Honor Among Thieves toss-1

by Elaine Cunningham

  “What?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh. “I knowand trust no other human.”

  “To do what?” the dwarf asked.

  “A priceless elven artifact was stolen: a rose ofpale crystal that opens each morning with the dawn and closes atsunset.”

  Delgar folded his arms. “So? Any garden rose can doas much.”

  “This is more than a pretty toy,” she said. “This isancient and powerful magic. Such magic in human hands could bringcatastrophic destruction.”

  “Vague, yet ominous,” Delgar said. “I’ve knowntwo-penny fortune tellers who were more generous withdetail.”

  The elf studied him for a moment. “You are a Carmot dwarf. You canstoneshift?”

  “He’s very good,” Fox said.

  Delgar didn’t’ acknowledge the compliment. In fact,neither elf nor dwarf seemed to notice that Fox had spoken.

  “You can do this because there are traces of carmitein your blood and bone,” she said. “Imagine enough carmite tofashion a rose, then place that rose within a dagger of amplifyingcrystal. When you have that image firmly in mind, imagine what thatrose could do when fed a drop of a traitor’s blood.”

  All color drained from Delgar’s face. His normal palegray tone faded almost to while.

  “The Thorn,” he murmured.

  The elf nodded.

  Delgar passed a hand over his face and turned to Fox.“I opened a new portal last moondark, under the back stairs of thetavern in Halfpenny Wynd. We can be in the Fox Den within thehour.”

  The Fox Den was hardly what Honor expected.

  She’d supposed a young thief might have a cellar roomin some rough part of the city, or perhaps a hidden chamber in themanor of some wealthy patron. But this network of pristine stonepassages and ever-shifting hidden doors throughout the city wasbeyond impressive.

  Strange carvings marked many of the tunnels, and thelarge and somehow airy chamber in which they now gathered wasdistinguished by elaborate carvings and a mirror that reflected notwhat was in the room, but other places and, Honor suspected, othertimes.

  For a while she watched as one scene after anotherswam into focus, lingered for a few breaths, and faded. It wasoddly soothing.

  Even more surprising were the thieves themselves.

  While a fairy-a fairy! — regaled the others withthe story of Delgar’s rescue, Honor gathered her thoughts.

  Rhendish had told her the thief would not refuse her.He had not told her why.

  It seemed incredible, but apparently Rhendish knewshe’d crossed paths with this human. How had he come by thisinformation? And what was this young man to Rhendish that the adeptwould go to such extreme lengths to get him in hand?

  And what use would he make of these others?

  The fairy’s presence astonished Honor. Didn’t Fox andhis companions know what sort of crime resulted in banishment tothe mortal realm? Or didn’t that sort of thing matter to a band ofadmitted thieves?

  Vishni was, admittedly, a fetching little thing, slimas a pixie with big dark eyes and a short mop of dark curls. Shelaughed often, but there was a flash in her eyes and a petulanttwist to her rosebud lips that warned of storms lurking behind thesunshine.

  Honor suspected that might be part of her appeal.

  Delgar she understood a little better. Young dwarvesoften travelled abroad to seek adventure or knowledge. Delgar’spresence in Sevrin suggested he was more ambitious than most.

  Long before the seas rose and turned Sevrin into acity of islands, in a time far beyond the reach of human memory, anancient dwarven culture had thrived beneath the current sea. Muchof it had been destroyed when the long-dead volcano last stirred.This much was known to all of the old races, but as history ancienteven by the measure of their kind.

  The stone chambers of the “Fox Den” gave Honorinsight into Delgar’s quest: searching out the old passages,opening and restoring them.

  She wondered what drove the dwarf. Was he a treasurehunter hoping to plunder the tombs of his ancestors? A scholarseeking to uncover ancient glories? Or something far more?

  A Carmot settlement beneath Sevrin could be apowerful check on the growing power of the adepts. If Delgar hadambitions along those lines, he presented Rhendish with alegitimate concern.

  But if that was the case, why would Rhendish permitDelgar’s escape?

  The man they called Avidan was also complicated. Hewas not, Honor thought, a native of Sevrin. His aquiline featuresand swarthy skin suggested southern lands, and he spoke with thedeliberation of someone translating his thoughts from a morefamiliar tongue. He followed the fashion of the city, though,wearing his dark hair long and tied back and dressing in the simpletrousers and tunic of a master alchemist. But unlike Rhendish, hewore the soft green of early spring.

  Honor wondered whether the others knew why.

  Humans who lived near the forest knew better than towear pale green, or to sing certain songs in the dark of the moon.Sound and color had a profound effect on the fey. Perhaps Fox hadonce known that wearing light green drew the attention of the fairycourt, but years of city life had imposed a new set of survivalrules.

  Still, how was it that none of them noticed the feywildness lurking in Avidan’s eyes, the distinctive dance of hisskittering thoughts? The man had dwelt in Faerie. Of that Honor wascertain. The experience had broken him into tiny shards and rebuiltthe pieces into patterns few mortals could understand.

  And if the color of his clothing signified what shethought it did, Avidan longed to return to the fairy realm.

  Vishni had to know this.

  The fairy turned to Honor, as if she’d heard herunspoken name. “And now it is time for our guest to tell her tale,”she said gaily, laying a hand on Honor’s arm.

  A sound like swift-melting ice filled the stonechamber. Vishni hissed and snatched her hand away.

  She regarded her palm for a long moment beforelifting it for the others to see. Blisters rose on her slimfingers.

  “Cold iron,” she said in a flat voice.

  Every eye turned to Honor. She pushed up the sleeveof her tunic to display the etched metal bracer covering herforearm, a “gift” from Rhendish.

  “I did not expect to find fairies beneath thecity.”

  “No one does,” Fox said. His dismissive tone broughta scowl to Vishni’s face that no one but Honor seemed to observe.“Tell us about the rose dagger. Do you have any idea where it mightbe?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I know who has it. Do you knowof a man named Muldonny?”

  Silence settled over the group like morning fog.

  The fairy’s pout eased and lifted into a slow,speculative smile. “This,” she said, “is going to be a lot more funthan I’d expected.”

  Chapter Five: Illusions

  Honor watched as four dwarves, short sturdy men assolid and gray as the stone beneath Muldonny’s lair, tappedsteadily at a solid rock wall. Chips of rock tumbled to the tunnelfloor, but the pickaxes made no more sound than elven boots on aforest path.

  One of the dwarves, a broad-shouldered fellow whosehead barely reached Honor’s shoulder, stepped back from his workand swiped the back of his hand across his forehead.

  “It’s a mite too hot hereabouts for an old cistern,”he said. “I’m not one to be telling you your business, Delgar, butyou’re sure where we’re headed?”

  The young dwarf glanced at Honor. She returned hisgaze steadily, letting him see the warning in her eyes.

  “Not entirely,” he said.

  His crew exchanged glances. “Then you know what wecould be walking into.”

  Stories echoed in the silence, tales they’d all heardof how the adepts wrested Sevrin from the sorcerer who’d ruled itlonger than any living human could remember. Muldonny had played nosmall part in that victory. His art was fashioning liquids withterrible properties: Fire that could not be quenched, fumes thatkilled anyone within twenty paces, and solvents that ate throughmetal armor.

  Muldonny kept stores o
f these liquids beneath hismanor and in armories scattered around Stormwall Island. Cuttingthrough the wrong wall could result in a deluge of flesh-dissolvingsludge, or send liquid fire speeding along the tunnel.

  “Let me study on it,” Delgar said. “We’ll break offnow and come back at it tomorrow.”

  The dwarves eyed him for a moment before respondingwith curt nods. They gathered up their tools and disappeared into anarrow side tunnel.

  Among elves, such behavior would be seen as beyondrudeness and well into the realm of mutiny, but Honor knew theStone Folk’s ways well enough to recognize the deference they paidthe young dwarf.

  The Carmot dwarves, like most of the other Old Races,put great store in their ancestry, but dwarves of common birth andexceptional talent were known to attract fame and followers.

  Honor had no idea what Delgar’s lineage might be, buthe possessed gifts that could inspire other dwarves to take uptools, and perhaps weapons, at his direction. That made him useful,but it also made him dangerous.

  She watched as Delgar moved into the tunnel openingand placed one hand on either wall. He closed his eyes and began tosing.

  The song started out as a pleasant bass chant, butthe melody descended until the notes sank beyond the reach ofHonor’s hearing. She could still feel them, though. Deep vibrationshummed through the stone and echoed in her bones.

  A thin, irregularly shaped layer of stone peeled awayfrom the wall near the tunnel. Delgar caught it as it started tofall forward and moved it over the tunnel opening. It fit as snuglyas a peel fits an apple.

  Honor ran her fingers over the place where the tunneldoor once stood. The rock wall was seamless. If she hadn’t seenDelgar hide the tunnel, she would never suspect it was there. Theyoung dwarf’s skill at stoneshifting was nothing short ofastonishing.

  “You didn’t tell them about the Thorn,” Honorsaid.

  Delgar sank down on a boulder and wiped his sleeveacross his face. “If I had, they would have dug through a livevolcano to get to it.”

  The elf sat down beside him. “How is it,” she saidhesitantly, “that someone of your ability cannot sense the dagger’spresence? That much carmite should be drawing you to it like aloadstone draws iron fillings.”

  “Several possibilities come to mind,” the dwarf said.“Top of the list: Muldonny doesn’t have the Thorn.”

  “It was stolen from my people. He bought it from thethieves.”

  “You’re sure of this.”

  “They confessed it before they died.”

  This was not exactly what Rhendish had said, butHonor suspected her version lay closer to the truth.

  Delgar accepted it with a nod. Dwarves, like elves,had pragmatic views on how to deal with enemies and thieves.

  “Second, he’s keeping it somewhere else.”

  “That’s a possibility,” Honor said, “but what placewould be as secure as the fortress that has successfully guardedthe entrance to Sevrin for a dozen human lifetimes?”

  “True. The third possibility is that he has castmagic to hide its presence, same as you elves do.”

  “He’s an adept. They don’t use magic.”

  “That’s what they say. That might even be what theybelieve. But some of the things they make are magic by anothername, and no one can tell me differently.”

  Honor saw no reason to dispute this. “So Muldonny hascreated an area filled with some sort of alchemical energy thatdisguises the Thorn’s powers.”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “Which would mean he knows more about the Thorn thanany human should.”

  Delgar muttered a curse. “I hadn’t thought it inthose terms.” He scrubbed both hands over his face, then sent her asmall, rueful smile. “To be honest, I don’t like the idea of elvesholding onto so much carmite, but at least you people have thesense not to use it. I’ve yet to meet a well-informed human whocould resist acting on his knowledge.”

  “Time is short.”

  “Very.” He paused for a thin smile. “But thanks fornot adding ‘and so are you.’”

  Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Why would I dothat?”

  “Why indeed? Apparently I’ve been spending too muchtime around humans. So, what do you propose we do next?”

  She considered their options in light of these newpossibilities. “Have you ever seen the Thorn?”

  Delgar huffed. “Yes, the elves gladly lend it to mypeople whenever we can’t be bothered moving vast quantities ofstone around by hand.”

  “Oddly enough, I’m in no mood for sarcasm.”

  “Do you prefer irony? Because any dwarf I’ve ever metwould see plenty of that in this little rescue mission.”

  She supposed he had a point. Most dwarves believedthe carmite in the Thorn had been stolen from one of their ancienttroves.

  An idea began to take shape. “Can you work in glass?If you had to, could you create a credible glass weapon?”

  He shot her a quick, insulted glance. “That’s thefirst crafting skill a Carmot learns, as well you know.”

  “So if I drew the Thorn, you could make a copy. Areplica done in glass rather than crystal.”

  The dwarf shifted to face her. “What are youthinking?”

  “We get someone inside the adept’s manor to steal theThorn and replace it with a glass replica. Fox could do this?”

  Delgar huffed a short laugh. “I doubt there’s astronghold in Sevrin that could keep him out. But Muldonny’s notlike Rhendish. He doesn’t take students and receives no tradesmen.Only his clockwork servants come and go, and a few invitedguests.”

  “Then we shall have to intercept an invitation.”

  “His guests are all alchemists.”

  “We could send Avidan.”

  “Avidan?”

  “Why not? He’s an alchemist.”

  “He’s. . less reliable than you apparentlybelieve,” Delgar said with careful diplomacy. “And he hasn’t leftthe tunnels once since we found him in the mirror room. That wasthree, maybe four years ago. There’s no telling how he’d react inthe outside world.”

  “Is there anyone else among you who could pass as analchemist long enough to get the information we need?”

  Delgar’s silence was sufficient answer.

  “If you think it might help, someone can go with himto help keep him focused on the task at hand. The humans of Sevrinseem to take servants with them wherever they go.”

  “That might work,” Delgar said. “Fox seldom works onStormwall Island. There are only a few people looking for himthere. Of course, there are fewer people in general. It’s harder toblend into a crowd.”

  “Fairies are generally quite skilled at illusions.Perhaps Vishni-”

  “No,” Delgar said emphatically.

  “No?”

  “Imagine the last person you’d want to take alongwhen you’re exploring an adept’s lair, then put that name on alist. Vishni’s name would be three lines south of it.”

  His reaction confirmed Honor’s growing suspicionsabout the fairy. “So Vishni is not to be trusted.”

  “Oh, you can trust Vishni,” he said. “The problem is,you can trust her to ‘improve the story.’ And I suspect you’veheard enough fairy tales to guess how that generally turnsout.”

  “Then why do you keep her around?”

  Delgar’s smile held a bitter twist. “Every storyneeds a hero. Fairy tales tend to be twisty, but the hero usuallywins. And Vishni sees Fox as an ‘archetype,’ the young tricksterhero who gets the better of wizards and lords with his nativecunning.”

  “And if she changes her mind about Fox?”

  “Then we’re all fuggled,” the dwarf said bluntly.“Sideways.”

  Vishni and Fox strolled alongside the shores ofStormwall Island. The sun was warm, the day was summer-ripe, andthe cherry ice Fox had bought her from a street vendor tasted likestolen kisses. Best of all, the story unfolding around her promisedenough twists and corners to warrant inclusion in The Book ofVishni’s Exile.

  All
of this should have made the fairy giddy withdelight. Instead, her mood darkened with each step.

  She still smarted from yesterday’s encounter with theelf, from the tips of her blistered fingers to the depths of herpride.

  And Fox, night take him, could not stop chatteringabout the iron-clad wench!

  When Vishni could take no more she wheeled around toface Fox and stomped on his foot. Not hard enough to break bones,but with enough force to earn her an incredulous stare and a fewmoments of blessed silence.

  “Muldonny?” she said. “Remember him? The adept whorules Stormwall Island? Owner of the fortress we plan toinfiltrate? Looks like a fat, balding squirrel?”

  That drew a snort of laughter from Fox. “He isvaguely squirrel-shaped, now that you mention it. And by allreports, he has a temperament to match. Honor says-”

  “I don’t care.”

  Truth be told, Vishni didn’t much care for any ofthis. Skulking around Stormwall Island, walking bridges with ironrails she couldn’t touch, watching people slaughter fish that werein no position to fight back.

  At least their trip to the long pier where passengerships docked had proved fruitful.

  She slipped one hand into a skirt pocket and gave thecontents an affectionate pat. Several visiting alchemists werelisted on the passenger manifests she’d stolen, but one presentedunusually promising storytelling potential.

  The name Insa’amid was known in her homeland. If hersuspicions were correct, kidnapping this particular alchemist wouldmake Fox’s task easier. More importantly, it would add a poignanttouch and maybe even a bit of irony to the unfolding story.

  But that was a game for another day. Her gaze skimmedthe wharfs in search of some immediate source of diversion.

  Two men struggled to lift a huge, sword-nosed fishfrom a wooden boat. Both men were roughly clad, fair-haired, andstrong enough to put up an interesting fight. The older man lookedlike he’d had some practice at it. A scar meandered across hisforehead and his nose had that pleasantly bumpy, crooked look ofone that’d been broken a time or two. If there was more damage, itwas hidden by the man’s long blond beard.

  Vishni liked long beards. Grabbing hold of themduring a fight was one of her favorite strategies. No one everseemed to expect it, which was half the fun.