Thinking of the stories lifted thehair on the back of Fox's neck, even though he knew that Vishni has" improved" most of the tales almost beyond recognition.
He kept glancing at the foam thatgathered at water's edge, half expecting it to rise and take theshape of a drowned man. The soft clatter of branches shifting inthe wind brought to mind restless bones.
Fox shifted his perch on the treeand scrubbed one hand over the back of his neck, resisting the urgeto glance over his shoulder.
Dorn would be here soon, if he cameat all. Fox didn't think the fisherman would sell him to theadepts, but if he did, Fox would see the betrayal coming. From hisperch he had a clear view of the water between Stormwall andFaunmere, and the sheltered cove where the fisherman would drag hisdory ashore.
The moon rose over the silhouette ofMuldonny's fortress. Fox supposed it should be called Mendor'sfortress now, but he doubted the new adept's name would stick anytime soon.
A strong hand clamped onto thecollar of his tunic and pulled. Fox tumbled backward, armsflailing.
He crashed from one branch toanother. Once he managed to grab a handhold, but the slender branchbroke without slowing him down much. He landed hard and lay wherehe fell, too winded to do more than wheeze.
The tip of a dagger pressed againsthis throat. "Where is the Thorn?"
Fox slid his gaze toward theassailant. Judging from his tree-climbing ability and his slenderbuild, he was a young man. The hood of his cloak cast deep shadowsover his face, but Fox felt fairly certain he'd never seen himbefore. Even so, there was something familiar about the way heformed his words.
He thought about denying knowledge,but suspected this would merely waste time. "I don't haveit."
The knife twitched. "You lie.There's elf magic about you now."
"How can you-" Fox's eyes widenedwith delight. "You're an elf! That's wonderful!"
A moment of silence passed. "Why?Apart from the obvious reasons, of course."
"Well, to start with, the island ishaunted. I could have been tossed out the tree by a giant skeletalrat."
The elf eyed him for a long moment."Your reaction was genuine. Your explanation is foolishness. Thereis a reason why you were pleased to encounter one of my kind, butyou are not ready to share it. So be it." He sheathed the daggerand rose to his feet. "You might as well stand."
Fox wasn't sure he could, but hemanaged to drag himself upright. When the world stopped spinning,he saw the elf loosening the strings on the bag that had hung fromthe back of Fox's belt. The bag that held his amulet.
Fox lunged for it-
He never saw the blow coming. Thenext thing he knew, he was sitting on the ground blinking awaystars.
The elf held Fox's amulet, tippingit toward the sky to catch the faint moonlight. For some reason,Fox felt none of the compulsion that forced him to fight Delgar forthe amulet.
"How did you do that?"
He glanced down at Fox. "The magicis elfin. The runes are not. What is theirsignificance?"
"It's the mark of Eldreath, thesorcerer who ruled Sevrin."
"I have heard of this man. I had notheard that he had knowledge of elfin magic. When did he come topower?"
Fox had to think that over. "Seventyyears ago? Maybe more."
The elf nodded as if he had expectedto hear this. "Where is this Eldreath now?"
"Dead. The adepts killed him nearlytwenty years ago. But there's another sorcerer in Sevrin, which iswhy we need to get the Thorn far away."
"By 'we,' do you mean you and somecomrades, or you and me?"
Fox shrugged. "Whatever works. Ipromised to return the dagger to the elves. If you're here to takeit, you've saved me a trip."
"And how do you know I'm worthy ofthis trust?"
"Well. . You're anelf."
"Ah, well. We're all noble, shiningbeing who can do no wrong." He sniffed. "You knownothing."
In response, Fox slipped a bit ofamethyst from a pocket and hurled it at the elf's head. He flickedone hand to the right. The missile followed suit, veering off sothat it just skimmed his hair rather than hitting him squarelybetween the eyes.
"Elves draw magic from the forest,the rain, the stars," Fox said. "But elves who are cut off fromtheir kin can't access starsong magic. Starsong magic has somethingto do with crystals. If you'd been a rogue, you couldn't havedeflected the amethyst."
The elf studied him with narrowedeyes. "How do you know this?"
"My mother was a green witch. Welived on the edge of the Glimmergold, and she had dealings withelves from time to time. So I do know a few things." He lifted oneeyebrow. "Your name is not one of them."
"I'm called Nimbolk."
"Sorry to hear that," Foxmurmured.
A sour expression crossed the elf'sface. "Where is the Thorn?"
"It's with someone I trust. Icouldn't keep it with me since there's a possibility that someone'stracing me through the amulet. And before you ask, no, I can't getrid of it."
Nimbolk pulled a knife from his beltand scratched several runes into the metal. The amulet flared withlight, then went as dim as old pewter.
"What was that?"
"Temporary," Nimbolk said shortly.He tossed the amulet to Fox. "A simple unbinding spell known tomost elves. If you wish to rid yourself of this thing, do itquickly."
Fox surged to his feet and tookseveral running steps toward the sea. He hurled the amulet with allhis strength. It felt into the water with a faint plunk.
"The tide is going out," he said."If I'm lucky, they'll think I've drowned. Again."
"Then let's go to this trustedfriend."
Fox shook his head. "No offense, butthere's a lot of things going on right now. It's probably not agood idea to bring a stranger into my lair. And before I pass alongthe Thorn, there's someone I need to talk to."
A wry smile twisted the elf's lips."You have chosen an inconvenient time to start showing goodsense."
Fox shrugged. "It had to happen sometime. There's a forested island in the center of the Sevrinarchipelago. It's probably the safest place for you."
"I know of this place," Nimbolksaid. "Long ago, elves walked beneath those trees. But the veilbetween this world and Faerie is thin there, and tattered. Thereare more fairy gates in the forest than there are blacksquirrels."
"That's the whole point. It'll beeasy for one of my friends to get the dagger to you."
"So the stories are true?" he saidincredulously. "You really have befriended a fairy?"
Fox folded his arms. "You don't knowVishni. If you did, you'd understand."
"I understand perfectly," Nimbolksaid. "And I suspect that I know this fairy, even sight unseen, farbetter than you do."
Chapter 10: Chaos
Vishni strolled past theCat and Cauldron, her fingers casually brushingthe ivy that climbed the stone wall. Her fingers traced the hiddenindentation where some of the mortar had worked loose. If Fox hadsent a message, one of the street urchins who ran errands for themwould have pressed a small flat stone into the gap. A drop of clearliquid, another of Avidan's small marvels, would reveal the messagewritten on it.
But there was no message.
A burst of laughter spilled throughthe open window. Vishni sighed. She was supposed to go right backto the Fox Den. It was too dangerous for her to be out, now thatthey knew there was a sorcerer about.
On the other hand, if she went intothe Cat and Cauldron, she'd no longer be out.
This excellent reasoning brought asmile to her face. She pushed through the door into the pleasantchaos of Heartstone's most famous storyspinner tavern.
Several people called her name asshe entered, and someone caught her hand and pulled her into thecircle of dancers forming in the center of the room.
She spent a happy hour or sowhirling and skipping to the music of a wheel fiddle and hand drum.Dancing was good. Like stories, it had pattern and purpose. It keptchaos at bay.
By the time the fiddler finished hisset, Vishni was ready for a cup of mead and a story. To herdelight, Black Svar
ia took the stage.
Most people in Sevrin had fairhair, ranging from pale blond to light brown. Red hair wasuncommon-or at least, it was uncommon until the City Fox's admirersdiscovered herbal dyes-and truly dark tresses were exceedinglyrare. Black Svaria's short cropped, raven-wing hair was only one ofthe reasons she stood out. She stood only slightly above averageheight, but her warrior's frame made her appear tall and imposing.And she was, beyond doubt, the best storyteller Vishni had everheard, even if the fairy didn't quite understand some of the bawdyballads that made the humans nudge each other and snicker. ButBlack Svaria was also a traditional skald who could declaim ancienttales in ringing, rhythmic speech. Oddly enough, Vishni liked thosebest.
The skald settled down, awire-strung harp on her lap, and struck a chord.
"In the depths of a winter whiterthan death, the wolves came.
"Over the frozen sea they came,running, running, too many to count.
"In the village the people ran whostill had strength to run.
"All but one: Hronolf stood tosword-greet what the wolves fled."
Vishi sank into the tale with a sighof pure bliss. After Hronolf met his destiny, she clapped until herhands tingled.
A stocky man dropped into the emptychair. He put two cups of mead on the table. "Rindor Finn orShenmist?"
"You named the cups?"
He chuckled and tipped his headtoward the group of storyspinners sitting at a table near the bar."Guess you didn't hear the talk. They say Rhendish has thenorthland's greatest bard as a guest. I've heard lots of namestossed around, but those folk say it's got to be one of those two.Rindor Finn or Shenmist."
Well now, this was interesting. Vishni hadimproved enough tales in her time to know when someone was buildinga new one from the ground up. When that happened, the real storywas not in the what, but the why.
"Rindor Finn," she said.
The man nodded. "That's what mostpeople say. It's odd, don't you think, that Rhendish isn't givingout the man's name?"
"Not really. I don't suppose theadept is obliged to provide the island with a guestlist."
"Ha! True enough. But word is he'sthinking of holding a storyspinning festival in the man's honor.Maybe he's thinking the mystery of it will be more of adraw."
"It might," said Vishni. "But morelikely?"
The man leaned in, his face alightwith interest.
"If there's any truth to the rumors,broadsheets will be posted in all the taverns and the bard will benamed. By morning we'll know if I'm right."
He grinned. "Care to place awager?"
Vishni reached into her pocket for acoin and came up empty. Odd. She'd left a coin in the boat they'dborrowed for the trip to Kronhus. Usually humans spent gold asquick as they got it. And since fairy gold did notstay spent, the coinshould have returned to her by now.
Oh, wait! She had some silverpennies in the bag Fox insisted she carry. She dipped into the bagand put three coins on the table.
The man added three coins and pushedthe pile toward Vishni. "You hold it. If there is a festival, wecan settle up then."
"I'll be there."
He raised his mead cup and theydrank to seal the bargain. As he rose to leave, Vishni caught hiswrist. She beckoned for him to lean down.
"If it's Rindor Finn, I hopeTessalyn comes," she whispered.
"Another bard?"
She beamed and nodded. "Rindor'sformer wife. They still sing together sometimes, but things usuallyget ugly. It's very entertaining."
"We can hope," he said, and strodeoff chuckling.
Vishni hid her smirk behind the meadcup. Rindor Finn, to the best of her knowledge, had never wed. Ifhe ever did choose a wife, her name would not be Tessalyn. That wasa fairy name, and humans simply could not use fairy names. If comemorning broadbills advertising Rindor Finn and Tessalyn showed upon the walls of storyspinning taverns, Vishni could know beyondquestion that Rhendish was spinning a trap.
It was a good plan, except for thewaiting part. Vishni had never been good at waiting.
She could slip into Rhendish Manortonight. Delgar hadn't told Fox about the tunnel his minors hadstarting building the day Honor returned to the adept's house. Thedwarf hadn't told her, either, but Vishni knew. Delgar wouldn'tlike her going on her own, but if she didn't tell him he couldn'tfuss.
An hour later, or maybe a littlelonger, she swung open the wooden door at the new tunnel's end. Arow of books blocked her path. She shifted one aside and peeredinto the room beyond.
The bookshelf stood in a grand hall,a room even larger and more stuffed with oddities than the publicmuseum Rhendish maintained. This, then, must be his personalcollection.
Excitement coursed through the fairyas she moved aside books and wriggled through the opening. Wherethere were curiosities, there would be magic.
She hurried past a row of portraits,giving the painting of Avidan a little wave as she skipped by. Moreinteresting was the display of elven boots, the leather as soft assilk and tooled with thousands of runes that interlocked in curvingpatterns.
Vishni found a pair that fit her andslipped them on. She picked the lock on a glass-fronted case andrummaged through the jewelry until she found a ruby bracelet thathummed with magic. That went onto her wrist. A pretty belt ofsilvery links and crystal beads draped nicely around herhips
She found several knifes that fitinto her boots and belt and pockets, several handfuls of tinybottles that still held drops of potion and echoes of powerfulmagic. Giddy now, she took a handful of roc feathers and fashioneda long, sweeping tail.
So much magic! This must be whathumans felt when they drank too much mead. No! This must be what aphoenix felt just before it burst into flame.
In some part of her mind, Vishniknew she should flee, but "should" had never been a concept thatheld much resonance for her.
So she kicked off her boots and,barefoot, sang and whirled and danced until she fetched up,laughing and breathless, against a metal gate.
An iron gate.
Vishni jolted back, as close tosober as any magic-drunk fairy could be. Angry red lines ran thelength of her arm and down the palm of one hand.
A sense of deep foreboding shiftedsomewhere under the euphoria. She turned her gaze slowly to whatthe iron bars contains.
Three imps, as dry as parchment,hung suspended from wires. They'd been posed, with their tatteredbats wings stretched in a mockery of flight.
Vishni stared in horror at the deadthings. Before she could flee, her wings popped out of their ownvolition. Their color shifted, not to suit her will or her mood,but quickly, randomly, like a thousand sunrises squeezed into ahandful of moments.
One of the imps turned its headtoward her. Red light kindled in the empty place where eyes hadbeen. It hissed at her, the sound dryer than dust.
A bony hand darted between the ironbars and its claws dug deep into Vishni's shoulder.
Frantic, she tried to peel it offwith both hands. Her wings beat the air, but instead of the airyflutter of fairy wings she heard the leathery sound of sailssnapping in a changing wind.
Her wings were bat wings!Imp wings, scarlet asmolten brimstone!
A clump of short brown curls fell tothe floor. Vishni reached for it with one bare foot and wept to seegrey skin and talons sprouting from her elongating toes.
The imp was changing, too. Life andcolor flowed back into the creature along with Vishni's stolenmagic. Golden ringlets spilled over bare pink shoulders. Madnessshone from eyes the color of new leaves.
A new horror struck Vishni.She knew thiscreature! Long ago, they'd flown together. Together they'd chasedfireflies, sung songs, plotted mischief. Too much mischief, andthen exile.
Not every exiled fairy returned.Vishni knew that. She even knew what became of fairies who dranktoo deeply of a sorcerer's magic. But those were stories, nothingmore.
For the first time in her long, longlife, Vishni could think of no horror to add to thistale.
As flesh returned to the exile'shands, the talons in Vishni's bleedin
g shoulder withdrew. Shewrenched herself away and ran, her bat wings hissing behind herlike malicious whispers.
Mendor, the newest member ofSevrin's Council of Adepts, regarded his new work shop with amixture of pride and dismay.
The night wind whistled through theruined wall, and one of the vats of solvent for which Muldonny wasjustly famed had fueled the explosion. It would take him years torebuild the supply.
The first order of business,however, was repairing the clockwork guards. A dozen or so had beenheaped in a corner. The exact number was difficult to ascertain,for thanks to the explosion and the battle that preceded it, noneof the guards remained whole. Mendor suspected that he'd be luckyto piece together three or four from the scorched pile of scrapmetal.
Which is why he'd been so pleased toreceive twenty new guards this morning, a gift from Rhendish. Hisold mentor had also sent a dozen devices that would enable Mendorto quickly assume the loyalty of Muldonny's remainingguards.
A clatter in the hall beyond broughta frown of puzzlement to Mendor's face. Three of the constructsmarched into the room.
"I did not summon you," hesaid.
The guards advanced.
"Stop!"
Still they came on.
Mendor dived for the box of loyaltydisks. Apparently the guards perceived him as an intruder. Heshould have thought of this. Rhendish had. If only he'd had halfthe foresight of his former master!
Two of the guards flanked him,seized him. Mendor managed to slap a disk onto one of theconstructs, but it made no difference. One of the metal guards heldhim while the other threw a chain over the ceiling beam near theremaining vat of solvent.
The new adept writhed and shriekedand cursed as the constructs snapped metal bands around his wristsand attached them to one end of the chain. They hauled him up, tiedweights to his ankles, and dragged the chain across the beam untilhe hung directly over the vat.
No inhabitant of Sevrin, much lessan alchemist, could fail to understand the reference. Eldreath hadbeen dropped into a pit of solvent.
Mendor screamed in terror anddenial.
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