Mistshore (14 page)

Fannie, he moved away from the camp, crouching low to weave among the tents. He fumbled in a pouch as he went, but Sull -couldn’t see what he was after.

Icelin kept close enough to whisper to Sull. “We were attacked.”

“By the elf?” Sull asked.

Icelin shuddered. “Worse, by the gods. A sea wraith. I’ll tell you the tale later.”

They moved slowly, Sull jogging along impatiently in the rear. Finally, he called out, trying to keep his voice low, “Faster, damn you. They’ll be catchin’ up.”

But Ruen didn’t seem to hear him. He passed the edge of the tent encampment and stopped, listening to something on the air.

“This way,” he said, and began running.

Icelin hurried to follow. She could hear them now, the sounds of running feet pounding against the sand, gaining ground with each step.

They circled a caravel that had had its hull split in two. The jagged wood opened a dark maw into the ship’s interior. Icelin thought Ruen meant them to hide inside, but suddenly, Ruen stopped short and cursed. He shoved her behind him and reached for a weapon at his belt. He’d forgotten the fish knife was long gone.

“They’re herding us!” he shouted to Sull, just before the men jumped them.

Two figures leaped over the side of the ship, landing on either side of Ruen and Icelin. One had bright, corn silk hair, the other was dark and compactly built. Ruen skidded on the sand to avoid plowing into their sword points. He dropped into a crouch and swept out with his leg, catching the two men at the ankles. He hit so hard Icelin thought she would hear the bones in his leg crack. But they did not, and the two men stumbled and fell.

“Behind us!” Sull drew his mallet and cleaver. He charged a

second pair of men coming from the rear. Before they could reach for weapons, Sull cut a wicked gash across the first man’s arm. He backed off a pace, clutching his arm and shredded shirt.

His companion came in low, dodging Sull’s swinging mallet. He wore dirt-caked traveling clothes and a hooded, threadbare cloak. He brought a broadsword up to halt Sull’s advance.

Sull was no trained fighter, Icelin knew. But what he lacked in skill, the butcher made up for in sheer ferocity. He twirled the cleaver once, letting the bloodied weapon dance in his hand. He smiled at the man with the sword, and the whites of his eyes were huge in the campfires’ glow.

“Come on, dogs!” he shouted, stomping the ground, feinting left and right between his two opponents, letting his size intimidate the men and keep them on the defensive.

Caught between her companions, Icelin wrenched a loose board from the ship and swung it at the dark, burly man before he could rise to his feet. The plank hit him in the chest; a protruding nail tore into his skin. The man screeched in pain and fury.

“Run!” Ruen barked at her. The man with corn silk hair brought his sword down in an axe chop. Ruen dodged, and the blade buried itself in sand. He rolled away and came up practically between the man’s legs. He snapped out a fist, connecting just below his attacker’s ribcage. The blow would not trouble the man, Icelin thought. She had seen the glint of mail through his thin shirt.

To her shock, the man whooped out a breath and bent double. His sword dropped, allowing Ruen to come in around his guard. He locked an elbow around the man’s neck, jerking sharply to the left.

The loud crack sent a sick coldness through Icelin’s body.

“Beware, lass!”

Icelin turned in time to see Sull’s mallet fly from his hand. The butcher fell back, clutching his arm against his chest. Blood dripped through the gaps between his fingers.

Horrified, Icelin dropped the board and started to run to him.

She felt a presence rise up behind her. She’d forgotten the dark-haired man. She tried to spin, but the sand slowed her. Large hands grabbed Icelin around the waist and slammed her sideways into the caravel’s hull.

Icelin felt the breath leave her body in a rush. Her head hit an exposed board. Stars burst in her vision. She tried to call a spell, but her mind wouldn’t function. She collapsed back against her attacker’s chest. He manhandled her to the ground, pinning her arms in front of her while he fumbled for a piece of rope at his belt.

Icelin struggled wildly. Sand raked her wounded forearm. The pain was unlike anything she’d felt before, but she had to keep her hands free. She had to have magic. She wouldn’t let them take her….

Somewhere behind her, she could hear Sull snarling, his cleaver whistling in his hand. The dark-haired man wrenched her hands together, tying off the rope. Ruen leaped to his feet and started toward her, but was distracted by another figure coming out of the night. This one was tall, agile in motion. The moonlight revealed a face covered in puckered scars.

“Bind her mouth!” Cetest cried. “She is a wizard.” He noticed Ruen and dtew a sword. “Shenan!”

Icelin could see no one else, but a breath later, magic erupted behind Cerest. Icelin smelled the burning, and chemical heat seared her eyes as an arrow streaked through the night, aimed at Ruen.

“Acid!” Icelin cried.

The dark man grabbed her by the hair, jerking her head back. She couldn’t see Ruen, could only make out the night sky and the distant flakes of starlight visible through the clouds. She heard the arrow impact wood, hissing as the spell fizzled out.

The dark-haired man used his teeth to pull off one of his dirty leathet gloves. Stuffing it in her mouth, he looped more

rope around her head, binding the glove tight to her face until she choked.

Icelin felt herself lifted, tossed over the man’s shoulder. He moved offinto the night, around the ship wreckage, away from the sounds of fighting. She could not see if Cerest was following.

Icelin squirmed and tried to scream, but she could force no sound through the gag. They moved out of the campfire light, and the night grew pitch black. She could see nothing of her surroundings except the dark-haired man’s broad back.

She prayed Ruen would help Sull. Over and over she begged the gods that they would escape. But even if they did, Cerest and his men would be gone in the night. Sull and Ruen would have no idea how to track her.

Abruptly, the man carrying her stopped. Icelin felt his hands leave her. She heard him fumbling with something. Metal clicked against metal: a door lock.

Now was her opportunity. She might not get another. Bracing herself, Icelin threw all her weight to the right.

She toppled off her captor’s shoulder, raising her bound arms in front of her.- She hit the ground hard on her stomach amid the cries of the dark-haired man. He recovered from his surprise and immediately crouched, grabbing her ankle so she couldn’t run.

Icelin grappled with the gag at her mouth, tearing away leather, rope, and hair that had gotten caught against her face.

Her captor was on top of her now, trying to wrestle her hands down, but it was too dark for him to get a proper grip on her. Wherever they were, there were no torches or lantetns nearby to provide illumination.

Icelin thrust her elbow into the man’s ribs. The pressure on her back slackened. She ripped the gag aside and screamed at the top of her lungs. The shrill sound pierced the night, and even the dark-haired man shrank back in momentary fear.

Several things happened at once. Her captor recovered and pushed her onto her side, backhanding her across the

face. Dazed, Icelin flopped onto her back. She tasted blood on her lips. Her face felt hot. At the same time, footsteps were approaching rapidly from somewhere in the distance. Icelin’s heart lurched—had Ruen and Sull come for her?—until she heard Cerest’s voice.

“Strike her again, Greyas, and I’ll split your tongue down the center,” the elf promised. “Shenan, would you mind?”

“Of course,” said a new voice, feminine, and as peacefully melodic as Cerest’s. How many had the elf set upon her? Icelin thought. Hopelessness seized her, and with it came a hysteric frenzy.

She struck out, and by chance caught the dark-haired man in the throat. Icelin screamed again.

“Sull! Ruen!”

“Quickly, Shenan,” said Cerest calmly over the noise.

Icelin heard the honeyed voice speaking in an even, arcane rhythm. A cold mist stole over Icelin’s mind. Her body felt heavy, and her eyes burned as if she had not slept in days.

“No,” she cried. But the word came out slurred, feeble. Icelin trembled, fighting to stay awake, but it was no use. She went limp on the cold ground, and all the melodic voices receded.

Ruen’s fist glanced off jawbone, and the latter of Sull’s opponents turned his full attention to Ruen. His arm still dripped blood freely from the wound Sull had dealt him. Ruen tipped his hat to the side and smiled before launching a flurry of numbing blows to the man’s torso. The ring on his hand burned silver; Ruen felt its magic coursing through his bones, propelled on by his natural speed.

In his peripheral vision, he noted the tracks Icelin’s captors had left in the sand. They were not the tracks of the Watch. He’d known it as soon as the ambush hit them. If he hadn’t thought it was Tesleena’s party pursuing them, he could have outrun the

men easily. He should have known when she didn’t answer his summons through the pawn.

Sull dodged a thrust from his opponent’s broadsword. The butcher was quick enough, but the sword still whistled close to his ear, too close for the man to last much longer in the fight.

Ruen aimed his next blow at the man’s sword arm, putting all the force he could behind the punch. The man’s arm spasmed; his sword fell from nerveless fingers. Ruen punched again. The man went down and did not rise,

Sull threw his weight backward to avoid another sword thrust. He landed on his backside in the sand. Scooting away, he kicked sand, spraying the air and creating a meager shield between himself and the flashing sword.

Ruen came at the man with the broadsword from behind. He grabbed the man’s shoulder and turned him. Locking a hand on his wrist, Ruen twisted until the bones cracked. The man’s sword fell to the sand to join his friend’s. Ruen jammed his elbow into the man’s throat, and he fell, unconscious next to his companion.

Ruen looked briefly to see if Sull was bleeding more than necessary and, satisfied he wasn’t, began disarming the unconscious men. He took a dagger from one of them and slid it into his belt. He much preferred the fish knife—it was his favorite—but the wraith had stolen that from him.

He stood up and saw a red blur charging at him. He managed to dodge the bull rush, but Sull’s fist still found his cheek. One side of Ruen’s head erupted in pain.

Ruen danced back, retaining the presence of mind to raise the dagger before Sull could come at him again.

But the butcher seemed uninterested in continuing the attack. Instead, Ruen saw tears leaking from the man’s wild eyes.

“You damn fool!” Sull bellowed. “You let ‘em get away.”

“I saved your life,” Ruen said calmly. He tucked the dagger away and rubbed his jaw. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to let you die.”

Sull hiccupped and seemed to consider this. His eyes were still furious. “You led us right into their trap. Do you have any idea what they’ll do to her? They’ll—”

Ruen shook his head. “They want her alive. They took a lot of trouble to remove her from the battle unharmed. We can track them now.”

“How?” Sull demanded.

Ruen crouched next to the smaller of the unconscious forms. He nudged the man, but he did not stir.

“We wait for one of these to wake up,” Ruen said. Sull made a noise of displeasure, and Ruen finally looked up at the big man. “They won’t get far—look.” He nodded to the horizon, where gray, pre-dawn light was giving way to sunrise. “They’re not stupid enough to move her out of Mistshore while it’s light. With the Watch patrols out, they’ll be seen. We’ll question these, rest and move on.”

“What if they won’t tell us anythin’?” Sull asked, glancing pointedly at Ruen’s fists.

Ruen shrugged. “We’ll have to be convincing.” He got to his feet. “Help me move them inside the ship’s hull. We’ll be sheltered there.”

Together they hauled the bodies, the dead and the unconscious, through the torn gap in the ship. The interior smelled of must and mold. Driftwood and the tattered remains of hammocks were piled in one corner. Rats scurried out of the lumpy mounds.

Ruen sat down on a pile of rigging next to the bodies. Sull moved around the ship with an air of ripe impatience. Ruen watched the chests of the unconscious men rising and falling. He had beaten them severely. He did not know when they would regain sense, and if they would be in a fit state to answer any questions.

Sliding forward, he removed his glove and reached across the closest man’s prone body. He pressed his hand against the man’s

open palm. He wasn’t sure what drove him to do it—he always avoided touching people when he could help it—but he needed to know. He ignored Sull’s curious expression.

Faint blue light outlined the cracks between his fingers. Ruen curled his hand under the man’s, but he didn’t think Sull could see the light. The man’s hand stung with cold; it was like pressing his palm flush against a frozen lake. He’d expected some degree of chill, but not this. The feeling repulsed him. Ruen removed his hand from the unconscious man’s and put his glove back on.

“What are you doin’?” Sull said.

“Checking for signs of life,” Ruen explained. He turned his attention to the other man. “We’ll need to question this one. The other won’t survive. I hit him too hard.”

“I didn’t see you feelin’ for a life beat—”

Sull stopped. The man’s eyelids had twitched. A breath later they opened, and the man let out a rough moan. He focused on Ruen and the butcher with the bloody cleaver in his hand. His eyes widened.

“Welcome back,” Sull said, smiling cheerfully. He seemed to have forgotten Ruen’s odd behavior. “We’ve a few questions for you.”

Icelin knew she was dreaming. The scene was familiar. Barefoot, she walked on green grass, up the side of a wide, rocky hill. Shafts of sunlight shone on her white dress. There were wildflowers blooming, gold and purple, all around her feet.

She stopped at the crest of the hill. A stone tower rose up before her. A single window had been cut into the curve facing her, a dark and unblinking eye. The western side had caved in, leaving a gaping hole into which birds flew and nested. Their cries were the only sounds on the hilltop. But Icelin felt she was not alone.