Honor dragged the queen to her feetand scooped her limp body into her arms. "Minue take you!" shesnarled as she hurled her twin-born sister at the massivefir.
To the humans, the words would soundlike a curse, an invocation to some dark god or demon. They wouldsee only an elf forced into treachery, cursing them as she dashedher queen's head against an ancient pine.
But Nimbolk's elfin eyes had seenthe bark of the tree turn to mist, as insubstantial as arainbow.
The queen disappeared.
Minue, the tree's guardian dryad,had taken her.
Honor pushed herself away from thesolid trunk. Her leggings had been torn from thigh to calf,exposing her wounded knee. For a fleeting moment Nimbolk could havesworn that metal, not bone, gleamed through the blood.
She ran one hand over a new circleof runes on the bark and then turned to face the invaders, triumphwritten on her face.
"You lose, Volgo."
"There's a first time foreverything." The bearded man reached down into the bloody snow andcame up with the Thorn in his hand. "Unfortunately for you, thisisn't it."
He made a sharp gesture with thedagger. Behind Honor, the man who'd clubbed Asteria raised hisweapon high.
Nimbolk tried to shout a warning,but no breath remained to him. Even if he could warn her, even ifhe had starsong left to send her, she could not move quickly enoughto avoid her fate.
In helpless silence, he steeledhimself to witness the death of the elf he loved nearly as much ashe hated.
Honor surged to her feet, gasping asshe felt anew the impact of the club-the moment of bright, sharplight, the sound of her own shattering skull and the sense ofcrystal shards slicing deep into mind and memory.
The pain faded quickly, leaving onlythe burning agony in her sword arm. The memory of battle remained,vivid as a fairy's illusion. It felt familiar, like opening a bookand reading a well-known tale.
She pulled up the skirts of the gownRhendish had given her and propped one foot against the wall so shecould study her knee. Yes, there were faint silver lines round theknee, and when she twisted her leg she found deeper scars in thecrease behind.
More metal, moregears.
Less elf.
She took a moment to absorb this. Inthe depths of her heart, despair thundered like winter surf. Sheacknowledged it, but she did not let the waves overwhelmher.
Instead, she unwrapped the bandageon her sword arm and regarded the neat row of new stitches whereRhendish had removed a few broken gears. Tomorrow, he would replaceone of the metal rods with crystal grown from her own shatteredbones. The next day, he would do more. And the next. She would bearit for as long as the task required.
And when it was done, she owedRhendish the strength of her sword arm for a year and a day. Thatwas the pledge she'd made, the price of the Thorn'ssafety.
"It is decided," she said, turningher mind to other things.
She walked over to her chamberwindow and gazed out over Rhendish's courtyard as she pondered themeaning of this vision.
Though she welcomed the return ofmemory, even one so painful as this, she could not understand whythis memory had come to her through Nimbolk's eyes.
The connection among elfin warriorsran along deep and complex paths, but it seldom included a sharingof memories, and it did not transcend death.
That could only mean Nimbolk wasalive. And unless the warrior had become a priest or mystic in thelast decade-a notion too incongruous for her to entertain for evena moment-a connection strong enough for shared memory meant that nogreat distance or open seas separated them.
Nimbolk had come to the islands ofSevrin. Knowing Nimbolk, she had no doubt that he'd come for theThorn, and she knew all too well how he'd deal with anyone whostood between him and his duty.
Honor reached under her mattress anddrew out several battered items of clothing. The shadow-coloredgarments she'd worn during the battle in Muldonny's fortress hadnot been improved by her long fall into the sea, but where she wasgoing, they'd be less conspicuous than Rhendish's silk andgems.
She had to warn Fox, whether or nothe wanted to listen to her.
Chapter 3: Kronhus
Sailing from Heartstone to Kronhusrequired a boat, a brisk wind, and a long night. Thanks to Vishni,acquiring a boat presented no problem. The little fishing vesselotherwise would have spent a day or two bobbing alongside itsmooring post while its owners recovered from her latest prank. Andin late summer, winds from the south blew warm and strong. Acurrent ran along the western sea, speeding their course as theyskimmed past one island after another.
Even so, it seemed to Fox Winterbornthat no boat had ever moved so slowly, and no night had ever lastedso long. Knowing that this would be the shortest and easiest partof the journey did little to set his mind at ease.
When morning came, he would have tofind smugglers willing to take him and his three companions out tosea, to the floating markets where business was done onmainlanders' ships, far from the watching eyes of Sevrin's rulingadepts. To complicate matters, one of Fox's companions was a fairy,one was a dwarf, and the third was a man from a distant land andanother time.
Fox was not certain which of thethree would present the biggest problem. Probably not Delgar. Theyoung dwarf stood taller than most of his kind, near the midpointof five feet and six, and although his natural coloring was anunrelieved shade of gray, he could change the hue of his skin andhair at will. His frame carried more muscle than most men couldboast, but his face was clean-shaven and handsome. He could passfor human.
So could slim, winsome Vishni, aslong as no one looked too closely at her eyes. She had prettyeyes-big, dark eyes that sparkled with childlike delight-but whatshone through them was not even remotely human.
Oddly enough, it was Avidan, thehuman alchemist, who stood out. In a land where most men were talland broad and blond, his dark southern skin, black hair, and hawk'snose proclaimed him a stranger. And Avidan was very, very strange.He was brilliant-Fox never doubted that for a moment-but notentirely sane.
Even the longest night musteventually end. The moon was sinking into the western sea when Foxcaught sight of Nightsails, the nearest and largest of the island'sports. As befitted its name, the little seaport bustled withactivity. Torchlight glimmered against narrow wharfs. More torchesbobbed along the stairs leading down the cliff as people hurriedtoward the docks. A bank of fire blazed along the shore, coaxinglong shadows from the piles of boxes waiting to be loaded aboardthe boats or raised cliff-top by ropes and pulleys. "Kronhus" camefrom an old word for "time," and the islanders seemed determined tomake good use of every minute.
It was not quite sunrise, butalready smoke rose from the city's forges. The main business ofKronhus was glass and the things that could be made from it. Forreasons no sage or storyspinner could explain, Kronhus and theislets surrounding it were rich in quartz ideal for glass-makingand further blessed by an abundance of sea coal for fuel. Many ofthe islanders made a livelihood from gathering the glittering blacknuggets that strewed the coasts after each tide and everystorm.
Vishni perched on the bow, her armsspread wide and her face lifted to the spray. Silhouetted againstthe torchlight, she looked like a bowsprit, or perhaps a sea nymphwith sails for wings.
"Best get down," Fox called. "We'realmost there."
The fairy scrambled into the boatand gave his hair a tug. "Best tuck this fox tail under your cap.Things could get awkward if you were recognized, what with youbeing dead and all."
Delgar snorted and reached for theline securing the jib. He coaxed the knot free with deft fingersand let some of the wind out of the sails. Another tug released themainsail's starboard line. He shifted over to the wooden bench onthe port side. The little vessel came around, slowing as it changeddirection. Delgar secured the rope with a few twists as he reachedwith his other hand for the crank that raised the keel. There wereno deepwater ports on Kronhus, and even the small vessel they'd" borrowed" from the fishermen who'd caught Vishni's attention couldeasily run aground.
The fairy watched Delgar withinterest. "None of the stories about dwarves describe you assea-going folk. When we're out to sea and the smugglers take overthe work of sailing, you can tell me where you learned to do allthis."
"No."
"Are there ballads about it? Iwouldn't mind hearing a new ballad. You should sing more. I've onlyever heard you sing when you're stoneshifting. Why is that? Whodoesn't like singing ballads?"
"Me."
"Sea chanteys would also be good,"she mused, "but they usually don't tell much of a story. Of course,I suppose you don't really have to sing. You could just tell me thestory with plain words. I can add improvements after."
Delgar turned to Avidan, who sat onthe rear bench, one narrow brown hand resting on the tiller. "Howmany languages do you speak?"
"Seven with fluency," he said,"though I can read several more reasonably well."
"Do any of them have a word for 'no'that a fairy will understand?"
The alchemist gave this question farmore deliberation than it deserved. "Not as such." Fox paid scantattention to his friends' talk. His gaze searched the dock, theshore, the cliffs, looking for anything that might complicate theirescape from Sevrin.
Beyond the dock, torchlightglimmered on purple sand. Fox glanced at the sack of amethysts thatlay at Avidan's feet. They'd been collecting the purple rocks fornearly four years now, on the alchemist's advice. Before Avidancame to them, Fox hadn't known the name "amethyst" or dreamed thatin some lands the colored quartz might be considered a gemstone. OnKronhus, it was used for making bottles. Cheap bottles.
But Delgar had agreed with Avidan,and he assured Fox that a sack of amethysts would buy them passageon a smugglers' ship.
It was Vishni who'd suggested thatthey leave from Kronhus, reasoning that smugglers tended to mindtheir own affairs. Sailing from Stormwatch would have made moresense under most circumstances, but that had been Muldonny'sisland. And since Muldonny's death was being widely attributed tothe City Fox, the young thief found it prudent to avoid thatisland's ports.
The adept's death weighed heavily onFox. He owed his life to Honor, and when she'd asked him toinfiltrate Sevrin's greatest stronghold to retrieve the Thorn, he'dagreed without hesitation. The fact that Muldonny was known tosurround himself with clockwork constructs rather than human guardsmade the decision easier. Fox had no qualms about destroyingmachinery, but he didn't enter the stronghold with intention tokill.
Nor had he imagined Muldonny's deathmight be the spark that kindled the rebellion he had long dreamedof leading.
A sharp jab from Delgar's elbowbrought Fox's attention back to the moment. "Look at the peoplegetting off that boat," the dwarf said in a low voice. "Seeanything familiar about them?"
The torchlight suddenly seemed apale thing compared to so many heads dyed bright, fiery red. As themen swaggered down the wharf, dock hands and fisherfolk stopped towatch them with narrowed eyes.
Vishni beamed and pointed. "Look atthat! A whole flock of foxes, here on Kronhus! My City Fox storiesare spreading like warm honey."
Fox caught the fairy's hand anddragged it down. "Don't draw attention."
"And strictly speaking," Avidan saidwith equal sternness, "a group of foxes is called a troop or askulk."
"They're not doing much skulking,"Vishni said as she jerked her hand out of Fox's grasp. "And come tothink of it, I don't recognize any of them. Not that I know all thefoxes and vixens, but there's at least twenty men there. You'dthink I'd recognize at least one of them."
"This couldn't be good." Fox turnedto the dwarf. "Turn this thing around. Move fast. Don't make itlook like we're running."
"Pick any two," grumbled Delgar, buthe set to work bringing the boat about.
Fox pointed northward. "There's asmaller wharf by the observatory. We should be able to find a boatthere."
"Why don't we just take this oneout?" Vishni asked.
"It's a big ocean," Delgar said."You think it's easy to find a ship in the open sea?"
"From the air?" she retorted. "Icould do it."
"Without getting distracted byseagulls?"
Fox sent a warning scowl in Delgar'sdirection. "Thanks for the offer, Vishni, but it wouldn't work.Smugglers from the mainland are used to dealing with certain ships,certain captains. They'd have no reason to trust us."
"Nor we them," Avidan said. "Were weto approach one of these ships, what would keep them from takingthe amethysts and sailing on? No, their desire to maintain anongoing arrangement with Kronhus smugglers will purchase ourpassage more securely than any gemstone."
"That's sound thinking," Delgar saidwithout a hint of his usual sarcasm.
"Your approval fills me with joy,"the alchemist said without a hint of anything resemblingemotion.
Delgar snorted and turned hisattention back to the sails.
The fairy sidled closer to Fox. "Youdon't think the foxes will attack Kronhus's adept?" shewhispered.
"I don't think the islanders wouldstand for it."
She nodded. "That's good. There arelots of stories about that one."
Fox had heard a few. Tymion was themost flamboyant member of the Council of Adepts. He was renownedfor his table and his hospitality, but apparently he approachedfeasting and fighting with equal enthusiasm. In his youth he'dfought more than a few duels. He'd lost one ear to an opponent'ssword and had replaced it with a wardrobe of metallic ears: copperfor every day, silver for star-gazing, gold and gemstone forfestive wear. Rumor suggested that the adept never slept but spentevery night in an observatory filled with strange devices thatenabled him to wrest secrets from the stars. He wrote and performedin plays that, so he claimed, gave portents of things to come.Opinion was divided on whether Tymion made this claim in earnest orin jest, but the people of Kronhus took pride in hiseccentricities. The exploits of "Father Tyme," as he wasaffectionately called, provided them with a constant source ofentertainment.
Fairies, Fox mused, were not theonly people who valued stories.
Only a wisp or two of sunrise pinkcolored the sky when they reached the cliff surrounding the Kronhusobservatory. The massive stone keep, a remnant from ancient times,brooded above the cliff, looking dour and glum despite the glassdome that gleamed in the morning light.
Vishni stood up suddenly. Fox pulledher down, but not before he saw what had caught herattention.
Three men, all of them red-haired,were pulling a skiff onto the purple sand. The tallest of themslung a thick coil of rope over his shoulder and began to climb thesteep rocky cliff.
"What are they up to?" Foxmurmured.
Delgar glanced at the climbers andshrugged. "Why do you care?"
"Whatever they're doing, they'redoing in my name." Fox took a deep breath as he weighed dutyagainst inclination. "Let's find out what's going on."
"Have you forgotten the Thorn?" Delgar demanded. "The need to get it away from Sevrin as soon aspossible?"
Vishni put a hand on the dwarf'sarm. "Let him go. He wants to control his own story. Everyonedoes."
"As far as Sevrin is concerned, Foxis dead. He doesn't havea story anymore. He has a legend. No one gets tocontrol his own legend."
The fairy patted Delgar's armapprovingly. "Now, that's good thinking. Heroes can get in the wayof the story. Legends are much easier to improve."
Delgar turned to Avidan. "Did I justadvise her to kill uncooperative heroes?"
"Not as such, no. It might beprudent, however, for Fox to humor her with an explosion from timeto time. Mind the keel, now."
The dwarf cranked up the keelmoments before the boat grated to a stop, still several yards fromthe shore. Fox leaped over the side and splashed toward theimposters.
The first man had reached the top.The other two were climbing the rope he'd tossed down. Fox ran tothe cliff and began to follow them. He heard the dwarf behind him,grumbling as he picked his way across the rock-strewnshore.
The lowest man glanced down, joltingwith surprise as he noted Fox. He kicked at some loose stones,sending a small avalanche to
ward his pursuer.
Fox shielded his face with one armuntil the clatter of stones died away. When he looked up again, hefaced a small crossbow.
Below him, Delgar slapped both palmsagainst the cliff and sang three quick, deep notes.
Deep, thunderous rumbling shiveredthrough the cliff. A jagged crack shot past Fox like lightning inreverse. It split, and one of the branches flashed toward the pitonthe crossbowman was holding.
The metal wedge slipped from thewidened crevice, and suddenly the crossbowman was falling. Foxleaned aside, but one of the man's flailing arms clipped him andknocked him from his perch.
Fortunately, he hadn't climbed highenough for the fall to do him much harm, even without the cushionprovided by the imposter.
"Nice of the other Fox to break yourfall," Vishni said.
The thief sent her a filthy glare ashe hauled himself to his feet. He glanced up. The other two men hadscaled the cliff. One of them gave him a mocking littlewave.
Their less fortunate comradegroaned, twitched, and went limp. Avidan knelt beside the man anduntied the strings tying a bag to his belt. He removed from it asmall, round disk, about the size of a biscuit. His face darkenedas he studied it.
"What is it?" Fox asked.
The alchemist looked up. "SomethingI have not seen for many years. Something I had hoped never to seeagain."
He twisted the little disk to revealthe gears within. "Every clockwork device follows certain patterns.Some are as simple as a clock chiming the hour. Others allowhuman-shaped servants to follow a series of commands. To explainhow this device works would require years of instruction, but forthe sake of simplicity, imagine a parchment scraped clean so thatnew words can be written upon it."
"So that pocketful of scrap metal isthe parchment knife."
"Andthe new instructions," Avidan said. "And beforeyou ask what they are, please observe that this device is notscroll, to be read at a glance."
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