Jaleigh Johnson - Mistshore

"It was what he wanted," Ruen said.

"He protected Bellaril," Icelin said. The Art requires a focus, Aldren had told her. She lifted the staff from the sleeping Bellaril's arms and cradled it in her own. "Thank you," she murmured. "In Mystra's memory, thank you."

"In Mystra's memory," Tesleena whispered. The words echoed down the line of boats.

Icelin sat outside the Watch Warden's private office, awaiting her audience and her fate. It was strange, to be alone in the small chamber, not to hear the constant flow of the harbor and the people on the twisted walkways. She felt, in some ways, that she'd lived her whole life in Mistshore, and was only now venturing out into the sun-washed world.

She ran her hands over the bodice of her dress, marveling at the softness of a fabric that was not stiff with salt water and grime. All trace of the harbor stink was gone from her body, though her hair had been a struggle. She'd ended up cutting most of the muck out of it. The strands barely brushed her shoulders now, and the shorter locks at her temples were stark white. She ran her fingers through the strands self-consciously.

The forced haircut had yielded another secret of her past. Tesleena had seen it first: a faint, almost indiscernible blue light appeared at the back of her neck when she drew deeply on her memory. Tesleena said the spellscar was a circle broken in two places, the lines so thin she would never have seen them unless she'd known to look.

It was one of many things she was going to have to grow accustomed to in her new life. Another was the staff resting beside her on the bench. The red light had fallen dormant, but she could recall it again with a word of power. She had divined no further secrets from the item, but she was satisfied with her small progress. For now, she used it mainly as a walking stick.

It had been five days since her confrontation with Cerest and her second exposure to the spellplague. Since that night, exhaustion overtook her easily. She found herself leaning on the staff often to maintain her equilibrium.

Her strength was slowly returning. Tesleena had assured her it would, though they both knew she would never again be as spry as a normal twenty-year-old girl.

Tesleena had also told her if she stopped now, she would likely live another twenty years or more. Icelin hadn't asked what the last several days had cost her in longevity. She didn't want to know. She would change very little of what she'd done in defense of herself and her friends. Whatever time she had left was the gods' gift. She didn't intend to waste it on regret.

A door to her left opened, and Kersh came through. Icelin stood to greet him, but he got to her first. The Watchman wrapped his arms around her and lifted her onto her toes.

"Have a care for an aging woman," Icelin said, laughing.

"Not a chance," Kersh said. He pulled back to arm's length and regarded her with mock sternness. "Every time I let you out of my sight you work yourself into more trouble."

"Lucky for you I'm too stubborn to let anyone do away with me," Icelin said.

"Are you well, Icelin?" Kersh looked at her intently, as if he could take her apart piece by piece to find any deficiency. "I don't expect you to ever forgive me, but as long as you'te all right, I can be content."

"I'm more than well," Icelin said. "You followed the right course, Kersh. I should have trusted you from the beginning."

"We should have made ourselves more worthy of your trust," said a voice from the open doorway.

Icelin looked beyond Kersh to see Daerovus Tallmantle towering over both of them. He tegarded Icelin with an uncertain expression. Icelin had never expected to be on the receiving end of such a look from the imposing Warden.

A memory came to her, with crystal clarity as always, of another time when she had sat in this chamber. She'd been much younger, and Brant had been with her, holding her hand.

When she looked into the Warden's eyes, she knew he was remembering that same day.

Kersh squeezed her hands and stepped away. She felt suddenly adrift. She looked at him imploringly, but he shook his head and smiled. "I'll leave you two to talk," he said. He gave her hand another squeeze, the Warden a salute, and left the toom.

"I am truly sorry," Icelin said, "about Tarvin, and any other men you lost these past nights."

"Tarvin was our sole loss, and that was none of your doing," Tallmantle said. He sat on the bench across from her and gestured that she should resume her seat. "I know you're tired," he said, "so I'll be brief. Cerest is dead. What of his men? Are any of them still hunting you?"

Icelin shook her head. "The only ones that might be are a pair of elf women Cerest had working with him. I don't know who they are or what their fates were."

"They are the Lock sisters," Tallmantle said, "well known dealers in antiquities and magic. We believe they hired a portion of the men who hunted you, but we have no evidence linking them directly to Cerest, other than your testimony." His mouth twisted. "They have already lined up several witnesses who will swear they were giving a party the night you were kidnapped."

"I don't want to go after them," Icelin said. "Cerest was the one bent on hunting me. They should have no interest in me now." She thought of Bellaril, master now of Arowall's Cradle and all its men. The dwarf woman had her own score to settle with the sisters. Icelin had no doubt the women would be made to answer for what they had wrought in Mistshore.

"What will you do now?" the Warden asked, surprising her with the change in topic.

"Do the charges against me still stand?" Icelin asked.

"One," Tallmantle said. "The outstanding charge of evading a Watch summons waits only for my signature to dismiss it."

"My thanks. You will not be popular for that decision in some circles," Icelin said.

"You overestimate our enmity," the Warden said. "Tarvin was the exception. Any others who privately held you responsible for Therondol's death have changed their opinion, based on the events that have transpired these past days." A faint smile lit his features. "You've shamed them, my lady, by choosing deadly Mistshore as a safer haven than the Watch." His smile faded. "You shamed me, as well."

Icelin shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. "You have more reason to hate me than anyone. Therondol was your son." Her voice cracked. "I know what it's like to lose yourself to that kind of grief."

The world had stopped working the night she'd lost Brant. Right and wrong became concepts that belonged to other people. Perhaps she was more at home in Mistshore after alj. At least she could understand the place now, what created and sustained it as well as what kept it apart from the rest of the city.

The Warden put a hand on her shoulder. Icelin couldn't meet his eyes. She remembered that day, sitting in his office with Brant. His face had been gray, lifeless as he read the account of the fire and his son's death.

"I would have been glad of someone to punish that day," Tallmantle said, as if reading her thoughts. "But it wasn't you I wanted. I stopped believing in the gods that day. I didn't care whether any of them lived or died, because I thought they had forsaken this world. They'd forsaken my son."

Icelin did look up then, but she couldn't read his expression. "Do you still believe that?" she asked.

"I don't know," the Warden said. "I've learned to put my faith in this city and the men and women who serve to keep it thriving. I look to them for aid and inspiration when I need it. So far, those forces have been enough to sustain me."

Icelin nodded. She knew that kind of strength. Ruen and Sull and Bellaril had been hers. "What will happen to him?" she asked.