Elaine Cunningham: Honor Bound

The final assassin reached thebalcony and flung himself over the rail. A door opened and clickedshut behind him.

A scowl swept across the dwarf'sface. After a moment of indecision, he drew the Thorn from his beltand murmured a few deep notes.

Six feet of stone wall swung inwardon silent hinges, a door where none had been before. The threefriends hurried inside. Behind them, the massive door closed andsealed silently.

The interior of the ancient keep wasa single circular room, empty but for a series of stout stonepillars and a tightly spiraled stair. Open doors revealed longhallways leading to the more modern wings of the adept'skeep.

In the room overhead, a tableoverturned with a crash, followed by the clang of metal.

"Ha! I have you now!" howled aresonant baritone. The table crashed again. "Wait, no I don't!Hold, you blackguard! Hold, I say!"

Fox pulled the acid-filled globefrom his bag and raced up the stairs. Delgar followed closely,stomping upon his shadow with every step.

They burst into the glass-roofedobservatory to see a portly man dressed in sapphire blue dueling aclockwork soldier. And by dueling, Fox meant dodging one vicioussword stroke after another.

Judging from the color of hisclothes and the silver ear dangling from a chain around his necklike a bizarre pendant, the swordsman could only be the adeptTymion. His metal opponent wore a disk identical to the one Avidanhad found. It had been stuck to one side of the construct's head,like a single ear. The assassin, whoever he was, had a peculiarsense of humor.

Father Tyme did not attempt toreturn the metal warrior's attacks, and he blocked with glancingparries that forced sword to slide against sword, giving him amoment to dance aside.

Fox assessed the situation. He hadone acid globe. Melting the device on the guard's neck would stopthe attack, but a head shot was risky. If he missed, he'd be foundstanding over yet another dead adept.

To complicate matters, Tymion stoodbetween Fox and the metal assassin. Fox glanced at Delgar andhauled back the globe for the throw.

"On three."

Delgar seized the back of Tymion'scollar and jerked him out of the way. The glass ball flew past andshattered against the assassin's chest. Metal hissed and bubbled.The clockwork guard dropped to its knees and fell facedown to thefloor, lifeless as a ship's anchor.

Tymion struggled to his feet, swordstill in hand. His jaw dropped when he beheld the youngthief.

"My stars! And I do mean mine, " he said as hewaved one arm in an expansive gesture that encompassed theobservatory and its jumble of lenses and astrolabes. "Welcome,welcome! I must say, you've an excellent arm, for a deadman."

"Um," Fox said. "Thanks. Isuppose."

The adept slid his sword back intoits scabbard. "To what do I owe this most timelyhaunting?"

Fox reached down into the scrapmetal and pried the disk from the construct's head. He scraped offsome of the adhesive-pine sap, by the smell of it-and handed it toTymion.

The adept sucked air throughclenched teeth. "Rhendish," he said darkly. He glanced at Fox."Unless, of course, some enterprising thief stole this fromhim?"

That possibility had never occurredto Fox. "I doubt it," he said slowly. "Thieves have territory, justlike cats. Anyone who steals from Rhendish knows he'll have me todeal with."

"A fearsome prospect, to be sure,"the astronomer said somberly.

Fox didn't take insult from thetwinkle in Tymion's eye. Considering that he'd just claimed to be abigger threat than Heartstone's adept, he figured he had a bit ofmockery coming his way.

The humor faded from Tymion's face."A shame about Muldonny, though. I rather liked theman."

"For what it's worth, so didI."

The adept nodded as if he'd expectedto hear this. "You deliver that line well. Just the right amount ofregret, a bit of a growl to lend an ominous edge. Nicely done. Mostimpressive. Most ghosts merely groan and wail. Very tiresome,wailing."

Fox slid a quick glance at Delgar.The dwarf shrugged.

"There might be other attacks," Foxsaid. "We saw at least twenty red-haired men by the southerndock."

Tymion looked impressed. "That many?Some herbalist is doing a brisk business in red charildye."

He held up a hand to forestall Fox'snext comment. "My dear ghost, I thank you for your warning andassure you that I do not take it lightly. I shall have my men roundup the reds, as they say."

Delgar cleared his throat. "We'lljust be going, then."

"Hmm? Oh yes, I suppose so. Back toyour watery grave, and so on."

Fox was beginning to suspect thatthe stories of the adept's eccentricities erred on the side ofunderstatement. "I'm not a ghost."

"Of course you're not." Tymionleaned in confidingly. "But you must admit that it makes for abetter story."

"He could sprout big pink butterflywings right now and I wouldn't be a bit surprised," Delgarmuttered.

Shouts rose from the hall below.Tymion cast his eyes skyward. "My guards. They might not be quick,but they're loud."

He waved one pudgy hand toward anopen window. "There's a ladder beyond that leads down to thebalcony. In case of fire, you know. Very practical, ladders. Isuggest you imagine a sudden blaze engulfing the room and respondwith appropriate haste. And Fox?"

The young thief paused at the openwindow and glanced back inquiringly.

"Leave Rhendish to me," Tymion saidflatly.

"I can't do that."

The adept sighed and shook his head."Then, young man, you truly are a ghost."

Tymion watched the two young menclimb through the window and listened to the creak of the ladder ashe waited for his guards to arrive.

And waited.

The shouts in the great hall belowhad died away. The only sound came from the sea winds whistlingaround the old stone keep.

Something was amiss. Tymion fixedhis silver ear back into place, drew his sword with a flourish, andstruck a heroic pose.

And waited.

At last he heard slow, soft stepsclimbing the observatory's spiral stair, a tread far too light fora clockwork guard.

"Foolish things, clockwork," theadept muttered. "Unreliable. They rust in the sea air, take on theoccasional murderous rage."

The unmistakable click of a crossbowsounded behind him. Tymion stiffened and began to turn toward thisnew threat.

"Two assassination attempts in onemorning seems a bit excessive, don't you thi-"

Shock clutched his throat withinvisible hands, cutting off his words and breath. Tymion had hisshare of whimsical moments, but never could he have imagined this , not in a thousandyears.

His most unexpected guest pressed alever. The crossbow sang a single deadly note.

Tymion staggered back, clutching atthe bolt in his chest. His legs struck the edge of the giantastrolabe in the room's center. He fell back onto the enormousdisk, twitching and gasping like a landed fish.

He'd spent months marking theposition of the stars on this astrolabe's curving grid. Years, somany years, devoted to charting the night skies. There was still somuch to do, to learn.

He pushed aside his charts with anincreasingly feeble hand. His apprentices complained loudly enoughabout his handwriting when they transcribed his readings. Bloodstains would discomfit them utterly.

And there seemed to be a great dealof blood. Well, it would have to do, wouldn't it?

The adept wiped one hand across hissodden tunic and with his own blood wrote a name and a warning amidthe stars.

* * *

When his men burst into theobservatory, weapons drawn, nothing awaited them but Tymion's stillform and the ruins of a clockwork guard. The hilt of thealchemist's own dagger rose from his silent chest.

They stared at the bloody name onthe astrolabe.

"Best not to mention this," one ofthem said at last. "Father Tyme was a good lord, for all his oddways. One last bit of madness shouldn't overshadow all. He doesn'tdeserve to be remembered for this."