Chapter 7: The Amulet
Honor lay on her belly on the winecellar's cold stone wall, using the green witch's knife to scratchrunes onto the stone wall. Dwarves left messages on the lowest partof a tunnel wall. If Delgar was still on Sevrin, he might find thismessage in time to save Fox's life. If he passed through this room on hisunderground travels. Ifhe thought to check this particular wall formessages.
If, if, and if again.
She rolled into a sitting positionand tucked the knife between two dusty wine bottles. Rhendish's menwouldn't let her keep it, and if they saw the dulled blade theymight wonder what she'd been doing with it.
She pulled her knees up to herchest, wrapped her arms around them, and waited.
There was nothing else to do. Thedoor at the end of the tunnel leading from Keefin's cottage hadopened into this wine cellar. It had closed behind Honor socompletely that she couldn't find its outlines, much less open it.She'd examined every inch of the chamber, but the only apparentexit was a stout oak door, which unfortunately was bolted on theoutside.
She heard, with decidedly mixedfeelings, the thump of booted feet on the cellar stairs. The boltopened with a sharp crack that reminded her of ice-heavy branchesshattering in a winter wind. The door swung open, and she liftedone hand to shield her eyes from the sudden flare oftorchlight.
Rhendish stood in the doorway,flanked by armed guards. He lifted one eyebrow, like a parentwaiting for a misbehaving child to confess.
She rose to her feet. "After themetal is removed, I will work for you for a year and a day. That isour agreement. I'm bound by honor to fulfill it."
"And I've no reason whatsoever todoubt your honor," he said in a voice utterly devoid of expression."Even so, I don't suppose you'd care to explain why you are lockedin a tavern wine cellar?"
"Not really."
Rhendish waited.
"It's a sordid tale of debaucheryand betrayal," Honor said in a tone that, if possible, was evenflatter than his.
To her surprise, the adept's lipstwitched. "Perhaps another time. We should return to the manor andcontinue our work." His gaze skimmed over an empty wine rack."Unless, of course, you're still thirsty?"
His brand of humor felt familiar,almost elfin. So she did what she would have done among her ownkind: She picked up two bottles, handed them to the guards, andswept past them to the cellar stairs.
As she climbed toward relativefreedom, she took satisfaction in imagining the look on Rhendish'sface when he learned she'd chosen the two most expensive bottles inthe cellar.
A minor revenge, but until she wasreleased from her bonds and her vow, it would have todo.
The return from Kronhus toHeartstone took hours longer than it might have, had Fox and hissmall band been able to sail directly into the Sevrinspire port.They returned the fishing boat to the cove and slipped into theforest beyond the fishing village. A small cave hidden in the rootsof a fallen tree led into what Delgar called a walking tunnel: astraight passage built for speedy travel. Of course, Fox hadlearned years ago that dwarven notions of "straight" bore adistinct resemblance to a drunken spider's web. But even the mostconvoluted trail eventually ends. By Fox's estimation, they reachedthe Fox Den around nightfall.
They stumbled into the mirror room.A woodland scene played across the silvered glass, a small valesurrounding a mist-shrouded pool. Vishni gave the scene a wave andcollapsed onto a settee with a happy groan. Avidan walked over tothe mirror and stood in silence as he gazed at the scene. Hereached out a tentative hand and jolted back when his fingerstouched the glass.
Fox nudged Delgar and tipped hishead toward the alchemist. "What do you suppose that'sabout?"
"No clue." He tightened the strapholding his pack. "I'm off, then."
"I'll walk with you aways."
Delgar shrugged and set off towardhis forge room. "That's fine, but then you're heading back to theothers."
"Did I say I wasn't?"
"You didn't have to say anything.You look as worried as a newborn babe, and with good reason.There's a sorcerer in this city, and I figure you want to warn yourkin just as much as I do mine."
Fox blew out a sigh of relief. "Ithought you'd understand."
The dwarf rounded on him, "Iunderstand that you're an idiot. After what happened on Kronhus,it's not safe for you to show your face."
"Everyone thinks I'm dead. No one'slooking for me."
Delgar snorted. "They'll be roundingup everyone who looks anything like the City Fox. Granted, youdon't come very close to the hero of legend, but why take therisk?"
"My mother-"
"Your mother has refused to leavethat cottage for ten years. What's different today that will makeany difference to her?"
Avidan cleared his throat. The twofriends spun toward him, startled by his suddenappearance.
"I might be able to help. There arecertain potions that bring swift and harmless slumber. Let Delgartake Mistress Winterborn such a potion and then carry her back tothe den."
"I don't like it," Foxsaid.
"It's not an ideal solution," Delgarsaid, "but it's better than what you have in mind. Give me theamulet as a token, so that she'll know you sent me."
Fox wasn't sure she'd remember it,or him, but the suggestion struck him as sensible. He reached intohis pocket for the broken locket and held it out. As Delgar reachedfor it, Fox's fingers snapped shut and he jerked his handback.
The dwarf blinked. "What was thatabout?"
"I'm not sure," Fox said. He triedunclenching his fist, but his fingers wouldn't obey. "I don't thinkI can give it to you."
"Sure you can."
"No, I literally can't give you theamulet. There must be some sort of compulsion built into it. You'llhave to take it from me."
Delgar sighed and shrugged off hispack. He lowered it to the ground. Without warning he swung thepack at Fox's ankles in a hard, rising arc.
The thief's feet swept out fromunder him. For a moment his boots and his belt occupied the samelevel plane, as if he was sitting on the ground with his legsoutstretched. And then, suddenly, he was. Pain jolted up his spineas he hit the stone floor. Then Delgar dived at him, and the floorseemed soft and yielding in comparison.
They rolled and grappled inmismatched combat. Fox writhed and twisted and did his best to makethe dwarf work at not hurting him. Vishni, who as usual was drawnby the sounds of an entertaining fight, cheered Fox on and offeredimprobable suggestions.
But the battle was as brief as theoutcome was certain. In moments Delgar had him face down with botharms pinned behind him. He pried over Fox's clenched fist to find.. nothing.
"Where'd it go?" the dwarfdemanded.
Fox rolled over as soon as Delgarreleased him and stared at his open, empty hands. "I haven't thefirst clue."
"That's bad," Vishni said flatly."That means the amulet is attuned to you. It can sense your intent.And it will disappear rather than be taken. This is powerfulmagic."
A grim possibility occurred to Fox."Could the amulet be traced?"
"Of course! Why else would anyonego to the trouble of making sure you had to keep it?"
"That would explain how the adeptsrounded up Eldreath's offspring," he muttered. "Assuming each of usgot an amulet."
"Each of us?" Vishni echoed. Her darkeyes widened. "You knew you were descended from Eldreath, and youdidn't tell me?"
"You'd make a ballad out of thetale."
"No I wouldn't!"
Fox sighed. "Vishni, you've alreadygot your book open to a new page."
The fairy looked down at the book onher lap. "Oh."
He pushed himself to his feet."We've got to separate. If they find me, they find the Thorn.Delgar, you go warn your people, then bring my mother to theden."
Vishni caught his arm. "What willyou do?"
"Find a boat. Make arrangements.When I figure out how to get Delgar to the mainland, I'll send wordto the Cat and the Cauldron."
"I like that tavern," Vishni said ina small voice.
"I know." He bru
shed the knuckles ofone hand across her cheek. "No explosions."
"No promises," she said.
Chapter 8: Starsong
Nimbolk strode along the fisherman'swharf, the hood of his cloak pulled low over his forehead. This didnot made him conspicuous, for the sea wind nipped sharply and mostof the humans covered their heads with hoods or knitted woolencaps. Like them, he walked with hunched shoulders and an awkwardheel-to-toe stride. The clatter of his own boots against the woodenplanks offended him. No wonder humans crashed through the forestlike drunken trolls.
He skirted a group of men who weresorting through the contents of a herring net and a pair of doxieswho watched the incoming fisherman with inviting smiles and hard,coin-counting eyes. An old man wrapped in a tattered cloak crouchednearby, using a barrel filled with brine as a windbreak. He mightas well have been invisible for all the attention the others paidhim. This filled Nimbolk with sorrow and outrage. He had heardhumans allowed their elders to go cold and hungry, but knowing thisdid not prepare him to confront the reality.
Was there something in the brine,Nimbolk wondered, that pickled the humans' brains along with theirfish? Or were they actively taught to ignore the world around themand the people in it? It didn't seem possible that any sentientbeing could be born as oblivious as these humans.
He lifted his gaze to the cliff-sidefortress, the keep that until recently had been held by the adeptMuldonny. A single road wound up the steep approach to thefortress, but many more lay hidden beneath the streets andbuildings. Long before any human set foot on these islands, dwarveshad called them home. They'd been gone for a very long time, butonce their tunnels had linked the islands' system of caverns andprotected secrets so old that dragons had forgottenthem.
Were any of Stormwall's humans awareof the ancient civilization beneath their feet? Would they care ifthey knew?
The humans of Sevrin struck Nimbolkas being every bit as contrary as they were oblivious. They hadmany good things to say of Muldonny, whose alchemical weapons hadplayed an important role in ending the harsh rule of the sorcererEldreath, but oddly enough, few people condemned Fox Winterborn forthe raid that killed the island's ruler and war hero. In fact, theStormwall fisherfolk seemed reluctant to say anything at all aboutthe red-haired thief.
People on Kronhus had been full oftalk of this City Fox, full of outrage over the death of theiradept. But they seemed equally upset at the attempt to use Tymion'sdeath to discredit Fox and his followers. Nimbolk's attempts tolearn what this Fox's goal had been and what his followers hoped toachieve had not been well received.
He glanced down at his knuckles. Ifhe'd been in the forest with his fellow elves, the scrapes andbruises from yesterday's fight would have healed by now.
It occurred to him that he wasexperiencing life as humans did-cut off from others, dependent uponhis own strength, living out a singled-minded purpose with onlyscant regard for those around him.
Perhaps he judged Sevrin's humansunfairly. He wasn't sure an elf would do much better in a worldwhere everyone regarded himself as an island, linked only byfragile bridges of blood or choice or necessity.
Is this what had happened to Honor?The elf woman who's stumbled into the Starsingers grove thatmidwinter nice had looked so frail, and she'd aged more than ahandful of years could explain. It was almost as if she'd beendenied the renewal of a springtime Greening.
Was that even possible? How couldany elf endure that and live?
Nimbolk quickened his pace, suddenlyanxious to leave this crowd of humans behind.
The wharfs gave way to an open-airmarket, a small village of tables and tents and wagons where onecould purchase fresh fish, pot-ready rabbits and fowl, rootvegetables, baskets of summer berries, and a bewildering variety ofhousehold goods.
A plump woman was tossing nuggets ofsalt bread to passersby to tempt them into buying her strangeloaves-thin ropes of bread twisted into knots. Nimbolk caught thepiece she threw his way and munched it as he worked his way throughthe crowd.
Up ahead a path disappeared into theshadows between two rows of warehouses. Nimbolk veered away fromthe crowd and slipped gratefully into the treeless shade. So muchsun, so many days at sea, had bleached any hint of summer greenfrom his hair and skin and left him as pale as a northlandhuman.
The noise of the port fell away,muted by thick stone walls. Since there were no eyes to see him,Nimbolk abandoned his attempt to move like a human. For a moment,he reveled in the ability to move without being deafened by his ownfootsteps. His expanding senses caught the muffled thud of fistsagainst flesh, the soft grunts of pain.
Judging distances was difficult inthese human-built caverns, but Nimbolk guessed the fight was takingplace behind the tall wooden building to his right.
Curious, he veered off along apassage littered with old crates. At the end of the alley he turnedonto a rock-strewn strip of land between the warehouses and thecliff overhead.
Four men stood behind the tallwooden building. One of them, a yellow-bearded man wearing afisherman's knitted cap, sagged in the grip of two men sportingidentical tunics of blue-dyed leather. A third uniformed man thrusta coin at his victim's battered face. Even in the dim light,Nimbolk could see the tell-tale shine of fairy gold.
"There's no sense denying it, notwhen this was found in your boat."
The fisherman spat a mouthful ofblood at the man's boots. "There might be white spatter on thehull. That don't mean I'm on friendly terms with the seagull thatdropped it."
His tormenter raised a short cluband jabbed at his chest. The fisherman's gasp of pain ended in agurgle.
Nimbolk frowned. He wondered if thethugs realized they'd broken this man's ribs and driven a jaggedbone into one lung. The fisherman was as good as dead. If thepurpose of this beating was extracting information, these men wereas stupid as they were brutal.
The club-wielded man poked himagain. "That's not the answer I'm looking for."
"Only one I got," gasped thefisherman.
"Maybe you'd rather answer toCaptain Volgo? Because I feel obliged to tell you that he's nothalf as pleasant as we three fellows."
Volgo.
For a moment Nimbolk stood frozen,his mind filled with the image of Asteria lying face-down in bloodysnow, a man with a club standing behind her.
The fisherman spat blood into hiskiller's eyes. The man swore and rocked back a step as he swipedone sleeve over his face. His blood-streaked features twisted insomething almost like joy as he lifted the club high.
The man who'd killed Honor had wornthat very smile.
Nimbolk threw the knife before herealized he'd unsheathed it. The blade spun three times before itsank to the hilt in the man's exposed armpit, paying him his owncoin for the death he'd given the fisherman.
The man stumbled, and the downwardswing meant to end the fisherman slammed into the face of one ofthe thugs holding him.
Their comrade yelped in surprise. Hedanced aside, letting the fisherman fall as he pulled a sword andlooked around for an enemy to fight.
Nimbolk drew two daggers and obligedhim.
He walked down the alley, bladesheld at his sides. The last man standing raised his sword high andrushed forward, roaring like a charging boar.
Nimbolk lifted both daggers andcaught the descending sword in a cross parry. A quick twistwrenched the blade from the man's hand and sent it clatteringaside. He stroked one dagger across the human's throat and keptwalking.
The club wielder was sitting on theground, one hand clamped to his wound. His eyes widened as he tookin Nimbolk's approach and he scuttled backwards like a crab. Thescent of blood and fear rose from him, mingling with the tang ofsalt and sharper mineral odors.
Nimbolk pursued, bloody daggerleading.
"Where is Volgo?"
"Heartstone Island!" the manshrieked. "Works for the adept Rhendish, he does! They're coming toStormwall tomorrow. I can take you to them."
He'd be dead long before dawn. Ifnot for the human ability to ignore truths they didn't wish tocontem
plate, the man would know this.
Nimbolk toed the fallen club. "Whereyou there? Was it you that killed the queen's champion?"
"I. . I don't know what you'retalking about."
Nimbolk reached for his hood andjerked it down. An elf with pale skin and brown hair might pass forhuman, but only if he took care to hide his distinctiveears.
"Dead gods," the human swore. "Iknow you. You were with that fancy elf bitch."
Nimbolk's boot slammed into theman's jaw and knocked him flat onto his back. He hooked one toeunder the club and flipped it up, catching it by the handle. Theworst insult one fighter could offer another was to end him withhis own weapon.
"Stand," he commanded.
The thug struggled to his feet."You'd kill an unarmed man?"
"You were armed when I killed you.That's more than you can say for the elves you murdered in theforest grove."
The man dipped one gloved hand intoa pocket. As the fabric gaped open, the smell of salt and mineralsgrew stronger. Nimbolk waited until the man drew out a fistful ofpowder and started an underhand toss.
Nimbolk swung the club, catching theman's hand and driving it up into his own face. A cloud of greenishmineral salt surrounded him. Crystals melted and sizzled as theymet flesh.
The man fell to his knees, shriekingand clawing at his eyes. Nimbolk poked him in the ribs with theclub in deliberate imitation of his treatment of the fisherman. Hemust have sensed the elf's intent, for he flung both hands over hishead and cringed away from the coming blow.
But Nimbolk hesitated. This man didnot deserve to die the same death as the queen'schampion.
He broke the club over one knee anddrove the jagged edge up under the thug's ribcage.
Behind him, the fisherman gave achoking cough. It occurred to Nimbolk that the man might belaughing.
He turned and knelt beside thefisherman. The grim mirth faded from the man's face as his gazelocked onto Nimbolk's elfin ears. Terror glazed hiseyes.
"I didn't say anything. . aboutyour people. The boat, the fairy girl that took it. I swear it! ButDorn. . he pulled the Fox out of the water. Knows he's alive.They'll find Dorn. He's got no love for the adepts, but he won'tbleed. . to keep the thief's secrets."
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