Honor Bound

Chapter 4: A New Hunt

Tymion watched the two young menclimb through the window and listened to the creak of the ladder ashe waited for his guards to arrive.

And waited.

The shouts in the great hall belowhad died away. The only sound came from the sea winds whistlingaround the old stone keep.

Something was amiss. Tymion fixedhis silver ear back into place, drew his sword with a flourish, andstruck a heroic pose.

And waited.

At last he heard slow, soft stepsclimbing the observatory's spiral stair, a tread far too light fora clockwork guard.

"Foolish things, clockwork," theadept muttered. "Unreliable. They rust in the sea air, take on theoccasional murderous rage."

The unmistakable click of a crossbowsounded behind him. Tymion stiffened and began to turn toward thisnew threat.

"Two assassination attempts in onemorning seems a bit excessive, don't you thi-"

Shock clutched his throat withinvisible hands, cutting off his words and breath. Tymion had hisshare of whimsical moments, but never could he have imaginedthis, not in a thousandyears.

His most unexpected guest pressed alever. The crossbow sang a single deadly note.

Tymion staggered back, clutching atthe bolt in his chest. His legs struck the edge of the giantastrolabe in the room's center. He fell back onto the enormousdisk, twitching and gasping like a landed fish.

He'd spent months marking theposition of the stars on this astrolabe's curving grid. Years, somany years, devoted to charting the night skies. There was still somuch to do, to learn.

He pushed aside his charts with anincreasingly feeble hand. His apprentices complained loudly enoughabout his handwriting when they transcribed his readings. Bloodstains would discomfit them utterly.

And there seemed to be a great dealof blood. Well, it would have to do, wouldn't it?

The adept wiped one hand across hissodden tunic and with his own blood wrote a name and a warning amidthe stars.

* * *

When his men burst into theobservatory, weapons drawn, nothing awaited them but Tymion's stillform and the ruins of a clockwork guard. The hilt of thealchemist's own dagger rose from his silent chest.

They stared at the bloody name onthe astrolabe.

"Best not to mention this," one ofthem said at last. "Father Tyme was a good lord, for all his oddways. One last bit of madness shouldn't overshadow all. He doesn'tdeserve to be remembered for this."

A murmur of agreement rippledthrough the room. One of the guards leaned down and used the sleeveof his tunic to wipe away the impossible claim.

* * *

The thieves regrouped at the boatand pushed it out to sea, leaving the third would-be assassin tiedon the shore for the adept's men to find.

No wind stirred the cove, so Foxdrew the oars out from under the hold and passed one toDelgar.

They rowed in silence. Even Vishniseemed subdued.

"The adept's death was none of ourdoing," Avidan said.

Fox huffed. "We were there whenHonor killed Muldonny. We brought her into his stronghold. I'd saywe had something to do with it."

"I was not speaking ofMuldonny."

Avidan pointed to the keep, and theblack banners unfurling from the observatory windows.

Fox's shoulders slumped in defeat."The first man to reach the keep! He must have gotten past theguards, finished what his clockwork assassin started."

He fisted one hand and slammed itagainst the side of the boat. "This isn't right. This isn't the wayit was supposed to happen."

"Rebellions seldom follow straightlines," Avidan observed. "If that is indeed what transpiredhere."

"Here it comes," mutteredDelgar.

The alchemist held up the metaldisk. "Given the complexity of this device, it was almost certainlybuilt by one of your adepts. Rhendish, I would assume, since he andMuldonny were the most skilled clockwork artisans in Sevrin.Rhendish may be eliminating rivals under the guise of a popularuprising. It has also occurred to me that he might have arrangedfor the Thorn to be 'stolen' and sold to Muldonny, in order thatHonor might have reason to retrieve it."

Delgar gave his oars a particularlyvicious tug. "The only way Rhendish would do that is if he had noidea what the Thorn was. And I doubt he's that stupid."

"I knew nothing of this daggerbefore Honor asked for our assistance in retrieving it, and no manhas ever accused me of stupidity," Avidan said.

"Just insanity."

The alchemist shrugged, not denyingthe charge but not particularly impressed by it.

"But why did Honor kill Muldonny?" The question burst from Fox like a cry of grief. "The man juststood there, looking at her like she was the answer to everyquestion, and she stabbed him in the heart."

"If you were in a position to seeMuldonny's face, you could not have seen Honor's," Avidan said."You didn't see her eyes when she killed him, or when she caughthim in her arms and lowered him to the floor. Nor when she saw thering Rhendish gave Muldonny the day you and I entered Muldonny'sstronghold."

Delgar's head came up. "A ring? Whatring?"

The alchemist's lips pursed and hiseyes grew slightly unfocused as he flipped the pages of memory. "Asmooth pink stone set in delicate silver filigree. It resembledelfin craft closely enough to fool someone with a superficialknowledge. A few runes had been carved into the band. That is all Irecall. I was somewhat occupied at the time, lobbing acid grenadesat clockwork warriors."

"Globes of acid!" Vishni wriggled onher seat like a happy child. "Wonderful! That's just what the storyneeded."

Avidan raised a forefinger, a simplebut peremptory gesture that silenced the fairy inmid-rapture.

"That's a good trick," Delgarsaid.

The alchemist ignored him, as well."Even if I'd had the leisure to reflect upon these runes, I lackthe knowledge needed to read them. But if you will loan me paperand pen, I believe I can reproduce them."

"Oh, that's good," Vishni breathed."That's definitely going into the story."

She handed over her book andproduced a quill and ink bottle from a pocket in her cloak. Avidandipped the quill and formed several runes with deft, certainstrokes. He blew on the ink to dry it, then handed back thebook.

"These are elfish runes! I know someof them." The fairy studied the page for a long moment. "Uh-oh,"she murmured.

Delgar bolted to his feet. For amoment Fox thought he meant to leap over the side of theboat.

The dwarf cleared his throat and satdown. "Basic survival rule: When a fairy says 'uh-oh,'run."

"Good to know," Vishni said."Becausethat would have been a lot more fun if I'd done it onpurpose."

Fox snapped his fingers in front ofher face to get her attention and then tapped the runes on thepage. "What does it say?"

"Minue tookher."

Vishni looked from one man toanother, her face expectant. They all shrugged. "Minue? Thedryad?"

"Explain the significance," Avidansaid.

"Trees are like fairy portals todryads. They can move from one tree to another. Every now and then,they take someone with them. But dryads are also fey, so whoeverMinue took could be anywhere. Anywhere," she added in anuncharacteristically grim tone.

The color drained from Avidan'sface. "The Faerie Realm," he murmured in a tone that mingled dreadand longing.

Vishni nodded. "It'spossible."

"But what does it mean?" Fox saidimpatiently.

The alchemist dashed both hands overhis face. When he turned to Fox, his eyes were calm and clear."Here's what we know so far," he said. "Rhendish went to seeMuldonny, lost at cards, and offered to pay his debt with a ring ofelfish design. When we infiltrated Muldonny's stronghold toretrieve the Thorn, Honor killed Muldonny and took the ring fromhis hand. It is my opinion that Honor was compelled to kill theadept, to her deep regret. Her reaction upon discovering the ringstruck me as horror-struck enlightenment followed by murderouswrath."

"What does he notice, I wonder, whenhe's not busylobbing acid grenades?" Delgar said to no one inparticular.

"My conclusion would be thatRhendish employed magic to compel Honor to kill. The ring was thelink between his will and her action."

Delgar cleared his throat. "A pinkstone, you said?"

"I did, yes," the alchemist said."Apparently the significance of that has escaped me, as doesconnection between this Minue and Honor."

"I can answer both questions," thedwarf said heavily. "There are certain rituals, very old and verydark, that can bind one sort of magic to another. These ritualsrequire blood and bone."

Vishni's nose wrinkled in distaste."Ick."

"Sometimes those rituals involvesymbols of blood and bone. For dwarves, that means carmite. Forelves, it's. . something else. I can't say more withoutrevealing secrets I'm pledged to protect. But this much I can say: elves carry magic in their blood and bones, so the words on thering probably represent the last bit of magic Honorworked."

"So Honor sent someone to the faerierealm."

"Possibly," Vishni said, drawing theword out. "The most we can say with certainty is that Honor calledto Minue and the dryad answered."

"It also tells us that Rhendish, orsomeone who answered to him, saw her do it."

Fox huffed. "Problem solved. We'lljust pop on over to Rhendish Manor and ask the adept to fill in thedetails."

"You are missing the salient point,"Avidan said. "Rhendish, or someone in his employ, isperforming magic."

Silence fell over them, heavy as seamist.

Delgar dropped his oar and reachedfor the sails. "I've got to warn my people. And then we've got tofind a way to get the Thorn far away from Sevrin."

A small, slim boat glided onto theshore, shifting color from north-sea blue to the muted purple ofthe sand surrounding this strange and rocky island.

The boat was dwarf crafted, ofcourse, as was the sword Nimbolk wore on his hip. He carried noelfin weapons, no elfin armor, no elfin magic, nothing that mightover-sing the Thorn's faint voice.

Assuming he ever came close enoughto hear it.

Two years was nothing to an elf,especially one as single-minded as he. The few elves who'd survivedthe attack on the midwinter tribunal had pulled through largely bythe force of his will. They'd pooled what resources they had tostay alive, to heal.

To hunt.

Winter snows might have covered thehumans' tracks, but Nimbolk found a trail in the name Honor spokethat night:

Volgo.

At first, he'd hardly needed thename. A man who traveled in such company could not stay hidden. Alarge party of men traveling the forest would hunt, and lightfires, and build rough shelters. When they left the forest theywould pillage farmsteads and crofters' cottages. They would stop invillages to buy where things were sold, they would drink and boastin the smoky halls where humans gathered. And when their trail ledto the edge of the northern sea, the dwarves who dwelt in the seacaves and knew every ship by its sails had added a destination: Sevrin.

Sevrin, with its endless scatteringof islands and its hundreds of tall, blond-bearded men. Even thename-trail cooled, for Volgo was not an uncommon name among theislands' humans.

Nimbolk rose from the boat,stretching muscles stiff from long disuse. He paced along theshore, so intent upon the pleasure of movement that a heartbeat ortwo passed before he sensed what he'd sought for solong.

The Thorn's magic rode the air likemusic, like perfume. It had been here, on this island among manyislands, and not long ago.

In the distance, a stone keep roseabove the cliffs. The wind carried the rumble of angry shouts andgrief-edged keening. Something dire had happened there, somethingthat involved the Thorn.

Nimbolk pulled the hood of his cloakover his ears and headed for the keep. Someone there would give hima new name, a new trail.

A new hunt.