetness of
the water. Bear, noticing the waterskin was in use, trotted over and
butted his chest. He shook the skin. So little liquid was left that
it didn't make a sound. Raif glanced at his sword.
    Not yet.
    Prying open Bear's jaw, he thrust the waterskin
spout deep into her mouth and then collapsed the skin with force,
ejecting the last of the water. He was taking no chances: Bear was a
sloppy drinker.
    His spirits lifted after that. Bear's wounded
expression made him laugh. The sun was shining. He could even see
where he was going—no small mercy in the Want. The bluff
gradually broadened into headland and they began to make good time.
Directly ahead the mountain ridge loomed closer and Raif could now
see that its lower slopes were mounded gravel. He tried not to let
that bother him. Experience had taught him that climbing loose stone
banks was hard work. Still, it would keep them warm.
    And make them sweat. Raif blinked, and noticed for
the first time that his eyes felt no relief. He was out of tears.
    What are we going to do?
    Three days back they'd passed a narrow canyon that
had contained ice. The frozen liquid had been the color of sheep
urine, and he just couldn't bring himself to pick it. Water hadn't
seemed like much of a problem then. One thing the Want never seemed
short of was ice. Now he would give anything to return to that canyon
. . . but in the Want there was no going back.
    Raif scratched Bear's ear. There was nothing to do
but carry on.
    As the day wore on the cold deepened. Hoarfrost
glittered on every rock face and loose stone. Raif's fingers began to
ache and the tip of his nose grew raw from constant rubbing—ice
formed every time he took a breath. Bear's muzzle had to be removed.
Metal was a lightning rod for frostbite and could not be left resting
against skin. The hill pony seemed grateful enough to be free of the
bit, but Raif could tell she was growing listless. Instead of walking
abreast of him, she had fallen behind, and she was becoming less
particular about her footing. Twice now she had stumbled when a front
hoof had come down on loose scree.
    It wasn't long before their pace began to slow.
Raif lagged,