Elaine Cunningham - Honor Bound

"What was that?"

"Temporary," Nimbolk said shortly.He tossed the amulet to Fox. "A simple unbinding spell known tomost elves. If you wish to rid yourself of this thing, do itquickly."

Fox surged to his feet and tookseveral running steps toward the sea. He hurled the amulet with allhis strength. It felt into the water with a faint plunk.

"The tide is going out," he said."If I'm lucky, they'll think I've drowned. Again."

"Then let's go to this trustedfriend."

Fox shook his head. "No offense, butthere's a lot of things going on right now. It's probably not agood idea to bring a stranger into my lair. And before I pass alongthe Thorn, there's someone I need to talk to."

A wry smile twisted the elf's lips."You have chosen an inconvenient time to start showing goodsense."

Fox shrugged. "It had to happen sometime. There's a forested island in the center of the Sevrinarchipelago. It's probably the safest place for you."

"I know of this place," Nimbolksaid. "Long ago, elves walked beneath those trees. But the veilbetween this world and Faerie is thin there, and tattered. Thereare more fairy gates in the forest than there are blacksquirrels."

"That's the whole point. It'll beeasy for one of my friends to get the dagger to you."

"So the stories are true?" he saidincredulously. "You really have befriended a fairy?"

Fox folded his arms. "You don't knowVishni. If you did, you'd understand."

"I understand perfectly," Nimbolksaid. "And I suspect that I know this fairy, even sight unseen, farbetter than you do."

Vishni strolled past theCat and Cauldron, her fingers casually brushingthe ivy that climbed the stone wall. Her fingers traced the hiddenindentation where some of the mortar had worked loose. If Fox hadsent a message, one of the street urchins who ran errands for themwould have pressed a small flat stone into the gap. A drop of clearliquid, another of Avidan's small marvels, would reveal the messagewritten on it.

But there was no message.

A burst of laughter spilled throughthe open window. Vishni sighed. She was supposed to go right backto the Fox Den. It was too dangerous for her to be out, now thatthey knew there was a sorcerer about.

On the other hand, if she went intothe Cat and Cauldron, she'd no longer be out .

This excellent reasoning brought asmile to her face. She pushed through the door into the pleasantchaos of Heartstone's most famous storyspinner tavern.

Several people called her name asshe entered, and someone caught her hand and pulled her into thecircle of dancers forming in the center of the room.

She spent a happy hour or sowhirling and skipping to the music of a wheel fiddle and hand drum.Dancing was good. Like stories, it had pattern and purpose. It keptchaos at bay.

By the time the fiddler finished hisset, Vishni was ready for a cup of mead and a story. To herdelight, Black Svaria took the stage.

Most people in Sevrin had fairhair, ranging from pale blond to light brown. Red hair wasuncommon-or at least, it was uncommon until the City Fox's admirersdiscovered herbal dyes-and truly dark tresses were exceedinglyrare. Black Svaria's short cropped, raven-wing hair was only one ofthe reasons she stood out. She stood only slightly above averageheight, but her warrior's frame made her appear tall and imposing.And she was, beyond doubt, the best storyteller Vishni had everheard, even if the fairy didn't quite understand some of the bawdyballads that made the humans nudge each other and snicker. ButBlack Svaria was also a traditional skald who could declaim ancienttales in ringing, rhythmic speech. Oddly enough, Vishni liked thosebest.

The skald settled down, awire-strung harp on her lap, and struck a chord.

"In the depths of a winter whiterthan death, the wolves came.

"Over the frozen sea they came,running, running, too many to count.

"In the village the people ran whostill had strength to run.

"All but one: Hronolf stood tosword-greet what the wolves fled."

Vishi sank into the tale with a sighof pure bliss. After Hronolf met his destiny, she clapped until herhands tingled.

A stocky man dropped into the emptychair. He put two cups of mead on the table. "Rindor Finn orShenmist?"

"You named the cups?"

He chuckled and tipped his headtoward the group of storyspinners sitting at a table near the bar."Guess you didn't hear the talk. They say Rhendish has thenorthland's greatest bard as a guest. I've heard lots of namestossed around, but those folk say it's got to be one of those two.Rindor Finn or Shenmist."

Well now, this was interesting. Vishni hadimproved enough tales in her time to know when someone was buildinga new one from the ground up. When that happened, the real storywas not in the what, but the why.

"Rindor Finn," she said.

The man nodded. "That's what mostpeople say. It's odd, don't you think, that Rhendish isn't givingout the man's name?"

"Not really. I don't suppose theadept is obliged to provide the island with a guestlist."

"Ha! True enough. But word is he'sthinking of holding a storyspinning festival in the man's honor.Maybe he's thinking the mystery of it will be more of adraw."

"It might," said Vishni. "But morelikely?"

The man leaned in, his face alightwith interest.

"If there's any truth to the rumors,broadsheets will be posted in all the taverns and the bard will benamed. By morning we'll know if I'm right."

He grinned. "Care to place awager?"

Vishni reached into her pocket for acoin and came up empty. Odd. She'd left a coin in the boat they'dborrowed for the trip to Kronhus. Usually humans spent gold asquick as they got it. And since fairy gold did not stay spent, the coinshould have returned to her by now.

Oh, wait! She had some silverpennies in the bag Fox insisted she carry. She dipped into the bagand put three coins on the table.

The man added three coins and pushedthe pile toward Vishni. "You hold it. If there is a festival, wecan settle up then."

"I'll be there."

He raised his mead cup and theydrank to seal the bargain. As he rose to leave, Vishni caught hiswrist. She beckoned for him to lean down.

"If it's Rindor Finn, I hopeTessalyn comes," she whispered.

"Another bard?"

She beamed and nodded. "Rindor'sformer wife. They still sing together sometimes, but things usuallyget ugly. It's very entertaining."

"We can hope," he said, and strodeoff chuckling.

Vishni hid her smirk behind the meadcup. Rindor Finn, to the best of her knowledge, had never wed. Ifhe ever did choose a wife, her name would not be Tessalyn. That wasa fairy name, and humans simply could not use fairy names. If comemorning broadbills advertising Rindor Finn and Tessalyn showed upon the walls of storyspinning taverns, Vishni could know beyondquestion that Rhendish was spinning a trap.

It was a good plan, except for thewaiting part. Vishni had never been good at waiting.

She could slip into Rhendish Manortonight. Delgar hadn't told Fox about the tunnel his minors hadstarting building the day Honor returned to the adept's house. Thedwarf hadn't told her, either, but Vishni knew. Delgar wouldn'tlike her going on her own, but if she didn't tell him he couldn'tfuss.

An hour later, or maybe a littlelonger, she swung open the wooden door at the new tunnel's end. Arow of books blocked her path. She shifted one aside and peeredinto the room beyond.

The bookshelf stood in a grand hall,a room even larger and more stuffed with oddities than the publicmuseum Rhendish maintained. This, then, must be his personalcollection.

Excitement coursed through the fairyas she moved aside books and wriggled through the opening. Wherethere were curiosities, there would be magic.