Elaine Cunningham: Honor Bound

Delgar snorted and turned hisattention back to the sails.

The fairy sidled closer to Fox. "Youdon't think the foxes will attack Kronhus's adept?" shewhispered.

"I don't think the islanders wouldstand for it."

She nodded. "That's good. There arelots of stories about that one."

Fox had heard a few. Tymion was themost flamboyant member of the Council of Adepts. He was renownedfor his table and his hospitality, but apparently he approachedfeasting and fighting with equal enthusiasm. In his youth he'dfought more than a few duels. He'd lost one ear to an opponent'ssword and had replaced it with a wardrobe of metallic ears: copperfor every day, silver for star-gazing, gold and gemstone forfestive wear. Rumor suggested that the adept never slept but spentevery night in an observatory filled with strange devices thatenabled him to wrest secrets from the stars. He wrote and performedin plays that, so he claimed, gave portents of things to come.Opinion was divided on whether Tymion made this claim in earnest orin jest, but the people of Kronhus took pride in hiseccentricities. The exploits of "Father Tyme," as he wasaffectionately called, provided them with a constant source ofentertainment.

Fairies, Fox mused, were not theonly people who valued stories.

Only a wisp or two of sunrise pinkcolored the sky when they reached the cliff surrounding the Kronhusobservatory. The massive stone keep, a remnant from ancient times,brooded above the cliff, looking dour and glum despite the glassdome that gleamed in the morning light.

Vishni stood up suddenly. Fox pulledher down, but not before he saw what had caught herattention.

Three men, all of them red-haired,were pulling a skiff onto the purple sand. The tallest of themslung a thick coil of rope over his shoulder and began to climb thesteep rocky cliff.

"What are they up to?" Foxmurmured.

Delgar glanced at the climbers andshrugged. "Why do you care?"

"Whatever they're doing, they'redoing in my name." Fox took a deep breath as he weighed dutyagainst inclination. "Let's find out what's going on."

"Have you forgotten the Thorn?" Delgar demanded. "The need to get it away from Sevrin as soon aspossible?"

Vishni put a hand on the dwarf'sarm. "Let him go. He wants to control his own story. Everyonedoes."

"As far as Sevrin is concerned, Foxis dead. He doesn't have a story anymore. He has a legend. No one gets tocontrol his own legend."

The fairy patted Delgar's armapprovingly. "Now, that's good thinking. Heroes can get in the wayof the story. Legends are much easier to improve."

Delgar turned to Avidan. "Did I justadvise her to kill uncooperative heroes?"

"Not as such, no. It might beprudent, however, for Fox to humor her with an explosion from timeto time. Mind the keel, now."

The dwarf cranked up the keelmoments before the boat grated to a stop, still several yards fromthe shore. Fox leaped over the side and splashed toward theimposters.

The first man had reached the top.The other two were climbing the rope he'd tossed down. Fox ran tothe cliff and began to follow them. He heard the dwarf behind him,grumbling as he picked his way across the rock-strewnshore.

The lowest man glanced down, joltingwith surprise as he noted Fox. He kicked at some loose stones,sending a small avalanche toward his pursuer.

Fox shielded his face with one armuntil the clatter of stones died away. When he looked up again, hefaced a small crossbow.

Below him, Delgar slapped both palmsagainst the cliff and sang three quick, deep notes.

Deep, thunderous rumbling shiveredthrough the cliff. A jagged crack shot past Fox like lightning inreverse. It split, and one of the branches flashed toward the pitonthe crossbowman was holding.

The metal wedge slipped from thewidened crevice, and suddenly the crossbowman was falling. Foxleaned aside, but one of the man's flailing arms clipped him andknocked him from his perch.

Fortunately, he hadn't climbed highenough for the fall to do him much harm, even without the cushionprovided by the imposter.

"Nice of the other Fox to break yourfall," Vishni said.

The thief sent her a filthy glare ashe hauled himself to his feet. He glanced up. The other two men hadscaled the cliff. One of them gave him a mocking littlewave.

Their less fortunate comradegroaned, twitched, and went limp. Avidan knelt beside the man anduntied the strings tying a bag to his belt. He removed from it asmall, round disk, about the size of a biscuit. His face darkenedas he studied it.

"What is it?" Fox asked.

The alchemist looked up. "SomethingI have not seen for many years. Something I had hoped never to seeagain."

He twisted the little disk to revealthe gears within. "Every clockwork device follows certain patterns.Some are as simple as a clock chiming the hour. Others allowhuman-shaped servants to follow a series of commands. To explainhow this device works would require years of instruction, but forthe sake of simplicity, imagine a parchment scraped clean so thatnew words can be written upon it."

"So that pocketful of scrap metal isthe parchment knife."

" And the new instructions," Avidan said. "And beforeyou ask what they are, please observe that this device is notscroll, to be read at a glance."

Fox shifted impatiently. "Fine.What's your best guess?"

"If I had to guess, which underordinary circumstances I avoid most assiduously, I would say thatthis device was intended to turn one of Tymion's clockwork guardsinto an assassin."

One adept down, six more togo.

The words of an angry fisherman,spoken the day after Muldonny's death, rang through Fox's mind likea death knell.

"Not today," Fox said. "Who's withme?"

Pink wings, bright as sunrise, burstfrom Vishni's shoulders. Before anyone could stop her, she snatchedup the crossbow and leaped into flight. She disappeared from viewand a moment later, a length of rope slithered down thecliff.

Avidan removed a glass orb from apadded bag at his belt and handed it to Fox. "This contains some ofMuldonny's metal solvent. I suspect you'll find a use forit."

"Thanks." Fox dropped it into hisbag and reached for the rope.

Delgar waved him back. He spat inhis hands and seized the rope. After giving it a couple of hardtugs, he began to haul himself up hand over hand, moving so easilythat he brought to mind a stout gray spider.

Fox followed, ignoring the pain inhis bruised ribs. Vishni beckoned him up, her face bright withexcitement. She grabbed a fistful of his tunic and helped him crawlonto the ledge. Delgar was already deep into a stoneshifting chant,feet spread wide and hands planted on the wall of thekeep.

Fox looked for the imposters. Theywere edging along the ever-narrowing ledge with shuffling, sidewayssteps, arms spread wide as they hugged the wall. Below them the sealapped against the cliff. Ahead, a balcony jutted out over thewater.

"He's singing." Vishni spun thewords out, gave them a sibilant little caress. "Oh, yes.Stoneshifters know the best songs."

Something in the fairy's tone raisedthe hair on the back of Fox's neck. He glanced her way. Anexpression of bliss suffused her face, and she swayed in time tothe dwarf's chant.

Fox had no idea what this meant, buthe was fairly certain it would lead nowhere good.

"Nice tune, Delgar. Think you canpick up the tempo?"

This brought a frown to the fairy'sface. "Everyone," she said darkly, "is a critic."

She raised the crossbow, pointed itat the nearest man, and pulled the trigger.

The loosed string sang a singlesharp note. The bolt struck the stone inches from the man's hand.He jolted, lost his balance, and fell back, arms churning. Hedropped into the sea with a splash.

Delgar stopped his chanting longenough for an exasperated sigh.