Mistshore (22 page)

“No,” Icelin hissed. She grabbed Sull’s arm. “No, no! He’s going to wait until Ruen falls.”

Sull cursed. He grabbed Sheems by the back of the neck and hauled him aside. “He can’t do that! Tell me he can’t.”

Sheems cowered in the face of the butcher’s livid expression. “Rules aren’t clear on how long he has to stand. Depends on the master’s mood. Makes for a good show—” He caught himself when Sull bared his teeth.

Icelin reached for her neck pouch, frantically searching its contents for a spell focus.

Sull grabbed her shoulder. “Lass, I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s a good route to getting us killed.”

“He’s going to fall, Sull. Where in the Nine Hells is that wood!” She searched her memory to unearth the spell. “It’s not an attack,” she assured him. “He just needs to stay upright.”

Magic for simple tasks. She could hear her teacher’s words. ” The spells you ‘11 use most often in the early days are spells to imitate simple tasks. Don’t let the ease of their use make you complacent. A servant, unseen, should never replace your own two hands.”

A servant unseen. An invisible hand to keep him standing that would escape the master’s notice. Icelin’s fingers closed on the focus in her pouch. She didn’t bother to pull it out but chanted the spell, her will centered on Ruen.

“Go. Hold him,” she chanted, mixing the plea with the arcane phrases.

A swirl of brilliant gray mist shot from her fingertips. The loop of magic descended from the deck of the ship to the platform, taking on shape, if not substance, as it went. The crowd shouted in warning and awe.

“Godscursed magic!” Icelin clutched her head, feeling the familiar pain behind her eyes. Sull tried to support her, but she shook him off. She had to see how the wild spell would manifest, and control the damage if she could.

The gray mist coalesced into a human shape. The unseen servant was now a woman in a flowing dress, her colorless hair drifting around her face. Arms swathed in ghostly lace encircled Ruen’s body from behind. The spectral lady stepped forward, taking Ruen’s weight against her chest.

“I know that woman,” Icelin said, aware that the crowd and the master of the Cradle had turned to look at her in a great collective. She drew her hand out of her neck pouch. The focus she held was not a piece of wood, as she’d thought when she cast the spell. It was the cameo she’d been holding for Ruen. The woman’s face gazed serenely back at her from the portrait—and from the platform behind Ruen.

Arowall regarded Icelin with interest. “You’re building a fine and dangerous reputation in Mistshore, my lady,” he called out to her. “I daresay some of the poor folk will be glad when you leave us.”

Icelin heard the threat behind the words. “Believe me, sir, I will be equally relieved to escape this place, and I apologize sincerely for trespassing on your hospitality.” She pointed to Ruen. “But I need that man alive, and I wonder if you will have it so.”

There were titters from the crowd. Arowall looked up sharply, gauging the reactions. “I adhere to the rules of the Cradle,” he said. “Ruen Morleth has not fallen.” He flicked a glance to Ruen, who was watching the exchange with half-closed eyes. “But if your spell fails, will he keep his feet? That is the

issue at hand. Your interference is grounds for his immediate disqualification.”

“No,” Ruen spoke up, his voice thick. “She interfered without my consent.” He looked at Icelin, but his eyes were unfocused. Icelin wondered if he truly saw her at all. “Drop the spell,” he said.

“You’ll die,” Icelin said flatly. “He’ll feed you to the sharks.”

Angry shouts arose from the crowd, surprising all three of them. The people stamped their feet. Refuse showered the Cradle, and the rope bridges swayed above their heads. Arowall’s guards formed a protective wall behind him.

“The people have spoken,” Arowall said when the noise finally died away. “If Ruen Morleth stands, he will be declared champion. Is this acceptable, my lady?”

“Yes,” Ruen answered for her. Icelin shot him a withering look. “Drop the spell. Now.”

Icelin raised a hand. She could feel the crowd cringing back in their seats, but the gray lady did not explode into fire like the spell in the warehouse. She melted away, leaving Ruen alone on his feet.

Icelin leaned forward, her hands on the rail in a death grip. Ruen faltered, steadied himself, and stood still. His posture was straight. All eyes in the Cradle watched him.

“Our new champion,” Arowall said.

The crowd bellowed its approval. The wooden ships shook in their ancient moorings. Icelin thought the whole of Mistshore must be hearing the tumult.

The master turned and dropped a steel vial on the platform ten feet away from Ruen. “Accept your healing, champion.” He ascended the gangplank to the largest ship and disappeared below deck.

Icelin vaulted the rail, landing at the edge of the Cradle. She ran out onto the nearest platform, crossing to Ruen’s in three quick jumps, just as the monk started to fall.

She caught him at the waist and guided him to the ground. She heard Sull lumbering behind her, and a breath later he put the healing vial in her hand.

“Don’t move him,” Icelin said when Sull would have picked Ruen up. “We’ll do it here.” She pressed the vial to his bloody lips.

Ruen opened his eyes and drank. As the healing liquid poured down his throat, he sat up and moved away from her. “You made a spectacle of yourself again,” he said, but he didn’t sound angry. “Hundreds of people know your face now, to say nothing of your troublesome nature.”

“Yes, but thank the gods for them. At least Arowall respects the crowd.” Icelin put the vial aside when Ruen finished drinking. “He must be furious with me. He’ll give us nothing now, I suppose.”

Ruen laughed. His eyes looked clearer, more brown than red, as the healing potion took effect. “He’s not angry, or he won’t be for long. You gave the crowd a show they’ll be talking about for a tenday. Even if he wanted to kill us, the man knows how to play his part. I’m the declared champion. The crowd expects to see us again. Come to think of it, your interference might have been the best part of the whole spectacle.” He winced and fell silent.

“What is it?” Icelin asked. “Are you still in pain?”

“The bones are reknitting,” Ruen said. “Stings.”

Icelin ran her hands over his sleeve and across his torso. “You’re right, they’re mending,” she said. “Gods above, she must have broken every rib. How could she hit so hard?”

“Don’t let her height fool you.” Ruen retrieved his gloves, took what was left of the healing draught, and poured it down Bellaril’s throat. The dwarf was already stirring. When the liquid hit her tongue, she spluttered and opened her eyes. “She’s much stronger than she looks.”

Bellaril sat up and looked around at the crowd filtering off the ships. Icelin thought she must be looking for her master. She

didn’t realize he’d left her unconscious on the Cradle floor.

“Suppose I owe you congratulations,” Bellaril said, offering a hand to Ruen.

“It was a good fight,” Ruen said. “You’re still too merciful, Bells. You should have taken my legs first.”

“I won’t make the same mistake twice,” the dwarf assured him.

“Merciful?” Icelin said. “She broke practically every bone in your body.”

“He knew the rules,” Bellaril said. “No magic allowed in the Cradle.”

Icelin decided not to tell the dwarf about her miscast spell. “Why would Ruen need magic to protect himself?”

“You didn’t tell her.” Bellaril snickered, her eyes alight with humor. “Well, that’s interesting, isn’t it?”

Ruen glared at her. “The ring I wear is magical, as you’ve already seen,” he said to Icelin. “I told you it amplifies whatever it touches. I can shift that focus, a little, according to my will.”

“He means his bones are sticks,” Bellaril said. “Can’t you tell by how thin he is? Without the ring to strengthen the bones, he’s going to get pulped in any fight.”

“Arowall knew that going in, didn’t he?” Icelin said. “He knew how hard it would be for you to win.”

Ruen shrugged. “He can’t fix his own game. Like Bellaril said, there’s no magic allowed in the Cradle. That’s the rule.”

“But he made you stand longer than was needed,” Icelin said fiercely. “He wanted you to fall.”

“Maybe, maybe not. He can’t break ‘em, but sometimes Arowall tries to bend the rules,” Bellaril said. She stood. “He’s a twisted creature, make no mistake.”

“Why do you serve such a man?” Sull spoke up.

The dwarf looked at the butcher for the first time. “He pays me well. I don’t want for anything, and I like the crowd’s attention. Might be I’m a bit twisted myself.” She shrugged.

“We should be going,” Ruen said. “He’ll be waiting for us. Coming, Bells?”

Bellaril’s face hardened. “Don’t have a choice, do I? You won the side bet.”

“What did you win?” Sull wanted to know. They climbed the gangplank and joined an escort of guards. Ruen smiled cryptically. “You’ll see.”

Unlike the sparse ship’s cabin they’d slept in, Arowall’s quarters were carpeted with blue rugs that looked as if they’d been meticulously cleaned. The furniture was dark wood; a desk and matching chairs were arranged in one corner of the room. Arowall sat at the desk. A guard stood behind him.

In the middle space, a couch and another small table sat against the hull. Fist-sized globes of magical light floated along the ceiling. The portholes had been blacked over. There was no seeing in or out of the ship.

Icelin could sense the tingle of enchantments protecting the hull. This room must be where the master’s more interesting audiences take place, she thought.

Their escort indicated the chairs for Icelin and Ruen, then returned above.

“You fought well, Bellaril,” Arowall said, waving a dismissive hand at the dwarf. He looked at Ruen. “I’m pleased you survived, Morleth.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a familiar ring. He handed it to Ruen. “Yours, with my thanks.”

Ruen took the ring. He slid it on his finger and covered it with the glove. “These are the people I wanted you to meet,” he said. “Icelin you already know—”

“Of course,” Arowall said. His gave Sull one disinterested glance before turning his full attention to Icelin. “My pleasure, Icelin.” He held out a hand.

Reluctantly, Icelin took it, surprised at how warm his hand was. She’d expected a cold, clammy grip. He held her hand for a breath and released it.

“Well, Icelin, your champion has won in the Cradle,” Arowall said. “You’ve earned the right to ask for what you need. If it is in my power, I will provide it.”

Icelin exchanged a glance with Ruen. He nodded.

“I would request protection,” she said, “for myself and my two companions. “We are hunted by the Watch and a party of elves and men. You’ve given us a place to rest, but we need concealment during the day. If you hide us, we will leave at nightfall and not trouble you again.”

Arowall inclined his head. “Easily done. I have a place where you could be concealed quite well”—he leaned forward—”if you’ve the stomach for it.”

Icelin met his calculating gaze. “What place do you speak of, sir?”

“He calls it the Isle,” Ruen spoke up. “A half-sunk ship behind the Cradle.”

“I appropriated it some years ago to take care of a minor inconvenience’ to my operation,” Arowall explained.

“What sort of inconvenience?” Icelin asked, knowing instinctively she would not like the answer.

“Mistshore is a unique entity in Waterdeep,” Arowall said. “We welcome all folk, no matter how desperate or murderous, so long as they’ve coin to spend. Unfortunately, being such a large enterprise, the Cradle attracts its share of… lesser beings.”

“The diseased, the starving, the scarred ” Ruen said. “The bdggar folk, shunned even among the damned.”

“We used to dispose of them—discreetly,” Arowall said. “It was a mercy, I assure you. Their conditions were affronts to nature; whitewasting and darkrot, godscurse and worse. A few here or there were never missed.”

“I wonder why you stopped,” Icelin said sarcastically. The man’s callousness knew no bounds.

“Some days I wonder that myself,” Arowall said.

“Don’t let him lie to you,” Ruen said. “He knew that mass murders would not go unnoticed for long, no matter what sort of folk were dying. He devised a surprisingly merciful solution.”

“I took them in,” Arowall said. “They live on the Isle now, in relative comfort and, more importantly, out of sight of normal folk.”

“No one goes there,” Ruen said. “They’re afraid of catching something.”

“I know I would be,” Sull muttered.

“Don’t worry,” Ruen said. “If he intends to send us there, he will provide us with disguises and spell protection against the sicknesses.”

“Absolutely,” Arowall said. “I would not send you off unprepared. You will have your disguises, which I daresay will continue to serve you after you’ve left us.”

“Then we are agreed,” Icelin said. She stood and extended a hand, but there was.no warmth in her eyes. “We thank you for your hospitality.”

He smiled and leaned forward to kiss her fingers. “You are not easily unsettled, my dear,” he said. “I admire your nerve.”

He looked past her shoulder, his brow furrowing in consternation. “Bellaril, you may go. I have no further need of you.”

The dwarf shifted uncomfortably. “There is a matter I must discuss with you, Master. It concerns Ruen Morleth, and a wager we made during the fight.”

Her master raised a brow. “I have the distinct impression I’m not going to like this, Bellaril.”

“It was my doing,” Ruen said. “I made a side bet with Bellaril. If I won the match, she promised to accompany us for three nights—to whatever destination Icelin names—as a bodyguard.”

“And you agreed?” Icelin said, looking sharply at the dwarf. “I did,” Bellaril said. “No offense meant, lady, but at the time I believed I could win the fight.”

“You discovered differendy,” Arowall said. He kept his voice even, but Icelin saw his cheeks flood with color. “Your arrogance will be the death of you yet.”

The dwarf said nothing, only bowed her head.

“I will honor the wager,” Arowall said, rising and coming around the desk. He towered over Bellaril. “Take her, but don’t be gone long, little one,” he said softly “And don’t displease me again.”