After her brush with the wraith, the harbor actually felt warm. Icelin tried to swim, but her arms were still clutched into tight claws at her sides. She couldn’t get her limbs to function.
Black spots popped in front of Icelin’s vision. A part of her mind urged that drowning would be a better option than returning to the surface to face the wraith. Her lungs disagreed. She expelled her breath in a rush of bubbles. Above her, she could see the wraith’s darting light. It was back in the water again, disoriented, searching for the arcane energy it craved. But the creature and its light were growing smaller the farther she sank.
At first she didn’t feel the arm that encircled her chest. The burning was too painful for her to notice anything. It jerked her upright, and Icelin felt herself smashed against a hard wall. The wall moved, drawing her to the surface. Whenever Icelin thought she would slip, the arm would pull her back from the abyss.
She broke the surface gasping, choking foul water when she tried to suck in air. Her muscles were on fire. But she was alive.
Ruen was treading water directly behind her, holding her afloat with his right arm. The wall she’d been crushed against was his chest. The light spell on her arm still functioned. She could see the wraith making mad, swooping circles all around Ruen’s raft.
“What did you do to it?” he demanded. “Its senses are blinded.”
“I’m not sure.” Icelin coughed and spat water. “We have to get away from here.”
She felt Ruen shake his head. “Won’t get far without a boat,” he said. “Drive it away. Use your magic.”
The wraith burst into the air, spraying them with water. Its attention refocused on the swimming pair. A high-pitched scream rent the air, and the creature dived at them again.
Ruen dragged her underwater, and they barely dodged the attack. When they came back up, the wraith had circled around for another pass.
“Cast your spell,” Ruen ordered her. “Make it a good one. You won’t get another before it kills us.”
“You don’t understand. I have no magic.” Icelin tried to swim away from him, but he pinned her against his chest.
“Your glowing arm suggests otherwise,” he said.
“It’s also bleeding. Let me go!”
“Listen to me.” He raised his left hand in front of her face. Icelin remembered the silver band. It rested on his finger, its light dull. “Everything this ring touches grows in strength, including magic. As long as our bodies touch, your spell should work.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond. He put his glove back on and folded her left hand under his.
Icelin felt a tingle of electricity coming from the ring. She searched her memory again. The fire spell was gone, but there was another….
“When I cast this, I will likely lose consciousness,” Icelin said. She fought to keep her voice steady.
Ruen tightened his grip. “You won’t drown—you haven’t paid me my fee yet. I’ll hold you up, only work your spell!”
Icelin blocked out his voice, the icy water, the wraith’s screams. She waited for the creature to glide close to the water again. When it was in her line of sight, she muttered the spell.
Burning pain erupted behind her eyes, a side effect Icelin only vaguely remembered from her early lessons. She had not cast spells of this magnitude for years. Her body was not ready for the shock.
Fighting oblivion, Icelin thrust her free hand above her head. The arcane pulse came again, strong and sustained. This time, the spell was going to work.
A stream of white vapor unfurled on the air like a sheet. It snapped and coalesced into a savage-looking spear, which shot across the water, trailing ice shards in its wake.
The magic impaled the wraith through its eyeless head. Unholy screams shattered the air. Ice flew in all directions. The force of the magic drove the creature back a full ten feet, and the light in its body flickered and died. The wraith collapsed in on itself, disappearing into the water without creating a wake.
For a long time, there was no sound except Icelin and Ruen’s breathing. Icelin saw her breath in the wake of the cold spell. A fine layer of ice rimed the water in a straight line to where the creature had been. She watched the shards flake off like so much paint.
“That’s i-impossible,” Icelin said. Her head swam. “Never should have been so much, so big.”
“It was my ring,” Ruen said. “I told you it would strengthen the spell.”
“Oh, well.” Icelin felt unconsciousness looming. She was more than ready for it. “That’s nice, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER 8
Ruen retrieved his hat and swam to his raft, dragging the senseless girl behind him.
“You live up to your name,” he said, grunting as he lifted her onto the deck. The ice had melted, but he could still feel the brittle chill in the air, a chill that had nothing to do with the wraith’s presence.
Ruen put a hand on Icelin’s chest to make sure she lived. She breathed deeply—the sleep of exhaustion. Her light spell flickered and died, leaving him only moonlight for navigation.
He knew magic taxed a wizard’s strength, but he’d never seen a spell affect anyone the way the ice spear had wracked Icelin’s body. He’d felt her trembling in pain.
He held his ring up close to his face but found no answers from the plain silver band. It no longer glowed with power.
“Did I push too hard,” he murmured, gazing down at Icelin. “Or are you more than what they told me?”
He reached into the pouch strapped beneath his right arm. Inside he kept only two items: the ring, when he wanted it hidden from prying eyes, and a black sava piece—a pawn. He drew out the piece and palmed it. It took several breaths for the pawn to warm to his flesh and attune to his identity.
“Tesleena,” he spoke aloud, and the pawn’s answering flicker told him the magic connection was functioning. “I have the girl.”
“Is she unharmed?” The tiny voice issued from the pawn as if across a vast distance.
“She’s well enough, but unconscious,” Ruen said. “We fought a sea wraith in the harbor. You owe me a new boat.”
“You what?” Tesleena’s voice shot up an octave. “Your instructions were—”
“Not well received by the undead,” Ruen said. “I wouldn’t be worried. Your little girl killed the thing with one spell.”
“She used magic to fight?”
There was something in Tesleena’s voice Ruen didn’t like. “We can talk about it when I hand the girl over,” he said. There was a long pause. “Very well. Where can we meet?”
Ruen glanced at the shore. “I’ll contact you.”
“Wait.”
Ruen severed the connection by dropping the pawn back in his pouch. Let the Warden’s pet curse him. He needed to get back to shore. Then he would find a safe location to drop the girl. The Watch would find her easily enough from his instructions. He had no intention of meeting them face to face.
He gazed down at the sleeping girl. She was a hardy thing. Already her color was coming back.
Better she remain unconscious. He didn’t want her kicking up a fuss when he left her. Betrayal was much easier with the eyes closed.
“Did you see that?”
Shenan’s fine eyes were just visible above her scarf. The watching elves stood in the shadow of Whalebone Court, near the water’s edge.
Cerest followed the elf woman’s gaze out to the harbor in time to see the spell erupt. It was nothing more than light from this distance, but Cerest felt a thrill of excitement.
“It’s her,” he said.
Shenan looked at him. Torchlight reflected off her burnished skin. “How can you be certain?”
“You heard the people whispering. No one goes out in that direction. It’s Ferryman’s Waltz.”
Shenan looked around. People were hurrying across the planked pathways. They cast nervous glances out into the harbor, as if they expected the light to notice and follow them.
“It’s possible,�
�� Shenan admitted. She turned and made a subtle gesture against her chest.
A pair of men standing twenty feet behind them on the pathway slowed. One of the men signaled back, and both turned around and headed for shore.
“We’ll intercept them when they come back to land,” Shenan said.
Cerest nodded, but he didn’t move. He watched the light until it went out.
His big hands buried in his sleeves, Sull pulled the cooking pan off the fire and placed it with a regal flourish in front of Fannie.
“My lady,” he drawled, “your mystery fish is prepared.”
Fannie clapped her hands once and proceeded to scrape the hot meat off the pan. Juggling the steaming hunks of fish, she popped them in her mouth one at a time, pausing only long enough to spit the bones onto the sand.
Sull watched her gulp down the food and hastily put Icelin’s fish, which he’d already cooked, on the other side of his body. He wanted to make sure Icelin ate some proper food before they moved on, and Fannie looked too ravenous to be trusted.
He’d cooked the blind, horned fish to a blackened crisp to boil away as many of the toxins as possible. Afterward he’d tasted the fish—crunchy, but edible enough. Not his best work, but Fannie didn’t seem to mind.
They heard it at the same time, the sound of a raft scraping over sand. Sull jumped up, Fannie right behind him.
A man stumbled up the shore. He carried a bundle draped over his shoulder. Sull didn’t recognize it for a person until the man strode into Fannie’s camp.
“Lass!” he roared, and to the unknown man, “Put her down.”
“Gladly.” The man dumped Icelin unceremoniously into Sull’s arms and kept on walking.
The butcher lowered Icelin gently to the sand and looked her over for wounds. When he saw her arm, his face turned an ugly crimson. “Who are you? What’d you do to her?” he demanded. He lowered a hand to the closest cleaver on his sash.
“Hello, boy,” Fannie said when the man approached her fire. “You in trouble again, Ruen, eh?” She grinned, but Ruen didn’t return her smile.
“Get her awake,” he told Sull. “We need to move. Half of Mistshore probably saw the battle in the water, and the rest saw me coming in to shore. We’ll have eyes on us, and worse, if we don’t get moving.”
Icelin stirred. Sull put a hand under her head to support her as she sat up. She looked groggy, as if she’d been asleep for days, but otherwise Sull couldn’t see anything wrong.
“Lass?” he said, turning her chin toward him. “Are you all right?”
She blinked. “I think so. It was the spell.” She looked around. “Where’s Ruen?”
“Don’t worry about him,” Sull said darkly. “We’re leavin’ just as soon as I see to your arm.”
“But—”
“Hsst!” Fannie scuttled around her tent, cocking an ear to listen. “Someone comes.”
Ruen kicked sand onto the fire, dousing it instantly. “Friendly or not?” he hissed to Fannie.
“What’s friendly here?” The woman snorted. “You go now.”
With Sull’s aid, Icelin got to her feet. “Where are we going?” Icelin asked.
“Just be quiet and follow me,” Ruen said. With a nod to Fannie, he moved away from the camp, crouching low to weave among the tents. He fumbled in a pouch as he went, but Sull couldn’t see what he was after.
Icelin kept close enough to whisper to Sull. “We were attacked.”
“By the elf?” Sull asked.
Icelin shuddered. “Worse, by the gods. A sea wraith. I’ll tell you the tale later.”
They moved slowly, Sull jogging along impatiently in the rear. Finally, he called out, trying to keep his voice low, “Faster, damn you. They’ll be catchin’ up.”
But Ruen didn’t seem to hear him. He passed the edge of the tent encampment and stopped, listening to something on the air.
“This way,” he said, and began running.
Icelin hurried to follow. She could hear them now, the sounds of running feet pounding against the sand, gaining ground with each step.
They circled a caravel that had had its hull split in two. The jagged wood opened a dark maw into the ship’s interior. Icelin thought Ruen meant them to hide inside, but suddenly, Ruen stopped short and cursed. He shoved her behind him and reached for a weapon at his belt. He’d forgotten the fish knife was long gone.
“They’re herding us!” he shouted to Sull, just before the men jumped them.
Two figures leaped over the side of the ship, landing on either side of Ruen and Icelin. One had bright, corn silk hair, the other was dark and compactly built. Ruen skidded on the sand to avoid plowing into their sword points. He dropped into a crouch and swept out with his leg, catching the two men at the ankles. He hit so hard Icelin thought she would hear the bones in his leg crack. But they did not, and the two men stumbled and fell.
“Behind us!” Sull drew his mallet and cleaver. He charged a second pair of men coming from the rear. Before they could reach for weapons, Sull cut a wicked gash across the first man’s arm. He backed off a pace, clutching his arm and shredded shirt.
His companion came in low, dodging Sull’s swinging mallet. He wore dirt-caked traveling clothes and a hooded, threadbare cloak. He brought a broadsword up to halt Sull’s advance.
Sull was no trained fighter, Icelin knew. But what he lacked in skill, the butcher made up for in sheer ferocity. He twirled the cleaver once, letting the bloodied weapon dance in his hand. He smiled at the man with the sword, and the whites of his eyes were huge in the campfires’ glow.
“Come on, dogs!” he shouted, stomping the ground, feinting left and right between his two opponents, letting his size intimidate the men and keep them on the defensive.
Caught between her companions, Icelin wrenched a loose board from the ship and swung it at the dark, burly man before he could rise to his feet. The plank hit him in the chest; a protruding nail tore into his skin. The man screeched in pain and fury.
“Run!” Ruen barked at her. The man with corn silk hair brought his sword down in an axe chop. Ruen dodged, and the blade buried itself in sand. He rolled away and came up practically between the man’s legs. He snapped out a fist, connecting just below his attacker’s ribcage. The blow would not trouble the man, Icelin thought. She had seen the glint of mail through his thin shirt.
To her shock, the man whooped out a breath and bent double. His sword dropped, allowing Ruen to come in around his guard. He locked an elbow around the man’s neck, jerking sharply to the left.
The loud crack sent a sick coldness through Icelin’s body.
“Beware, lass!”
Icelin turned in time to see Sull’s mallet fly from his hand. The butcher fell back, clutching his arm against his chest. Blood dripped through the gaps between his fingers.
Horrified, Icelin dropped the board and started to run to him.
She felt a presence rise up behind her. She’d forgotten the dark-haired man. She tried to spin, but the sand slowed her. Large hands grabbed Icelin around the waist and slammed her sideways into the caravel’s hull.
Icelin felt the breath leave her body in a rush. Her head hit an exposed board. Stars burst in her vision. She tried to call a spell, but her mind wouldn’t function. She collapsed back against her attacker’s chest. He manhandled her to the ground, pinning her arms in front of her while he fumbled for a piece of rope at his belt.
Icelin struggled wildly. Sand raked her wounded forearm. The pain was unlike anything she’d felt before, but she had to keep her hands free. She had to have magic. She wouldn’t let them take her….
Somewhere behind her, she could hear Sull snarling, his cleaver whistling in his hand. The dark-haired man wrenched her hands together, tying off the rope. Ruen leaped to his feet and started toward her, but was distracted by another figure coming out of the night. This one was tall, agile in motion. The moonlight revealed a face covered in puckered scars.
“Bind her mouth!” Cerest
cried. “She is a wizard.” He noticed Ruen and drew a sword. “Shenan!”
Icelin could see no one else, but a breath later, magic erupted behind Cerest. Icelin smelled the burning, and chemical heat seared her eyes as an arrow streaked through the night, aimed at Ruen.
“Acid!” Icelin cried.
The dark man grabbed her by the hair, jerking her head back. She couldn’t see Ruen, could only make out the night sky and the distant flakes of starlight visible through the clouds. She heard the arrow impact wood, hissing as the spell fizzled out.
The dark-haired man used his teeth to pull off one of his dirty leather gloves. Stuffing it in her mouth, he looped more rope around her head, binding the glove tight to her face until she choked.
Icelin felt herself lifted, tossed over the man’s shoulder. He moved off into the night, around the ship wreckage, away from the sounds of fighting. She could not see if Cerest was following.
Icelin squirmed and tried to scream, but she could force no sound through the gag. They moved out of the campfire light, and the night grew pitch black. She could see nothing of her surroundings except the dark-haired man’s broad back.
She prayed Ruen would help Sull. Over and over she begged the gods that they would escape. But even if they did, Cerest and his men would be gone in the night. Sull and Ruen would have no idea how to track her.
Abruptly, the man carrying her stopped. Icelin felt his hands leave her. She heard him fumbling with something. Metal clicked against metal: a door lock.
Now was her opportunity. She might not get another. Bracing herself, Icelin threw all her weight to the right.
She toppled off her captor’s shoulder, raising her bound arms in front of her. She hit the ground hard on her stomach amid the cries of the dark-haired man. He recovered from his surprise and immediately crouched, grabbing her ankle so she couldn’t run.
Icelin grappled with the gag at her mouth, tearing away leather, rope, and hair that had gotten caught against her face.
Her captor was on top of her now, trying to wrestle her hands down, but it was too dark for him to get a proper grip on her. Wherever they were, there were no torches or lanterns nearby to provide illumination.
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