Mistshore w-2 Read online

  "Clear the way! Move!"

  The scream came at him from the right, and a shower of black suddenly exploded in Cerest's face.

  Blinded, Cerest lost his balance as a dead weight slammed him from behind. The force knocked him completely off his feet, and he went down on his stomach in the dirt. Numbness shot up both arms. Cerest thought he heard bones crunch. The weight landed on top of him and stayed there.

  For a long time Cerest tried simply to breathe. The air had been completely knocked from his chest, and a black curtain blocked his vision. He could hear more shouts and screams now, all filtered to the right. The effect unbalanced him. He felt sick to his stomach.

  Breathing through his mouth, Cerest forced his arms to move. He levered himself up and slid the offending weight off his back. He turned and sat down in the road, ignoring the pangs from his protesting bones.

  When he looked up and saw the black curtain again, he realized it was a woman's hair, dangling loosely from a ruined braid. She pushed the strands out of her face and massaged her neck gingerly.

  Gods, a human lass had brought him low in South Ward. There was no pride left in the world.

  "Are you all right?" the girl asked. She appeared to be about twenty, with milk blue eyes and pale skin. He recognized her. Where from?

  Kredaron-that was it. She'd been his security. He'd tried not to be insulted by her presence and ignored her during their transactions-a gesture that had been tendered pointless now she'd planted her rump on top of him and ground his bones into the ditt.

  Cerest coughed. "I think you broke my back."

  "Oh no. You wouldn't be hacking like that if I'd done any such thing; you'd be screaming," the woman said, and she offered him her arm.

  Cerest reluctantly let her pull him up. She was a petite thing, half a head shorter than he. Something about her seemed oddly familiar, but he didn't think he'd ever seen her before.

  "Why?" he asked.

  "Why what?" She cocked her head.

  "Why did you almost break my back?"

  Her expression slid from tight concern to full-blown incredulity. She pointed over his shoulder. "I hoped to do you a favor, and that's why."

  Cerest turned and saw the carnage for the first time.

  A broken wagon was twisted around a crushed archway that had once been a storefront. Blood splattered the otherwise pristine windows. A dead horse lay among the wreckage. The tall stud had been brought down near the wagon. An arrow jutted from the beast's neck. Foam still dripped from its lips. Its eyes were open, frozen in half-crazed fear.

  "It went wild and broke its reins," the girl explained. "Everyone could see it going, but the fool with the whip didn't. He won't last long in South Ward with a whip hand like that, and neither will you, the way you wear your head so low on your neck. You have to look up when you walk, or else you'll be trampled." Her words crowded together. She shuddered, clearly unsettled by what had happened.

  "I didn't hear it," Cerest said. "I don't hear well, from the left side." He turned back to the girl. "My deepest gratitude," he said. "You saved my back, and the rest of me, such as I am." He smiled wryly. "My name is Cerest Elenithil. We met earlier, though not formally. May I know you?"

  The girl hesitated. "My name is Icelin Team."

  "Icelin Team," he repeated. The shadow of familiarity snapped abruptly into a picture-a memory-and the elf lost his breath.

  He was not often caught so completely off guard, but at that moment, Cerest simply stared at the woman before him.

  Framed by swirling dust clouds and the curious onlookers who'd come to see the accident, she was a vision, a ghost given life.

  Memories surged through him, phantoms he could draw from the air: Elgreth, the fire, an opportunity lost forever, or so he'd thought. Yet here she was, standing before him like a small, dark angel.

  Icelin Team, he thought. You are all grown up. I would never have known you.

  An awkward silence had settled between them. Cerest recovered himself and hurried to fill it. "You must allow me to repay my debt. Please, I would like to escort you home. The Way of the Dragon is no place for a girl to be at night."

  Cerest was careful to maintain a cordial manner. He didn't want her to realize how off balance he was. Did he imagine that she looked at him strangely, or was it just his scars that unsettled her? Before he'd been maimed, it had been effortless to charm people, in business or in his bed. Now it was more difficult to get folk to trust him.

  "That's not necessary," said the girl. "I know the way well, and I like to walk."

  An error. He'd been too forward. Cerest cursed himself. She was being cautious now, businesslike, just as she had been with Kredaron. He would have to snare the rabbit carefully, or she would run.

  "I'm afraid my home is a far walk from here, but I have a wagon somewhat closer." He offered a mock wince. "I've learned my lesson. I shall never leave it to go on foot in South Ward again. I will retrieve the wagon and come for you here. Please, I could have you home to your family very shortly, and it would ease my mind to know you hadn't suffered any injuries preserving my poor neck."

  "You're very kind, but I'm afraid I can't."

  She was starting to edge away. Cerest could see she didn't trust him. He sighed inwardly. This was going to be more difficult than he'd thought. Ah, well. Perhaps his scars would serve him in this case.

  He slipped his hand over her nearer wrist, as if it were the most natural gesture in the world, and not an intrusion in her space.

  "Does my appearance unsettle you so much?" he asked, pitching his voice low.

  That gave her pause. She flushed attractively. "I'm not troubled by your face, but by your sudden interest in me. You showed no such attentiveness before."

  "Perhaps I am enchanted by the woman who just saved my life."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Your hands are cold and dry, when any other man's should be shaking and clammy. You don't seem the least bothered that there is a dead animal reeking in the street behind us, an animal that almost killed you in a grisly fashion. You look as serene and collected as if you weie hosting a dinner party and I had suddenly become the honored guest. Please let go of my hand."

  She jerked away and immediately began walking in the opposite direction. Cerest had to admire her quick wit. She would be difficult, just like Elgreth had been.

  "Wait, please." The elf matched hei stride easily. "Icelin. Icelin, listen to me. Please don't run away. I don't want our acquaintance to start like this."

  "We have no acquaintance," Icelin said curtly.

  Oh, but you're wrong, Cerest thought. You don't know how very wrong you are.

  He allowed her to pull slightly ahead of him before he fired his next shot, "Don't you remember me, Icelin?"

  That stopped her cold. She spun to face him. "What did you say?"

  "Of course you wouldn't. I shouldn't have expected…"

  "Stop it." But she was looking at him now, her eyes raking his features, searching for something recognizable. No one had ever looked at him so intimately after he'd been maimed. His heart sped up. Gods, she was beautiful, more beautiful than Lisra____________________

  She raised her hand to her mouth. Her chest heaved up and down. "Gods, no, it can't be. No. I'm sorry, I have to…"

  She turned and fled, cutting down a back alley. Two carts jammed the way. She slid underneath the closest, ignoring the shouts of the drivers who had to steady their horses.

  Cerest watched her go. He was too shocked to follow. What had caused the reaction in her? A breath ago she'd been grinding his teeth in the dirt and giving him a dressing-down for carelessness, and now she was a frightened waif running away from him as fast as she could.

  He laughed out loud, startling the men who'd come to clean up the horse gore. Icelin was a strange woman and fascinating. Gods, he was almost glad she'd run. It made everything more exciting. Now he had to know her better.

  He wanted to keep her forever.

  The elf turned and bro
ke into a run down the'Way. He had to find Riatvin and Melias. They were better trackers.

  His men would get her back. Now that he'd seen her, he didn't want to lose her again. His hands trembled from an excitement that was almost sexual. Come back to me, Icelin. I'll explain everything. I'll make you remember.

  Cerest's men were waiting for him at the wagon. Riatvin and Melias were gold elves, like himself; Greyas was the only human who served him. Cerest sometimes thought that, despite the inferiority of Greyas's race, the human understood him better than most eladrin. On a more practical level, Greyas was the only human who possessed tact enough to avert his gaze from Cerest's scars. A burly man with black hair sprouting from his head, chest, and nose, Greyas looked anything but tactful. He was sorely out of place between the two smooth-skinned elves.

  "I need you to retrieve someone for me," Cerest told them.

  "Deal go sour?" Greyas asked.

  "The deal is in progress," Cerest corrected. He turned his attention to the elves and described Icelin in detail. He would never forget her face now. "You two go and find her. Bring her to the house. Hurry!" he snapped. "She moves fast, but someone will have seen her on the streets. Question them if need be, but discreetly."

  The elves nodded and took off, moving like glowing streaks through the crowd.

  She won't outrun them, Cetest thought. "Greyas, I want you to find out where she lives."

  "How?"

  "Go to Kredaron. He'll still be in the ward." Cerest's mind raced. An idea started to unfold. "Ask him politely where Icelin Team dwells. Apologize, but tell him you bear unhappy intelligence. Tell him that Icelin has stolen the jewels he sold to me. Ask him to please give an inventory to the Watch of the items in the transaction, as I had no time to make a record of them before I was robbed. That will remove Kredaron from the situation and assure him that I have no ill intentions."

  "Do we?" Greyas asked. '

  Cerest looked at him, but his mind was still occupied with other things. "Find out if she has any family left. If she does, that will be problematic for what I intend."

  "You want me to remove the problem?"

  That was why Cerest employed Greyas. He was unlike most humans, just as Cerest was different from other elves. His tone was businesslike; he passed no judgments, nor offered any reassurances on the consequences of Cerest's actions. For all his human frailties, Greyas was an instrument that cut quickly and without emotion. Cerest needed more men like that, but for now he could not afford them.

  "Yes," he said. "Remove the problem, but do it tastefully. I don't want Icelin to suffer more than necessary."

  Icelin ran all the way back to Blacklock Alley, pausing only once for breath and to see if she was being followed.

  Rustling movements disturbed one of the trash piles in the alley. Icelin nearly swooned. But it was only a small gray dog, snuffling through the garbage. It raised its head, sniffed the air around Icelin, and went back to foraging.

  Shaking, Icelin pressed a hand to her stomach. She was nearly home now, but she couldn't go to her great-uncle like this. She glanced in one of the glazed shop windows. Her hair stuck out crazily from her braid; her dress was caked in dirt from her tumble with the elf. She couldn't let him see how wild she was, how terrified. And what if the elf still trailed her?

  Leaning against a building, Icelin hid herself in the shadows. She would wait, for a while at least, to make sure the elf wasn't coming for her. In the meantime, she tamed her hair as best she could and tried to relax.

  Cerest and his scars floated in her memory. Gods, did the elf truly know her? Had he been there five years ago? She hadn't known the names of any of the folk involved, except Therondol. She hadn't wanted to know their names or faces. How could she carry them in her memory and survive? Nelzun had been bad enough. Her teacher.

  Don't blame yourself.

  She heard his words again. They haunted her. If the elf came after her for what she'd done, she could hardly blame him, could she?

  Icelin pressed her forehead against the cool stone building. She would ask her great-uncle. Brant would know. He'd raised her, protected her, even after what had happened. He would know what she should do.

  Icelin stepped around the side of the building and glanced at the sign above the door. She saw with some surprise that it was the butcher's. "Sull's Butchery," it stated, in blocky brown letters over a painted haunch of meat.

  I didn't even notice where I ended up, Icelin thought. A dangerous lapse, in Blacklock Alley. Well, she'd wanted meat… Maybe the everyday chore would calm her. Anything was better than being in the street alone.

  A bell jangled loudly when she entered. Icelin gritted her teeth at the sound. She wanted to be home where it was quiet and safe.

  "Be right out!" The bellow sounded from somewhere in the back of the shop, a cross between a lion's roar and a ram's gravelly tenor.

  A breath later, a giant human figure crowded the doorway. He carried a half-carcass of deer, dangling by a metal hook. Grunting, he heaved it down on a covered portion of counter at the far end of the room.

  "Sull?" she inquired. She half hoped the imposing man wasn't the name above the door.

  "That'd be me." He turned to give her a friendly smile, exposing a wide gap between his two front teeth. Red, frizzy hair covered his head, ending in two massive sideburns at his jowls. A shiny bald circle exposed the top of his head. "What can I do for you?"

  "I need some…" she trailed off, watching him wipe the animal blood on his apron. The streaky red stains reminded her of the dead horse.

  "Aye?" He looked at her expectantly. "Are you all right, lass?"

  "I'm fine." Icelin swallowed. "I'd like two cuts of boar and one of mutton, if you have them."

  "I do, and you're welcome to 'em. Just let me take care of this beauty." He took a long cleaver from a padded pocket in his apron and cut into the carcass on the counter. "Lass a little older than you is comin' in for this one." He took a fistful of salt from a jar on the counter and sprinkled it like snow on the cut meat.

  "Aw, you can make a hearty stew with deet ot boar, and that's the truth. I got my own seasonin's-best recipe you'll find at any fine inn. Most folk have me prepare em in advance, tenderize 'em, let the juices mingle a while. Delicious."

  The big man reached into another apron pocket and pulled out three small jars. "Peppers, some ground-up parsley, and more salt. Nothin' fancy. The key's in the quantity. I'll show you what I mean. It's best on the raw meat, when it's drippin' just a bit."

  The bell at the door jangled again as the butcher headed for the back room. "Be right back," he hollered.

  Icelin turned. A pair of gold elves stood in the doorway. They were dressed in servants' liveries. Neither paid her any attention, but Icelin felt sick in her gut.

  They were Cerest's men. She knew they were.

  CHAPTER 3

  The shorter of the two elves took up a position by the door. The other came forward to lean an elbow against the long counter.

  They all move like dancers, Icelin thought, as if the ground beneath them could be measured and controlled through their feet. Would they fight the same way?

  Pinned between them, Icelin weighed her options. She could run, but they would be on her before she reached the street. If she screamed, would the butcher come to aid het?

  The last thing she wanted was for harm to come to him or his shop. She couldn't use her magic for the same reason.

  "Your master is persistent," she said, stalling for time. If she could just get "them to move, take the inevitable fight to the alley…

  The elf at the counter regarded her coolly. He said something to his companion in Elvish. Sharp, elegant words to match theif looks. The other elf nodded.

  "You know, that's terribly rude behavior," Icelin said. She crossed her arms. "Talking as if I'm not in the room. If you're going to execute a successful kidnapping, the least you could do is be straightforward with your intentions."

  The pair excha
nged a glance. Icelin couldn't tell if they were amused or annoyed.

  The elf at the door looked her over. "You've a blunt tongue," he said in Common. "I don't suppose if we were 'sttaightforward' and asked you to come with us, you'd cooperate without resistance?"

  "Ah, if only a woman's intentions bore any degree of predictability," Icelin said, smiling. "Let me think. If I kick and scream and conjure fire to boil the flesh off your lovely cheekbones, does that count as resistance?"

  "I believe it does," the elf said, genuinely amused now. "But I think you're bluffing."

  "You think I don't have magic? I suppose I don't give much of an appearance of sorcery." Icelin reached up to grasp the coin-purse at her neck.

  "Hands at your sides!"

  Her head cocked, Icelin obeyed. "But I thought I was bluffing," she said. "The pouch is too small to hold any useful weapon."

  "Mefilarn stowil!" the elf at the door said sharply to his companion. "Make her hold her tongue, Melias."

  "Your friend's right, Melias, I do talk too much. And that's a fault to reckon with," Icelin said. "But don't interrupt me now, I've only just got going. The pouch can't contain any weapon deadly to you. So what am I keeping in here, if not some datk magic that you both fear?"

  "Empty it," Melias commanded.

  "Not here," Icelin said, "in the alley. We can have a nice, quiet conversation-"

  "Sorry to be so long!" Sull's booming voice cut through the tension in the air like a saw grating on wire.

  "Watch your hands." The butcher tossed a pair of bundles wrapped in brown paper onto the counter next to Melias. "Seasonin's, I was talkin' of." He uncapped the jat of salt again and poured a fistful into his large hand. He gestured at Icelin and sprayed salt across the counter.

  "Large crystals, that's what you want," Sull said. "Not ground as fine as fot a noble's table in North Ward-that bleeds the flavor out-but try talkin' sensible cookin' to a noble, eh? The salt's what teases the tongue. You put some pinches of this on the fire while your boar meat's simmerin' in my spices, the whole thing'U be so tender it falls juicy onto your spoon. Make a man weep unashamed pleasure, that's the truth." He looked at the elves as if he'd only just remembered they were there. "Sorry 'bout that, gentlemen, I like to blather. What can I get the pair ofyou?"