Elaine Cunningham - Honor Bound

"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.

Thinking of the stories lifted thehair on the back of Fox's neck, even though he knew that Vishni has" improved" most of the tales almost beyond recognition.

He kept glancing at the foam thatgathered at water's edge, half expecting it to rise and take theshape of a drowned man. The soft clatter of branches shifting inthe wind brought to mind restless bones.

Fox shifted his perch on the treeand scrubbed one hand over the back of his neck, resisting the urgeto glance over his shoulder.

Dorn would be here soon, if he cameat all. Fox didn't think the fisherman would sell him to theadepts, but if he did, Fox would see the betrayal coming. From hisperch he had a clear view of the water between Stormwall andFaunmere, and the sheltered cove where the fisherman would drag hisdory ashore.

The moon rose over the silhouette ofMuldonny's fortress. Fox supposed it should be called Mendor'sfortress now, but he doubted the new adept's name would stick anytime soon.

A strong hand clamped onto thecollar of his tunic and pulled. Fox tumbled backward, armsflailing.

He crashed from one branch toanother. Once he managed to grab a handhold, but the slender branchbroke without slowing him down much. He landed hard and lay wherehe fell, too winded to do more than wheeze.

The tip of a dagger pressed againsthis throat. "Where is the Thorn?"

Fox slid his gaze toward theassailant. Judging from his tree-climbing ability and his slenderbuild, he was a young man. The hood of his cloak cast deep shadowsover his face, but Fox felt fairly certain he'd never seen himbefore. Even so, there was something familiar about the way heformed his words.

He thought about denying knowledge,but suspected this would merely waste time. "I don't haveit."

The knife twitched. "You lie.There's elf magic about you now."

"How can you-" Fox's eyes widenedwith delight. "You're an elf! That's wonderful!"

A moment of silence passed. "Why?Apart from the obvious reasons, of course."

"Well, to start with, the island ishaunted. I could have been tossed out the tree by a giant skeletalrat."

The elf eyed him for a long moment."Your reaction was genuine. Your explanation is foolishness. Thereis a reason why you were pleased to encounter one of my kind, butyou are not ready to share it. So be it." He sheathed the daggerand rose to his feet. "You might as well stand."

Fox wasn't sure he could, but hemanaged to drag himself upright. When the world stopped spinning,he saw the elf loosening the strings on the bag that had hung fromthe back of Fox's belt. The bag that held his amulet.

Fox lunged for it-

He never saw the blow coming. Thenext thing he knew, he was sitting on the ground blinking awaystars.

The elf held Fox's amulet, tippingit toward the sky to catch the faint moonlight. For some reason,Fox felt none of the compulsion that forced him to fight Delgar forthe amulet.

"How did you do that?"

He glanced down at Fox. "The magicis elfin. The runes are not. What is theirsignificance?"

"It's the mark of Eldreath, thesorcerer who ruled Sevrin."

"I have heard of this man. I had notheard that he had knowledge of elfin magic. When did he come topower?"

Fox had to think that over. "Seventyyears ago? Maybe more."

The elf nodded as if he had expectedto hear this. "Where is this Eldreath now?"

"Dead. The adepts killed him nearlytwenty years ago. But there's another sorcerer in Sevrin, which iswhy we need to get the Thorn far away."

"By 'we,' do you mean you and somecomrades, or you and me?"

Fox shrugged. "Whatever works. Ipromised to return the dagger to the elves. If you're here to takeit, you've saved me a trip."

"And how do you know I'm worthy ofthis trust?"

"Well. . You're anelf."

"Ah, well. We're all noble, shiningbeing who can do no wrong." He sniffed. "You knownothing."

In response, Fox slipped a bit ofamethyst from a pocket and hurled it at the elf's head. He flickedone hand to the right. The missile followed suit, veering off sothat it just skimmed his hair rather than hitting him squarelybetween the eyes.

"Elves draw magic from the forest,the rain, the stars," Fox said. "But elves who are cut off fromtheir kin can't access starsong magic. Starsong magic has somethingto do with crystals. If you'd been a rogue, you couldn't havedeflected the amethyst."

The elf studied him with narrowedeyes. "How do you know this?"

"My mother was a green witch. Welived on the edge of the Glimmergold, and she had dealings withelves from time to time. So I do know a few things." He lifted oneeyebrow. "Your name is not one of them."

"I'm called Nimbolk."

"Sorry to hear that," Foxmurmured.

A sour expression crossed the elf'sface. "Where is the Thorn?"

"It's with someone I trust. Icouldn't keep it with me since there's a possibility that someone'stracing me through the amulet. And before you ask, no, I can't getrid of it."

Nimbolk pulled a knife from his beltand scratched several runes into the metal. The amulet flared withlight, then went as dim as old pewter.