Mistshore

CHAPTER 12

Watchman Tarvin surveyed the vibrant embers and ash clouds of the Hearth fire with one hand raised to shield his eyes against the wall of heat. It reminded him briefly of the burned warehouse he'd seen on the shore-or the smoking skeleton of a boardinghouse.

The metal basin from which the Hearth flames ascended had steep sides, but the bottom of the structure sat several feet below the walkway, allowing easy access.

The setup was ingeniously designed and protected the surrounding structures from damage quite well. The basin's inner shell had long ago turned an oily black color. The smells of cooking fish, meat, and the occasional spice were everywhere, but did nothing to mitigate the nauseating odor of the bodies gathered around the fire for warmth or sustenance.

There were no benches near the outside of the basin. People sat on the crude walkways built around the pit, cradling children in their laps or leading the elderly by the arm.

A pack of young girls, the youngest no more than five years old, was selling cooking spits for a copper a foot. Tarvin bought two from one of the older girls and shooed the rest away.

He leaned close to the child's ear when he paid her and asked in a confidential whisper if she'd seen a particular young woman walking by the Hearth.

"Black hair, white skin like a ghost's," he said, and he saw the girl's eyes widen. "Not a real ghost," he said quickly. "There's a man with her-tall, with red hair all over his head. Have you seen anyone like that passing this way?"

The girl shook her head. Tarvin gave her the copper coins and sent her off. He scanned the crowd a second time, his eyes coming to rest on a woman sitting alone near the edge of the fire. She was wrapped in a thin, dirty cloak, trying to blend in with the crowd.

In need of some amusement, Tarvin crouched next to the woman. He smiled when she averted her face. She had straight, drab brown hair and a tiny hooked scar on the bridge of her nose.

"Can I buy you dinner, pretty lass?" He held up his newly acquired spits, twirling them like batons.

The woman looked at him, but she didn't smile. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "This is my territory."

"Lovely Deelia, I'd never infringe on your authority. I was just doing some independent scouting," Tarvin said. He made a vague gesture to the outer rim wreckages.

"You'd better hope she's not out there," Deelia said. "That's gang territory."

"Yes, it would be a shame. if they dragged her off, had their fun, and didn't leave any pieces for us to find," Tarvin drawled.

Deelia shot him a look, but she didn't comment. Tarvin knew she didn't want to be out here anymore than he did. But the Warden had spoken, and the Watch had answered the Wolfhound's call. Icelin Team would be found and hauled in from Mistshore on the end of a leash if need be.

"Foolish to come down here," Deelia said. "This place'll eat her alive. What was she thinking?"

"She's afraid of the wolves," Tarvin said. "Us," he clarified when Deelia only stared at him.

The Watchwoman shook her head and turned her attention back to scanning the crowd for Icelin. Tarvin wanted to tell her not to waste her time.

The crowd huddled closest to the bright flames was mostly made up of women and children. Tarvin had thought this would be the first place she'd run to, with the late season darkness running cold and the wind colder still on the harbor. If the gangs hadn't already caught up to her, she'd need light, warmth, and especially food, if she hadn't had time to gather any. But so far, his search had come up empty.

"Did you know Therondol?" Tarvin asked abruptly.

"No," Deelia said. If she was surprised by the change in topic, she didn't show it. "I came to the Watch after his time."

"That's right. I'd forgotten how many years he's been gone. You'd have liked him, though. Steady, but he had eyes that could cut, you know? You could never lie to the man. I don't know why that made me like him, but it did. He was smarter than all the men in his patrol, but he never looked down on anyone."

"He sounds just like the Warden," Deelia said.

"Better than," Tarvin said. "But all that's gone, so no use dwelling on it, eh?"

Deelia shrugged. "Why are you out here, Tarvin? The Warden didn't send you. You should be on patrol in South Ward."

"What does it matter? We're all looking for the same woman, as if there wasn't a whole city of more worthy folk to mind."

"You'll be reprimanded," Deelia said.

"Be worth it, if I get to bring her in."

"Good luck to you, then," Deelia said. "Now either leave me, or stop talking."

Tarvin didn't get a chance to reply. A pair of women sat down directly in front of them, too close to their personal space to allow any private conversation.

Tarvin exchanged a glance with Deelia. After a breath, one of the women half turned to face them. Her left eye was swollen shut. Blood crusted the seam.

"Are you Serbith?" she whispered, addressing Deelia.

"Yes," Tarvin said, ignoring Deelia's sharp poke to his ribs. He loved to irritate her.

"Who are you, then?" The other woman turned. She had an open sore on her lip.

"I'm her bodyguard," Tarvin said without hesitation.

"Wasn't part of the deal, her bringin' another pair of eyes," the woman said. As she spoke, Tarvin found himself unable to look at anything except the ugly sore. "Never mind then, no hard feelings. I brought the goods. Let's see your coin."

"My bodyguard has it," Deelia said sweedy.

Tarvin smiled. "Of course. But I want to inspect the goods before I pay a copper."

"You hear that, Mabs? He wants to count fingers and toes," the woman with the swollen eye said.

"Oh, he's got 'em all, no mistake there." Mabs laughed and unwound a thin wrap from her shoulders.

Deelia hissed out a breath and a curse, but Tarvin kept his composure.

The baby was naked and new, probably only a handful of tendays old. His lips, fingers, and toes were blue from the cold. He should have been wailing his discomfort for all Faerun to hear, but he was too underfed- He didn't have the strength to cry.

"How long has he been off his mother's milk?" Deelia said. Her mouth was set in a grim line.

"Never been on it," Mabs said. "It was the mother's fourth, so her teat's all dried up. But he's the best of the lot. Lord Theycairn's gettin' his coin's worth, don't you worry."

Tarvin stiffened. Lord Theycairn was a nobleman recently widowed. His wife had died in childbirth, but the family insisted the babe, a boy, had survived. No one had yet seen the child in public.

Deelia said abruptly, "I am satisfied." She removed her cloak and handed it to Mabs. "Wrap the child in this, please." She waited until it was done, then went on, "If Lord Theycairn should happen to have interest in… other children-"

"Lookin' to stock his larder with heirs, is he?" Mabs chorded. "We can do that. The other girls and us, we got just as many go in the harbor as not, on account of how we can't feed and clothe 'em all. But we could save back the best of 'em for you to inspect."

"That would be acceptable," Deelia said. "Could you remain here? Someone will be coming with your coin."

"Thought you said your bodyguard had it?" Mabs looked at them suspiciously.

"Lord Theycairn sent us to ensure you kept your end of the bargain," Deelia said quickly. "Serbith has your coin and will come to collect the babe. She knows nothing of us."

Mabs scowled, but she finally nodded. Her suspicion wouldn't keep her from taking the promised coin.

Deelia took Tarvin's arm and hauled him to his feet. When they were out of earshot, Tarvin said, "What was that about? I'll wager this Serbith is Lord Theycairn's washerwoman, or some such. If we'd waited, we could have caught her buying babies in Mistshore."

Deelia looked pale and angry. "And risk that baby being one of the discarded if the deal went badly? Better that one becomes Theycairn's heir. I'll report to the Warden when we see him next. We have to see about getting some food down to the prostitutes, at least those on the shore. You're right, there are more important things going on in Mistshore tonight than Icelin Team." She shivered. "I hate this place. Babies in the harbor-godsdamn bloody mutilated part of the city. That's all it is. A leech."

"Nice to see you again, Morleth," Bellaril said.

Ruen inclined his head. "It's been a long time, Bells."

The dwarf's expression darkened. "You know better than to use nicknames with me, Morleth. That's going to cost you."

They were circling each other now. "You don't like being called 'Bells'?" Ruen said. "I'd have thought you would have embraced the nickname. Your fans certainly have. Or are they plants by your master, to drum up support for his champion?"

He lunged, aiming a fist at the dwarf; s race. The blow glanced lightly off her jaw, and Bellaril was already ducking under his guard for a jab to his midsection. Ruen fell forward into a roll. He tried to snag Bellaril's ankle as he passed, but she jumped out of the way.

Ruen sprang to his feet, his arms out in defense, but the dwarf kept her distance. He could feel the burn in his ribs where she'd jabbed him. Quick punches, just enough force to give pain. She knew exactly where and how hard to hit him. That was the damnable part of this fight.

"I did warn you," the dwarf said. "What is it you need from him this time, Morleth? Protection? Coin? Whatever it is, it won't be worth it." She moved in again, throwing a quick succession of punches, all aimed low where he had trouble defending. Ruen took another blow to the Hank, but he caught the dwarf a heavy blow to the shoulder that had her backing off.

"I need a place to hide," Ruen said. He took the reprieve to catch his breath. The air burned against his cracked ribs. "There're two others with me. I assume he's seen them?"

"A bird and a butcher," Bellaril said. "Not the sort of company you generally keep. He'd love to hear the tale behind it."

"I'll happily throw the fight and tell it to him," Ruen said, "but I think he wants me to win."

The dwarfs swings faltered. Ruen got in another blow, a numbing shot to her arm. He pressed forward, but Bellaril kicked, catching his knee.

Ripples of pain shot up Ruen's leg. He wobbled, gritting his teeth to keep from collapsing to the platform. Breathing fast, he stepped back, unable to press his momentary advantage.

"Give this up, Morleth," the dwarf said. She massaged the feeling back into her arm while he seethed in pain. "It doesn't matter if Arowall wants me to lose. The title is mine. I'm not letting you or him take it from me."

"If you think so little of my chances, come ahead," Ruen said, opening his arms.

The dwarf shook her head. "I'm not to be baited like that, Morleth. I was giving you a chance." She dodged to the side when his list came in, hooking an elbow around his arm. Securing her hold, she squeezed.

Ruen felt the bones snap. His mind momentarily blanked, but he kept his feet, largely by holding onto the solid dwarf. When he looked into her face, he could see she'd put very lutle effort into the attack.

"I'm the only person in the Cradle who knows how much pain you're in," she whispered. "I know how many of your bones are broken, and if I wanted to, I could drop you to the floor or the sharks. You can't win without your ring, and you know it." Her eyes softened. "One last chance, Morleth. Give this up."

"I have a better idea," Ruen said. He licked blood from his lips. The ribs must be broken, not cracked, he thought. "How about a side bet of our own?"

"You're mad," Bellaril said sadly. "What is it you want? Why are you fighting for those two?"

In response, Ruen jerked the dwarf close. He wrapped the palms of both his bare hands around hers. BellariPs eyes widened in shock. She had not seen him remove his gloves. They lay discarded on the platform.

Ruen did not attempt to strike her. He waited a breath for her to see the blue light, to realize what he was doing, then he whispered against her ear. When she drew back, her expression was unreadable.

"Fine," she said, breaking his hold. "It's a bet. I'll try not to kill you, Ruen Morleth, but I make no promises."

"Fair enough." Ruen set his feet. He didn't trust his speed anymore. He would have to work on the defensive.

She struck at him again, hitting his jaw, his collarbone, his shoulder. Each time her fist glanced off a bone, Ruen felt himself come apart a little. She left him his legs. Aside from the blow to his knees, he could remain upright and maneuver enough to dodge the worst of her attacks. It wouldn't last. She would bring him down soon.

He took another blow to the shoulder, but this time he snagged her arm before she could dance back. Immediately, she began punching with the other, struggling to free herself. Ruen absorbed the blows, letting his weight shift against her. She stumbled, off balance by the sheer dead weight of him.

Ruen brought his good knee up, planting it in her stomach. She gasped and bent double, but he struck again before she could fold. Wildly, she clawed at him, but he kept pressing down with his weight, until they were both crouched on the platform.

He forced his knee across her throat, pinning her. Choking, she tried to sit up, but he kept her down. Her reach wasn't great enough to get around his long legs. She could keep punching him in the gut, but Ruen was beyond the pain.

The dwarf snaked an arm up, grabbing his leg. She twisted viciously, no longer concerned with his balance. Ruen bit his lip; blood" filled his mouth. The Cradle wavered, the faces of the crowd blurring into indistinct smudges. He kept Bellaril down with his ruined leg. She hissed and sputtered and cursed him.

"You'll never… stand," she said. "Your legs are ruined." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. He'd cut off her airway. If he could hold on long enough, she would lose consciousness.

"Maybe you are the better fighter," he said, as her body went limp. "The only thing that separates us is where we keep our pain."

He looked up. The crowd was on its feet, screaming and stamping at the turn the match had taken. Icelin and Sull were still watching from across the Cradle.

Directly behind him, the guards were clustered around a figure coming up the stairs. Long, meticulously trimmed gray hair fell across his shoulders. His face was pale, his skin wrinkled but not yet taken heavily by age. He might have been a handsome figure, but his eyes were yellowish, his jaw tight, as if some hidden strain were working on his mind.

The man stopped ten paces from Ruen. His gaze moved from the crowd to BellariPs unconscious body and finally to Ruen's face. He raised his hand, and the Cradle noise died instantly.

"You know the rules, Morleth," he said, his rich voice pitched loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Stand and declare your victory. Stand, or forfeit."

He's playing the scene for all it's worth. A part of Ruen had to admire the man's gall. Whatever the outcome, there'd not be an empty seat in the Cradle after tonight.

Ruen slid his knee off Bellaril's prone body. He felt the grating of bone against bone, the pull of muscles and tissue twisting in ways nature had never intended. He shivered. Cold sweat stood out on his skin. The blood was still hot in his mouth.

Best to do it all at once, Ruen thought. It was the only way he would be able to gather the strength. One quick thrust to his feet, and the bastard would have to give him healing. The crowd demanded the rules be obeyed. Even the master of the Cradle couldn't deny the crowd.

Ruen closed his eyes and breathed. "Keep the pain locked away," he murmured. He pushed it all-the broken bones, the torn muscles-to a far corner of his mind, a box whose lid he could fasten tight and push away from conscious examination.

He waited until the pain was safely contained, then forced himself to stand.

Icelin covered her ears against Ruen's scream. She knew the cry was involuntary. He would probably never remember uttering such a sound, but she would forever remember the terrible, animal whimper that followed the scream. She'd known

His wounds were severe, but now she was terrified he might have killed himself just by climbing to his feet.

He swayed. Icelin dug her nails into the rail, willing him to stay upright. His head lolled to one side; blood dripped in tiny rubies from his lips. But he stood, facing the tight-lipped man and his retinue of guards.

"I stand," she heard him say into the silence of the Cradle.

Arowall didn't react. He stood, watching Ruen with amused curiosity. A smile played at his lips.

"No," Icelin hissed. She grabbed Sull's arm. "No, no! He's going to wait until Ruen falls."

Sull cursed. He grabbed Sheems by the back of the neck and hauled him aside. "He can't do that! Tell me he can't."

Sheems cowered in the face of the butcher's livid expression. "Rules aren't clear on how long he has to stand. Depends on the master's mood. Makes for a good show-" He caught himself when Sull bared his teeth.

Icelin reached for her neck pouch, frantically searching its contents for a spell focus.

Sull grabbed her shoulder. "Lass, I appreciate the sentiment, but that's a good route to getting us killed."

"He's going to fall, Sull. Where in the Nine Hells is that wood!" She searched her memory to unearth the spell. "It's not an attack," she assured him. "He just needs to stay upright."

Magic for simple tasks. She could hear her teacher's words. " The spells you '11 use most often in the early days are spells to imitate simple tasks. Don't let the ease of their use make you complacent. A servant, unseen, should never replace your own two hands."

A servant unseen. An invisible hand to keep him standing that would escape the master's notice. Icelin's fingers closed on the focus in her pouch. She didn't bother to pull it out but chanted the spell, her will centered on Ruen.

"Go. Hold him," she chanted, mixing the plea with the arcane phrases.

A swirl of brilliant gray mist shot from her fingertips. The loop of magic descended from the deck of the ship to the platform, taking on shape, if not substance, as it went. The crowd shouted in warning and awe.

"Gods-cursed magic!" Icelin clutched her head, feeling the familiar pain behind her eyes. Sull tried to support her, but she shook him off. She had to see how the wild spell would manifest, and control the damage if she could.

The gray mist coalesced into a human shape. The unseen servant was now a woman in a flowing dress, her colorless hair drifting around her face. Arms swathed in ghostly lace encircled Ruen's body from behind. The spectral lady stepped forward, taking Ruen's weight against her chest.

"I know that woman," Icelin said, aware that the crowd and the master of the Cradle had turned to look at her in a great collective. She drew her hand out of her neck pouch. The focus she held was not a piece of wood, as she'd thought when she cast the spell. It was the cameo she'd been holding for Ruen. The woman's face gazed serenely back at her from the portrait-and from the platform behind Ruen.

Arowall regarded Icelin with interest. "You're building a fine and dangerous reputation in Mistshore, my lady," he called out to her. "I daresay some of the poor folk will be glad when you leave us."

Icelin heard the threat behind the words. "Believe me, sir, I will be equally relieved to escape this place, and I apologize sincerely for trespassing on your hospitality." She pointed to Ruen. "But I need that man alive, and I wonder if you will have it so."

There were titters from the crowd. Arowall looked up sharply, gauging the reactions. "I adhere to the rules of the Cradle," he said. "Ruen Morleth has not fallen." He flicked a glance to Ruen, who was watching the exchange with half-closed eyes. "But if your spell fails, will he keep his feet? That is the issue at hand. Your interference is grounds for his immediate disqualification.''

"No," Ruen spoke up, his voice thick. "She interfered without my consent." He looked at Icelin, but his eyes were unfocused. Icelin wondered if he truly saw her at all. "Drop the spell," he said.

"You'll die," Icelin said flatly. "He'll feed you to the sharks."

Angry shouts arose from the crowd, surprising all three of them. The people stamped their feet. Refuse showered the Cradle, and the rope bridges swayed above their heads. Arowall's guards formed a protective wall behind him.

"The people have spoken," Arowall said when the noise finally died away. "If Ruen Morleth stands, he will be declared champion. Is this acceptable, my lady?"

"Yes," Ruen answered for her. Icelin shot him a withering look. "Drop the spell. Now."

Icelin raised a hand. She could feel the crowd cringing back in their seats, but the gray lady did not explode into fire like the spell in the warehouse. She melted away, leaving Ruen alone on his feet.

Icelin leaned forward, her hands on the rail in a death grip. Ruen faltered, steadied himself, and stood still. His posture was straight. All eyes in the Cradle watched him.

"Our new champion," Arowall said.

The crowd bellowed its approval. The wooden ships shook in their ancient moorings. Icelin thought the whole of Mistshore must be hearing the tumult.

The master turned and dropped a steel vial on the platform ten feet away from Ruen. "Accept your healing, champion." He ascended the gangplank to the largest ship and disappeared below deck.

Icelin vaulted the rail, landing at the edge of the Cradle. She ran out onto the nearest platform, crossing to Ruen's in three quick jumps, just as the monk started to fall.

She caught him at the waist and guided him to the ground. She heard Sull lumbering behind her, and a breath later he put the healing vial in her hand.

"Don't move him," Icelin said when Sull would have picked Ruen up. "We'll do it here." She pressed the vial to his bloody lips.

Ruen opened his eyes and drank. As the healing liquid poured down his throat, he sat up and moved away from her. "You made a spectacle of yourself again," he said, but he didn't sound angry. "Hundreds of people know your face now, to say nothing of your troublesome nature."

"Yes, but thank the gods for them. At least Arowall respects the crowd." Icelin put the vial aside when Ruen finished drinking. "He must be furious with me. He'll give us nothing now, I suppose."

Ruen laughed. His eyes looked clearer, more brown than red, as the healing potion took effect. "He's not angry, or he won't be for long. You gave the crowd a show they'll be talking about for a tenday. Even if he wanted to kill us, the man knows how to play his part. I'm the declared champion. The crowd expects to see us again. Come to think of it, your interference might have been the best part of the whole spectacle." He winced and fell silent.

"What is it?" Icelin asked. "Are you still in pain?"

"The bones are reknitting," Ruen said. "Stings."

Icelin ran her hands over his sleeve and across his torso. "You're right, they're mending," she said. "Gods above, she must have broken every rib. How could she hit so hard?"

"Don't let her height fool you." Ruen retrieved his gloves, took what was left of the healing draught, and poured it down Bellaril's throat. The dwarf was already stirring. When the liquid hit her tongue, she spluttered and opened her eyes. "She's much stronger than she looks."

Bellaril sat up and looked around at the crowd filtering off the ships. Icelin thought she must be looking for her master. She didn't realize he'd left her unconscious on the Cradle floor.

"Suppose I owe you congratulations," Bellaril said, offering a hand to Ruen.

"It was a good fight," Ruen said. "You're still too merciful, Bells. You should have taken my legs first."

"I won't make the same mistake twice," the dwarf assured him.

"Merciful?" Icelin said. "She broke practically every bone in your body."

"He knew the rules," Bellaril said. "No magic allowed in the Cradle."

Icelin decided not to tell the dwarf about her miscast spell. "Why would Ruen need magic to protect himself?"

"You didn't tell her." Bellaril snickered, her eyes alight with humor. "Well, that's interesting, isn't it?"

Ruen glared at her. "The ring I wear is magical, as you've already seen," he said to Icelin. "I told you it amplifies whatever it touches. I can shift that focus, a little, according to my will."

"He means his bones are sticks," Bellaril said. "Can't you tell by how thin he is? Without the ring to strengthen the bones, he's going to get pulped in any fight."

"Arowall knew that going in, didn't he?" Icelin said. "He knew how hard it would be for you to win."

Ruen shrugged. "He can't fix his own game. Like Bellaril said, there's no magic allowed in the Cradle. That's the rule."

"But he made you stand longer than was needed," Icelin said fiercely. "He wanted you to fall."

"Maybe, maybe not. He can't break 'em, but sometimes Arowall tries to bend the rules," Bellaril said. She stood. "He's a twisted creature, make no mistake."

"Why do you serve such a man?" Sull spoke up.

The dwarf looked at the butcher for the first time. "He pays me well. I don't want for anything, and I like the crowd's attention. Might be I'm a bit twisted myself." She shrugged.

"We should be going," Ruen said. "He'll be waiting for us. Coming, Bells?"

Bellaril's face hardened. "Don't have a choice, do I? You won the side bet."

"What did you win?" Sull wanted to know. They climbed the gangplank and joined an escort of guards. Ruen smiled cryptically. "You'll see."