Elaine Cunningham - Honor Bound

People on Kronhus had been full oftalk of this City Fox, full of outrage over the death of theiradept. But they seemed equally upset at the attempt to use Tymion'sdeath to discredit Fox and his followers. Nimbolk's attempts tolearn what this Fox's goal had been and what his followers hoped toachieve had not been well received.

He glanced down at his knuckles. Ifhe'd been in the forest with his fellow elves, the scrapes andbruises from yesterday's fight would have healed by now.

It occurred to him that he wasexperiencing life as humans did-cut off from others, dependent uponhis own strength, living out a singled-minded purpose with onlyscant regard for those around him.

Perhaps he judged Sevrin's humansunfairly. He wasn't sure an elf would do much better in a worldwhere everyone regarded himself as an island, linked only byfragile bridges of blood or choice or necessity.

Is this what had happened to Honor?The elf woman who's stumbled into the Starsingers grove thatmidwinter nice had looked so frail, and she'd aged more than ahandful of years could explain. It was almost as if she'd beendenied the renewal of a springtime Greening.

Was that even possible? How couldany elf endure that and live?

Nimbolk quickened his pace, suddenlyanxious to leave this crowd of humans behind.

The wharfs gave way to an open-airmarket, a small village of tables and tents and wagons where onecould purchase fresh fish, pot-ready rabbits and fowl, rootvegetables, baskets of summer berries, and a bewildering variety ofhousehold goods.

A plump woman was tossing nuggets ofsalt bread to passersby to tempt them into buying her strangeloaves-thin ropes of bread twisted into knots. Nimbolk caught thepiece she threw his way and munched it as he worked his way throughthe crowd.

Up ahead a path disappeared into theshadows between two rows of warehouses. Nimbolk veered away fromthe crowd and slipped gratefully into the treeless shade. So muchsun, so many days at sea, had bleached any hint of summer greenfrom his hair and skin and left him as pale as a northlandhuman.

The noise of the port fell away,muted by thick stone walls. Since there were no eyes to see him,Nimbolk abandoned his attempt to move like a human. For a moment,he reveled in the ability to move without being deafened by his ownfootsteps. His expanding senses caught the muffled thud of fistsagainst flesh, the soft grunts of pain.

Judging distances was difficult inthese human-built caverns, but Nimbolk guessed the fight was takingplace behind the tall wooden building to his right.

Curious, he veered off along apassage littered with old crates. At the end of the alley he turnedonto a rock-strewn strip of land between the warehouses and thecliff overhead.

Four men stood behind the tallwooden building. One of them, a yellow-bearded man wearing afisherman's knitted cap, sagged in the grip of two men sportingidentical tunics of blue-dyed leather. A third uniformed man thrusta coin at his victim's battered face. Even in the dim light,Nimbolk could see the tell-tale shine of fairy gold.

"There's no sense denying it, notwhen this was found in your boat."

The fisherman spat a mouthful ofblood at the man's boots. "There might be white spatter on thehull. That don't mean I'm on friendly terms with the seagull thatdropped it."

His tormenter raised a short cluband jabbed at his chest. The fisherman's gasp of pain ended in agurgle.

Nimbolk frowned. He wondered if thethugs realized they'd broken this man's ribs and driven a jaggedbone into one lung. The fisherman was as good as dead. If thepurpose of this beating was extracting information, these men wereas stupid as they were brutal.

The club-wielded man poked himagain. "That's not the answer I'm looking for."

"Only one I got," gasped thefisherman.

"Maybe you'd rather answer toCaptain Volgo? Because I feel obliged to tell you that he's nothalf as pleasant as we three fellows."

Volgo.

For a moment Nimbolk stood frozen,his mind filled with the image of Asteria lying face-down in bloodysnow, a man with a club standing behind her.

The fisherman spat blood into hiskiller's eyes. The man swore and rocked back a step as he swipedone sleeve over his face. His blood-streaked features twisted insomething almost like joy as he lifted the club high.

The man who'd killed Honor had wornthat very smile.

Nimbolk threw the knife before herealized he'd unsheathed it. The blade spun three times before itsank to the hilt in the man's exposed armpit, paying him his owncoin for the death he'd given the fisherman.

The man stumbled, and the downwardswing meant to end the fisherman slammed into the face of one ofthe thugs holding him.

Their comrade yelped in surprise. Hedanced aside, letting the fisherman fall as he pulled a sword andlooked around for an enemy to fight.

Nimbolk drew two daggers and obligedhim.

He walked down the alley, bladesheld at his sides. The last man standing raised his sword high andrushed forward, roaring like a charging boar.

Nimbolk lifted both daggers andcaught the descending sword in a cross parry. A quick twistwrenched the blade from the man's hand and sent it clatteringaside. He stroked one dagger across the human's throat and keptwalking.

The club wielder was sitting on theground, one hand clamped to his wound. His eyes widened as he tookin Nimbolk's approach and he scuttled backwards like a crab. Thescent of blood and fear rose from him, mingling with the tang ofsalt and sharper mineral odors.

Nimbolk pursued, bloody daggerleading.

"Where is Volgo?"

"Heartstone Island!" the manshrieked. "Works for the adept Rhendish, he does! They're coming toStormwall tomorrow. I can take you to them."

He'd be dead long before dawn. Ifnot for the human ability to ignore truths they didn't wish tocontemplate, the man would know this.

Nimbolk toed the fallen club. "Whereyou there? Was it you that killed the queen's champion?"

"I. . I don't know what you'retalking about."

Nimbolk reached for his hood andjerked it down. An elf with pale skin and brown hair might pass forhuman, but only if he took care to hide his distinctiveears.

"Dead gods," the human swore. "Iknow you. You were with that fancy elf bitch."

Nimbolk's boot slammed into theman's jaw and knocked him flat onto his back. He hooked one toeunder the club and flipped it up, catching it by the handle. Theworst insult one fighter could offer another was to end him withhis own weapon.

"Stand," he commanded.

The thug struggled to his feet."You'd kill an unarmed man?"

"You were armed when I killed you.That's more than you can say for the elves you murdered in theforest grove."

The man dipped one gloved hand intoa pocket. As the fabric gaped open, the smell of salt and mineralsgrew stronger. Nimbolk waited until the man drew out a fistful ofpowder and started an underhand toss.

Nimbolk swung the club, catching theman's hand and driving it up into his own face. A cloud of greenishmineral salt surrounded him. Crystals melted and sizzled as theymet flesh.

The man fell to his knees, shriekingand clawing at his eyes. Nimbolk poked him in the ribs with theclub in deliberate imitation of his treatment of the fisherman. Hemust have sensed the elf's intent, for he flung both hands over hishead and cringed away from the coming blow.

But Nimbolk hesitated. This man didnot deserve to die the same death as the queen'schampion.

He broke the club over one knee anddrove the jagged edge up under the thug's ribcage.

Behind him, the fisherman gave achoking cough. It occurred to Nimbolk that the man might belaughing.

He turned and knelt beside thefisherman. The grim mirth faded from the man's face as his gazelocked onto Nimbolk's elfin ears. Terror glazed hiseyes.