Elaine Cunningham - Honor Bound

She hurried past a row of portraits,giving the painting of Avidan a little wave as she skipped by. Moreinteresting was the display of elven boots, the leather as soft assilk and tooled with thousands of runes that interlocked in curvingpatterns.

Vishni found a pair that fit her andslipped them on. She picked the lock on a glass-fronted case andrummaged through the jewelry until she found a ruby bracelet thathummed with magic. That went onto her wrist. A pretty belt ofsilvery links and crystal beads draped nicely around herhips

She found several knifes that fitinto her boots and belt and pockets, several handfuls of tinybottles that still held drops of potion and echoes of powerfulmagic. Giddy now, she took a handful of roc feathers and fashioneda long, sweeping tail.

So much magic! This must be whathumans felt when they drank too much mead. No! This must be what aphoenix felt just before it burst into flame.

In some part of her mind, Vishniknew she should flee, but "should" had never been a concept thatheld much resonance for her.

So she kicked off her boots and,barefoot, sang and whirled and danced until she fetched up,laughing and breathless, against a metal gate.

An iron gate.

Vishni jolted back, as close tosober as any magic-drunk fairy could be. Angry red lines ran thelength of her arm and down the palm of one hand.

A sense of deep foreboding shiftedsomewhere under the euphoria. She turned her gaze slowly to whatthe iron bars contains.

Three imps, as dry as parchment,hung suspended from wires. They'd been posed, with their tatteredbats wings stretched in a mockery of flight.

Vishni stared in horror at the deadthings. Before she could flee, her wings popped out of their ownvolition. Their color shifted, not to suit her will or her mood,but quickly, randomly, like a thousand sunrises squeezed into ahandful of moments.

One of the imps turned its headtoward her. Red light kindled in the empty place where eyes hadbeen. It hissed at her, the sound dryer than dust.

A bony hand darted between the ironbars and its claws dug deep into Vishni's shoulder.

Frantic, she tried to peel it offwith both hands. Her wings beat the air, but instead of the airyflutter of fairy wings she heard the leathery sound of sailssnapping in a changing wind.

Her wings were bat wings! Imp wings, scarlet asmolten brimstone!

A clump of short brown curls fell tothe floor. Vishni reached for it with one bare foot and wept to seegrey skin and talons sprouting from her elongating toes.

The imp was changing, too. Life andcolor flowed back into the creature along with Vishni's stolenmagic. Golden ringlets spilled over bare pink shoulders. Madnessshone from eyes the color of new leaves.

A new horror struck Vishni.She knew thiscreature! Long ago, they'd flown together. Together they'd chasedfireflies, sung songs, plotted mischief. Too much mischief, andthen exile.

Not every exiled fairy returned.Vishni knew that. She even knew what became of fairies who dranktoo deeply of a sorcerer's magic. But those were stories, nothingmore.

For the first time in her long, longlife, Vishni could think of no horror to add to thistale.

As flesh returned to the exile'shands, the talons in Vishni's bleeding shoulder withdrew. Shewrenched herself away and ran, her bat wings hissing behind herlike malicious whispers.

Mendor, the newest member ofSevrin's Council of Adepts, regarded his new work shop with amixture of pride and dismay.

The night wind whistled through theruined wall, and one of the vats of solvent for which Muldonny wasjustly famed had fueled the explosion. It would take him years torebuild the supply.

The first order of business,however, was repairing the clockwork guards. A dozen or so had beenheaped in a corner. The exact number was difficult to ascertain,for thanks to the explosion and the battle that preceded it, noneof the guards remained whole. Mendor suspected that he'd be luckyto piece together three or four from the scorched pile of scrapmetal.

Which is why he'd been so pleased toreceive twenty new guards this morning, a gift from Rhendish. Hisold mentor had also sent a dozen devices that would enable Mendorto quickly assume the loyalty of Muldonny's remainingguards.

A clatter in the hall beyond broughta frown of puzzlement to Mendor's face. Three of the constructsmarched into the room.

"I did not summon you," hesaid.

The guards advanced.

"Stop!"

Still they came on.

Mendor dived for the box of loyaltydisks. Apparently the guards perceived him as an intruder. Heshould have thought of this. Rhendish had. If only he'd had halfthe foresight of his former master!

Two of the guards flanked him,seized him. Mendor managed to slap a disk onto one of theconstructs, but it made no difference. One of the metal guards heldhim while the other threw a chain over the ceiling beam near theremaining vat of solvent.

The new adept writhed and shriekedand cursed as the constructs snapped metal bands around his wristsand attached them to one end of the chain. They hauled him up, tiedweights to his ankles, and dragged the chain across the beam untilhe hung directly over the vat.

No inhabitant of Sevrin, much lessan alchemist, could fail to understand the reference. Eldreath hadbeen dropped into a pit of solvent.

Mendor screamed in terror anddenial.

The third guard raised its mailedhands to its head. It removed the metal helm to reveal not gearsand wires, but a beardless, familiar face.

"Volgo, why are you doing this?" Mendor pleaded. "We're both Rhendish's men!"

"Are we?"

"Yes!" he shrieked. "I owe Rhendisheverything! He trained me, he persuaded the council to give meMuldonny's seat! I'm as loyal as you-"

Horror and understanding dawned."You know I'm no traitor. It's you who've turned yourcoat."

"Never." Volgo leaned to one sideand spat. "Rhendish is a weakling and a fool. A better man hasalways owned my loyalty."

He reached into his metal tunic andpulled out a silver amulet. Mendor moaned as he realized itssignificance. Like every other alchemist, he knew Eldreath'ssigil.

Volgo gestured for the constructs tocontinue. He watched as the man was lowered into the vat. Mendorscreamed and thrashed until the solution reached hisknees.

Through it all, the surface of theliquid remained perfectly calm. When Eldreath had been lowered intoa pit, the acid roiled like an angry sea and a storm ragedoverhead. Four imps writhed on the ground, burning from the insideout as they gave the last of their magic in an attempt save theirsorcerer lord.

But none of the fools who borewitnesses realized the true nature of that magic: It was not arescue, but an illusion.

And when that illusion faded, onlythree desiccated imps remained.

Somewhere in Rhendish'smansion, a woman shrieked. Honor pushed herself up from the couchwhere she'd been resting and instinctively reached for hersword.

White-hot pain flashed thelength of her sword arm and the room swam and spun. Loss of bloodand the agonizing repairs to her arm had taken too large atoll.

But the sound of runningfootsteps was closer now, and the distant babble of voices had afrantic quality. Honor made her way to the door of her chamber andstepped out into the hall.

An apparition of evil rantoward her, tears streaming down her still-pretty face.

The revulsion Honorexpected to feel did not come. Vishni ran into her arms and clungto her like a child as she sobbed out the story of theimps.

When she was finished, theelf disentangled herself and stepped back. She frowned at the blackfurrows scoring Vishni's shoulder. "Those wounds need tending. Icould do it, but Avidan could do it better. We should go back tothe Fox Den."

"I can't! Not likethis."

"You certainly can't stayhere. Rhendish is a sorcerer."