Jaleigh Johnson - Mistshore

"He tried to live as best he could," Icelin said. "Just like us, like Aldren, retreating to this place."

She found the letter she was looking for and practically tore it in her haste to unfold the old parchment.

"Cerest isn't after a perfect memory," Icelin said. "Elgreth's scar was different from mine. Here!" She read part of the letter aloud. "I sat upon a rooftop and looked out over Cutlass Island, at the ruins of the Host Tower of the Arcane. The locals say it is a cursed place, and I cannot help but agree. The restless dead walk on that isle, sentinels to its lost power. In my younger days, I would have longed for the challenge and promise of treasure to be found in such a forgotten stronghold. I can see the magic swirling under shattered stone. It drifts among the bones of the once mighty wizards who ruled here."

Icelin stopped reading and looked at Ruen. "Do you see?"

Ruen shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"I can see the magic swirling under the shattered stone," Icelin repeated. "He could detect powerful magic, through stone and earth, just with his eyes. What gift would tempt a treasure hunter more?"

"Cerest will be disappointed when he finds out you inherited a very different gift," Ruen said.

"Yes," Icelin said. "A perfect memory is of little use to him. His hunt was for nothing."

It was all a tragic jest. Icelin was grateful to have the one mystery solved, but there were still missing pieces. "I have to know why he betrayed my family," she said. "If Cerest won't confess it… how do you remember something you've managed to forget so thoroughly that even the spellplague can't penetrate the defense?"

She'd meant the question rhetorically, and was surprised when Aldren answered, "If your mind has seen fit to bury something so deeply that even the spellplague can't touch it, I would count the power a blessing."

"Blessing?" Icelin said. "I don't see how. If I had this memory, it would explain so much about my life. Why would I want to bury it?"

"You mistake me," Aldren said. "I didn't mean it was a blessing that you be denied a piece of yourself. I meant to say that if you could find within you the same power that pushes the plague back from this one, vital memory, you might find the power to change your fate."

As Icelin digested this, she noticed Ruen looking at the old man intently. "Can you help her?" he asked. "Is there any priestly magic in that staff that can help her remember what she needs to know?"

"There are ways of bringing memories to the surface, if you truly want to relive them," Aldren said. "When dealing with the spellplague, such methods are never certain to work and carry their own cost. I have stored the memories of each lifetime I've lived," Aldren said. "I don't know if I can impart such a thing to your friend, but if she is willing, I would try."

"At what risk to yourself?" Icelin said. "No. We've caused you enough grief."

"Are you afraid, Icelin?" Ruen said.

Icelin could hear the challenge in his voice. "No," she said, "I'm not afraid: But I'm tired of other people risking pieces of themselves for me. I. think it's time Cerest was made to answer for what he's done. I will make him tell me."

She stepped to the gap in the hull. She could feel an invisible presence. The old man's magic formed a protective seal over the opening.

"Thank you," she said to Aldren. "Whatever happens, I'm glad to have met you."

"And I, you," said Aldren. "The gods go with you."

Icelin nodded and stepped through the opening. Ruen followed behind her.

She didn't know what she expected to happen once she crossed the seal. An ambush, another monster, or a spray of magic from the elf woman who'd taken her on the shore? She got none of those things, but she sensed the change in the air as soon as the harbor scent hit her nose.

"Look above you," Ruen said quietly.

Icelin looked up and lost her breath. She could see slivers of moonlight through the Ferryman's tangled rigging. The skeletal forest canopy swelled with movement. Sea wraiths circled each other and the wreckage. More were floating up from various parts of the ruins to join the mass. The unearthly choir keened softly, as if singing to the moon or some other, invisible celestial body.

"You said there was wild magic here," Icelin said, "that it draws the wraiths. Can they feel it-the three of us here together?"

"I don't know," Ruen said. "But it's possible we're stirring up whatever's been lying dormant here since the Ferryman was destroyed."

"Not just us," Icelin said, "him too."

Cerest sat cross-legged on Ruen's raft. He was alone, and looked completely at ease beneath the canopy of swirling wraiths. Icelin knew his men would be nearby, but wherever they were, Cerest had them well hidden. She wondered if Ruen, with his sharper eyes, could detect them. The only illumination came from the lantern on Ruen's raft and a torch Cerest had propped in front of him.

He looked up when they appeared, and smiled in genuine pleasure. "Well met, Icelin," he said. "I received your message. I'm happy to see you are well."

He didn't seem to notice or care that there was a puddle of drying blood-leucrotta and Bellaril's-behind and to his left. The copper scent combined with the leucrotta's naturally pungent stink must have been overwhelming. But like the dying horse that day on the Way of the Dragon, Cerest took the horror completely in his stride. His pleasant expression never faltered.

Somehow, though, the sight of him amid the blood was less intimidating instead of more. Here at last he wasn't trying to hide what he was, the deficiency of mind that had set him on her like a crazed hunting hound. She could see him in this true state and feel pity, though it was a fleeting emotion.

"Greetings, Cerest," she said. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"I'm accustomed to being patient. I was more than willing to wait for you," Cerest said. "In the end, I knew you'd come back to me."

Icelin felt Ruen tense behind her. She reached back to touch him, but of course he moved just out of her grasp. She dropped her hand.

"Are we alone?" she asked, deliberately affecting a teasing tone.

"There's at least one in the crow's nest," Ruen said. "Ten feet up." He pointed, and Icelin heard the scuff of boots on wood, a figure hastening to conceal himself in the shadows. Ruen smiled. "I don't think he enjoys heights."

Cerest was not so amused. Hatred came alive in his eyes when he looked at Ruen, an emotion so intense Icelin wondered at its root. "I would be more than willing to dismiss my men, Icelin, if you would send your friend away," he said. His voice was unsteady. He swallowed.

"But that's hardly fair," Icelin said. "I have so few friends left, thanks to you." She reached into her pack and pulled out the stack of letters. "Do you know what these are?"

Cerest stood and walked toward her outstretched hand. Icelin allowed him to approach but kept her body squarely between Ruen and Cerest, noting the irony of her protection of the elf.

Not for long, she thought, as the viper took the letters from her hand. I won't need you for long.

Cerest shuffled through the letters, and Icelin could tell he recognized the handwriting immediately. "These are Elgreth s," he said, handing them back to her. "I never would have credited him with the strength to write them. He was in poor shape when I left him in Luskan."

She thought she'd been prepared for anything, but at his words, Icelin felt a cold kiss on the back of her neck, as if one of the wraiths had drifted down to whisper hateful truths in her ear.

Anger bloomed in place of the cold, and the contrast made her tremble. She felt the letters flutter from her hands. They landed on the harbor's surface and became tiny, worn boats carried away by the rippling current.