Honor Among Thieves toss-1

by Elaine Cunningham

  He tried four of Delgar’s hidden doors before hefound one that was still open. Once he made his way into thetunnels, he hurried toward the den, half fearing he’d find itoverrun with Gatherers and guards.

  He heard Vishni’s laughter when he was still twopassages away from the den and broke into a run. He burst into themirror room to find his three friends holding wine goblets raisedin a toast.

  Delgar tossed aside his goblet and caught Fox in acrushing hug.

  “Vishni’s alive!” Fox said.

  The dwarf released him and stepped back. “She is,yes. But we thought we’d celebrate anyway.”

  “But how-”

  Fox’s eyes fell upon the Thorn and all other thoughtsfled.

  He’d never seen the dagger close up, but he knew thiscould be no other. Delgar’s copies were good, but they lacked thepower that hummed in the weapon like an unsung song.

  As he gazed, the rose petals within the crystal bladefolded to herald the setting sun.

  “Honor threw the dagger to Vishni. The fairy caughtit and brought it to me. We closed the tunnel.” Delgar spread hishands, palms up.

  “You’re not much of a storyteller,” the fairy said,“but that will do.”

  “Vishni said you had a story to tell us about Honor,”Delgar said.

  Fox told them what he had seen in Rhendish’s garden.For reasons he did not quite understand, he didn’t tell them aboutthe clockwork he’d glimpsed under her skin.

  “Well, that explains a few things.” Delgar pulled aglass copy from his belt. “You only took two copies to StormwallIsland. This is the last one left in the den. I figured she tookthe others.”

  “If Rhendish thinks he has the dagger, he won’t belooking for it,” Fox said. “Impressive planning.”

  “Even more impressive is her sense of honor,” thedwarf said. “She’s well named.”

  Fox turned a wry smile in Vishni’s direction. “Do youhave anything to add to the accolades?”

  The fairy smiled sweetly. “She’s not half bad,considering what she is.”

  Chapter Eleven: A Traitor’s Blood

  Honor sat in stoic silence as the adept probed theclockwork in her arm with a slender metal tool.

  “The mechanism is broken,” he announced. “I fear it’spast repairing. It will need to be replaced.”

  “Remove it, then.”

  Rhendish shook his head. “That would take months.Years, perhaps. It would be a terribly painful process, and there’sno guarantee that you would survive it.”

  “And if I did, you would have no guarantee that I’dbe of further use to you.”

  “A harsh assessment,” he said, “but truenonetheless.”

  “Give me my sword arm back, and I’ll serve you of myown will.”

  The adept smiled. “As much as I appreciate the offer,you must forgive me if I prefer my own proven methods to yourunproven word.”

  Honor pulled the dagger from her belt and laid it onthe worktable. “You offered me a position if I decided not toreturn to the forest. Well, I’ve decided. Everything you said wastrue. The dagger will condemn me, for the rose blooms at the touchof a traitor’s blood.”

  She picked up the dagger and pressed it deep into theopen wound.

  Blood flowed into the blade, rising up a tiny pipeAvidan had hidden in the long stem of the rosebud. It flowed intothe tightly furled rose, and then into tiny, petal-shaped chambersbehind the rosebud, each petal thinner than a whisper’s shadow. Toall appearances, the rose was blooming in response to a traitor’sblood.

  Finally the blood reached the last rose petalchamber, where Avidan’s latest alchemical marvel waited.

  The substance ignited at the first touch of Honor’sblood. Rhendish watched, entranced, as light dawned in the heart ofthe blade and gained brightness and power until it seemed that therose itself might catch fire.

  Honor jerked the knife from her arm. “That is what mysister expected the other elves to see. I intend to ensure theywill not.”

  She rose and hurled the dagger at the wall. Itshattered like lost innocence. Crimson light hovered around theshards for a breath or two, then faded.

  Rhendish regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Was thattruly necessary?”

  “Would you do otherwise, in my position?”

  “Perhaps not,” he said. “And if I employ you, you’lltake me into the Fox’s lair?”

  “If I can,” she said. “Before we left for StormwallIsland, Delgar shifted the passages beneath the city beyondrecognition. I’m not sure I can find my way back into the passage,much less locate the den.”

  The adept rose and began to pace. “So. The dagger isdestroyed and I do not have the thief.”

  “What does it matter if you find his lair? Fox isdead. They’re all dead. A dozen witnesses saw the fairy shot out ofthe sky. The explosion destroyed Muldonny’s workroom and collapsedthe escape shaft. If your concern is, as you said, ridding Sevrinof a band of thieves, you have achieved your goal. Define another,and I will help you achieve that as well.”

  Rhendish came to a stop beside a curtained alcove.“And what do you want in return?”

  She removed Muldonny’s ring from her coin bag and putit on the table. “I want this back. When you remove thegears and metal shafts from my arm, put the crystal back. In timethe crystal will grow together, like human bone.”

  A low, sly smile crept over the adept’s face. “Thereis a quicker way.”

  He pulled the curtain aside with a flourish.

  Hanging in the alcove was an elven skeleton, adelicate marvel of luminous pink crystal.

  Rhendish brushed his fingertips over the ribcage as abard might sweep the strings of a harp. Faint music touched theair, like echoes of fairy bells or the memory of childhoodlaughter.

  Beneath the eerie sound lay one no human ears couldhear. The sound of magic vibrated through the crystal-a magic asfamiliar to Honor as her own heartbeat. Surely these bones couldbelong to none but her twin-born sister.

  “Asteria,” she whispered.

  The adept waited until the heartbreaking sound diedaway before speaking.

  “No, my dear. Your sister is very much alive.”

  That wasn’t possible. “But who. . How. .”

  He spread his hands in a gesture of apology. “I’mafraid that some of the details of your history altered somewhat inthe telling. There was a tribunal meeting in your forest grove, andit ended in blood before the traitor was named. That much is true.But that winter night occurred years ago. You have been with meever since.”

  Not seasons. Years.

  The room tilted and swam as Honor struggled to takethis in. She wanted to deny it, but she could not.

  “As you pointed out,” Rhendish said, “the livingcrystal that is elven bone grows. It is amazing to me how swiftlyit grows, and how intelligently. Truly marvelous, what the properapplication of alchemical knowledge and the passage of a few shortyears can accomplish.”

  A terrible possibility stirred amid the whirl andtangle of Honor’s thoughts. What this her crystal shadow, born ofher bone?

  “Ah, you see it now,” Rhendish said in tones roundedwith satisfaction. “But you’re not yet sure you believe.”

  He reached for the skeleton and lifted one delicatehand as if he were a courtier about to honor a lady with akiss.

  Honor’s hand lifted in a mirror-true reflection ofthe crystal bones.

  The adept dropped both the compulsion and theskeletal hand. “I will restore your sword arm now,” he said. “Therest you will have to earn.”

  Horror pounded Honor in crushing waves. She could donothing to resist this, nothing to fight against the magic thatheld her captive.

  Magic.. .

  Of course! Why had she not seen it before?

  The strange compulsions, the crystal ring that placeda target on Muldonny, the grim experiments Rhendish had worked onher-these were not the work of alchemy. Whatever he claimed to be,whatever face he showed the world, Rhendish was a sorcerer.

&nbs
p; And there was no magic that elven crystal could notfocus and magnify.

  It occurred to Honor that there was a lot ofelven crystal in this room.

  She darted toward the worktable and snatched upsharp, slender metal tool.

  Perhaps Rhendish would force her to thrust it intoher own heart. Perhaps he would hit the tool with a burst ofsorcerous lightning and shock her into immobility. Perhaps shewould slip past his guard and plunge the metal into his eye, endinghis life and with it, her only hope of restoration.

  Honor lunged at the adept, determined to break hishold on her whatever the cost.

  Rhendish lifted one hand in a swift, sharpgesture.

  Compulsion slammed into her, stopping her as suddenlyand effectively as an invisible wall.

  Honor’s first impulse was to fight it. Instead, sheopened herself to the adept’s magic, drew it deeper into herbeing.

  Agony seared through her, bone and sinew. Honordropped to her knees as the weapon fell from nerveless fingers.

  She was wrong. Foolish. The sorcerer’s magic was toocrude, too harsh, too powerful, too alien. No elf could ever singin tune with such magic.

  And yet, elves could gather energy from starlight.From bonfires, even blizzards.

  She did not have to assimilate Rhendish’s magic. Sheonly had to use it.

  The compulsion was still an overwhelming, discordantnoise, but surely it contained familiar notes. Honor found one,drew it out in a thin stream, and sent it toward the pale roseskeleton.

  For a moment she was back in the Starsingers grove,among a chorus of elves attuned to starlight. She gathered energy,focused it, shared it and received it back in a cycle that went onand on until every elf in the clearing sang with silent power.

  Slender crystal arms rose, delicate crystal fingersencircled the adept’s throat.

  Tightened.

  Rhendish’s eyes widened in shock. He tugged at theskeletal hands for a few moments-the instinctive struggle of anytrapped creature-before he remembered who he was, and what he coulddo.

  Unseen threads of magic slipped from the room insearch of the clockwork guards. Honor gathered the threads into asingle cord and sent her own will coursing through it.

  Four guards clanked into the room. They dropped toone knee before Honor and raised mailed fists to their chests in agesture of fealty.

  Honor turned toward the blue-faced adept.

  “Release him, sister,” she said.

  Crystal fingers came away from Rhendish’s throat,crystal arms dropped to the skeleton’s sides. The gentle tinkle ofbone against bone sounded like distant, faintly mockinglaughter.

  The silence that followed was broken only byRhendish’s rasping breaths. To his credit, he faced Honor withoutflinching, and he offered neither pleas nor blustering threats.

  Of course, the effects of his near-throttling couldhave a lot to do with the latter.

  “You need my help,” he said at last. “You haven’tbegun to understand how much, or in how many ways.”

  Honor could find no words to refute this. “You willrestore my sword arm now,” she said, tossing his words back at him.“As for the rest, it would appear that we both have a great deal tolearn.”

  Chapter Twelve: Answers

  Return the Thorn to the cabin where you were born.The elves will find you there and answer the questions you musthave.

  Fox had read the note a hundred times since he foundit tucked in his mother’s locket. A hundred more before he showedit to his friends.

  They responded with enthusiasm, each for reasons oftheir own. Vishni, of course, was eager to pursue a new tale.Delgar confessed that he was still shaken by his experience withthe Thorn, still drawn by the seductive lure of so much power. Hewanted the dagger safely away and in the hands of elves who weretoo stone-deaf to hear its song. Avidan put aside his new-foundclarity along with his blue alchemist tunic, returning to his palegreen clothing and his dreams of faerie lands.

  Planning for a trip required far more than Fox wouldhave supposed, and he was more than happy to leave the details toDelgar.

  He left his friends to their work and sought a quietplace to think. Several twisting tunnels later, he sank down to thestone floor and closed his eyes. Delgar and Avidan’s voicesfollowed him, mercifully muted to distant echoes.

  “Who peed in your porridge?”

  Fox jolted with surprise. Vishni stood over him, herBook of Exile tucked under one arm and a wry expression on herpretty face.

  The fairy shook her head. “Human males,” she saidsuccinctly, “are idiots.”

  Fox conceded the point with a shrug. Whatever thespecifics of Vishni’s observation might be, he had no quarrel withthe overall concept.

  “She’s not worth mooning over, you know.”

  He stared at Vishni for a long moment before hermeaning set in.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “It never is.”She plunked down beside him. “TellVishni all about it,” she crooned in a voice that, it seemed toFox, was only half mocking.

  He’d wanted to tell the others about Honor, but hewasn’t sure how much he should tell them. Of all his friends,Vishni had the most creatively devious mind. If anyone could helphim sort through his tangled thoughts, it would be the fairy.

  And his thoughts were very, very tangled.

  They’d done a good thing, an important thing, ingetting the Thorn away from both Rhendish and Muldonny. EvenDelgar, who coveted the dagger on a physical level, believed thatreturning the dagger to the elves was a worthy quest.

  On the other hand, they’d all been fooled andmanipulated by a clockwork elf, the half-living creation of theirmost determined foe. No matter how worthy the result might be, itgrated on Fox that he’d been doing the adept’s bidding.

  On the other hand, this journey could save elvenlives. Knowing the adept as he did, Fox doubted Rhendish would becontent to stop with one clockwork elf.

  A memory slipped into his mind like the suddenappearance of a ghost. He knew with chilling certainty that thosedelicate bones amid Rhendish’s curiosities were not, as he hadassumed, a macabre work of art, but the mortal remains of amurdered elf.

  But what about the locket? The adepts had hunted downand slain anyone associated with Eldreath. If Fox was right aboutthe inscription on his mother’s locket, Rhendish needed no otherreason to seek Fox’s death. Fox might end up leading him to theforest elves. That was a risk too large to take.

  On the other hand, the desire to learn the truth ofhis heritage and destiny burned in Fox like a three-day thirst. Forthat reason alone, he would consider all the risks of the journeyworth taking.

  And, considering his possible ancestry, thatsingle-mindedness worried him more than a little.

  “How many ‘other hands’ are you up to?” Vishniinquired.

  Fox glanced down at her amused face. “Five orsix.”

  “There are a lot of possibilities,” she said, “butI’ll tell you what this isn’t about.”

  “That’s a place to start.”

  “Rhendish is not running a long con,” Vishni saiddecisively. “If he wanted to find and destroy the northland forestelves, he doesn’t need us to do it.”

  Fox blinked. He hadn’t even thought in terms of along con. How could he have missed that?

  “Explain.”

  She blew out a breath in a short, derisive sputter.“What,

  if anything, in your ongoing conflict with Rhendishhas ever suggested that he’s capable of running a long con?”

  “You have a point. So what’s his game?”

  The fairy tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Rhendishwanted to get the dagger away from Muldonny. Maybe because Muldonnyhad ideas Rhendish didn’t like, maybe because Rhendish was tryingto avoid trouble with the elves. Or maybe he just didn’t like theidea of a rival adapt holding onto so much power.”

  “Maybe he wanted it for himself. Why else would Honortake one of Delgar’s glass daggers with her when she returned toRhendish?”

  “In that case,
the story’s over,” Vishni said. “Butfor the moment, let’s assume the elf is Rhendish’s creature and hernote to you was Rhendish’s idea. He arranged for us to take thedagger off on a gallant quest. And in the process, he rids the cityof the most daring and clever band of thieves Sevrin has everknown.” She grinned and brandished her book. “Or so the storygoes.”

  “I suppose it could be that simple,” he murmured.

  “Of course it could. You’re giving the adept far toomuch credit. Sometimes overestimating your enemies is as dangerousas underestimating them.”

  Fox thought this over. It sounded reasonable, in atwisted sort of way. “Did you know,” he said hesitantly, “thatHonor is-”

  “A reasonably pretty machine? Don’t look sosurprised. I knew it almost from the beginning.”

  He recalled the way she had jolted when she touchedthe elf’s arm. Having seen the cold iron gears under that paleskin, he understood why.

  “You couldn’t have told me?”

  Vishni shrugged. “That a living elf was also aclockwork monster? You might have believed me, but I doubt it.”

  In truth, Fox wasn’t sure what he believed.

  “What if we’re wrong about Honor?” he said softly.“What if she’s staying with Rhendish because she has nochoice?”

  The fairy took a deep breath, let it out on a quickhuff. “What if we are? If we snatched her from Rhendish, he wouldpursue. Our chances of getting the Thorn back to the forest elveswould be slim. And assuming there’s still a real elf somewhereamong those gears, this is what she would want us to do.”

  Fox remembered the silent entreaty in Honor’swinter-cloud eyes and found that he could not disagree.

  The fairy rose and glowered down at Fox. “Are yougoing to pack, or do you plan to let Delgar carry your supplies?Because it’s only fair to warn you that I plan to make him carrymine.”

  A grin edged onto his face. “I wouldn’t have expectedanything less.”

  Fox took the hand she offered and let her pull him tohis feet. The distant cacophony of voices sounded less discordantnow, and he felt the first stirrings of excitement. They wereleaving Sevrin on an adventure, a good and worthy quest.