Mistshore (30 page)

“She’s almost as far gone,” the dwarf woman said. Icelin felt Bellaril gently roll her onto her back. She probed her chest for wounds, then started on her arms and legs. Icelin started to tell her not to bother, but she didn’t have the strength.

“Well?” Ruen said when she was done. He hadn’t come any closer. He used Sull’s body as a buffer between them.

“Whatever’s hurting her is going on inside,” Bellaril said. “She needs healing, and even that might not be enough. Her eyes are strange—glassy, like yours.”

“Ruen.” Icelin sat up, gripping the dwarf s shoulder for support. “Tarvin s dead.”

He followed her gaze to the Watchman’s body. “He shouldn’t have tried to take you alone.”

“Ruen, can you call the Watch?”

He hesitated. The pain twisting his face was all the answer Icelin needed. “What do you want to tell them?” he said.

“Give them our exact location.” The tide of pain was slowly leaving her. Icelin felt strangely calm, her body inert. She had no more reserves of strength to lose. This was where everything settled. She had to start the slow climb back up. “I assume they’re still searching for me somewhere in Mistshore. Tell them we have wounded and need immediate aid. Go quickly, please.”

Ruen stood and walked a little distance away. He removed something from his pouch and spoke a word Icelin didn’t hear.

He’s been connected to the Watch all this time, Icelin thought. Yet he never brought them roaring down on our heads. He and Sull had followed her, no matter where she went. They’d kept her safe.

The conversation was short. When Ruen returned, the familiar tightness was in his jaw, the only sign of concern he ever betrayed.

“They’re not far away,” he said.

“Good. Would you help me, Bellaril?” Icelin asked.

The dwarf helped Icelin to her feet. When she could walk steadily, she went to Sull.

He was unconscious, but he still breathed. His face had no color, and his skin was cold. Did it feel worse to Ruen?

“I never touched him,” Ruen said, in answer to the unspoken question. “I couldn’t know—”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Icelin said. “And I wouldn’t have

listened, if you’d tried to tell me. I would have denied it until I was blind to everything else.”

Ruen removed his gloves and slid his silver ring off his finger. Replacing his gloves, he picked up Sull’s left hand. The ring would only fit on his smallest finger. Ruen slid it snugly into place.

“It’ll keep his heartbeat strong until the Watch gets here,” Ruen said. “He should live, if they hurry.” Icelin nodded. “How long do we have?” “Not long.”

“Then I need to get going.”

She kissed the back of Sull’s hand, folded it over his chest, and stood up. Her eyes fell on the bound man hanging over the walkway. The sense of detachment settled over her again as she approached him.

He watched her seat herself on the walkway so he could see her in his peripheral vision. She left him as he was, dangling over the water. The threat was there. She didn’t need to tell him.

“He was your friend,” Icelin said, pointing to the shirtless, dead giant. When Trik didn’t answer, she said, “Sull is mine. You don’t know how hard it was for me to tell that man”—she pointed at Ruen—”not to kill you. A tenday ago I could never have conceived such a thought in my mind, but time and hunger and desperation and fear work so many worms into the most pristine thoughts, and mine weren’t clean to begin with.

“You can’t imagine how much I want to kill you myself right now. It should matter that you’re helpless, that you can’t fight back. I know it should, but it doesn’t. I just want to punish someone, for all of it. Perhaps it’s the same for you, and that’s why you could kill Sull without even knowing him. I don’t care about that either.”

She put a hand in the air. He flinched, and she took a gross stab of pleasure in his fear. “I talk too much. It’s a curse Ruen warns me against, but I won’t waste much more of your time.

I’m going to release you. You’ll go back to Cerest—you’ve got no other employment, or you’d have taken it by now. Go back to Cerest, and tell him that I want to talk to him.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ruen and Bellaril exchange glances. She didn’t look at them or try to explain. They knew this conversation was as much for their benefit as Trik’s.

“Do you know what the Ferryman’s Waltz is?” she asked Trik.

For a breath the man didn’t answer. Then he nodded, a quick jerk of the head.

“That’s good. That will make things easier. Tell Cerest to meet me in the heart of Ferryman’s Waltz.”

“You’re mad,” Trik said, breaking his silence at last. “No one—”

“No one goes there,” she said over him. “Thar’s why it has to be there. No one to hurt, no more friends to kill. Only enemies. If you come there, Trik, I will kill you, with no words preceding the deed. If Cerest wants me, he’ll have to come to the Waltz. Will you carry that message to him?”

Trik nodded again. Icelin flicked her hovering hand. The bands around his chest flickered and melted away. He exhaled sharply and slumped on the walkway. Until then, Icelin hadn’t realized how tightly the bands had constricted his breath.

She sensed Ruen stepping toward her. His protective shadow fell across her, seen clearly by Trik as he got to his feet and took off running down the walkway.

When his footsteps receded, Icelin stood and faced the others. Sull was still unconscious, his head tossing fitfully from blood loss and fever. She knelt, dipped her arm in the harbor, and smoothed her cool, wet fingers across his forehead.

“Do you approve?” she asked Ruen without looking up.

“Of your plan?” Ruen said. “I don’t know. It’s very possible that if Cerest doesn’t kill us, the wild magic at the Waltz will do the job.”

“I know. I am tempted to wait for the Watch, as I should have done back at the ship. I’ll be a long time regretting that.” Her voice broke, but she plowed on. “There are some questions I need answered. Cerest has the knowledge, and I think he’ll give me what I want.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ruen said, “in case he proves reluctant.”

“Thank you,” Icelin said. “I know it’s more than I deserve, after the way I’ve used you.”

“Don’t,” Ruen said tersely. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I never should have kissed you,” Icelin said. “I made you feel my death, and you weren’t ready for that. It was a very unromantic gesture.” She put her head on Sull’s chest. It took several breaths, but when she was strong enough, she looked up at Ruen. “How long have you known? You said you’d never touched me—”

“I haven’t,” Ruen said. “I only suspected. It was Arowall who confirmed it. He has a power to sense those touched by the spellplague, and how badly they’ve been afflicted.”

Icelin nodded, accepting it. “I hope Cerest can tell me that too—why I’m dying.”

“You don’t have to rush to your demise so soon,” Ruen said, his voice harsh. “You might have years yet, if you stop using magic now.”

“But I have to use it, if I’m ever to be free of him,” Icelin said. “One last time, that’s all I need.” “No. We’ll do it another way.” “You think you can change fate?” Icelin said. He looked away. “Just yours.”

“That’s not true. You wouldn’t have brought Bellaril with us if you didn’t believe you could change things. I saw you touch her hands in the Cradle. You wanted her out of there, and not just to be my bodyguard. You knew her death waited in that place.”

“She’s stubborn enough I wonder if anything can kill her,”

Ruen muttered, but he didn’t deny her words.

“You can’t protect me by yourself,” Icelin said. “Without your ring, we’ll need my magic.”

Ruen started and looked at his hand, as if he’d forgotten it was bare. He looked at Sull, at the ring keeping him alive. Defeated, he dropped his hand to his side and clenched a fist.

“Is your raft still intact?” Icelin asked.

“Enough to get us out to the Waltz,” Ruen answered. He looked at Bellaril, and a spark of black humor lit his eyes. “What’ll it be, Bells? Should I tell the Cradle you were too frightened to take on the fair folk, golden locks and all?”

“You won’t be telling any tales when I have your head underwater for the sharks to nip at,” the dwarf said, smiling sweetly. “But I’ll go to the Waltz, and gladly.”

“You don’t have to do this, Bellaril,” Icelin said.

The dwarf nodded curtly. “I do, but not for you, so don’t let your conscience prickle you. After Tarvin led you off the Isle, we got word from the guards that Arowall’s dead.”

Icelin was shocked. “How?”

“How do you think? It was the elf. The survivors said he had a pair of pretty elf princesses with him.” Bellaril looked at Ruen. “Might be you were onto something about my death waiting in the Cradle. I owe you thanks for letting me live long enough to get my revenge on the pretties. But in the meantime, do we leave the butcher here?”

Icelin didn’t know what to do. The thought of leaving Sull alone on the walkway was a physical pain. He would be vulnerable to any attack until the Watch arrived.

“I have to protect him,” she said to Ruen, half in defense, half in apology.

The spell had gone awry the first time she’d used it. For once, that would work to her advantage.

She put a hand in her pouch, grasping the cameo as she’d done in the Cradle. She pictured the woman’s face in her mind,

the blue curve of her cheek, carved forever in stone. Letting the image float in her consciousness, she wove the spell.

Mist slid off her hands and coiled in the air. It took on the shape and substance of the woman in lace. She stood before Icelin in her vaporous gown, her face impassive.

Icelin didn’t know exactly what to do. The last time, the servant had automatically gone where her mind willed it. She remembered that she’d been mentally screaming for something to aid Ruen.

“Can you understand me?” she asked the strange apparition.

The woman didn’t answer. Her expression didn’t change. “She has no consciousness,” Ruen said. “There’s nothing in her eyes.”

“So she only has life when Icelin pulls her strings?” Bellaril asked. “Tell her to play guard dog, then.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Icelin said. She raised her right arm slowly out from her body. She concentrated on nothing except moving the appendage. The lady in lace mirrored the gesture until their fingertips were practically touching. “She only does what I directly imagine her to do. Once I’m gone, she won’t act independently.”

Icelin slowly turned her body until she was facing Sull, who lay a few feet in front of the servant. The lady again mimicked the gesture.

“There,” Icelin said. “As long as I picture her standing here, she’ll remain. The folk of Mistshore should be wary enough of sea wraiths to stay away from this apparition until the Watch arrives.”

Still, her gaze lingered on Sull. She took a step toward him, but Ruen laid a gloved hand on her arm.

“If we’re going, we need to go now,” he said.

“You’re right. I just—”

“I know,” Ruen said. “You’ll see him again.”

She looked at him. “Do you truly think that?”

He shrugged. “You were right. If I didn’t think I could beat the odds, I’d never play the game.”

They looked at each other for a breath. Then Icelin smiled. “So let’s play.”

Ruen’s raft was in good condition, considering it had gone through a sea wraith attack. Ruen and Bellaril worked the oars while Icelin sank into her thoughts. She kept a part of her mind fixed on the apparition watching over Sull, but she knew she would lose the spell soon. The battle ahead would require her complete concentration.

The Watch would be there by now. They would save Sull. Icelin could not consider any other outcome.

She took inventory of what magic she had left. She had never used so much in so short a time. Some of the spells left she hadn’t meditated on in years. They were at the very edges of her consciousness. Her teacher had insisted that she be able to protect herself, but she” d put the harrowing magic as far from her active mind as she could.

Now, mentally, she entered the tower room. The sunlight spilling in the windows had become stygian night. When she entered the room, flames sprang from tallow candles, long unused in their brass candelabras. Black shadows stretched to caress the bookshelves. It was only her fear made manifest, but she was still unsettled at the changes.

Icelin walked to a place at the base of the shelves. A black tome floated down from a high shelf to meet her outstretched hand. Arcane writing was burned into the silver spine. The book opened in her hand, and she read.

The spells were powerful, but she was more concerned with the backlash. She’d been caught completely off guard and made helpless when she’d incapacitated Trik. All the offense she could

muster wouldn’t be worth anything if she were incapacitated herself.

Icelin blinked, and the tower disappeared. She stared out at an endless stretch of dark water. Ruen didn’t have his ring. With his body unfortified, he’d be significantly weakened by any blow that managed to land on him. But she trusted his speed. If they couldn’t catch him, they couldn’t hurt him.

That left Bellaril. She would anchor all of them, and she would make Cerest’s men answer for her master. It worried Icelin that she would be walking into a potential den of spellplague, but she knew the dwarf woman would not be dissuaded.

“What will you do when this is all over?” she asked.

Bellaril looked up from her rowing. “Go back to the Cradle,” she said, as if it was a foregone conclusion. “No one to run it, the champion should step in. I don’t think he’s going to be doing it,” she said, nodding at Ruen.

“The title’s yours,” Ruen said. “I have no interest in the Cradle.”

“Don’t know what you’re missing,” Bellaril said. “What do you love so much about the fighting?” Icelin asked. Bellaril shrugged. “I like the crowd, like it when they cheer for me. It’s what everyone wants.” “She likes to be seen,” Ruen said.

“Isn’t that what I’m saying?” The dwarf woman looked irritated. “What of it?”

“Bells grew up in a family with eight brothers,” Ruen said.

“Eight? Isn’t that quite… prolific, for a dwarven family?” Icelin said.