Nimbolk sat back on his heels,surprised by this sudden outpouring. "You could have saved yourselfa beating if you'd told that to Volgo's men. Why tellme?"
"All Volgo's men can do is killme."
The fisherman slowly lifted one handand to his heart and with great effort traced a circle-a wardingagainst evil. He tried to say something more, but blood spilledfrom his mouth and ran in crimson streaks down his beard. A tremorran through him and he lay still.
Nimbolk rose, staring at the deadman in puzzlement. Perhaps these humans knew so little of elves andfairies that they thought them the same people?
The fisherman had been right aboutone thing, though. The harsh death he'd suffered at the hands ofVolgo's men was quicker and kinder than a fairy's mercy.
Nimbolk tipped his head back tostudy the cliff. It curved out over the sea, dropping off in asheer rock wall. The fortress overlooked the port-the onlydeepwater harbor on any of Sevrin's islands-but it also sprawledalong the crescent-shaped cliff. Toward the end of that curve stooda round tower, an ancient stone keep that reflected the light ofthe first evening star.
He walked along the base of thecliff until the incoming tide left him nowhere to go but up.According to the gossipy fisherfolk and their speculation about theFox's raid, climbing the rock wall was impossible. By the time themoon rose, Nimbolk was beginning to think they were more right thanwrong.
Hours passed before he rolled ontothe ledge and staggered to the base of the tower, shaking withfatigue.
No guards patrolled this part of thecliff and no lights shone in the windows placed high on the towerwalls. Nimbolk tried the door, but the locks on the iron grate heldfirm. Again, the only possible path was straight up.
From a distance, the tower mightlook perfectly smooth, but hundreds of years of sea wind and saltair had worn away at the thick walls. Finding handholds in therough stone took time, but it was not impossible.
Finally Nimbolk's hand closed on awindow sill. He pulled himself up and edged aside the unlatchedshutter.
His gaze swept the starlit room fordanger. Dozens of weapons hung on the walls or in cases, but noguards stood ready to wield them. After a moment, it struck Nimbolkthat the chamber was more like a shrine than an arsenal.
The stone walls had been plasteredand painted to resemble the trees surrounding a forest glen. Pottedplants added to the illusion, which was crude but clearlyheart-felt.
Nimbolk slipped into the room andmoved from one case to another. Most of the weapons wereelf-crafted, and those that were not were similar enough to foolthose who had no ear for the magic they held.
Another case held jewelry; yetanother, elaborately tooled leather bracers. Books filled a row ofshelves. To Nimbolk's surprise, some of them were filled withElfish runes.
Muldonny had amassed a remarkablecollection. Even more astonishing, it appeared that the adept'sintent was to honor elfin culture rather than plunder it. Placingthe treasure at the keep's highest point showed that the adept hadbeen familiar with elfin custom. Dwarves buried their wealth, whileelves kept things of value atop ancient trees and in the highesttowers of mountaintop keeps.
Nimbolk wondered if the adept hadunderstood why.
Stars sent vibrations into the nightsky. Elf-crafted items resonated with it, captured and magnifiedand stored it to be released later in a burst of speed or power ormagic. Starsong might be as constant as air, but on clear, brightnights an elf could feel it in his blood and bones.
An echoing melody came from the seabeyond. Nimbolk went to the window. In the open sea south of theisland, a whale breached and blew. Its eerie, plaintive songshimmered across the water. As Nimbolk watched, more whales joinedthe singer.
Only elves and whales could hearstarsong. Only whales could sing it back to the sky.
Watching the pod brought Nimbolkalmost as much pain as comfort. They had their shared song, andwhatever rituals they enacted in the ocean depths. He had only thehealing to be found in these stolen relics. It was almost a reliefwhen the whales sank beneath the waves.
He'd been away from his kind for toolong.
The old man huddled in the curtainedalcove in a corner of the adept's workshop, torn between exhaustionand exhilaration. The trip to Khronus had taken more strength thanhe could spare. Still, it had been good to leave Rhendish Manor.He'd haunted this place for so many years that some days he wasn'tentirely certain that he was not, in fact, a ghost.
But the trip had been well worth thestrain. Relying on another man's sorcery had taxed his pride, butwhat else could he do? His own magic was long gone.
The murmur of voices in the workroom grew louder. He leaned closer to listen.
"Are you quite certain you don'tknow the dwarf's whereabouts?"
The adept's voice was deep andpleasant, despite the serrated edge of irritation in hisquestion.
"I have told you that I do not," theelf said. "I left Muldonny's workroom moments before it exploded.That was the last I saw or heard from him."
"What part did he play in theattack?"
"He led the way up the oublietteshaft. They came in from the sea caves."
"Are there tunnels beyond thesecaves?"
"Yes, but I doubt anyone could findthem. The tunnel openings will be blocked and the stone walls willbe seamless. Dwarf masons do extraordinary work."
"How many dwarf masons are wetalking about?"
"Nine."
"That's all?" Rhendish soundedrelieved. "Did you find out why they were working with thethief?"
"Fox and the young dwarf werefriends. I don't know the how and why of that. The other dwarvesfollowed the youth."
"I see," he murmured. "And what doyou suppose they'll do now, assuming their leader isdead?"
"If they stay, they'll clear a fewold tunnels, eke out an existence. More likely they'll return tothe mainland."
"Did he tell you what broughtdwarves to Sevrin?"
"No."
"But you know, don't you?" the adeptpersisted. "I sense there's more to the tale."
The old man shiftedimpatiently. And I sense that both of youare stalling.
"Some years back, I heard rumors ofa scandal," the elf said. "A dwarf lord, king in all but name,rules the vales and mountains on the sunrise side of the forest. Hehas five sons. Another king sent his daughter to wed one of thelord's sons in an alliance between their two clans."
A bitter smile curved the old man'slips. Dwarves and elves took alliances very seriously. No one knewthis better than he.
"Making the match was put in thehands of the second-eldest son, who acted as the heir's steward.Apparently this dwarf had little talent for his role. The fifthbrother was loyal to the heir but considered the stewardunreliable. To prove to the heir that his steward lacked judgment,the youngest brother challenged him to a game of chance. When allwas said and done, the steward had gambled away the princess'sdowry."
"Among humans, this would mostlikely lead to war."
"Among dwarves, it leads tomarriage," the elf said with dry humor. "The princess Hedvigdeclared that since the dowry had changed hands, a match was made.She declared herself betrothed to Delgar, the youngestbrother.
"The steward convinced the heir thatthis was evidence of Delgar's ambition. The heir took the secondbrother's advice and sent Delgar away. Hedvig remains in theclanhold. Everyone involved wants her to wed the heir, but she'ssaid to be stubborn even by the measures of dwarves. She declaredher intention to wait out the exile."
"So these nine dwarf masons willreturn to bring news of their young lord's death so that the clanalliance can be concluded."
"That is my assumption, yes. If helives, he'll finish out his exile and return to hisclanhold."
"Good."
Silence fell. Lingered.
Soft footsteps approached the oldman's alcove. He was about to dart back into the hidden passagewhen he heard the window latches snap. The creak of shuttersfollowed as the elf swung them open to let in thestarlight.
"The lamps are lit," Rhendishpointed out.
>
"Then call one of your guards andwe'll begin."
The old man edged the curtain asidejust in time to see the adept's jolt of surprise. "Why?"
The elf turned to face him."Removing the metal from my body will require time and effort. Youmight decide the process is more trouble than my service is worth.Once we start, you'll have a knife in my arm. One flick is all itwould take to sever the veins."
"If killing you was my intention, aclockwork guard couldn't prevent me."
"No, but it could make sure I don'tdie alone."
The adept huffed. "Few people dotheir best work with a sword pointed their way."
"Will you call the guard, or shallI?"
The adept gave a single terse nod.In moments a metal guard clanked into the room and drew asword.
Rhendish sent the construct adisgusted look and reached for a small, curved knife. The elf tooka chair and laid her arm on the attached metal table.
The adept dipped the tip of hisknife under one of the stitches on the elf's arm, flicking asidethe threads one by one. She did not flinch, and when the knife sankdeep into living flesh, she did not scream. Not when he clamped offthe veins to slow the flow of blood, not when he removed tiny boltsholding a metal bone in place, not even when he pulled the bar freewith what appeared to be more force than was strictlynecessary.
A metallic rustle filled the room asthe clockwork guard shifted, raising its sword for a sweepingcut.
"My arm, your head," the elf saidsoftly.
Rhendish removed a slender crystalbone from the skeleton, the smaller of the two forearm bones. Thestarsong humming through the crystal faltered. The elf's eyesglazed as the magic sustaining her fell silent.
The adept's head came up sharply,like a wolf scenting blood.
Metal clattered as the guard's swordarm dropped to its side. Its metal head turned from the elf to theadept and back, as if it were uncertain where its loyalties shouldlie.
Without thinking, the old manreached out to Honor.
Starsong filled the room with silentmusic. The elf gathered the silver threads and wove them intostrength and magic, life and youth. The old man doubted she wouldthink to ask what had repaired the severed connection. Starsongcame naturally to her kind, and like a beating heart requiredneither thought nor choice to do its work.
Color crept back into the elfwoman's pallid cheeks. Her eyes cleared, hardened. Her gaze flickedto the clockwork guard, and it raised its sword again.
Rhendish frowned and lifted hisknife. The wonderful, terrible work began anew.
The old man sank down on the windowledge, stunned beyond thought. His hands trembled, but when heregarded them by the light of the stars, they seemed less palsiedand frail than they'd been this morn.
For ten long years, he'd tried totake power and magic from the elf woman. It had never occurred tohim, not once, to give.
Starsong was a shared thing, flowingfrom one elf to another as need arose. The old man had known thatonce.
He'd been away from his kind for fartoo long.
Chapter 9:Stormwall
Rhendish and Volgo stood inwhat was left of Muldonny's workshop, gazing through the openingthe explosion had made in the southern wall.
Before the raid a walkwayhad connected the main fortress with the cliff-side tower. Most ofthe stone, both the walkway and the arch that had supported it, hadshattered and fallen into the sea.
"That won't be easilyreplaced," Rhendish murmured.
"No need to bother withit," the captain said. "It has no tactical value. Shore up thewalls, fill in the shafts and tunnels. That'll keep the masons busyuntil winter."
The adept nodded absentlyas he moved over to the oubliette shaft. According to Honor, thethieves had come up through this passage. But the workers who'dgone down on ropes to clear the rubble and retrieve the bodies ofMuldonny's men had reported finding a smooth and solid floor somethirty feet down.
Either Honor was lying tohim, or the young dwarf lord who'd befriended Fox possessedstoneshifting abilities beyond anything Rhendish had thoughtpossible.
"This wall will go upeasily enough," Volgo said, running a hand along the jagged edge."When is Mendor taking possession?"
"First thing tomorrow, Ibelieve. The sooner, the better, in my opinion."
It had taken all ofRhendish's influence to have Mendor named to the Council of Adepts.Of all the alchemists Rhendish had trained, Mendor showed the mostaptitude for the alchemical weapons that had made Muldonny soeffective.
And unlike Muldonny, he hadlittle interest in exploring elven lore and magic. That was a pathbest left untrod.
Rhendish joined his captainat the broken wall. Below the curve of the cliff, dark water surgedand brooded, tossing white sprays over rocks that rose from thecoastline like jagged teeth. According to witnesses, both Fox andHonor had fallen when the explosion shattered the walkway. Rhendishdid not see how anyone could have survived the fall. But Honor had,so perhaps the thief lived. And if the solid stone filling theoubliette shaft was any indication, the dwarf had alsosurvived.
Volgo frowned and foldedhis arms, his gaze fixed on the old tower.
"What is it?"
"I talked to a dozen peoplewho saw a fairy shot out of the sky. Most of them claimed thearrows came from the tower."
Rhendish immediatelygrasped his point. The tower door had not been opened since theraid, which meant that no archers had been stationed there thatnight.
"An illusion," he murmured."So it would seem the fairy survived, as well. We'll need to bringher in."
Volgo snorted. "I don't seehow. They say fairies can look like anyone."
The adept did notappreciate his captain's insolent tone, but there was enough truthin his words to silence the rebuke that leaped to Rhendish'slips.
"I figured there was afairy about," Volgo said in a tone ripe with disgust. "All theseCity Fox stories. Wasn't natural, the way they caught on. Fairytales, the lot of them. "
An idea stirred and beganto take shape."We might not know what the fairy looks like, but ifshe's behind the City Fox stories, one might reasonably assumeshe's been haunting storytelling venues. She may continue to doso."
Volgo stroked his newlybeardless chin. "There's sense in that. I'll have my men collectstoryspinners. Iron chains have a way of sorting the humans fromthe fey folk."
"You can't arrest storyspinners,"Rhendish snapped. "This is Sevrin. The people wouldn't stand forit. They need to gather of their own volition. We'll invite them toa festival in my manor."
"You've never shown any interest instoryspinners before. They're likely to be suspicious."
"Then tell them I have an honoredguest-a famous bard of some sort-who wishes to hear Sevrin'sstories and songs."
"I don't see them buying that at theasking price, either," Volgo said. "They're going to know who thefamous bards are and where they're working."
"My point precisely! Find out whomost impresses the storyspinners, get what information you canabout the bard. Create a plausible lie." The adept held up a handto forestall Volgo's next argument. "See to it."
Some dark emotion flashed in thecaptain's eyes, but it disappeared before Rhendish could put a nameto it.
"As you wish," Volgosaid.
"Begging your pardon,captain?"
Two of Volgo's men stood in thehall. The captain motioned them in.
"We found a man who says he pulledthe City Fox out of the water after the raid," one of the men said."Dorn, a fisherman."
"That's good news," Volgosaid.
"It gets better. The thief madecontact yesterday. He wants to hire Dorn to take two men and a girlto the mainland. Offered him a small fortune to do it."
"Tell him to take the money and makethe arrangements. Send three men to pick up thethieves."
"I doubt we have three willing togo," the man said. "Beorn and his men were found out behind awarehouse, deader than pickled herring. People are talking aboutthe City Fox again. They're saying-"
"I don't want to hear it. If youdon't think
three men are enough to do the job, send four. Or five.Just get it done."
The man responded with a crisp nodand strode off. His comrade, a young man whose stocky frame testedthe seams of his tunic, shifted uneasily from one foot toanother.
"Well?" said Volgo.
"We got the tower open, like yousaid. But the top room was empty."
"Empty?" echoed Rhendish.
The man glanced his way. "Somewooden cases, my lord, like they have in the curiosity houses, butnothing in them. There are a few small trees and bushes growing inbig pots. That's all. They're saying-"
Volgo took one menacing stepforward. The man fell silent.
"If I wanted gossip, I'd listen tomy wife. Do you see her here? Short woman, curly blond hair, twochins?"
The man's throat worked as heswallowed. "No, captain."
"And what do you surmise fromthat?"
"You don't want to heargossip."
"Good man. But since you're set ontelling stories, I've got a job for you. . "
Nimbolk's palms itched for the feelof a dagger's hilt, and the need to kill sang through his bloodlike a wolf pack's hunting howl.
The wooden scaffolding in the hallbeyond the work room provided an ideal place to watch and listen.He'd spent the night clearing out the tower and the better part ofthe morning in the fortress, moving quietly along the timberrafters as he waited for Rhendish and Volgo to arrive. In Nimbolk'sexperience, humans seldom looked up.
The man who'd led the attack on theStarsingers grove was within Nimbolk's reach, and he had no choicebut to walk away. If he was to find this Dorn before Volgo's mendid, he couldn't linger. The Thorn, not revenge, had to be hispriority.
Volgo would die by his ownaurak-hilt sword, but not today.
Stories could be very useful things.The tiny island known as Faunmere might be a popular spot forsummer trysts and berry picking, but the first sign of sunset colorsent visitors scurrying for their boats. According to thestoryspinners, no place in all of Severn was as haunted, and noghosts as vengeful.
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