Mistshore

CHAPTER 16

Silence fell over the group. Icelin thought at first he was jesting.

"You're mad," she told Ruen. "I'm not giving myself up to the Watch. I'd rather spend my life in Mistshore."

Bellaril regarded her as if she'd just asked what colot the sky was on clear days. "You're just as daft as he is, if you mean that," she said.

"She's only a child," Ruen said, which made Icelin want to plant her fingernails in his eyes. "She doesn't know what Waterdeep is."

"Then what is it?" Icelin said, forgetting to keep her voice down. "Open my eyes, Ruen Morleth, to more horrors. I don't think I've had enough thus far."

"He doesn't mean to hurt you, girl," spoke a voice, and everyone except Ruen jumped.

Hatsolm rubbed the sleep from his eyes and regarded them blearily from his curled-up pallet. There was a crust of dried blood at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Icelin said, ashamed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Doesn't matter, I wasn't sleeping anyway," Hatsolm said. He sat up slowly. Sull put his hand on the man's shoulders to steady him. "The problem is that when we're children we're only conscious of our own suffering."

"I don't understand," Icelin said. She felt like a child, and she didn't like it. Nelzun had never made her feel this way.

"You only know the safe space in which you were brought up," Hatsolm said. "That's a wonderful thing, but it doesn't lend itself well to wisdom, or to understanding why folk do the things they do."

"So to understand why Cerest is after me, I have to go right back where I started?" Icelin said. "Into the hands of the people who think I murdered my own great-uncle, the same people who hate me for killing one of their own?"

"No." This time it was Ruen who spoke. "To understand yourself, you have to put your pride and fear aside. Believe me, I know what that costs a person. But the Watch can help you."

"How?"

"I think you know." He looked her in the eyes. "Your great-uncle would not have you live as a fugitive. More than that, the Watch have wizards, folk who can help the spellscarred."

Icelin felt like she'd been struck in the stomach. "No," she said automatically. "I have never been touched by the spellplague."

"Are you certain?" Ruen said, his eyes boring relentlessly into her. Those red eyes. Spellscarred eyes.

"Of course!" Icelin took a step back from them all. "I grew up in South Ward! Waterdeep is safe from the plague."

"Safe, is it?" Hatsolm said gently. "Waterdeep is a refuge to those scarred by the plague. They may be scorned, shoved into forgotten corners like Mistshore, but the plague is part of us."

"No!" Icelin wrapped her arms around herself. The weeping sores stood out on her arms. Repulsed, she ripped the cloak off, peeling away the layers of rags and rotting flesh. She needed to see her own skin, needed to see it normal.

"Put your cloak back on!" Ruen snatched the cloth and covered her. "You'll be contaminated."

"I'm not plagued or spellscarred. I'm not like-"

"Like me?" Ruen said.

She took a step back. "You know that's not what I meant. Stop twisting my words."

Sull touched her arm. Icelin tried to back away, but he held her fast. "You know I'm with you, girl. But just because you've got gifts others don't, doesn't mean you're not a Waterdhavian. You have the right to be protected. You shouldn't be afraid."

"Why not?" Icelin's chest heaved. "Look what my gifts have done." Her magic brought nothing but disaster, and her memory ensured that she never forgot any of it. Every experience, frozen in her mind, perfectly preserved.

Except one.

"I have the same dream every night." She spoke haltingly. Sull squeezed her arm. "I'm in a tower, surrounded by people whose faces I can't see. There's a bright light, a burning light, and I'm afraid." She looked at Ruen. "There's no such tower in Waterdeep. I've looked."

"If you've been outside the city, why don't you remember?" Ruen asked.

"I don't know," Icelin said. "You've no idea what it's like, to have everything lined up and catalogued in your mind, a vast library of things you can't ever be rid of; yet there's this huge crack in the wall, a terrifying maw, and that's the knowledge you'd give anything to have."

"What's the Watch going to do for her?" Bellaril spoke up. "If she's scarred, then that's that. Doesn't help her with the elf."

"There are too many missing pieces," Icelin said. "The rest of the dream, Elgreth and his spellscar. That's what Cerest wants. Bellaril's right. The Watch can't help me with any of that."

"But if you accept the spellplague is the source of your flawless memory, that's a place to start," Ruen said. "Waterdeep has done better than any city keeping the plague at bay. There's a reason for that. You won't find another realm in Faerdn where folk know more about the plague's effects."

Bellaril smiled grimly. "And you think she'll just stride up to them and start interviewing likely candidates to help her, do you?"

"The other choice is confrontin' Cerest," Sull said.

"He won'c harm Icelin, but he'll have no compulsion to spare the rest of us," Ruen said. He looked at Icelin. "Do you want to risk Sull's life? Do you want to see the elf slide a blade into him the way he took your great-uncle?"

"Don't say that to her," Sull said sharply. "I can see to myself fine enough, and I don't need a magic ring to do it."

Ruen shook his head. "You're a fool. You claim you want to protect her? You're letting your guilt cloud your judgment. It makes you useless to her."

Sull went pale. His hand slid off Icelin's arm.

Icelin looked at Ruen. He was like a stranger, his eyes bright, almost feverish. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded. "The last place you would ever put yourself is in the path of the Watch. Your instinct for self-preservation is too strong." Her eyes narrowed. "Why is it so important to you to see me safely delivered to them?"

"Because he's finally smartenedup to doing what he's told."

The voice rang out above them, and a crossbow bolt twanged into the hull a foot above Icelin's head.

The cluster of beggars, stirred to wakefulness by their argument, sprang into frightened motion at the shot. Filthy bodies crowded toward the ladder.

"Stay down!"

Another bolt stuck in the wood above the ladder. The beggars fell back, knocking each other aside in their haste to get away.

Icelin took an elbow to the ribs. Her feet and arms were jammed in the press of bodies. She tried to look up, but the sky spun wildly as she was pulled in one direction or another. She crouched down, trying not to be hit by the bolts she knew were meant for her.

Ruen slammed into Icelin from the side, knocking her to the ground. Her breath whooshed from her chest, and she lay, gasping, staring up at the sky. She tried to roll onto her back, but Ruen was suddenly on top of her. He threw his disguise cloak over both their bodies. Darkness closed in on her completely. "Stop! Ruen, we have to get out-"

"Quiet!" he said in her ear. "He can't know which one you are, not after all that uproar."

Their attacker must have come to the same conclusion. The firing stopped, and the beggars gradually wore out their frenzy. Icelin could feel them pressing together and against her. They protected themselves by sheer numbers, blending into one form.

"Come out, lass." The voice, mocking and deep, rang out again. "I've already seen your pretty face. You look much better without the sores, Icelin Team."

"Gods, I'm a fool," Icelin whispered.

Ruen put a finger to his lips and listened. "He's pacing the dock," he said. "I can hear his bootsteps. I think he's alone."

"He's had plenty of time to reload," Icelin said. "If you try to reach the ladder, he'll put a bolt in your head."

"I'm not convinced he's that good of a shot," Ruen said. He pitched his voice louder. "Name yourself, friend, and we might invite you down to Eveningfeast. We're having stew and apples with the cores plucked out. Are you coming to us from the Watch?"

"I am. Tarvin is my name, and I won't be sharing your table, Ruen Morleth," the man said. "I'm here for the woman, but I'd just as happily bury a bolt in your eye, if you don't hand her over."

"I would happily oblige you," Ruen said, "but I'm afraid she doesn't want to go with you. She's a stubborn, difficult creature. I've almost drowned her a time or two."

"You're a smooth liar, Morleth, but in this I believe you. What of the rest of you, then?" he said, his voice rolling over the heads of the beggars. "You willing to give your lives to protect a fugitive? She's not one of you. I saw her. She wears a mask of disease. She mocks you and your suffering."

"She's fresh air to your foul breath," Hatsolm said, and the crowd laughed, tentatively. "If she wants to stay in Mistshore and deigns to walk among us, she's welcome. She's a lot braver than your Watch friends, who won't come to Mistshore at all."

There was a collective murmur of agreement from the crowd. Icelin closed her eyes. Gods, he wouldn't kill them, would he? Not for hatred of me.

The crowd tensed, waiting. Icelin couldn't breathe.

"Ruen-"

"Don't," Ruen said. He tightened his grip on her. "He's bluffing."

He was right. There must have been a spark of decency in Tarvin, for in the end he only laughed. "You're truly a wonder, lady. You've got the freaks lapping at your hand."

"Be silent!" The words burst from her before she could stop them.

"She speaks," Tarvin cried, and his voice moved past them. "Sing out again, lovely one, and show yourself."

"Tell your friends to leave Mistshore," Icelin said. "I'd rather die here than be taken and tried for what's in the past. Your bitterness makes my choice for me, Tarvin."

"How long do you think you can survive here?" Icelin could hear him toying with the crossbow string. "We'll drag you and your friends out of there one by one. Is that what you want for them?"

Ruen shifted, alert again. "Now that's an odd statement," he said. "You haven't yet mentioned your friends. Hard to believe they'd be waiting in the shadows while you have your tantrum. Hardly professional conduct for a Watchman. No, I think you're alone up there, and you can't quite figure out what to do about it. If you leave for help, we escape; and if you stay, you're outnumbered. I don't envy you, truly."

"Shut up," Tarvin snarled. "I can wait you out well enough. How would that be? A tenday with no food, no water, and no one to clean your filth-how friendly will you be to the pretty bitch then?"

"Maybe he's right," Icelin whispered. "If he keeps us here, people could get hurt. You said yourself I should turn myself in."

"Not to him," Ruen said. "Not to that one. He's no Watchman."

"I killed his friend," Icelin said. "He has reason to despise me."

"The beggars have done nothing to him," Ruen said. "No Watchman is so cowardly as to threaten the weak." He didn't realize his voice was rising.

"He thinks he knows so much about us," Tarvin said. "Don't you wonder why that is? You want to stake your chances with Morleth? Maybe you'd be grateful to hear some truth about him, eh?"

"Don't listen to him," Ruen said. There was a note of panic in his voice Icelin had never heard before. Dread stirred in her belly.

"Is she too shy to ask? Are you keeping her silent, Morleth, with the weight of your eyes? If you're innocent, what could you possibly have to fear?"

"What truth is. he talking about, Ruen?" Icelin said. His body was rigid. He could have been carved of stone.

"Did you ever ask him how he escaped Waterdeep's dungeons?" Tarvin asked. "It must have been a marvelous feat. I'm shocked he hasn't bragged of it up and down Mistshore. Didn't you ever think it strange that a man like him, a thief, would risk his life to aid you?" Tarvin was pacing again. His voice came from directly above them. "Such men work only in exchange for wealth you've never possessed, my lady. Of course it was easy enough for Morleth to steal the treasure he wanted. He lived like a king, with Hawlace's collection to sell off piece by piece. You get used to that kind of lifestyle, well then you can't stand being put in a cage. Makes a man do things. Maybe make bargains he'll come to regret later."

Icelin twisted, trying to look into Ruen's face, but he pressed her down.

"Don't move," Ruen said tersely. "He wants you panicked. As soon as you throw the cloak off, you'll be staring down his crossbow. Don't be stupid!"

"Let me go," Icelin said. She pushed against Ruen's chest, but she couldn't move him. The cloak and his body were suffocating her. Smells of sweat and fear and sickness mingled together in her nostrils.

"Or maybe," Tarvin said, "the question you should be asking yourself is why a master thief turned Watch agent can't deliver one murdering wench to his betters?"

The strength left Icelin's body. She stopped struggling and lay still on the cold floor.

"Icelin," Ruen said. The guilt in his voice sealed everything. "Listen to me. He's baiting you. He knows your temper; he's using it to paw at you."

"Deny it," Icelin said. "Tell me he's not speaking the truth."

At last, he looked at her. Was it any harder for him now than it had ever been? His red eyes betrayed no expression, as always. Somehow that made it worse.

"What can I tell you that you will want to hear, Icelin?" Ruen said. "That I'm not a Watchman-with fervor I tell you I'm not."

"Are you working with them?" Icelin said. "Yes."

Unexpectedly, Icelin had the urge to laugh. "It might have been easier if you'd tried a denial," she said. "At least then I would know you regretted it."

He clenched his jaw. "You'll never know how much. There were reasons."

"So many things make sense now," Icelin said. "It's very freeing, you know. You risking your life for so little payment, how easy it was to find you-I should have known my tracking prowess- left too much to be desired. I suppose Fannie was in on everything? I probably had that one coming, though, since I almost got her killed. You should pay her extra for that."

"It was never about coin," Ruen said.

"Actually, that might have made things turn out differently," Icelin said. "On the raft, I should have offered up my virtue after all. It might have been inducement enough for you not to betray me."

Jaleigh Johnson

Mistshore

"Spew venom at me later," Ruen said. "We don't have time for this."

"You're right," Icelin said. "Don't worry. You thought I should go to the Watch, and now the Watch has come to me. I'm going to give everyone what they want."

"I won't let you," Ruen said when she tried to push against him. "We've danced this dance before. You won't move me."

"Probably not," Icelin said, "but I have other weapons now."

She lifted her head and put her lips against his mouth. It wasn't a kiss, and not remotely romantic. But it was skin to skin contact, and that was all she needed.

For Ruen's part, she might have hit him with a lightning bolt and evoked a similar reaction. He recoiled so fast that, for just an instant, he lost his balance.

Icelin shoved him with all her strength. She couldn't roll him off her. He locked his legs around her knees, but she managed to get one hand free. She ripped the cloak from her body.

Fresh air and startled cries from the beggars swamped her. Icelin blinked in the darkness, trying to adjust her eyes. She heard a clattering on the ladder and looked up.

Tarvin stood halfway up on the rungs, the crossbow leveled at her chest.

"Well met, lady," he said. "I'm glad you could see reason." Ruen released her and rolled to his feet. He was an easy target, but Tarvin kept the crossbow trained on Icelin.

"I'm not going to bother with you, Morleth," he said, his gaze never leaving Icelin's. "Tales of your weapon-catching skills abound. But I don't think your lady is quite as talented. Step back, please. Give Icelin room to climb the ladder."

He climbed back up, slowly, keeping the weapon level on her. When he was back on the dock, he motioned to her.

"Climb up and keep both hands on the rungs," he said. "Bring your clever disguise."

Icelin picked up the cloak and spared one last glance at Ruen and the cluster of beggars. She made her eyes move unseeing over Bellaril and Sull, who were huddled near the back of the crowd.

They must have been herded there by the others, for protection, Icelin thought. Bellaril gripped Sull's arm to keep him from moving. Icelin inclined her head a fraction at the dwarf, as if to say, keep him hack. Bellaril returned the nod.

"Thank you," Icelin said to Hatsolm, who stood at the front of the group.

"Be wary, lass," Hatsolm said. His eyes were sad. "Remember what I said. You aren't in a child's world now."

She nodded. She didn't look at Ruen.

The ladder climb was quick, much faster than the descent had been, though she tried to go as slowly as possible. When she was on the dock, she held out her disguise cloak to Tarvin.

"Put it on," Tarvin said. "I want to see what you look like."

The group below stirred angrily, but Icelin didn't react. She unfolded the cloak and draped it over herself. Immediately, the sores reappeared, and her flesh took on the ghostly pallor of disease.

"Is this to your liking?" Icelin said. "It's not a punishment equal to Therondol's death."

"You're right," Tarvin said. "I take my vengeance where I can.

"I understand, but if you march a plagued woman through Mistshore at the end of a crossbow, you're bound to attract unwanted attention. Is your vengeance worth that?"

"Worth my life and yours." He took her by the shoulder and spun her around so her back was to him. He put the crossbow at the base of her spine. "Walk, lady, and don't fret. We aren't going far."

Borion was cold, and he didn't like the harbor smell. Not that anyone asked his opinion.

He walked slightly behind Trik, his partner. The elf with the funny face had told them to split up, but Borion never went anywhere without Trik. When Trik wasn't around, things got fuzzy. If the elf was angry, well that was too bad.

"What we doing out here, Trik?" Borion asked. He must have asked this question before, because Trik turned around and made a dirty gesture at him. Borion grinned. He couldn't help it if his memory was short.

They fell into step together, but Trik was quiet for a while. That didn't bother Borion. He knew Trik would answer him before too long.

"You know, Boss, I'm walking here, asking myself that same question. Frightening that I'm starting to think at your level, isn't it?"

Trik always called him "Boss." Borion wasn't any higher rank than anyone else in the band, but he was bigger than all of them, and stronger.

"If you don't know why we're out here, Trik, how do you know where we're going?" Borion asked, not because he was overly curious, but because he didn't want to get lost in Mistshore. He didn't like the place.

He didn't like the city much, either. If they were traveling, he'd be happy. Outside the walls, the air was cleaner, and there weren't so many people. People scared him. They moved too fast, and he had a hard time keeping up with their speech.

It wasn't that way with Trik. Trik had lost part of his leg in a tomb raid, had it chopped off by a portcullis that hadn't stayed up like it was supposed to. So now he walked with a limp. Borion had no trouble keeping pace with Trik.

"We're going to stay close to those whale bones, or whatever they are," Trik said, "maybe go in for some ale. Let the elf rot for a while, I say.";

"Boss won't like that," Borion said, referring this time to their actual boss, Rynin.

Trik stopped again, so suddenly Borion almost ran him over. "Have you got maggots for brains?" Trik said. "Rynin's dead. He got himself killed in that fight with Arowall's guards. We're thin in numbers, my dumb friend, and it's starting to make me anxious."

It took an effort, but finally Borion remembered. That's right. Rynin was dead. So were others of his friends. What if Trik was next?

Trik seemed to know what he was thinking. "Don't you worry, Boss, nothing's going to happen to me. I'm thinking the coin's not enough to find this little girl. I'm thinking we go off, round up the rest of the company what'll come with us, and leave the city tonight. What you think of that?"

Trik seemed confident, and that made Borion feel somewhat better. "Where will we find the others, Trik? We're all split up. Trik?"

But Trik wasn't listening to him. He was looking at something behind Borion. Without a word, he grabbed Borion's arm and pulled him behind a stack of barrels.

"What is it, Trik?" Borion asked, but Trik waved a hand for him to be quiet. He pointed across the harbor. On a walkway that ran paralell to their own, two figures stood. One of them, a woman, had a crossbow pointed at her face.

"That girl look familiar to you, Boss?" Trik asked. He sounded delighted.

Borion squinted at the woman. She was shaking out a bundle of rags. She looked tired and underfed. Pretty, though. He would have liked to have a wife as pretty as her. Then, the larger impact of Trik s question hit him.

"Is that her?" Borion said. "The girl the elf wants?"

"I'd lay any amount of coin it is," Trik said. "Looks like someone got to her first, though."

"He doesn't look nice," Borion said.

The man with the crossbow was talking to the girl; they couldn't hear what was said. The girl cast the rags over herself. Her body shriveled and transformed, assuming a horrifying shape.

Borion clutched Trik's arm. "What'd he do to her?" he said, frantic. "He's cursed her!"

Trik shook him off. "No, he didn't. He's no wizard, not a dark god's priest, either. It's just a disguise, so people won't know who she is. Doesn't matter, though, we've already seen her."

"We should tell the elf," Borion said. The elf would come and get the girl, and they could finally leave Mistshore.

"Still trying to think, are we?" Trik said. "Don't you remember, we're supposed to bring the girl to the elf. Then we get our reward."

"But it's only the two of us," Borion said. "I thought the elf wanted us to tell him so all of us could go after her together."

"The elf hasn't managed to do anything right since we started this chase," Trik said angrily. "We bring the girl to him, we get more coin than the others, and we get out of here sooner. That sounds right to me, Boss. What about you?"

The explanation sounded simple enough, but it still bothered Borion. He tried to put the doubts out of his mind. He could never remember anything properly. Maybe Trik was right, and it would be better to bring the girl directly to the elf. It would save time, and Borion wanted to get out of Mistshore more than anything.

"What's the plan?" Borion asked.

"Well, seeing as that fellow with the crossbow's not one of us, he must be a Watch spawn in disguise. First we take her from him, but we have to make sure he doesn't shoot her, or us. Think you can get the crossbow if I get him?"

"Yes," Borion said. The one thing he was good at was taking things. Lately they were objects from tombs and tuins, but he'd taken people before, for coin or food.

"Let's go, then," Trik said. "There's a lady in distress."