Elaine Cunningham - Honor Among Thieves

“Vague, yet ominous,” Delgar said. “I’ve knowntwo-penny fortune tellers who were more generous withdetail.”

The elf studied him for a moment. “You are a Carmot dwarf. You canstoneshift?”

“He’s very good,” Fox said.

Delgar didn’t’ acknowledge the compliment. In fact,neither elf nor dwarf seemed to notice that Fox had spoken.

“You can do this because there are traces of carmitein your blood and bone,” she said. “Imagine enough carmite tofashion a rose, then place that rose within a dagger of amplifyingcrystal. When you have that image firmly in mind, imagine what thatrose could do when fed a drop of a traitor’s blood.”

All color drained from Delgar’s face. His normal palegray tone faded almost to while.

“The Thorn,” he murmured.

The elf nodded.

Delgar passed a hand over his face and turned to Fox.“I opened a new portal last moondark, under the back stairs of thetavern in Halfpenny Wynd. We can be in the Fox Den within thehour.”

The Fox Den was hardly what Honor expected.

She’d supposed a young thief might have a cellar roomin some rough part of the city, or perhaps a hidden chamber in themanor of some wealthy patron. But this network of pristine stonepassages and ever-shifting hidden doors throughout the city wasbeyond impressive.

Strange carvings marked many of the tunnels, and thelarge and somehow airy chamber in which they now gathered wasdistinguished by elaborate carvings and a mirror that reflected notwhat was in the room, but other places and, Honor suspected, othertimes.

For a while she watched as one scene after anotherswam into focus, lingered for a few breaths, and faded. It wasoddly soothing.

Even more surprising were the thieves themselves.

While a fairy- a fairy! — regaled the others withthe story of Delgar’s rescue, Honor gathered her thoughts.

Rhendish had told her the thief would not refuse her.He had not told her why.

It seemed incredible, but apparently Rhendish knewshe’d crossed paths with this human. How had he come by thisinformation? And what was this young man to Rhendish that the adeptwould go to such extreme lengths to get him in hand?

And what use would he make of these others?

The fairy’s presence astonished Honor. Didn’t Fox andhis companions know what sort of crime resulted in banishment tothe mortal realm? Or didn’t that sort of thing matter to a band ofadmitted thieves?

Vishni was, admittedly, a fetching little thing, slimas a pixie with big dark eyes and a short mop of dark curls. Shelaughed often, but there was a flash in her eyes and a petulanttwist to her rosebud lips that warned of storms lurking behind thesunshine.

Honor suspected that might be part of her appeal.

Delgar she understood a little better. Young dwarvesoften travelled abroad to seek adventure or knowledge. Delgar’spresence in Sevrin suggested he was more ambitious than most.

Long before the seas rose and turned Sevrin into acity of islands, in a time far beyond the reach of human memory, anancient dwarven culture had thrived beneath the current sea. Muchof it had been destroyed when the long-dead volcano last stirred.This much was known to all of the old races, but as history ancienteven by the measure of their kind.

The stone chambers of the “Fox Den” gave Honorinsight into Delgar’s quest: searching out the old passages,opening and restoring them.

She wondered what drove the dwarf. Was he a treasurehunter hoping to plunder the tombs of his ancestors? A scholarseeking to uncover ancient glories? Or something far more?

A Carmot settlement beneath Sevrin could be apowerful check on the growing power of the adepts. If Delgar hadambitions along those lines, he presented Rhendish with alegitimate concern.

But if that was the case, why would Rhendish permitDelgar’s escape?

The man they called Avidan was also complicated. Hewas not, Honor thought, a native of Sevrin. His aquiline featuresand swarthy skin suggested southern lands, and he spoke with thedeliberation of someone translating his thoughts from a morefamiliar tongue. He followed the fashion of the city, though,wearing his dark hair long and tied back and dressing in the simpletrousers and tunic of a master alchemist. But unlike Rhendish, hewore the soft green of early spring.

Honor wondered whether the others knew why.

Humans who lived near the forest knew better than towear pale green, or to sing certain songs in the dark of the moon.Sound and color had a profound effect on the fey. Perhaps Fox hadonce known that wearing light green drew the attention of the fairycourt, but years of city life had imposed a new set of survivalrules.

Still, how was it that none of them noticed the feywildness lurking in Avidan’s eyes, the distinctive dance of hisskittering thoughts? The man had dwelt in Faerie. Of that Honor wascertain. The experience had broken him into tiny shards and rebuiltthe pieces into patterns few mortals could understand.

And if the color of his clothing signified what shethought it did, Avidan longed to return to the fairy realm.

Vishni had to know this.

The fairy turned to Honor, as if she’d heard herunspoken name. “And now it is time for our guest to tell her tale,”she said gaily, laying a hand on Honor’s arm.

A sound like swift-melting ice filled the stonechamber. Vishni hissed and snatched her hand away.

She regarded her palm for a long moment beforelifting it for the others to see. Blisters rose on her slimfingers.

“Cold iron,” she said in a flat voice.

Every eye turned to Honor. She pushed up the sleeveof her tunic to display the etched metal bracer covering herforearm, a “gift” from Rhendish.

“I did not expect to find fairies beneath thecity.”

“No one does,” Fox said. His dismissive tone broughta scowl to Vishni’s face that no one but Honor seemed to observe.“Tell us about the rose dagger. Do you have any idea where it mightbe?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I know who has it. Do you knowof a man named Muldonny?”

Silence settled over the group like morning fog.

The fairy’s pout eased and lifted into a slow,speculative smile. “This,” she said, “is going to be a lot more funthan I’d expected.”

Honor watched as four dwarves, short sturdy men assolid and gray as the stone beneath Muldonny’s lair, tappedsteadily at a solid rock wall. Chips of rock tumbled to the tunnelfloor, but the pickaxes made no more sound than elven boots on aforest path.

One of the dwarves, a broad-shouldered fellow whosehead barely reached Honor’s shoulder, stepped back from his workand swiped the back of his hand across his forehead.

“It’s a mite too hot hereabouts for an old cistern,”he said. “I’m not one to be telling you your business, Delgar, butyou’re sure where we’re headed?”

The young dwarf glanced at Honor. She returned hisgaze steadily, letting him see the warning in her eyes.

“Not entirely,” he said.

His crew exchanged glances. “Then you know what wecould be walking into.”

Stories echoed in the silence, tales they’d all heardof how the adepts wrested Sevrin from the sorcerer who’d ruled itlonger than any living human could remember. Muldonny had played nosmall part in that victory. His art was fashioning liquids withterrible properties: Fire that could not be quenched, fumes thatkilled anyone within twenty paces, and solvents that ate throughmetal armor.

Muldonny kept stores of these liquids beneath hismanor and in armories scattered around Stormwall Island. Cuttingthrough the wrong wall could result in a deluge of flesh-dissolvingsludge, or send liquid fire speeding along the tunnel.

“Let me study on it,” Delgar said. “We’ll break offnow and come back at it tomorrow.”