She saw Maltreth take a step forward, then another, and suddenly Icelin wasn't paying attention to Ruen anymore. She was focused on Maltreth's shuffling steps, and remembering the way Ruen had dodged Cerest's attacks in the warehouse. Maltreth was far less graceful than the elf. His body was painfully readable.
"It can't be that easy," Icelin said.
"What?" Sull repeated, with a look of anxious annoyance. "If you're going to map out the battle, lass, at least let me in on the outcome."
"Watch," Icelin commanded.
Maltreth shuffled another step and jerked the whip. Ruen howled in pain. Icelin couldn't hear the sound, but she saw his face twist in agony. The whip hadn't come out of his wound. He pivoted toward her, and Icelin saw what she'd been hoping to see. She grabbed Sull and pointed.
Ruen wasn't holding his wound, which continued to bleed freely. He was clutching the slack end of the whip. Maltreth couldn't see it. He gave in to the cheering crowd and turned his face up, smiling in smug satisfaction. As soon as his attention left Ruen, the monk yanked the slack end of the whip with all his strength.
Maltreth's body teetered, his eyes bulging as the whip left his hands. He stumbled to the edge of the platform, but instead of pitching into the water, he jumped, using his forward motion to get him across the water.
He landed on Ruen's platform. The monk had already steadied himself in anticipation of the extra weight. Ruen tore the barbs out of his arm and threw the whip across the Cradle. Blood dripped copiously from his wound, but he ignored it and turned his attention completely to Maltreth.
Now he's within striking distance, Icelin thought. No more reach weapons to deal with. For Ruen, the match had not truly begun until now.
Maltreth, for his part, looked furious. Ruen had humiliated him in front of the mob, and now he was down to one weapon.
Raising his fists so Ruen could not help but see the brass knuckles, Maltreth came in low, aiming for a quick jab to Ruen's ribs.
Ruen dodged, grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it away from his body. The crowd collectively winced and sat back in their seats. Their reaction might have been comical had Maltreth's arm not been dangling at an odd angle to his side. He staggered back but kept his other fist raised to defend himself.
The crowd waited, tense, for Ruen to finish him off. Maltreth was outclassed in a fistfight with the monk and everyone, including Maltreth, knew it.
Ruen kept his distance and spoke to Maltreth. They couldn't hear the words, but Icelin could see the guard at the base of the stairs preparing to draw his sword.
"He's offering him the chance to give it up," Sheems said. He'd been subdued ever since Ruen turned the fight around. "Crowd won't like that."
He was right. Jeers and booing came down from the crowd. People on the rope bridges stamped their feet, spitting at Ruen and sending dust and debris raining over the crowd.
Egged on by the violence of the outburst, Maltreth shook his head and spat at Ruen's feet. He charged, swinging his functioning fist for Ruen's head.
Twisting, Ruen caught Maltreth around the mid-section in a series of quick punches Icelin had trouble following with her eyes. When he ceased, Maltreth folded, collapsing to the platform. He was unconscious before his head hit the wood.
And just like that, it was over. The guard drew his blade and pointed at Ruen. The crowd cheered the newcomer's victory.
So it went throughout the night. Icelin and Sull stood at the rail, watching combatant after combatant enter the ring. Ruen fought three more times, and each time he took no weapon, but managed to disarm his opponent and end the fight with his fists. Sometimes it took longer, and he collected wounds over various parts of his body. He never showed it in his face, but Icelin could tell the injuries were taking their toll. Ruen wasn't moving as fast, and his punches were easier to track.
"He's going to be worn out for the final match," Icelin said. "How many damn fighters are left? It must be almost dawn."
"They're down to it now," Sull said. "Ruen's got where he needs to be. I heard Sheems say the winner's purse is a big one, on account of how long BellariPs been champion." He leaned heavily against the rail, looking as anxious as she felt. "She won't give it up easy. Still, he's got this far. If he can hold out, he'll get healin' at the end of the match."
Icelin wondered what this Bellaril would look like. As reigning champion, she was only required to defend her tide against the winner of the tournament, which meant she would be rested and, more importantly, she'd probably been watching the entire tournament to get a measure of her opponent.
Icelin saw Ruen climb back to the platform. He was still moving slowly, but his muscles were loose. He looked as relaxed as he had during the first match.
At the other end of the Cradle, the guards parted to admit a stout figure with a wild mane of strawberry blonde hair.
Bellaril was a heavyset dwarven woman with ruddy skin and large blue eyes. She wore plain brown breeches and a white vest cross-stitched with leather cord. Her face was as devoid of expression as Ruen's when she ventured out to her platform. She nodded to Ruen, and he returned the gesture.
Instead of cheering Bellaril, the spectators stamped their feet, and several of them produced small hand bells, waving them furiously above their heads. The din was shrill and loud enough to drown out Waterdeep's own great bells.
The guard raised his sword for quiet and approached the combatants. He spoke to each of them in turn. Bellaril answered his query regarding weapons with a shake of her head.
"Fist to fist, then," Sull said when the guard left the platform without distributing weapons.
This did not reassure Icelin. As soon as the guard was down the stairs, Bellaril darted forward, jumping nimbly from her platform to Ruen's, landing as far from him as she possibly could in the small space. The dwarf looked up, meeting Ruen's gaze and smiling.
CHAPTER 12
Watchman Tarvin surveyed the vibrant embers and ash clouds of the Hearth fire with one hand raised to shield his eyes against the wall of heat. It reminded him briefly of the burned warehouse he'd seen on the shore-or the smoking skeleton of a boardinghouse.
The metal basin from which the Hearth flames ascended had steep sides, but the bottom of the structure sat several feet below the walkway, allowing easy access.
The setup was ingeniously designed and protected the surrounding structures from damage quite well. The basin's inner shell had long ago turned an oily black color. The smells of cooking fish, meat, and the occasional spice were everywhere, but did nothing to mitigate the nauseating odor of the bodies gathered around the fire for warmth or sustenance.
There were no benches near the outside of the basin. People sat on the crude walkways built around the pit, cradling children in their laps or leading the elderly by the arm.
A pack of young girls, the youngest no more than five years old, was selling cooking spits for a copper a foot. Tarvin bought two from one of the older girls and shooed the rest away.
He leaned close to the child's ear when he paid her and asked in a confidential whisper if she'd seen a particular young woman walking by the Hearth.
"Black hair, white skin like a ghost's," he said, and he saw the girl's eyes widen. "Not a real ghost," he said quickly. "There's a man with her-tall, with red hair all over his head. Have you seen anyone like that passing this way?"
The girl shook her head. Tarvin gave her the copper coins and sent her off. He scanned the crowd a second time, his eyes coming to rest on a woman sitting alone near the edge of the fire. She was wrapped in a thin, dirty cloak, trying to blend in with the crowd.
In need of some amusement, Tarvin crouched next to the woman. He smiled when she averted her face. She had straight, drab brown hair and a tiny hooked scar on the bridge of her nose.
"Can I buy you dinner, pretty lass?" He held up his newly acquired spits, twirling them like batons.
The woman looked at him, but she didn't smile. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Thi
s is my territory."
"Lovely Deelia, I'd never infringe on your authority. I was just doing some independent scouting," Tarvin said. He made a vague gesture to the outer rim wreckages.
"You'd better hope she's not out there," Deelia said. "That's gang territory."
"Yes, it would be a shame. if they dragged her off, had their fun, and didn't leave any pieces for us to find," Tarvin drawled.
Deelia shot him a look, but she didn't comment. Tarvin knew she didn't want to be out here anymore than he did. But the Warden had spoken, and the Watch had answered the Wolfhound's call. Icelin Team would be found and hauled in from Mistshore on the end of a leash if need be.
"Foolish to come down here," Deelia said. "This place'll eat her alive. What was she thinking?"
"She's afraid of the wolves," Tarvin said. "Us," he clarified when Deelia only stared at him.
The Watchwoman shook her head and turned her attention back to scanning the crowd for Icelin. Tarvin wanted to tell her not to waste her time.
The crowd huddled closest to the bright flames was mostly made up of women and children. Tarvin had thought this would be the first place she'd run to, with the late season darkness running cold and the wind colder still on the harbor. If the gangs hadn't already caught up to her, she'd need light, warmth, and especially food, if she hadn't had time to gather any. But so far, his search had come up empty.
"Did you know Therondol?" Tarvin asked abruptly.
"No," Deelia said. If she was surprised by the change in topic, she didn't show it. "I came to the Watch after his time."
"That's right. I'd forgotten how many years he's been gone. You'd have liked him, though. Steady, but he had eyes that could cut, you know? You could never lie to the man. I don't know why that made me like him, but it did. He was smarter than all the men in his patrol, but he never looked down on anyone."
"He sounds just like the Warden," Deelia said.
"Better than," Tarvin said. "But all that's gone, so no use dwelling on it, eh?"
Deelia shrugged. "Why are you out here, Tarvin? The Warden didn't send you. You should be on patrol in South Ward."
"What does it matter? We're all looking for the same woman, as if there wasn't a whole city of more worthy folk to mind."
"You'll be reprimanded," Deelia said.
"Be worth it, if I get to bring her in."
"Good luck to you, then," Deelia said. "Now either leave me, or stop talking."
Tarvin didn't get a chance to reply. A pair of women sat down directly in front of them, too close to their personal space to allow any private conversation.
Tarvin exchanged a glance with Deelia. After a breath, one of the women half turned to face them. Her left eye was swollen shut. Blood crusted the seam.
"Are you Serbith?" she whispered, addressing Deelia.
"Yes," Tarvin said, ignoring Deelia's sharp poke to his ribs. He loved to irritate her.
"Who are you, then?" The other woman turned. She had an open sore on her lip.
"I'm her bodyguard," Tarvin said without hesitation.
"Wasn't part of the deal, her bringin' another pair of eyes," the woman said. As she spoke, Tarvin found himself unable to look at anything except the ugly sore. "Never mind then, no hard feelings. I brought the goods. Let's see your coin."
"My bodyguard has it," Deelia said sweedy.
Tarvin smiled. "Of course. But I want to inspect the goods before I pay a copper."
"You hear that, Mabs? He wants to count fingers and toes," the woman with the swollen eye said.
"Oh, he's got 'em all, no mistake there." Mabs laughed and unwound a thin wrap from her shoulders.
Deelia hissed out a breath and a curse, but Tarvin kept his composure.
The baby was naked and new, probably only a handful of tendays old. His lips, fingers, and toes were blue from the cold. He should have been wailing his discomfort for all Faerun to hear, but he was too underfed- He didn't have the strength to cry.
"How long has he been off his mother's milk?" Deelia said. Her mouth was set in a grim line.
"Never been on it," Mabs said. "It was the mother's fourth, so her teat's all dried up. But he's the best of the lot. Lord Theycairn's gettin' his coin's worth, don't you worry."
Tarvin stiffened. Lord Theycairn was a nobleman recently widowed. His wife had died in childbirth, but the family insisted the babe, a boy, had survived. No one had yet seen the child in public.
Deelia said abruptly, "I am satisfied." She removed her cloak and handed it to Mabs. "Wrap the child in this, please." She waited until it was done, then went on, "If Lord Theycairn should happen to have interest in… other children-"
"Lookin' to stock his larder with heirs, is he?" Mabs chorded. "We can do that. The other girls and us, we got just as many go in the harbor as not, on account of how we can't feed and clothe 'em all. But we could save back the best of 'em for you to inspect."
"That would be acceptable," Deelia said. "Could you remain here? Someone will be coming with your coin."
"Thought you said your bodyguard had it?" Mabs looked at them suspiciously.
"Lord Theycairn sent us to ensure you kept your end of the bargain," Deelia said quickly. "Serbith has your coin and will come to collect the babe. She knows nothing of us."
Mabs scowled, but she finally nodded. Her suspicion wouldn't keep her from taking the promised coin.
Deelia took Tarvin's arm and hauled him to his feet. When they were out of earshot, Tarvin said, "What was that about? I'll wager this Serbith is Lord Theycairn's washerwoman, or some such. If we'd waited, we could have caught her buying babies in Mistshore."
Deelia looked pale and angry. "And risk that baby being one of the discarded if the deal went badly? Better that one becomes Theycairn's heir. I'll report to the Warden when we see him next. We have to see about getting some food down to the prostitutes, at least those on the shore. You're right, there are more important things going on in Mistshore tonight than Icelin Team." She shivered. "I hate this place. Babies in the harbor-godsdamn bloody mutilated part of the city. That's all it is. A leech."
"Nice to see you again, Morleth," Bellaril said.
Ruen inclined his head. "It's been a long time, Bells."
The dwarf's expression darkened. "You know better than to use nicknames with me, Morleth. That's going to cost you."
They were circling each other now. "You don't like being called 'Bells'?" Ruen said. "I'd have thought you would have embraced the nickname. Your fans certainly have. Or are they plants by your master, to drum up support for his champion?"
He lunged, aiming a fist at the dwarf; s race. The blow glanced lightly off her jaw, and Bellaril was already ducking under his guard for a jab to his midsection. Ruen fell forward into a roll. He tried to snag Bellaril's ankle as he passed, but she jumped out of the way.
Ruen sprang to his feet, his arms out in defense, but the dwarf kept her distance. He could feel the burn in his ribs where she'd jabbed him. Quick punches, just enough force to give pain. She knew exactly where and how hard to hit him. That was the damnable part of this fight.
"I did warn you," the dwarf said. "What is it you need from him this time, Morleth? Protection? Coin? Whatever it is, it won't be worth it." She moved in again, throwing a quick succession of punches, all aimed low where he had trouble defending. Ruen took another blow to the Hank, but he caught the dwarf a heavy blow to the shoulder that had her backing off.
"I need a place to hide," Ruen said. He took the reprieve to catch his breath. The air burned against his cracked ribs. "There're two others with me. I assume he's seen them?"
"A bird and a butcher," Bellaril said. "Not the sort of company you generally keep. He'd love to hear the tale behind it."
"I'll happily throw the fight and tell it to him," Ruen said, "but I think he wants me to win."
The dwarfs swings faltered. Ruen got in another blow, a numbing shot to her arm. He pressed forward, but Bellaril kicked, catching his knee.
&nbs
p; Ripples of pain shot up Ruen's leg. He wobbled, gritting his teeth to keep from collapsing to the platform. Breathing fast, he stepped back, unable to press his momentary advantage.
"Give this up, Morleth," the dwarf said. She massaged the feeling back into her arm while he seethed in pain. "It doesn't matter if Arowall wants me to lose. The title is mine. I'm not letting you or him take it from me."
"If you think so little of my chances, come ahead," Ruen said, opening his arms.
The dwarf shook her head. "I'm not to be baited like that, Morleth. I was giving you a chance." She dodged to the side when his list came in, hooking an elbow around his arm. Securing her hold, she squeezed.
Ruen felt the bones snap. His mind momentarily blanked, but he kept his feet, largely by holding onto the solid dwarf. When he looked into her face, he could see she'd put very lutle effort into the attack.
"I'm the only person in the Cradle who knows how much pain you're in," she whispered. "I know how many of your bones are broken, and if I wanted to, I could drop you to the floor or the sharks. You can't win without your ring, and you know it." Her eyes softened. "One last chance, Morleth. Give this up."
"I have a better idea," Ruen said. He licked blood from his lips. The ribs must be broken, not cracked, he thought. "How about a side bet of our own?"
"You're mad," Bellaril said sadly. "What is it you want? Why are you fighting for those two?"
In response, Ruen jerked the dwarf close. He wrapped the palms of both his bare hands around hers. BellariPs eyes widened in shock. She had not seen him remove his gloves. They lay discarded on the platform.
Ruen did not attempt to strike her. He waited a breath for her to see the blue light, to realize what he was doing, then he whispered against her ear. When she drew back, her expression was unreadable.
"Fine," she said, breaking his hold. "It's a bet. I'll try not to kill you, Ruen Morleth, but I make no promises."
"Fair enough." Ruen set his feet. He didn't trust his speed anymore. He would have to work on the defensive.
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