Mistshore (27 page)

To my sorrow, my brother and I were never as close as we should have been, but perhaps it’s for the best. Now, to the tale.

You must understand, and not be deceived by the good man Cerest once was. He grew up the third son ofthe Elenithils, a noble family of Myth Drannor. He was educated at the behest ofhis late mothers family, because Cerest’s father would never acknowledge his son’s existence or birthright.

There was much evidence that Cerest was the child of an affair between Lady Elenithil and a rival family’s eldest son. He was several decades her junior. Cerest’s mother died soon after his birth under mysterious circumstances. Lord Elenithil was a prominent suspect, but nothing could be proven; so his reputation survived, while Cerest was publicly shunned as evidence of the fall of a noble lady of Myth Drannor.

Cerest took his education, but he leftMythrDrannor as soon as he came of age. I first met him in Baldur’s Gate. He’d come to the city to establish himself as a merchant. He had a small portion of his mother’s wealth to invest but no interest in the common trade in Baldur’s Gate.

I was an adventurer at the time, wandering out from the city to the ruins of tombs and strongholds and floating motes fallen from the heavens. I made enough coin to survive by selling my findings, but I hadn’t the resources or manpower to delve as deeply into Faerűn’s changed landscape as I desired. Then I met Cerest.

He purchased some of the pieces I brought back from the ruins. During the third such of these transactions, he confided that he had been in contact with a newly wedded couple who were interested in cataloging the artifacts to document the changes to Faerűn and its magic, resulting from the spellplague.

Here at last was my chance. With Cerest and the young man and woman, I had an expert team to explore more of Faerűn than I ever could hope to on my own. They would have their research, Cerest would have his profit, and my obsession for the unknown would be satisfied. It seemed the perfect arrangement, and we became quite close.

The young couple, Lisra and Edlend, were of course your parents. We were exploring a tomb in distant Aglarond when Lisra was four months heavy with you. We found a name scrawled on the wall, the only marking in the lonely ruins: Icelin. When you were born, Cerest named you after her. Lisra and Edlend named me your grandfather.

I wish I could tell you all the things your parents longed to give you, Icelin. It was their wish that you wouldfollow in their footsteps. I think Cerest wished this, as well—that we would all continue on together, one human generation replacing the last. We were the closest thing to family the elf had ever experienced in his life.

Considering all this, the happiness that we shared, I can’t explain why Cerest brought it all crashing down. He lied to us, but you see, we had no reason not to trust him. He had always told us the truth, so we believed him when he swore it was safe. You must believe me, Icelin, you must! I would have given my life before I saw you or your parents hurt.

Icelin turned the page over, but there was no more writing. The letter simply ended.

“No,” she said, her breath coming fast. “That can’t be all.” She went back over each page, thinking one had gotten out of order. When she didn’t find another, she sorted through all the

letters. Panic made her clumsy; the pages sailed out of her hands, blurring in a yellow haze as her vision swam. The world seemed to spin.

It was too much to take. Elgreth wasn’t her grandfather. Brant wasn’t her blood at all. She had always been alone in the world, she just hadn’t known it. All because of Cerest.

“How,” she said, her voice shrill. “How did it happen? Gods above, tell me!”

“Icelin.”

She jumped, but it was only Sull. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. There were great red pouches under his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Bellaril was sitting up too. She rubbed her eyes with a fist. “What’s all the noise?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” Icelin said. She slid the letters away in her pack. “It can wait. I’m sorry I disturbed you all.” She looked around. “Where’s Ruen?”

She heard footsteps on the ladder. Ruen climbed down to them.

“I’ve been scouting,” he said. “It’s almost full dark. We can move around soon.” He looked to Icelin. “If you’re ready to leave?”

“I’ve read the letters,” Icelin said, aware of Sull and Bellaril listening. “My grandfather, Elgreth, tried to warn me about Cerest. He knew he might come after me.” She looked at Sull. “Brant must have known. Even if he’d never read the letters himself, he must have known about Cerest. Elgreth wouldn’t have left his own brother ignorant of the danger.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Sull said soothingly. “Your great-uncle probably thought, after so much time, the elf had given up lookin’. And what was the sense in frightenin’ you if that was the case?”

He had given up, until I saved his life in the street, Icelin thought. The bitter irony of it made her dizzy. She remembered

thinking, in the moment she’d pushed the elf to the ground, that she was doing something good-—a small act of penance for all the harm she’d done. The gods had a cruel streak in them.

“Why’s he so interested in you?” Bellaril asked. “Begging your pardon, but you don’t seem worth all the men and coin he must be losing.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Icelin said. “I thought Cerest wanted revenge, but he said he wanted me for my abilities. He said Elgreth had a powerful spellscar; he thought I shared it. Why he would pursue someone with such unstable magic is beyond me, though Elgreth did allow that Cerest’s interest lay heavily with magic.”

Kredaron had said the same, that Cerest was fascinated by the Art. He’d thought, just as she had, that the elf s scars were a result of a brush with wild magic. If that was the case, Cerest should want nothing to do with her.

“Is there more?” Ruen asked.

“Yes,” Icelin said. “This is the part where things get muddled. Cerest used to work with my parents and Elgreth. They adventured together. But for some reason, Cerest betrayed them.”

“Why?” Ruen asked.

“I don’t know. The letters end. They were either lost or sent incomplete to Brant. I’m sure Cerest would tell you the tale, the next time he catches up to us.”

“Maybe it’s time that happened.”

It was Sull who had spoken. Icelin looked at him. “You can’t be serious?”

“I am,” Sull said. “That elf s used to huntin’ us, drivin’ us to ground. Let’s turn the tables on ‘im, see how he likes being chased.”

“We’re outnumbered,” Ruen reminded him, “even with Bells.”

The dwarf snorted. “I’m not afraid of an elf with a mashed-in lace.”

“None of you are attacking Cerest on my behalf,” Icelin said. “We’re not discussing it.”

“There’s another option,” Ruen said.

Icelin waited, but the monk didn’t speak. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “This option involves throwing us headlong into more danger and strangeness, doesn’t it?”

Sull threw up his hands. “I thought it didn’t get any stranger than this!”

“I think it’s time we go to the Watch,” Ruen said.

Silence fell over the group. Icelin thought at first he was jesting.

“You’re mad,” she told Ruen. “I’m not giving myself up to the Watch. I’d rather spend my life in Mistshore.”

Bellaril regarded her as if she’d just asked what colot the sky was on clear days. “You’re just as daft as he is, if you mean that,” she said.

“She’s only a child,” Ruen said, which made Icelin want to plant her fingernails in his eyes. “She doesn’t know what Waterdeep is.”

“Then what is it?” Icelin said, forgetting to keep her voice down. “Open my eyes, Ruen Morleth, to more horrors. I don’t think I’ve had enough thus far.”

“He doesn’t mean to hurt you, girl,” spoke a voice, and everyone except Ruen jumped.

Hatsolm rubbed the sleep from his eyes and regarded them blearily from his curled-up pallet. There was a crust of dried blood at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Icelin said, ashamed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Doesn’t matter, I wasn’t sleeping anyway,” Hatsolm said. He sat up slowly. Sull put his hand on the man’s shoulders to steady him. “The problem is that when we’re children we’re only conscious of our own suffering.”

“I don’t understand,” Icelin said. She felt like a child, and she didn’t like it. Nelzun had never made her feel this way.

“You only know the safe space in which you were brought

up,” Hatsolm said. “That’s a wonderful thing, but it doesn’t lend itself well to wisdom, or to understanding why folk do the things they do.”

“So to understand why Cerest is after me, I have to go right back where I started?” Icelin said. “Into the hands of the people who think I murdered my own great-uncle, the same people who hate me for killing one of their own?”

“No.” This time it was Ruen who spoke. “To understand yourself, you have to put your pride and fear aside. Believe me, I know what that costs a person. But the Watch can help you.”

“How?”

“I think you know.” He looked her in the eyes. “Your great-uncle would not have you live as a fugitive. More than that, the Watch have wizards, folk who can help the spellscarred.”

Icelin felt like she’d been struck in the stomach. “No,” she said automatically. “I have never been touched by the spellplague.”

“Are you certain?” Ruen said, his eyes boring relentlessly into her. Those red eyes. Spellscarred eyes.

“Of course!” Icelin took a step back from them all. “I grew up in South Ward! Waterdeep is safe from the plague.”

“Safe, is it?” Hatsolm said gently. “Waterdeep is a refuge to those scarred by the plague. They may be scorned, shoved into forgotten corners like Mistshore, but the plague is part of us.”

“No!” Icelin wrapped her arms around herself. The weeping sores stood out on her arms. Repulsed, she ripped the cloak off, peeling away the layers of rags and rotting flesh. She needed to see her own skin, needed to see it normal.

“Put your cloak back on!” Ruen snatched the cloth and covered her. “You’ll be contaminated.”

“I’m not plagued or spellscarred. I’m not like—”

“Like me?” Ruen said.

She took a step back. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop twisting my words.”

Sull touched her arm. Icelin tried to back away, but he held

her fast. “You know I’m with you, girl. But just because you’ve got gifts others don’t, doesn’t mean you’re not a Waterdhavian. You have the right to be protected. You shouldn’t be afraid.”

“Why not?” Icelin’s chest heaved. “Look what my gifts have done.” Her magic brought nothing but disaster, and her memory ensured that she never forgot any of it. Every experience, frozen in her mind, perfectly preserved.

Except one.

“I have the same dream every night.” She spoke haltingly. Sull squeezed her arm. “I’m in a tower, surrounded by people whose faces I can’t see. There’s a bright light, a burning light, and I’m afraid.” She looked at Ruen. “There’s no such tower in Waterdeep. I’ve looked.”

“If you’ve been outside the city, why don’t you remember?” Ruen asked.

“I don’t know,” Icelin said. “You’ve no idea what it’s like, to have everything lined up and catalogued in your mind, a vast library of things you can’t ever be rid of; yet there’s this huge crack in the wall, a terrifying maw, and that’s the knowledge you’d give anything to have.”

“What’s the Watch going to do for her?” Bellaril spoke up. “If she’s scarred, then that’s that. Doesn’t help her with the elf.”

“There are too many missing pieces,” Icelin said. “The rest of the dream, Elgreth and his spellscar. That’s what Cerest wants. Bellaril’s right. The Watch can’t help me with any of that.”

“But if you accept the spellplague is the source of your flawless memory, that’s a place to start,” Ruen said. “Waterdeep has done better than any city keeping the plague at bay. There’s a reason for that. You won’t find another realm in Faerdn where folk know more about the plague’s effects.”

Bellaril smiled grimly. “And you think she’ll just stride up to them and start interviewing likely candidates to help her, do you?”

“The other choice is confrontin’ Cerest,” Sull said.

“He won’c harm Icelin, but he’ll have no compulsion to spare the rest of us,” Ruen said. He looked at Icelin. “Do you want to risk Sull’s life? Do you want to see the elf slide a blade into him the way he took your great-uncle?”

“Don’t say that to her,” Sull said sharply. “I can see to myself fine enough, and I don’t need a magic ring to do it.”

Ruen shook his head. “You’re a fool. You claim you want to protect her? You’re letting your guilt cloud your judgment. It makes you useless to her.”

Sull went pale. His hand slid off Icelin’s arm.

Icelin looked at Ruen. He was like a stranger, his eyes bright, almost feverish. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded. “The last place you would ever put yourself is in the path of the Watch. Your instinct for self-preservation is too strong.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why is it so important to you to see me safely delivered to them?”

“Because he’s finally smartenedup to doing what he’s told.”

The voice rang out above them, and a crossbow bolt twanged into the hull a foot above Icelin’s head.

The cluster of beggars, stirred to wakefulness by their argument, sprang into frightened motion at the shot. Filthy bodies crowded toward the ladder.

“Stay down!”

Another bolt stuck in the wood above the ladder. The beggars fell back, knocking each other aside in their haste to get away.

Icelin took an elbow to the ribs. Her feet and arms were jammed in the press of bodies. She tried to look up, but the sky spun wildly as she was pulled in one direction or another. She crouched down, trying not to be hit by the bolts she knew were meant for her.

Ruen slammed into Icelin from the side, knocking her to the ground. Her breath whooshed from her chest, and she lay, gasping, staring up at the sky. She tried to roll onto her back, but Ruen was suddenly on top of her. He threw his disguise cloak

over both their bodies. Darkness closed in on her completely. “Stop! Ruen, we have to get out—”

“Quiet!” he said in her ear. “He can’t know which one you are, not after all that uproar.”