Mistshore

CHAPTER 7

For a long time, Ruen didn't move. Icelin thought he must not have heard her. But eventually he turned, and his profile caught the lantern light.

He looked to be in his early thirties. His hat, which appeared much older, was as ugly a thing as Kersh had claimed: brown leather and so creased the edges of the brim were flaking off.

Beneath the hat his black clad body looked like a scarecrow, so slender Icelin thought he must be half-starved. His cheekbones were two carved, triangular hollows; intermittent beard stubble graced the contours of his jaw.

A scarecrow, Icelin thought, except for his eyes. His eyes were red-brown, their deep centers forming pools of muddy crimson when they should have been black. Either his eyes were a defect of his birth, or else…

Icelin had heard stories of such oddities from the children in Blacklock Alley, back when she was only a child herself. The boys talked in menacing whispers about the plague-touched, the spellscarred-men and women who'd been brushed by the deadly fingers of spellplague. Most died from the exposure, but a few managed to survive its curse. They were never the same.

Some emerged deformed, their bodies twisted into hideous shapes by wild magic. Others bore their scars in less obvious places, but developed strange new abilities: powers of the mind, magic that even the wisest wizards on Faerun had never seen. It was said that a strange blue radiance often accompanied such displays of power, but Icelin had always thought these were fanciful stories that bore little truth.

Somehow, looking at him, Icelin knew Ruen Morleth was spellscarred. She remembered Kersh's warning about the man being strange.

"You know, it's impolite to eavesdrop on strangers' conversations," Ruen said, speaking for the first time. He picked up the dice and looked at them. "Stealing is generally frowned upon, as well. These aren't yours," he said.

"I didn't steal them," Icelin replied. "They were given to me by a friend. He told me you could help me."

His eyes traveled up and down her body. Icelin worked hard not to flinch under the gaze. "You look capable enough. Why should you need my help?"

"I'm being followed by someone who wishes my death."

He raised an eyebrow. "You think that's a compelling argument to me?"

"It sounds a bit dramatic, I know, but it's been a fine motivator for me," Icelin said. "I'm in no rush to die." "Death is a common occurrence in Mistshore." "So I see."

Ruen removed his pole from the water and laid it on the raft. "On the other hand, if you knew a likely fishing spot, you'd catch my interest. What's your name?"

"Icelin," she said. She held out a hand, but he showed no interest in taking it.

"Where did you get these dice?" he asked.

"From Kersh. I believe you two knew each other while you were… er-"

"Imprisoned. You can say it, I'm proud of the distinction." Ruen stood up. At his full height, he was well over six feet, which only accentuated his odd slenderness. "I remember Kersh. He retrieved my hat for me. Quite a service, under the circumstances."

"You gave him your word you'd repay him," Icelin said.

"I did. But I don't see him hiding behind your skirt. My debt is to him. I owe nothing to you."

Ruen removed a dirt-speckled rag from his belt and began cleaning his pole. Leather gloves stretched taut over his long-fingered hands. He seemed content to ignore her.

Icelin was at a loss. Of all the things she'd expected from the man, blunt refusal had not been among them. But why shouldn't she have foreseen this? Kersh tried to warn her. Sull tried to warn her. The man was a thief. She'd had no reason to believe he'd be honorable in any dealings with her.

But Kersh s story… the man's gratitude at being treated kindly, the quill he'd given to Fannie-he could have sold it for a handsome profit, yet he'd made the powerful magic item a gift to a prostitute so she could draw pictures in the sand. None of what she'd heard equated to the aloof man before her.

"I'll pay you for your services," she said finally.

Ruen glanced up at her. "You don't look as if you have anything I need, or enough of the coin I'd demand."

"I have this." Icelin took the cameo from her neck pouch and tossed it to him.

Ruen caught it and held the piece up to the lantern. His muddy crimson eyes mingled with the gold light. "You steal this?"

"Does it matter?"

"No. What do you want for it?"

"I need a hiding place, for myself and a friend. We're being pursued by the Watch as well."

Ruen cocked his head. "Why all the interest?"

"Let's just pretend I'm a criminal," she said with a half-smile. "A notorious, irredeemable scoundrel. Would that be near enough to your understanding?"

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Irredeemable?"

Icelin's humor evaporated. "Probably," she said. "Will you help me anyway, in exchange for the jewel?"

Ruen put the pole away and walked to the edge of the raft. He cocked a boot on the bow of her boat and looked down at her. There was no discernible expression on his face. It made his eyes so much more disturbing. They were distant and menacing at the same time. Icelin suppressed the urge to put an oar between them.

"I'll hide you for one day," Ruen said. "After that we renegotiate the price or go our separate ways."

"One day-that piece is worth at least ten!" Icelin said.

"Then find someone who'll keep you from the eyes of the Watch for a tenday," Ruen said. "I'm sure there are lads everywhere in Mistshore hopping eager to take on the job. I don't mind at all dispensing the honor to them."

Icelin ground the oars against their. moorings. "I have your marker! You're honor bound to help me, with or without payment."

Ruen smiled. "You're very passionate, my lady. Hold to that. It'll take you far in the world."

Icelin contemplated bludgeoning the man with an oar, just to wipe the mocking grin off his face, but she decided against it. She had one night; it was best not to waste it. "Fine. We have an agreement." She snatched the cameo back and put it in her neck pouch. "You'll get the payment after my night's over."

He tipped his ugly hat. "Whatever you say, lady."

So it was done. Icelin was going to ask if he'd like to follow her back to shote, when below them, the light she and Sull had glimpsed earlier reappeared, gliding across the water like a fresh oil slick. Icelin lost her train of thought watching it. The humanlike apparition drifted past them and out into the harbor, moving fast. Several breaths later it illuminated a large, misshapen structure Icelin had not known was there.

It was difficult to make out many details in the dark, but by the apparition's light it was the strangest shipwreck Icelin had ever seen. The vessel had been boosted straight up on its bow, the length of it seeming to dance upon the air. Something, an even larger structure, was propping it up in that odd position, like two lovers embracing on the lip of the sea.

The apparition floated right up to the mass and joined with it, illuminating the whole before evaporating into darkness.

"What was that?" Icelin said, stunned.

Ruen looked out into the darkness. "The Ferryman's Waltz," he said. He looked at her askance. "You've never heard of it?"

Icelin searched her memory. Ferryman sounded vaguely familiar, an echo from her childhood. Her mind cycled back, peeling away the layers of invisible brick she'd used to close off the memories, until she could visualize ships: dozens of cogs, rakers, and greatships lined up in the harbor. Brant had taken her to see them; they'd gone for a ride on one. Icelin remembered the greatship was so large she could barely make out the fish leaping along the keel.

"Ferryman? she said. "It was a ship, a converted passenger carrier. A merchant of Waterdeep built it to hire out for pleasure-sailing, a way to say 'look at what a big toy I have.' She recited her great-uncle's words exactly. It brought a profound ache to her chest. She could picture his eyes sparkling as he told her the story. Quickly, she raised the mental wall again. "I never knew what became of the ship."

"Destroyed, in a tangle with a leviathan," Ruen said.

Icelin's eyes widened. "A sea monster, invading Waterdeep harbor?" It sounded too mythical to be real. "I thought we were supposed to be protected here, shielded from attacks of the Art and-"

"You mean spellplague," Ruen said. "Maybe that's so. But who's protecting Waterdeep from those scarred by the plague? No keeping them out. Even those that get dumped in places like Mistshore can cause their share of trouble." He nodded toward the Ferryman's Waltz. "Locked together in a lover's waltz. Poetic, don't you think?"

"You mean a wizard did this?" Icelin said. "To summon this creature… He'd have to be mad."

Ruen lifted a shoulder. "Perhaps it's just a story. Whether it's true or not, something draws the sea wraiths out to the wreckage. There's wild magic there. That's why they glow as they do. Ordinarily, you'd never be able to see them in the water. I'd bet any amount of coin the plague still thrives at Ferryman's Waltz, and the wraiths are drawn to it like moths."

"Sea wraiths," Icelin said. So the Waltz was the source of the strange apparitions. "None of this feels real." Her gaze swept the Waltz and Mistshore: Whalebone Court and the Dusk and Dawn's red tent, the Hearth fire and all of the other structures. They blurred together in the darkness just beyond her sight. She caught Ruen looking at her. "What?"

He shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You're just a child," he said. "You don't know Waterdeep at all. What are you doing out here?"

"Conversing with thieves"-Icelin spread her hands- "fearing for my life and virtue, all of that."

"Why should you fear for your virtue?"

"Oh, I'm not afraid of you taking it," she said. "I don't trust myself. I'm afraid I'll have to offer it up to every lad in Mistshore to get them to help me after your contract runs out. This night was expensive enough. I shudder to think what the price will be day after tomorrow."

"So you're not afraid of me?" Ruen said.

"You mean because of Garlon?" She squared her shoulders. "I think he had his fate coming to him."

"That's bold," Ruen said. He tilted his hat to see her better. "Considering how pale you were when you rowed up to my raft, I would have thought you were a terrified mouse."

Icelin swallowed. "I've had fresh perspectives on terror tonight. Nothing you can do will frighten me."

"Truly?" He moved so fast the next breaths were a blur.

His hands encased both of her wrists. He hauled her out of the boat, onto her back on the raft. The hard planks knocked the breath out of her. He forced her hands above her head and half-straddled her.

"What about now?" Ruen said. He'd moved like a demon, yet he wasn't even breathing hard. His crimson eyes were so close they filled her vision. He didn't wait for a reply. He put his head on her chest.

Icelin bit back a whimper, but he made no other move to touch her.

"I hear your heartbeat," he said, lifting his head. "It's a wild bird." He smiled. "Are you certain you aren't scared?"

He knew she was terrified, and Icelin hated him for that. She could do nothing about the wild hammering in her chest, so instead, Icelin forced her rigid body to relax, one muscle at a time. It was the hardest work she'd ever done. "You know," she said, pleased that her voice did not shake, "if it's my virtue you're after, I should confess Igave it away a long time ago."

"How unfortunate," Ruen said. "Who was the lucky lad? Another thief?"

"A stable boy, actually. We did it behind the chimneystacks on the roof of my great-uncle's shop. He was two years older than me."

"Was he handsome?"

"Not really, but more so than you. We were outside all night, and I took sick the next morning. These are much lovelier conditions." She met his gaze, forcing a look of bored expectation. "Well? Are you going to do this or not?"

"You've got hard nerves, lady," Ruen said, "but you don't know this world. If I was any other man you'd be raped and robbed and bobbing in the harbor by now."

Icelin felt annoyance flare above her fear. "You're right, I don't know much about the world. In the last five years, I've rarely been out of my great-uncle's shop. I would love nothing more than to be there right now, but my great-uncle is murdered, and that shop is a tomb. Everything I once trusted is gone. I tell you truly, I have no one left to put my faith in, except a criminal. The irony of this could fuel many comic ballads, I'm sure. I may be naive to you, but I have a sharp tongue and more than half a wit and if you can keep me alive long enough, I will find a way to pay you for the services you render me, if it takes all the blood in my body to do it."

They gazed at each other, their faces inches apart. Something like admiration passed over Ruen's face. He started to speak, but suddenly his face was illuminated by a brilliant, arcane light.

Icelin looked down, and saw the source coming from the space of water between the boat and the raft. A second apparition glowed from the water, but this one shone clearer, and its form melded into a twisted mockery of a human face-

"Watch out!" Ruen shouted. He hauled her up, but it was too late.

The sea wraith burst from the water in a shower of wet and light. The force of its appearance blew the small boats into the air.

Pressure, then fire shot up her right arm, but Icelin didn't dwell on that calamity. She felt her body leave solid ground-she was flying, the world tilting-and then the fetid water closed over her head, blocking out all sensation except cold.

Frantically, Icelin kicked in her bulky skirt, propelling herself to what she hoped was the surface. She came up gulping air. Nothing but cold blackness surrounded her. Ruen's lantern had been extinguished.

Raising her hand above the water, Icelin chanted, praying all the while that the weakness she knew would come would not render her unable to swim.

Light burst from her hand, transforming her arm into a makeshift torch. Nausea hit her hard in the gut. The queasiness in her belly combined with the stench and motion of the harbor proved too much. Icelin turned her head and retched, spitting water and filth. Her throat burned, but she forced herself to ignore it.

By the light of the spell, she saw a crooked gash running from her elbow to the middle of her forearm. There were splinters in the wound.

Ruen was swimming for his raft, which had been flipped upside down. He reached it, hoisted himself up, and pulled a knife from his belt. The thin blade bore a coat of rust. It was a not a weapon at all, but a gutting blade for fish. Icelin watched, incredulous, as Ruen brandished the rusty blade confidently at the sea wraith. The apparition swooped down from the clouds to hover above the water.

He's completely mad, Icelin thought. The knife would not put a scratch on the undead horror.

A glint of silver on Ruen's left middle finger caught Icelin's attention. He'd removed his glove, and she could see a ring glowing with arcane power, illuminating his pale flesh.

The glow spread down his — arm, then flowed across his body like a weird, sped-up river. The light died away, except for where it illuminated the gutting knife. A single strand of silver lit the blade, eclipsing the rust.

Icelin swam to the raft, searching her memory for some spell that might aid Ruen. She hadn't used magic to defend herself in years. The spell in Sull's shop had been a harmless light trick. Gods, could she bring herself to remember how to call fire and ice? If she could, would it affect the wraith at all? She'd never faced anything like it before. Nelzun had purposefully guided her training to suit a woman traveling alone on the streets of Waterdeep.

While her thoughts spun and her arm burned, Ruen moved with preternatural speed across the raft. His knife blade flashed, cutting into the creature where its shoulder might have been.

Icelin saw no wound, but she heard an unearthly screech issue from the wraith.

The apparition twisted away, blasting through Ruen's body in its incorporeal form. For a breath, Ruen appeared to be treading water as the ghostly mass enveloped him. Then it passed, and the thief fell back onto the raft. Icelin was close enough to see his muscles twitching from the brutal exposure to the wraith's body.

She grabbed the raft with both hands and hoisted herself up next to Ruen's prone form. The wraith circled above their heads, as if trying to decide which of the two posed the greatest threat. Icelin swung her glowing arm back and forth, trying to keep the creature's attention away from Ruen.

She could recall no spells, nothing to harm or to kill. She'd buried them all long ago, vowing no living being would be hurt by her hand again.

But the memories were there,' if she wanted to find them. The arcane power, locked away in the topmost tower room of her mind, like a princess in a tale. She needed no spellbook to find them, only the will.

She could picture her teacher's words of admonishment. This thing before you isn't alive, he would say. It has no warmth, no compassion. It seeks only death. When confronted with such creatures as this in the world, you have no choice but to deal death first.

The wraith, finally distracted by the waving light, swooped low across the water, its face inches from the rippling current.

It was coming at her from the right. Icelin braced her feet, certain she'd be knocked from the raft if the thing hit her.

A sharp arc, and the wraith was up and over the side of the raft-

Suddenly, Ruen sprang up between them. He'd only been pretending to be injured. He planted the gutting knife in the wraith's chest and held on.

The wraith thrashed and screeched and lifted Ruen off his feet. For a scant breath, they hung suspended over the water. Ruen jerked, tearing ghostly flesh. He jerked again, and the wraith spun, flipping the thief over its body to shake loose his grip.

The move worked. Ruen's fingers slipped from the knife, and he plunged into the murky water. His hat floated to the surface, but Ruen did not reappear.

Alone on the raft, Icelin at last found a spell. Calmly, she waited for the wraith to circle again. She watched it come, a ghastly glowing arrow running parallel to the water. Ruen's fish knife protruded from its chest, but the light had faded from the blade. As the creature glided closer, Icelin saw the blade and handle crumble, sprinkling ashes over the water.

This time the wraith would not be distracted from its prey. Ruen was either drowned or too far down in the water to help her.

Trembling, Icelin extended both hands out from her body. Pressing her thumbs together, she chanted the dusty words and prayed that she would not be burned alive.

"Begone!" she screamed.

Nothing happened. The cone of flame that should have spread from her hands manifested as a feeble yellow sparking at her fingertips. The palms of her hands grew faintly warm, but the heat soon died.

"Get down!" Ruen shouted from somewhere to her left. Icelin was too shocked to react. She saw the wraith bearing down on her, but she couldn't think or move. There came a rush of air, and the creature enveloped her.

Light blinded Icelin. She closed her eyes, but it was all around her. Cold. A bitter, biting freeze crawled over her skin like wet snakes, immobilizing her limbs. She tried to take a step. Her boots scraped the raft. She opened her eyes, desperately seeking escape.

Hollow eye sockets stared back at her. Ghostly flesh clung to the wraith's lipless mouth. It was nothing more than a parody of a human face, but the body was smothering her, freezing her to death. In the faint gray light between consciousness and oblivion, her teacher's words came to her, propelled from her memories with a life all their own.

"If, gods forbid, you ever have to fight a monster in the wilds, remember that it does you no good to think like a human woman. Each being responds differently to magic, and some can resist even the most potent spells."

"How will I be able to survive," Icelin remembered asking, "if I'm too weak to fight?"

"By being smart before you are powerful," her teacher said. "Certain creatures owe their existence to magical perversions. They are drawn to the Art, and can. be distracted by it. Remember that."

Sucking in a ragged, painful breath, Icelin choked out the simplest spell she knew, one that always worked and never caused her pain. Long ago, she'd used it to mend tears in her clothing.

An invisible pulse of energy engulfed her hands as she finished the casting. Every successful spell she'd ever cast brought the sensation. Her teacher explained it away as one of the physical effects of magic on the body. Since the Spellplague, arcane energy was in a constant state of flux, manifesting in different forms for different wizards. This was hers.

According to Ruen, the wraith was a slave to the spellplague. Her distorted spell energies, however slight, might be enough to get its attention. Icelin prayed her simple spell would be enough.

Arcane energy sparked inside the wraith's incorporeal form. Whether from surprise or some other effect, the creature recoiled, forcing her out of its body.

Icelin stumbled back, but she was too weak to steady herself. She managed one feeble breath before she fell into the water.

After her brush with the wraith, the harbor actually felt warm. Icelin tried to swim, but her arms were still clutched into tight claws at her sides. She couldn't get her limbs to function.

Black spots popped in front of Icelin's vision. A part of her mind urged that drowning would be a better option than returning to the surface to face the wraith. Her lungs disagreed. She expelled her breath in a rush of bubbles. Above her, she could see the wraith's darting light. It was back in the watet again, disoriented, searching for the arcane energy it craved. But the creature and its light were growing smaller the farther she sank.

At first she didn't feel the arm that encircled her chest. The burning was too painful for her to notice anything. It jerked her upright, and Icelin felt herself smashed against a hard wall. The wall moved, drawing her to the surface. Whenever Icelin thought she would slip, the arm would pull her back from the abyss.

She broke the sutface gasping, choking foul water when she tried to suck in air. Her muscles were on fire. But she was alive.

Ruen was treading water directly behind her, holding het afloat with his right arm. The wall she'd been crushed against was his chest. "The light spell on her arm still functioned. She could see the wraith making mad, swooping circles all around Ruen's raft.

"What did you do to it?" he demanded. "Its senses are blinded."

"I'm not sure." Icelin coughed and spat water. "We have to get away from here."

She felt Ruen shake his head. "Won't get far without a boat," he said. "Drive it away. Use your magic."

The wraith burst into the air, spraying them with water. Its attention refocused on the swimming pair. A high-pitched scream rent the air, and the creature dived at them again.

Ruen dragged her underwater, and they barely dodged the attack. When they came back up, the wraith had circled around for another pass.

"Cast your spell," Ruen ordered her. "Make it a good one. You won't get another before it kills us."

"You don't understand. I have no magic." Icelin tried to swim away from him, but he pinned her against his chest.

"Your glowing arm suggests otherwise," he said.

"It's also bleeding. Let me go!"

"Listen to me." He raised his left hand in front of her face. Icelin remembered the silver band. It rested on his finger, its light dull. "Everything this ring touches grows in strength, including magic. As long as our bodies touch, your spell should work."

He didn't wait for her to respond. He put his glove back on and folded her left hand under his.

Icelin felt a tingle of electricity coming from the ring. She searched her memory again. The fire spell was gone, but there was another…

"When I cast this, I will likely lose consciousness," Icelin said. She fought to keep her voice steady.

Ruen tightened his grip. "You won't drown-you haven't paid me my fee yet. I'll hold you up, only work your spell!"

Icelin blocked out his voice, the icy water, the wraith's screams. She waited for the creature to glide close to the water again. When it was in her line of sight, she muttered the spell.

Burning pain erupted behind her eyes, a side effect Icelin only vaguely remembered from her early lessons. She had not cast spells of this magnitude for years. Her body was not ready for the shock.

Fighting oblivion, Icelin thrust her free hand above her head. The arcane pulse came again, strong and sustained. This time, the spell was going to work.

A stream of white vapor unfurled on the air like a sheet. It snapped and coalesced into a savage-looking spear, which shot across the water, trailing ice shards in its wake.

The magic impaled the wraith through its eyeless head. Unholy screams shattered the air. Ice flew in all directions. The force of the magic drove the creature back a full ten feet, and the light in its body flickered and died. The wraith collapsed in on itself, disappearing into the water without creating a wake.

For a long time, there was no sound except Icelin and Ruen's breathing. Icelin saw her breath in the wake of the cold spell. A fine layer of ice rimed the water in a straight line to where the creature had been. She watched the shards flake off like so much paint.

"That's i-impossible," Icelin said. Her head swam. "Never should have been so much, so big."

"It was my ring," Ruen said. "I told you it would strengthen the spell."

"Oh, well." Icelin felt unconsciousness looming. She was more than ready for it. "That's nice, isn't it?"