Mistshore (17 page)

Isn’t that us? Icelin thought, but she didn’t give it voice.

“We’ll follow you,” she said. She’d decided to trust Ruen Morleth once, and now Sull seemed convinced of the man. He’d saved her from the fire, risking his own life to do so.

They dived. The water seemed darker here, a creature stretching out inky black arms to envelop them. When they got to the bottom, Icelin and Sull stayed back. Icelin pushed her drifting hair out of her eyes and strained to see what Ruen was doing ahead of them. Craning around his body, she saw the figurehead.

The wooden mermaid was covered in a shawl of seaweed, the thin, green streamers trailing behind her like a living cloak. Buried to the waist in sand, the mermaid stared up to the surface through her sightless eyes.

Ruen put his thumbs to both her eye sockets and pushed. The wooden orbs disappeared inside her skull, and Ruen backstroked furiously, propelling himself away from the figurehead.

Light burst from the mermaid’s eyes, beams of illumination that spilled over her wooden sockets and down her rigid face like tears. The rotting wood glowed golden, suffusing, impossibly, with life.

The mermaid’s skin turned white, and her hair moved in the water, shifting colors from brown to blue-green. She uncrossed her arms from in front of her bare breasts, brandishing a trident in one hand, and a glowing green orb in the other. She turned her head at an odd angle to regard them. Though her body now throbbed with life, her eyes remained vacant.

She doesn’t really live, Icelin thought. She’s a construct of some sort. A guardian, Ruen had said.

“Welcome to the Cradle,” the mermaid spoke. The words reached Icelin’s ears clearly, magically propelled through the water. “Those who seek entrance, come forward. But do no harm in Arowall’s house, or face a slow death in Umberlee’s embrace.”

With those cryptic words, the mermaid lifted her arms, crossing the trident in front of her. The orb flashed green, and the trident glowed in answer. She brought it down in one swift stroke, driving the weapon into the sand covering her lower half.

A deep rumbling echoed beneath them. Awestruck, Icelin watched the sand roil, parting on either side of the mermaid’s body. Contained by magic, the tempest of sand and water swirled around the mermaid and revealed her glossy silver tail. Beneath the webbed fin, a dark space yawned.

Lit by spheres of magical radiance, the narrow passage led into the hull of what looked like an ancient sailing ship. The wood around the animated figurehead was rotting and caked with barnacles, but somehow it remained intact.

Ruen swam for the passage; Icelin and Sull followed quickly. Icelin’s chest ached to draw breath, and as she swam down the dark tunnel, she realized what Ruen meant about not turning back.

The sand was already swirling behind them, sealing off the entrance. The mermaid resumed her frozen pose, her sighdess eyes betraying nothing of what lay beneath her fin. There was no way out behind them. It was death or forward.

Cerest paced in front of the burned-out shell of the dockside warehouse. He stopped long enough to kick a smoking timber against the tin wall. A rattling crash brought down a rain of ash and smoke.

Ristlara and Shenan stood a little way off, looking anxious and unamused by his outburst.

“Come away, fool,” Ristlara said. “The Watch is sure to bring a patrol. We won’t be seen here with you.”

“Tell your men to regroup. I want to know how many we lost.” Cerest already knew Greyas was gone. Greyas, Melias, and Riatvin. Now he was entirely dependent upon the Locks and their hunters. The idea galled him, but what choice did he have?

“She walks with two companions now,” Ristlara said. “The big one is an oaf, but he’s strong; and I’ll lay odds the thin one is a monk, and quite powerful. Think, Cerest,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “How can you be certain she possesses the powers Elgreth did? Shenan says she is an untried child.”

“Can Shenan deny the evidence of her eyes?” Cerest waved an arm to encompass the devastated warehouse. “My untried child did this. The men may have slain Greyas and the rest, but she brought the building down. You heard her, Shenan; it wasn’t her first display of such power. She is more than Elgreth ever was. While she is alive, I will have her.”

Ristlara and Shenan exchanged doubtful glances. It infuriated Cerest. How dare they show such disrespect?

“Where do we search now?” Shenan spoke up. “The trail is cold.”

“They can’t go far,” Cerest said. “If she is as unstable as I believe, she’ll turn up again. Until then, we wait.”

Cerest rubbed his face. He needed to rest. If his own body sought reverie, Icelin would be near exhaustion.

We’ll both rest, Cerest thought, and tonight—yes, it would be tonight—we’ll talk again. He would help her work through the trauma of the past. She had been scarred too—not physically, but the pain was there, a raw wound that only another, equally scarred being would understand. Those scars would be the link that bound them together. They would make each other whole.

“Cough it out, there’s a good girl.”

Sull smacked her on the back, forcing up more of the loathsome harbor water than Icelin thought possible for anyone to swallow.

She crouched on the floor of the lowest deck of The Darter; Sull and Ruen stood on either side of her. Behind them, a wall of water stretched weirdly from floor to ceiling, kept from rushing into the cabin by an invisible magical field that faltered and sprayed jets of water at random intervals.

In front of them, a trio of large, armored guards stood with drawn swords, the unfriendly ends pointed at each of their throats. The one pointed at Icelin bobbed uncertainly as she threw up around it. Icelin tried to appear as contrite as she could, under the circumstances.

“Where are we?” she asked when she could speak again.

“I told you: this is the back door,” Ruen explained. “They’ll check our weapons here.” As he said it, the guards stepped forward, divesting Sull of his sash of butcher’s tools. They took nothing from Ruen but the ring on his finger. Icelin saw his jaw tighten, but he said nothing.

Icelin allowed them to take the pack off her back without

resistance. She saw one guards eye linger on the gold box buried at the bottom.

“What’s in it?” he asked.

“An heirloom,” Icelin said, “bequeathed to me by the last of my family.”

“Open it,” the guard said.

Icelin looked at Sull uncertainly. He knew what she was thinking. She’d not yet opened the mysterious box, found buried beneath the floorboards of Brant’s shop. Who knew what it might contain?

“Arowall s rules state that no one may lose their possessions while under the protection of his hospitality,” Ruen said. Icelin wondered whether his words were for her benefit, or the guard’s.

The man glared at Ruen and spat on the deck. “I know the rules better ‘an you, Ruen Morleth.” He looked at Icelin. “I said open it, girl.”

Icelin took out the box and laid it in her lap. She ran her fingers along the edges until she found the clasp. Thank the gods it wasn’t locked. Releasing the catch, she lifted the lid.

Red velvet lined the inside of the box, but it was frayed and soaking wet from their swim. Nestled in the small space was a stack of folded parchment sheets, tied together with a black ribbon. The parchment and the ribbon were dry and perfecdy preserved, obviously via some magical means. “Icelin” was inked on the top sheet.

“They look like letters,” she said. She traced her name and felt a stab of disappointment. She had hoped Brant’s words would be on the pages, but she didn’t recognize the thick, black script proclaiming her name so boldly.

“Some heirloom.” The guard sniffed. His fellows chuckled.

Icelin clutched the letters and tried not to let her anger show. It would be foolish to provoke these men.

Ruen laid a hand on the closest guard’s arm. Immediately, the other two raised their swords.

“Step back,” the largest of them warned.

“My apologies,” Ruen said. He smiled easily and removed his hand. “I couldn’t help but notice how cold your friend’s skin is.”

The guard he’d touched paled. Reading the mocking light in Ruen’s eyes, he gripped his sword as if he might strike out at the thief.

“Get on with you,” he said, his teeth gritted. “Though if it were up to me, I’d stick your head through that wall and let you breathe seawater.”

Icelin quickly sealed the box and stood up. She wished she could read whatever was in the letters, but this was not the place. Palpable tension thickened the air. She had no idea what Ruen had done to offend the guards, but they stared at him now with murder in their eyes.

“You know the way,” the guard said, still eyeing Ruen hatefully. “He’s expecting you.”

“You know this Arowall fellow?” Sull asked when they were past the guards. “I hope he likes you better than that lot.”

“Arowall was captain of The Darter? Ruen said, “a pirate vessel for twenty years. When his ship finally went down, he’d strung it with so many magics salvaged from old cargo that the ship stayed intact. It drifted into the harbor and stayed here, resistant to water and, mostly, to time.”

“What is The Darters purpose now?” Icelin said.

“Without a ship, Arowall had to turn his hand to another profession,” Ruen said, running his hand along the wall.

“The Cradle?” Sull said, echoing the mermaid’s words. “Sounds awfully harmless for a pirate.”

“Not exactly,” Ruen said. He pointed ahead, where another pair of guards flanked a door at the opposite end of the ship. “Fighting was Arowall’s second favorite activity, so he created a shrine to the sport. He died years ago, but his descendents— one of them is the man we’re going to see, he goes by Arowall

too—have been keeping up the business, and they turned The Darter into a secret passage to their domain.”

The guards opened the portal and Ruen ushered them through.

Icelin’s mouth fell open in shocked amazement.

She’d expected to enter another cramped cabin, but instead she beheld a tunnel through the seawater. It extended eight feet above their heads, reinforced by another magical shield. Water beaded and dripped on their heads in a steady drizzle. The air reeked of salt.

“They drain the water periodically,” Ruen said, “so it doesn’t flood the passage.”

“Don’t look sturdy to me,” Sull said.

“It isn’t.” Icelin pointed to the stutters in the shield. The sensation of walking on water unnerved her. She kept her eyes off her feet. “Was the shield here before the Spellplague?” she asked.

“Yes,” Ruen said. “The enchantments held. Most people who come to the Cradle come from Mistshore, walking above water. Only the lucky souls who can’t afford to be seen entering the Cradle use this entrance now.”

“Who?” Icelin asked.

Ruen shrugged. “Maybe a young noble. He wants a night of fun but doesn’t want his face known in Mistshore. Long as he doesn’t mind a swim, this is the way he comes.”

The tunnel began a gradual, upward slope. At the end loomed another water wall.

Ruen passed through the opening first. Icelin followed, with Sull bringing up the rear.

Behind the wall Icelin could tell they were in the belly of another ship. The hull had been reinforced several times over. No visible magic greeted them beyond the water wall. A ladder led up to the main deck, and Icelin could see a square of dull sunlight above. The breeze blowing down the ladder was cool

and smelled strongly of rain. She couldn’t see anything beyond the opening, but she heard muffled voices.

She turned around and noticed for the first time the pair of guards standing on their side of the wall. One of them, a young man not much older than Icelin, stepped forward to speak to Ruen.

“Arowall sends his greetings, Ruen Morleth, and I bear a message. If you wish his protection, the cost will be the same as when last you came here. Can I tell him you will fight in the Cradle?”

“Yes,” Ruen said.

“No, he won’t,” Icelin interrupted. “Ruen, what is this? We’re not here to fight. You told us you were taking us someplace safe.”

“Safety comes with a ptice,” Ruen said. “Haven’t you learned that yet? Fighting is Atowall’s business. So if we want to stay here, that’s what we do. Tell your master that I’m in,” he told the guard. “Expect his champion to fall tonight.”

“Bold words,” the guard said. His face split in an involuntary grin. “Bells has no equal this past tenday.”

“Bells?” Sull said. He snorted. “The champion is called Bells?”

“Death knells, that’s why,” said the guard. “They nicknamed her after she sent that poor bastard Tarodall into the pool. She hates it, but everyone likes a good nickname, you know.”

“We need time to test,” Ruen said.

“Arowall says if you’re committed to fighting, you can stay here in safety for the day,” said the guard. “Fight’s tonight, after gateclose.”

“Give him my gratitude,” Ruen said. The guard nodded and climbed the ladder. His partner followed, leaving them alone in the cabin, which reeked of mildew and the general stink of the harbor. Icelin found she was growing used to the smell. She wrinkled her nose. Likely because she was soaked in it, she thought.

“You’ve been here before?” Icelin asked Ruen when they’d arranged themselves on the floor near the back of the cabin.

“I only come here when I need protection,” Ruen said, “when I’m desperate enough. We’re safe here for the day. You should both sleep.” He looked at Icelin. “We’ll need whatever spells you can muster if things don’t go well tonight. I see no way Cerest could track us here, but I want to be prepared.”

“You said one night, and then we’d renegotiate the price for your aid,” Icelin said. “The cameo can’t possibly cover all you’re doing for us.”

Ruen laughed. “That, my lady, is the most profound understatement I’ve yet heard you make.”

Icelin bristled. “You don’t need to throw it in my face. In fairness to me, I hardly expected to be menaced by the undead, ambushed by a dozen men, interrogated by an insane elf who knows more about my life than I do, which, considering my powers of recollection, is distressing in the extreme. Then you drag me underwater, half drown me, and where do we end up? Back in Mistshore, in the teeth of gods alone knows what type of men, with onfy a warm place to sleep as consolation.” Her brow furrowed. “Come to think of it, that’s not terribly awful under the circumstances.”