Jaleigh Johnson - Mistshore

Sull's lifeblood dripped between the planks, crimson on the brown water. The colors were just like Ruen's eyes.

Icelin felt herself fall, half-curled into a ball. She could see Sull's face. He was looking at her, the fear intense in his gaze.

Not for himself, Icelin thought. He didn't care at all that he was bleeding to death from a chest wound. He was trying to get up, to get to her. To see if she was safe.

She could hear Ruen's voice now. He came into view, running full out down the walkway. She saw his floppy hat bobbing. He grabbed the giant, peeling him off Sull like a fly. Before he could raise the dagger, Ruen grabbed him from behind, pushed his knee into the small of his back, and used both hands to pull the giant's head back.

There was a soft popping noise, and the giant went limp.

His spine, Icelin thought, snapped in one movement. Such a small sound on such a big man. But Ruen had known exactly what he was doing. He dropped the giant's body and went for Trik, a bland expression on his face. Same intentions, his course set.

He grabbed the spell bands that held the smaller man. When he was sure they were secure, he dragged Trik to the edge of the walkway.

"No, please!" Trik cried, when he realized what Ruen intended. He kicked and struggled, but Ruen kept dragging him. His expression didn't change. "Not the water, don't!"

"Ruen," Icelin said, but it was too soft for him to hear. He gazed at Trik's frantic expression reflected in the water. "Ruen," she said, louder.

The monk paused and turned to look at her. His face visibly softened. He started toward her but checked himself. He looked from the water to Icelin, as if he were suddenly waking from a dream.

"Leave him," Icelin gasped. The blood pounded a sick rhythm against het temples. "Check on… Sull."

Ruen nodded and left Trik at the edge of the walkway, facedown toward the water.

He crossed to Sull and examined the butcher's wound. When he saw all the blood, he turned to the giant's body. He fisted his hands in the giant's baggy shirt and ripped the fabric down the middle. The tearing was loud in the darkness. He stripped the giant to the waist and left the body where it was.

"Help me," he told Bellaril.

The dwarf came around to Sull's other side. Together they hoisted the butcher into a half sitting position. Bellaril put her back against Sull's to prop him up.

Ruen looped the ruined shirt around Sull's middle, tying off the end under his armpit to try to slow the flow of blood. Bellaril gently laid him back horizontal.

"He'll live for a while," Ruen said.

Icelin put her head down to quiet the spinning, the roaring blood. She heard Bellaril's footsteps, a short, heavy tread that stopped behind her.

"She's almost as far gone," the dwarf woman said. Icelin felt Bellaril gently roll her onto her back. She probed her chest for wounds, then started on her arms and legs. Icelin started to tell her not to bother, but she didn't have the strength.

"Well?" Ruen said when she was done. He hadn't come any closer. He used Sull's body as a buffer between them.

"Whatever's hurting her is going on inside," Bellaril said. "She needs healing, and even that might not be enough. Her eyes are strange-glassy, like yours."

"Ruen." Icelin sat up, gripping the dwarf s shoulder for support. "Tarvin s dead."

He followed her gaze to the Watchman's body. "He shouldn't have tried to take you alone."

"Ruen, can you call the Watch?"

He hesitated. The pain twisting his face was all the answer Icelin needed. "What do you want to tell them?" he said.

"Give them our exact location." The tide of pain was slowly leaving her. Icelin felt strangely calm, her body inert. She had no more reserves of strength to lose. This was where everything settled. She had to start the slow climb back up. "I assume they're still searching for me somewhere in Mistshore. Tell them we have wounded and need immediate aid. Go quickly, please."

Ruen stood and walked a little distance away. He removed something from his pouch and spoke a word Icelin didn't hear.

He's been connected to the Watch all this time, Icelin thought. Yet he never brought them roaring down on our heads. He and Sull had followed her, no matter where she went. They'd kept her safe.

The conversation was short. When Ruen returned, the familiar tightness was in his jaw, the only sign of concern he ever betrayed.

"They're not far away," he said.

"Good. Would you help me, Bellaril?" Icelin asked.

The dwarf helped Icelin to her feet. When she could walk steadily, she went to Sull.

He was unconscious, but he still breathed. His face had no color, and his skin was cold. Did it feel worse to Ruen?

"I never touched him," Ruen said, in answer to the unspoken question. "I couldn't know-"

"Of course you couldn't," Icelin said. "And I wouldn't have listened, if you'd tried to tell me. I would have denied it until I was blind to everything else."

Ruen removed his gloves and slid his silver ring off his finger. Replacing his gloves, he picked up Sull's left hand. The ring would only fit on his smallest finger. Ruen slid it snugly into place.

"It'll keep his heartbeat strong until the Watch gets here," Ruen said. "He should live, if they hurry." Icelin nodded. "How long do we have?" "Not long."

"Then I need to get going."

She kissed the back of Sull's hand, folded it over his chest, and stood up. Her eyes fell on the bound man hanging over the walkway. The sense of detachment settled over her again as she approached him.

He watched her seat herself on the walkway so he could see her in his peripheral vision. She left him as he was, dangling over the water. The threat was there. She didn't need to tell him.

"He was your friend," Icelin said, pointing to the shirtless, dead giant. When Trik didn't answer, she said, "Sull is mine. You don't know how hard it was for me to tell that man"-she pointed at Ruen-"not to kill you. A tenday ago I could never have conceived such a thought in my mind, but time and hunger and desperation and fear work so many worms into the most pristine thoughts, and mine weren't clean to begin with.

"You can't imagine how much I want to kill you myself right now. It should matter that you're helpless, that you can't fight back. I know it should, but it doesn't. I just want to punish someone, for all of it. Perhaps it's the same for you, and that's why you could kill Sull without even knowing him. I don't care about that either."

She put a hand in the air. He flinched, and she took a gross stab of pleasure in his fear. "I talk too much. It's a curse Ruen warns me against, but I won't waste much more of your time.

I'm going to release you. You'll go back to Cerest-you've got no other employment, or you'd have taken it by now. Go back to Cerest, and tell him that I want to talk to him."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ruen and Bellaril exchange glances. She didn't look at them or try to explain. They knew this conversation was as much for their benefit as Trik's.

"Do you know what the Ferryman's Waltz is?" she asked Trik.

For a breath the man didn't answer. Then he nodded, a quick jerk of the head.

"That's good. That will make things easier. Tell Cerest to meet me in the heart of Ferryman's Waltz."

"You're mad," Trik said, breaking his silence at last. "No one-"

"No one goes there," she said over him. "Thar's why it has to be there. No one to hurt, no more friends to kill. Only enemies. If you come there, Trik, I will kill you, with no words preceding the deed. If Cerest wants me, he'll have to come to the Waltz. Will you carry that message to him?"

Trik nodded again. Icelin flicked her hovering hand. The bands around his chest flickered and melted away. He exhaled sharply and slumped on the walkway. Until then, Icelin hadn't realized how tightly the bands had constricted his breath.