Elaine Cunningham: Honor Bound

"And a dark day that was," said aman with the thin, querulous voice of someone who had lived longand approved of little. "Muldonny kept the gate to Sevrin thesetwenty years. Where will we be if some southern king or warlordtakes a notion to set an army afloat and come calling?"

"We'll be at the shore to greet themwith sharp steel, that's where," a younger man said. "There'splenty on these islands who remember what a sword's good for. Asfor Muldonny, he wasn't the worst of the lot, but he was none toogood. I say good riddance to him and those metal monsters ofhis."

An uneasy murmur followed thesewords. "Even a fool remembers which side his bread is buttered on,"the old man snapped. "I didn't teach you blacksmithing and sell youmy shop to have you lose it all, and your head beside!"

"Have a care what you say, Benjin,"a woman said in a soft, worried tone. "You know our adept doesn'tlop off heads."

"And if he did," the young smithsaid, "he'd be quick to give you a fine new one in your choice ofcopper or tin."

No one seemed to know how to respondto this bitter little jest.

"A generous man, our adept," Benjinsaid, a little too loudly. "His health!"

Several voices echoed the toast in aragged chorus. After a moment of silence, tankards clattered backto the table. Someone belched.

"The storyspinners are making a heroof this City Fox," the blacksmith said. "Might be I agree withthem."

Benjin huffed. "Do you, now? Whatabout his mother, the herb woman? If the adepts are so bad, whatsort of hero would leave her inside Rhendish's walls?"

Honor leaned closer. This was aquestion worth asking, an answer worth knowing. When Rhendish toldher that Fox's mother was alive and in his employ, she'd assumedmother and son had chosen opposite paths. Humans were known to dosuch things. But perhaps there was something more to thetale.

"Might be she wouldn't leave," thewoman said. "Not that she'd have any reason to leave," she added hastily."Not because of the adept, least-wise. What sort of woman choosessage and mint over her own son, is all I'm saying."

"True enough," Benjin admitted. "RedKeefin knows her herbs, I won't say she doesn't, but there'ssomething amiss with her."

"You think so?" the woman said in avoice heavy with sarcasm.

"They say her wits were addled whenEldreath died," the young smith said. "They say the sorcerer's webcaught up everyone on the islands who had a bit of magic. They saythat's why so many green witches and shamans and priestesses diedor disappeared. They say those who survived are a little mad andshouldn't be trusted."

"Might be you should listen tothem," grumbled Benjin.

"Oh, they do a fine job ofexplaining why the old ways died so quick, I'll give them creditfor that. A fine job! Why, with such a fine, tidy answer so closeto hand, what fool would bother to look around for thetruth?"

A chair scraped across the floor assomeone pushed away from the table. "I've heard enough nonsense forone night," Benjin snapped. "Coming, Greet?"

The old man stormed from the tavern,an equally wizened and hard-faced woman close on his heels. Chairsrattled and coins clinked against the table as several otherpatrons prepared to follow.

Honor leaned toward the window for aquick peek at this kindred spirit. A young man with broad shouldersand work-hardened hands sat alone, surrounded by empty chairs andhalf-drained tankards. He finished his mead, tossed a few coins onthe table, and rose to leave.

She circled the tavern and met himat the door. "Excuse me, but might I ask you aquestion?"

The smith paused and looked herover. "Seems you just did, and with anaccent I've not heard before. Mainlander?"

"Yes."

His gaze sharpened."Gatherer?"

"No. I'm a hire-sword." She held outher sword arm and pushed back the sleeve to reveal the cut that ranfrom wrist to elbow. A couple of stitches had torn during her fallfrom Rhendish's garden wall, and the arm looked none tooclean.

The smith gave a long, low whistle."You won't have a sword arm to sell if you leave thatuntended."

"I'm looking for someone who canclean and stitch it. A poultice probably wouldn't do a bit of harm,either."

"Then you'll want Keefin, the herbwoman. Don't let her odd ways put you off. She knows her work. Shejust doesn't know she knows it."

Honor frowned in feigned puzzlement."I don't understand."

"You will." He pointed westward. "Gothree streets down, past Howarth the cooper's place, and turnsouth. It's two, maybe three houses down. There's no sign on hercottage, but if you follow your nose you won't goastray."

She thanked him and retraced hersteps to the cooper shop. The hidden door's location made a bitmore sense, now that she knew Fox's mother lived close. Most likelythere were more portals nearby. Even if Keefin Winterborn wasunaware of them, Honor had seen enough of Delgar's handicraft toknow what the dwarf needed.

The faint scent of herbs reached heras she turned south past the cooper's shop and led her to the thirdhouse. As the blacksmith promised, there was no mistaking thecomplex green scent of gardens and drying shed and stillroom.

At first glance, the herbalist'scottage did not look promising. The tiny building was half-timberedand finished with wattle-and-daub. A wooden fence surrounded it,and herbs and shrubs filled every inch of the small yard. Therewas, in short, not much for a stoneshifting dwarf to workwith.

Honor pushed back the hood of hercloak and knocked. After a few moments the door swung open toreveal a haggard figure.

This wasthe green witch of Glimmergold Vale, whose beauty moved even elfinbards to poetry?

A few passing years could bringremarkable changes to a human, but this Honor had not expected. Theherbalist had become a shell, a shadow. Nothing remained of theyoung woman Honor had met ten years ago but a braid of brightauburn hair.

"Keefin?" Honor said. "KeefinWinterborn?"

No memory lit the woman's eyes, nordid she seem particularly surprised to see an elf on her doorstep."May I help you?"

Honor presented her sword arm. "Ifell earlier tonight."

The green witch took Honor's handand raised her arm to sniff at the wound. "It might look like agutted deer, but it's healing clean. A poultice and new bandageswill set you straight."

She pointed Honor to a chair in thetiny front room and headed out to the garden. In short order shereturned with a tray laden with a small wash basin, a bowl offragrant green ointment, thread and needle, and clean bandages. Sheset this down on the small table and took the chair across from herpatient.

While Keefin tended her with swift,sure hands, Honor tried to find words that would clothe hard truthsin comfortable garb. But diplomacy was her sister's art. Honor knewhow to command. She'd never really been called upon toexplain.

She took a deep breath and gave it atry. "Are you familiar with binding spells?"

The woman looked up sharply. "I'm nowizard. This is not magic that I do."

"I'm not one who thinks there'sanything wrong with magic," Honor said. "In the right hands,binding spells are good and useful things Elves use binding spellsto lengthen a dragon's long slumber, to keep trolls in theirmountain caves. There is such a spell at work here."

Keefin pushed to her feet, her eyeswild. "I'm no elf, either!"

"I don't think you cast a bindingspell, Keefin," Honor said gently. "I think a binding spell wascast on you."

"No!" The green witch shook her headin frantic denial. "No elf has reason to bind me. The forest folkhave shown me nothing but friendship. Hestis taught me. Fillariashowed me where spicemoss grows. Ziharahpulled my boy from the river and brought him safe home."

Honor waited for Keefin to make theconnection, to recognize her as the elf who'd saved ten-year-oldFox from drowning. But Keefin continued to shake her head and backslowly away.