Elaine Cunningham - [Tales of Sevrin - Thorn 01] - Honor Among Thieves (v5.0) (html)/content.opf Elaine Cunningham An elf warrior is captured by one of the Adepts--alchemists who rule the land of Sevrin. Her life and freedom depend upon a band of thieves, all of whom have secrets the Adept wishes to uncover. The first in a series of short fantasy novels in a setting created by New York Times bestselling author Elaine Cunningham. en Elaine Cunningham Honor Among Thieves 2011-06-04T08:46:13.715676+00:00 calibre (0.9.4) [http://calibre-ebook.com] ab39c631-829e-4b46-a613-fefb88f46988 magic fantasy clockwork elaine cunningham alchemy starsingers adventure sevrin tales of sevrin elves

Elaine Cunningham - [Tales of Sevrin - Thorn 01] - Honor Among Thieves (v5.0) (html)/Honor_Among_Thieves.htmlHonor Among ThievesTales of SevrinStarsingersBook 1by Elaine CunninghamCopyright 2011 Elaine CunninghamSmashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.All rights reserved.This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If youre reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.http:/www.elainecunningham.com

To William CunninghamThis has been too long in coming.Thanks for years of love, laughter, dream sharing, brainstorming, and the occasional much-needed kick in the ass.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTSThis story has been in the works for a very long time. Many people have helped me along the way and continue to offer friendship and support. There are too many to mention, but I cant let the opportunity pass to offer heartfelt thanks to the following people:William H. Horner III, freelance editor extraordinaire. Thanks for catching errors, pointing out echoes, and waxing snarky about the attribution.

Rainfeather Pearl, the cover artist. Thanks for the lovely portrait of Honor. I cannot express how refreshing it is to have cover art that actually looks like the character.

Dave Gross, writer, editor, and all-around great guy. Thanks for the feedback on early versions and for the terrific line-edit of the first few chapters.

Susan Mates, Renaissance woman. Your observations about story and theme helped shape this tale in several important ways. Thanks for your friendship, insight, enthusiasm, and encouragement.

Andrew Cunningham, mathematician, former Dungeon Master, first-born son, and one of the smartest people I know. Thanks for brainstorming world-building issues and raising some of the best questions Ive ever encountered. You must have inherited logic from your father.

Sean Cunningham, philopher, writer, editor, younger son. Thanks for cheerful acceptance and for sharing your love of language and knowledge. People who are passionate about what they do are a source of inspiration. Thanks for that, too.

Byron Cunningham, graphic artist and nephew. Thanks for designing the Tales of Sevrin logo.

R.A. Salvatore, an author and friend to whom I owe more than I can express. For starters, thanks for the introduction to the StarWars EU, the opportunity to write an EverQuest novel, and for suggesting that Gromph should be Liriels father.

Ed Greenwood, a wonderful human being and the most endlessly, effortlessly creative mind I have ever encountered. Thanks for the Forgotten Realms. You also play a mean game of double entendre chicken.

William Cunningham, high school sweetheart, love of my life, Settlers of Catan nemesis. Thanks for everything.

The Book of Vishnis Exile: PrologueNot long ago, in a land of nightmare and dreams, a fairy maiden committed an unspeakable crime. In her defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time.She received the usual sentence: Exile to the mortal realm until she could record enough entertaining tales to balance the scales of fairy justice.Alas, her arrival in the land called Sevrin came twenty years too late. Had she been caught in some earlier bit of mischief, she might have witnessed the fall of a powerful sorcerer in a summer of bloodshed, heroism, and, from all accounts, highly entertaining explosions.To her dismay, the land into which she came bore little resemblance to the realms described in fairy tales of old.Magic was dead, or so the adepts who now ruled Sevrinwould have people believe. The old races had withdrawn deep into the forests, the seas, and the stoneso deep that many mortals believed them gone beyond recall.And what did this reborn land offer in return?Alchemy, an Art that sought new names for things that always were and always would be.The greatest of these alchemists, the adepts, did not stop at philosophy. They declared the gods dead and embarked upon their own frenzy of creation.They created potions that healed or destroyed on a grand scale. They created new weapons, useful machines, clever toys, and wondrous metal creatures that owed their semblance of life to clockwork and alchemical mysteries.These innovations brought wealth and fame to the adepts, who shared their fortune with those they ruled. As a result, the land was prosperous and peaceful, the people as complacent as cows.In short, it was no fit place for a fairy.Without conflict there can be no story. If the exile hoped to return to the fey realm, she would have to find trouble or create it.Fortunately, there were in this land mortals who refused the new ways, and members of the old races who were not content to fade into legend.The fairy found them. And she soon learned, to her peril and delight, that neither adepts nor rogues were everything they believed themselves to be, nor were they all they hoped to become.This was promising indeed. As every storysinger knows, the more brightly a hero shines, the darker the shadow he might someday cast.

Chapter 1: Honor BoundThe elf had never slept, not once in a hundred years, so her first awakening was a thing of mystery and terror.Something was dragging her from unfamiliar depths, away from horrors she could not quite recall. She understood now why the drowning child shed pulled from the river some years back had fought and flailed about in blind panic. She would do the same if she could move.The elf became aware of the distant murmur of voices and a plodding metallic heartbeat. That sound was familiar. A clock, the humans called it.Humans! Here, in the deepest part of the forest!Sorrow came swiftly on the heels of shock. Until now, shed denied any suggestion that the forest might shelter a traitor. Not in centuries, not since Pharimen the Red last awoke and took wing, had any elf betrayed another. But she could think of no other way any human might find the Starsingers Grove.Youre awake!The voice was male, the tones deep and rounded with delight.Try to open your eyes.She consulted her eyelids and found them willing. For several moments her vision swam with colors that should not be: patches of bright red and blue and yellow and a strange bilious green never found in the forest. Light glinted from what appeared to be metal trees decked with leaves ranging in hue from silver to iron grey to the dull green of old copper.The strange sleep-mist faded. She found herself in the center of a cluttered room, lying on a raised platform that was nothing like the low, cozy beds shed once seen in the foresters cottage.A metallic monster, a thing more clock than man, bent over her, regarding her with empty silver eyes.Instinct prompted her hand toward her dagger. To her horror, she could not move.That will do, Feris, said that pleasant male voice.The creature straightened and spun about. Metal whirred and crunched as it strode away, its motions stiff but precise.Gentle living hands helped her sit. She bore the humans touch and, to her surprise, found him as pleasing to behold as he was to hear.Not a young man, nor precisely an old one, he stood taller than most elves. His garments were simple but dyed a rich deep blue her people favored for starlight rituals. He kept his wheat-gold hair pulled back from a narrow, clean-shaven face. His smile failed to reassure, but she found his gaze soothing, for his eyes were bright with intelligence, and the color, a blend of green and brown, was similar to the wood-hazel hue her own would turn come summer.Thinking of the Greening made her aware of the rooms Midsummer warmth.She glanced at her hands. They were still winter pale, and the thick braid of hair draped over her shoulder was still the color of snow and shadows. No hint of green spoke of coming spring.Relief surged through her. She couldnt have lost more than a few days to her first sleep.My men found you in a forest clearing, gravely wounded, the human said. They brought you to me for healing.The memory of that night flooded backthe reason for the starlit gathering, if not the attack that must have ended it.Your men.To her ears, her voice sounded flat from lack of use, devoid of music or meaning. But something of what she was feeling must have sung through. For a long moment the human stared at her as if trying to recall the name of an elusive tune and hoping the answer might be written on her face.His eyes widened in understanding.Empty night! He spoke softly, but with the peculiar emphasis humans gave to their oaths and curses. You believe I was responsible for that appalling slaughter.For one terrible moment, her mind envisioned the scene his words painted.She thrust the image away.If not you, then who?The man turned and reached for a decanter on a small table, a long-necked bottle fashioned of blue glass and beaded with moisture. He poured a small amount of pale gold liquid into a cup and handed it to her.Small sips, he cautioned.She sniffed at the liquid. It was some sort of fruit wine, sweetened with honey and diluted with a tisane of healing herbs.The herbs surprised her. She had not expected city humans to be so civilized.The first sip sent a cooling wave through her. Her parched body demanded more. She allowed herself two more sips before setting the cup aside.Tell me.He took a moment to refill her cup before answering. You are in the city of Sevrin. Have you heard of it?She brushed the question aside with a flick of one hand. Tell me of the forest, and your purpose there.It may reassure you to learn that I have as little interest in the forest as you do in Sevrin. My men entered in pursuit of rogue gatherers.For a moment, she was tempted to ask what separated rogue gatherers from the everyday sortmen who hunted rare creatures and members of the old races for reasons too grim to contemplate. Elves killed such men on sight. She had not known, however, that some humans tried to limit their activities.Did your men catch them?Everyone who attacked you is dead, he said in a tone one might use to reassure a fearful child.She resisted the urge to hurl the cup at his head. So. You have stolen my revenge as well as my freedom.The man had the nerve to look affronted. Do you see chains on your wrists? Bars on the door? This is not a dungeon, and I am no barbarian.I am Rhendish, he said, naming himself in tones of solemn majesty. I am one of seven adepts who rule the city of Sevrin. As such, I share responsibility for keeping order and seeing justice done. Justice, he said, tapping his forehead with the fingertips of one hand. He moved that hand down to rest over his heart. Not revenge.Clearly, his understanding of such things differed from hers. Revenge required thought and planning. Elven justice, on the other hand, tended to be swift and certain.She took a deep breath and steeled herself to hear hard truths.And the others?Regret washed over the mans face. Only you survived.Later, she reminded herself. Later she could mourn.The ground was frozen too hard to permit burial. My men gathered the bodies beneath a single stone cairn.She nodded. That was not their way, but it would suffice for now. No elven secrets would be revealed by tooth and worm and weather. No elven bones would sing to the touch of starlight.But there remained one way the forest people could be undone. Speaking of it was dangerous, but she saw no other choice.She took a moment to observe her surroundings, seeking clues to Rhendishs nature.A dizzying array of colors assaulted the eye, coming from a hodge-podge of bottles, books, and countless oddly shaped pieces of metal. Shelves lined the white-stone walls. Scrolls and stacks of parchment littered a long writing table fashioned from polished wood. Richly embroidered hangings covered the windows and rippled in muted winds. The overall impression was wealth and chaos.There was, however, a sense of purpose underlying the clutter. Books stood in neat rows. All the bottles and vials and beakers bore tidy labels. Some of the metal objects appeared to be small tools, and the high, narrow platform on which shed slept seemed more akin to a worktable than a bed.Shed heard that some humans were like ravens, filling their nests with a hoard of shiny things for no better reason than the urge to possess them. Rhendish, she sensed, was not such a man. Perhaps he would not covet what was hers.I had a curved knife, she said, speaking as diffidently as she could. Fashioned of pale metal, with a rose etched onto the blade. A pretty trifle.This was a lie, of course. The weapon was beyond price, grown from a rare and powerful crystal, and the rose within it bloomed when fed a traitors blood.Your sister spoke of it before she died. It would seemHis words were lost in a sound like winters cruelest winds. The room spun in a mad whirl of color and chaos and grief and the scent of herbs meant to drown pain in oblivion.Drink this.She pushed away the cup Rhendish held to her lips. Elves used such herbs when cutting arrows from flesh or tending a childbirth gone wrongpain of great intensity but short duration. Sorrow passed too slowly for such remedies.A thousand pardons, he murmured. I spoke abruptly and without proper care. It is no easy thing to hear of a loved ones death.This was true, but elves accepted death in ways humans did not. What shocked her to the core was that Asteria would tell any human about the Thorn.But then, wasnt she doing precisely that?What did she say?She did not speak the trade tongue as well as you do, but as I understand it, the knife had some ceremonial importance. She was most insistent that it be returned to her people.This did not ring true, either. Asteria would bury the Thorn in her own belly before shed entrust it to a human.It was taken by one of the attackers, Rhendish said, almost as if he could read her mind, and sold before my men caught up with them.He spoke on, but his words could not part the tangled vines of her thoughts.The grove defiled, the judgment circle destroyed before the traitor could be uncovered. The Thorn lost among humans! She had to recover it, and soon.No solution came to her. After a time she became aware that Rhendish stood silent, a wry smile on his face.I doubt you heard one word in ten. Here it is in brief: I have determined the knifes whereabouts and conceived of a way that you might retrieve it.She regarded him for a long moment. Why would you do this?I wont try to convince you of my altruism, he said with dry humor. The answer to your question is complicated, but it begins with this: Seven adepts rule this cityseven, because no single man can be trusted with too much power, and adepts, because no man can be trusted with magic.She began to see the path ahead. You have men at your command. The other adepts must also. You think one of them sent gatherers to steal elven magic.A burst of startled laughter escaped him. That far I had not gone! I suppose it is possible, but more likely Muldonnys agents merely purchased the dagger after the fact. His gaze sharpened. Why? What magic does the dagger hold?She lifted one shoulder in the dismissive gesture shed seen humans use. I spoke of intent, not result. The dagger is finely crafted and very old, but that is all.I suspected as much, he said with satisfaction. Muldonny fancies himself an expert on elven matters, but Ive long suspected that any genuine knowledge he possesses could be painlessly inscribed on his thumbnail.So you suggest I trade genuine knowledge for it?No! Muldonny is . . .He paused, considered.Persistent, he said, in the manner of one who has considered every word that dwelt within the realm of truth, only to choose the palest and weakest. Muldonny would not be content with small bits of history and lore. In fact, it would be best if he did not learn of your presence in Sevrin. Elves, you see, do not officially exist.Nor do our handiworks, I suppose.He spread his hands, palms up. You begin to see the problem. No one denies the existence of elf-crafted items, but it is widely supposed that any artifact of the old races must hold ancient and dangerous magic.If such magic is bad, why would any adept want to possess it?Why indeed? he said darkly. That is an important question. It is not, however, a question that can roam free among the general populace.So you are protecting this adept, even though you suspect him of doing wrong.I am protecting Sevrin, he snapped. The Council of adepts stands between the city and any who might use sorcery against it. Can you imagine what might follow if the people believed one of the adepts was smuggling weasels into the henhouse? Muldonny cannot be accused. Your elven trinket must be acquired unofficially.Stolen.A smile flicked the corners of his lips. Yes, stolen. I know of a thief whos elusive enough to handle the job and foolish enough to take it on. For reasons that will soon become clear, he must hear of your need from your lips.She noted the twitch of chagrin on the adepts face as he spoke of this thief and began to understand.I get the knife, you get the thief.Rhendish bowed. Succinctly put.And if I refuse to betray a man who would do this simply because I ask it of him?I dont believe you will, he said hesitantly, but that is a question we both need to answer.He lifted one hand and snapped his fingers. One of the window hangings slid open. The clockwork servant emerged from the curtained alcove and clanked toward her, leaving the curtain pushed to one side.The hideous thing approached unheeded, for she could not tear her gaze from the windows lining the curving wall of the alcove, and the late summer garden beyond.This could not be. The judgment circle had gathered on Midwinter Night. How could season after season slip away unnoticed?And what was wrong with her, that she retained her winter colors?Take the meadow sprite in your hand, Rhendish said.His voice broke the spell. She dragged her attention to the small metal cage the servant thrust toward her. Inside a tiny winged creature cowered, its blue and yellow wings trembling.The silver-grey cloak that could make the sprite appear to be a simple butterfly had been torn away, revealing a slender, winged maiden no taller than a childs thumbnail.The elf looked at Rhendish with horror in her eyes. He nodded.Before she could tell him that she would sooner die than do this thing, her hand stretched out and unlatched the cage door.Traitorous fingers reached for the sprite.Tightened.And came away dusted with blue and gold.For a long moment she gazed at the tiny, crumpled body of the fey thing shed been forced to kill. Cold, murderous rage filled her heart. No words came to her, but she lifted her gaze and let Rhendish read what was there to see.The adept winced, but held his ground. We both needed to know, beyond question, that you will do what must be done to further both our causes.Come now, he said when she made no reply. I understand this is strange to you, but surely your devotion to your people is large enough to house all necessity. We can work together for mutual benefit, perhaps in time become friends. Can we not begin now? With your name, perhaps?Whatever Rhendishs opinion of magic might be, surely he must know that names held power. She dared not yield more control than hed already taken from her.To her relief, the strange compulsion that enslaved her hand could not reach into her thoughts or command her tongue. She could defy him in this, if nothing else.Honor, she said, naming the one thing she was determined to retain.He lifted one wheat-colored brow. An unusual name.Honoria, if you prefer formality, she said evenly. Since a clan name was expected, she embroidered the lie with, Honoria Evenstar.The adept bowed. Delighted to make your acquaintance. I will have servants bring food and water. You will need your strength for the fox hunt.He took the clockwork servant and the meadow sprites cage with him, leaving the newly named Honor alone with her grief and rage and a thousand clamoring questions.She knew she should plan for the task ahead and puzzle out what had been done to her since the night she was stolen from the forest. But try as she might, she could not move past a single troubling thought:What else did Asteria, her sister and her queen, tell the humans?

Chapter Two: The Gatherers ShadowIn the city of Sevrin, people saw gatherers too frequently to pay them much heed. No one spared more than a glance to the man sauntering through the long shadows of Rhendish Manor. And why should they, when a single glance sufficed to read his nature and purpose?He wore a cutlass on his belt and affected the smirk and swagger of a man who knew its use. Pirate gold winked from one ear. A blue-and-white striped bandanna covered his hair. Perhaps his appearance sounded a few discordant noteshis bright green tunic quarreled with the red lining of his cloakbut the overall effect sang in tune with Sevrins expectations.A less cautious observer might have noted that the gatherers fine wool breeches had been cut to a taller mans measure. Discerning eyes might have perceived the gatherers sun-weathered face was several shades darker than his ungloved hands. Further study might reveal that he was several years younger than he strove to appear.But anyone who might be inclined to take a second glance had more interesting things to observe.They would see the slim, dark-eyed girl wearing a servants hooded shawl and following at a proper half-pace behind the Gatherer. They would see the well-filled sack slung over her shoulder and wonder what grim trophies and foreign oddities it might contain.They would not see Fox Winterborn, a street thief who was still two seasons short of his twentieth-first year.Fox had no reason to love the adepts who ruled Sevrin. The banishment of magic weighed heavily on him, but its official absence made people less inclined to question what their eyes told them. Fox saw no reason why he should not take advantage of this.He and his companion turned a corner into a grassy square organized around a fountain pool, over which presided a small marble dragon. As they passed the fountain, the apparent maidservant tossed a small gold coin into the dragons open mouth.Clockwork whirred softly behind empty stone eyes. Clouds of fine mist burst from the statues nostrils. The girl stopped and lifted her face to the cooling spray.Several small children rushed over to dance and shriek in the water while mothers or nurses looked on with indulgent smiles. One of the children, a sharp-eyed ferret of a girl, leaned over the pools wall and stretched her hand out to explore the dragons mouth. She snatched her empty hand out of the water and turned to regard the hooded servant.The maidservant sent the child a wink as she slipped the coin back into her pocket.In response, the child fisted a small, grubby hand and held it up to display the bent-nail ring on one finger.Cold iron, she said in a tone full of puppy-growl menace. Away, foul sprite!Fox caught his companions arm and hurried her away. Vishni, what did I tell you about spending fairy gold?The girl lifted one dark eyebrow. Dont?He let out a huff that mingled amusement with exasperation. Im serious. No one pays much attention to a childs stories, but the less were noticed, the better.Not the advice Id expect from someone whos tarted up like Captain Peglegs parrot.People see the plumage, not the bird.The implication of his words struck him like a dwarfs fist and stopped him midstride.Vishni grinned. Having visions of fairy wings, are we? Big, gaudy wings? Maybe a nice bright shade of orange, since thats the only color you dont seem to be wearing.Dont even think about it!Why not? By your own reasoning, wings would distract people and keep them from looking at my face.A full-scale invasion of flying monkeys would be insufficient to that purpose, he said. Now, for the love of a thousand tiny gods, pull up your hood.The girl blinked. A small, pleased smile curved her lips as she arranged the folds of her shawl around her face.They left the square and headed in silence down Twin Gate Way, a broad street lined with shops and ending in a pair of high, gated arches. Both gates stood open, and several uniformed guards monitored the flow of traffic into the walled district.The sprawling complex known as Rhendish Manor crowned Sevrins tallest hill. The hill itself had come to be called Crystal Mountain, not because of any mineral deposits it might contain, but to reflect the particular obsession of its arcane lord.Beyond the right-hand gate a long road wound uphill past the workshops of artisans who crafted bits and pieces for the adepts creations. A short line of carts and carriages awaited inspection. Crafters came and went on foot. People bound directly for the manor, however, gathered at the left gate to ride the Mule, a wonder of ropes and pulleys and clockwork machinery that lifted passenger carriages up over the steep rock of the mountains north wall.Fox steered Vishni toward the queue awaiting the Mule.She shaded her eyes with one small hand and fixed a doubtful gaze on the mountain summit and the carriages swaying in the high wind.I dont like this.A short huff of laughter escaped him. Fear of heights, Vishni? Completely understandable. Its not as if you could fly . . .No one flies far in a cage. They edged closer to the left gate. And only a fool willingly steps into one.Stop fussing. Were not riding the Mule.He tipped his head toward the other gate. Her gaze followed the gesture. Her eyes widened at the sight of the black-bearded official who stood with one booted foot on a carts wheel spoke, scowling down at a bill of lading.Is thatThe hero of How Gompson Wed the Gorgon? The man whose bride you locked in a root cellar because switching brides made for a better story? Thats him.Hero? Vishni sniffed. Gompson knew full well the girl under the veil wasnt the girl whose dowry hed already spent. He just thought it was a different different girl.Thanks to your illusions.So? Every story requires a twist or two, she said as they shuffled a step closer to the gate. Everyone assumes true love will win the day. A good storyteller subverts expectations. If you ask me, its more satisfying to see a trickster paid in his own coin.Fox nodded as he scanned the bustling scene.I could create a diversion, Vishni said.His gaze snapped back to her. Yes, because that worked out so well last time.She pouted and folded her arms. Its not my fault Delgar got himself captured.Actually, it was, but Fox saw no profit in pointing this out. More to the point, a diversion of another sort demanded his full attention.A pair of barefoot urchins clambered up the mountains steep rocky face, sure-footed as mountain goats. They climbed to a jutting outcrop of rocks that came within a few feet of the Mules lower rope. One of the boys shuffled carefully to the edge of the rock.Someone noticed and raised a hand to point. A murmur ran through the crowd, and people fell back from the gate to get a better look.A Mule carriage swept downward toward the boys perch. It would clear the rock with little room to spare.The woman behind Fox gasped like a blacksmiths bellows.Too low, she moaned. Flatten him, it will, like a cartwheel over a toad.Other people were coming to the same conclusions. From somewhere in the crowd, a woman screamed at the boy to get down. Two of the guards tried to climb up after him, only to be shouted down by their captain.Get ready, Fox murmured.When the carriage was a few feet away from him, the lad leaped and caught the rope. He whooped and kicked as he rode it down, the carriage following at a safe and steady distance behind.The boy let go of the rope and dropped onto the thick straw thatching of a small shop that stood under the Mules ropes and just outside the walls. He rolled down, landed on his feet, and bounced off into a run.For several moments, chaos reigned.A stout woman rushed out of the shop in a cloud of dust and straw, yelling at the boy as she brushed thatching from her shoulders and hair. Three dogs darted after the boy, who vaulted over a flatbed cart loaded with wooden chicken crates. One of the crates tumbled to the street and broke apart. A dozen or so panicked hens scattered. Two cart ponies shied and reared, tipping over the cart and its cargo of apples.The crowd was evenly divided between those who hurriedly distanced themselves from the disturbance and those who rushed forward to take advantage of it. Children scrambled for apples. A few boys started an impromptu battle, pelting each other and anyone within range with bruised fruit. One of the dogs gave up pursuit of the urchin in favor of chasing chickens. The merchant snatched up his hen and held it high overhead while the dog leaped and snapped at its prey.Fox and Vishni slipped through the gate, unnoticed, and fell in behind a group of grumbling artisans.They ducked into a narrow walkway between two stone workshops. Fox stooped and slid a pair of silver pennies into a crevice. The boys whod staged the disturbance could collect their pay at their leisure.Not bad, Vishni said. But just imagine how much more interesting that could have been with an illusion or two.No illusions, he said firmly.The girl propped her hands on her narrow hips. Then why, exactly, am I here?Foxs stern expression wavered. We might need you to cast an illusion. But only as a last resort.She rolled her eyes and started down the walk. Fox caught her arm.Ill meet you at the waulking bowl.Vishnis nose wrinkled in distaste. Trying to get rid of me?Yes, he said without hesitation. Im going to the herbalist to get a restorative for Delgar. He might not need it, but if he does, it will save us the trouble of carrying him out.Ill meet you at the waulking bowl, Vishni said flatly. She spun on her heel and took off the way theyd come.Fox smirked and continued down the walk. To Vishni, herbalist was another way of saying green witch. Her kind had reason to avoid humans who meddled with plants and potions.He stopped on the way to buy a pair of ducks, dressed and plucked and ready for the pot. The herbalist lived on what her garden provided. It seldom occurred to her to eat anything else, and as far as Fox knew, he was the only one who bothered to remind her.The door to the herbalists shop stood open, but Fox had another, safer way in. He slipped into the shadows beside the coopers shop, where stood a courtyard paved with large, flat stones.He slid a barrel aside as quietly as possible to reveal a stone twice the width of his shoulders. He removed two small, rounded rocks wedged under either edge of the stone and stepped onto one side. The rock spun on a hidden central hinge and dropped him into a low tunnel.After securing the stone door from below, he crept through the tunnel. A short incline led to a door fashioned of thin wood covered by an even thinner layer of stone. He cracked it open and checked the room for occupants. Moving quickly, he pushed through and swung the door back into place. The faade blended seamlessly with the thicker stone of the workshop wall.Delgar, it must be said, did very good work.Fox rose to his feet as the herbalist entered the room, humming tunelessly.Once, perhaps, she had been beautiful. The passage of forty hard years had left deep tracks on her face. Her eyes had faded to the same pale gray as her kirtle and shift, and she was as thin and pale as any tunnel-dwelling beggar. She would be as colorless as rainwater, except for a thick braid of rich dark auburn draped over one shoulder.The woman caught sight of him. Her eyes glazed with terror and the pottery in her hands clattered to the floor.Too late, Fox remembered his disguise. Chagrin swept through him like a winter blast. This woman had more reason than most to fear gatherers.He ripped off the blue bandana, revealing hair as red as hers.No flicker of recognition lit her eyes.Fox cleared his throat. Ive come for a restorative.Her face cleared. For whom?He held out his palm. In it lay a tiny gray pebble, barely larger than a grain of sand.Most people wouldnt understand the significance. But then, most people believed that dwarves were long extinct.The woman closed her eyes and listened for the music Fox had never been able to hear. After a moment she nodded and led the way into her back garden.A hundred familiar scents swept over Fox. He brushed his fingers over the lacy fronds of a fennel stalk as if greeting an old friend.The herbalist moved among the terraced beds, picking a sprig here, a blossom there. When her apron was well laden, she returned to the shop and set to work.He watched as she ground herbs and mixed them with oils and decoctions from a dozen tiny bottles. Her hands moved with the deft skill of long practice.Muscles have memories.It was a phrase his friend Avidan used often, and one of the few things the alchemist said that made sense to Fox. It certainly described the way the herbalist worked.From time to time, she cocked her head as if listening. According to Avidan, that was precisely what was happening.There is no silence, Avidan claimed, only sounds one cannot hear. If he was to be believed, every metal, every liquid, even every scent had a sound, as precise as a well-tuned harp string. Avidan said that everything, living and inanimate, vibrated at its own unique pitch. Hearing these sounds and blending them in new harmonies was not magicat least not as most people understood magicbut art assisted by keenly honed senses.Of course, Avidan was as crazy as three caged squirrels.Fox banished the young alchemist from his thoughts and watched as the herbalist poured the medicine into a vial, stoppered it firmly. She set it aside. Without even a moments hesitation she reached for another mortar and pestle and began to grind dried feverfew and mint.Shed already forgotten it, Fox realized. He picked up the vial and took the ducks from his bag. He offered them with a slight bow.Her face lit up with pleasure, which quickly dimmed. I cant afford those.Fox held up the vial. A fair trade.Panic flared in her eyes. Fox gave himself a swift mental kick. In some part of her mind, she remembered what happened to green witches.I found this bottle in your yard, he lied smoothly.She looked relieved. Oh, thats all right, there. But I should pay you for taking it away. Such things are dangerous.I know.Dont hold onto it long.I wont, he said, mimicking the singsong tone of a child told not to muddy his new boots.The woman smiled at that. She reached out and straightened the collar of his tunic, a maternal gesture as natural as breathing.For a moment hope burned bright in Foxs heart. He searched the herbalists face but found no spark of light.Muscles have memories.Fox dropped his gaze, unable to meet that empty stare. His attention fixed for a moment on a small, familiar objectan old silver locket, tarnished with age and neglect. The chain was gone, but shed tied it to her belt with a bit of ribbon. The locket gaped open. Fox squinted and noticed that the clasp was missing.Your locket is broken, he said. Do you want me to have it repaired for you?To his astonishment, she untied the ribbon from her belt and handed the locket to him.Just like that.The possession she most treasured, the only thing shed carried away from the ruin of her home and life. The thing so precious and personal that shed never once permitted Fox to handle it, much less look inside.Fox thrust it into his pocket. Someones at the door, he said gruffly.She nodded and wandered off, though no knock or call beckoned. Fox slipped through his hidden door and slumped to the ground.Not everyone can be saved. Some wounds go too deep for healing.Avidan had repeated those words more times than Fox could count. One of these days, hed likely come around to the alchemists way of thinking on this matter.But not today. Not when there was still a chance for Delgar.Fox pushed himself to his feet and set a course for Rhendish Manor.

CHAPTER THREE: CuriositiesWhat kept you so long? Vishni demanded.Fox held up the herbalists vial. The girl took an involuntary step back.Her caution was probably unnecessary, but fairies had strange and sometimes dangerous reactions to an odd list of things. Iron, of course, but several plants and fruits could have odd effects. In times past, certain green witches knew the secret of herbs that could ward against the fey, bind them to a promise, render them helpless through fits of giggles, or simply make them sneeze. Fairies believed, with some justification, that elves had taught witches these things.Elves belonged in this world. Fairies did not. None of the fair folk forgot this for a moment.Vishni flicked one hand toward the waulking bowl as if she could ward off the stench.You couldnt have picked a better place to meet?The waulking bowl was actually a barrel, broad as a cottage and nearly as tall as Fox. It provided a place for servants to empty night water, which, in sufficient quantity, could strip the grease from sheep fleeces. As useful as the waulking bowl might be, Fox could see why it had been located downwind of the workshops and cottages.What interested Fox, however, was a second, taller barrel.He took a bundle of carefully carved sticks from his pack and fitted them together until he had a long-handled spoon. Fox scampered up the ladder secured to one side of the barrel and twitched off the canvas covering. A cloud of flies arose, along with a barnyard stench.Inside was a mound of dung, surrounded by a mulch of rotting potato leaves. A neat pile of buckets stood on the ground nearby. Judging from the smell, they were used to carry the lantstale cow urinethat was poured on the pile three or four times each moon cycle.Vishnis face brightened. Saltpeter! Were making gunpowder! How wonderful! You didnt tell me there would be explosions.Only as a last resort.She sniffed. Thats what you said about my illusions. You cant have more than one last resort.Ill assign numbers to them. In case of disaster, well count back in reverse order.The fairy nodded as if this made perfect sense.Fox tossed her a half-filled leather bag that, Avidan assured him, lack only saltpeter. He lowered the spoon into the pit. Working quickly, he scraped off some of the white crystals that had formed on the top of the pile and transferred them to the bag Vishni held open.He jumped down from the ladder. Vishni had already cinched the bags strings and was giving it a good shake.Thanks for mixing the gunpowder, he said. But just so you know, shaking wont make it explode.Oh.Fox laughed at her woe-stricken expression and reclaimed the bag. He tucked it into his pack and drew out a curved ivory flask as long as his hand.Vishnis eyes sparkled and she clasped her hands together in delight. A dragon tooth! Avidan was right? He solved the alkahest conundrum?Seems likely, Fox said. The more bizarre his ideas sound, the better they seem to work.That seemed to satisfy the fairy. They hurried past the odorous vats and half walked, half slid down a rocky incline to a narrow ledge.Vishni stopped a few feet from the ledge, clinging to a large rock and staring down at the ledge with an expression most people reserved for poisonous snakes.Theres iron down there. A lot of iron.Youre safe where you are. Just stay put.Fox jumped the last few feet. His boots crunched on the gravel covering the ledge. He kicked aside some of the stone to reveal an expanse of rusted iron.For several moments he shoved at the gravel with his boot. The ledge had been paved with vast plates of iron, the edges of which had been welded together to form a surface too large and heavy to dislodge.Finally he found what he sought: A round metal lid, padlocked and chained to the iron floor.Vishni looked up at the distant manor, then back to the lid. This is the adepts well? Way over here?No, this is just an access shaft to the aqueduct. Rhendish has water moved through a tunnel leading from the well to the manor.Seems like a lot of work.The tunnels were already here, Fox said. Rhendish built a clockwork system similar to the Mule, with ropes and pulleys and buckets that carry a steady flow of water up to there. He pointed to a water tower within the manor walls.Fox uncapped the dragon tooth and poured a clear fluid, one careful drop at a time, onto the lids iron hinges. Better the hinges, he figured, than the padlock. The latter was more likely to be warded against intrusion with lethal shocks, small capsules that would release noxious fumes, or some other nasty little alchemical trick.The metal melted away like sugar in hot tea.Fox took a metal bar from his pack and pried the lid open. He tied a rope to the chains holding the padlock in place. After he dropped the rope into the shaft, he stood and held out his arms to Vishni.The fairy jumped.It didnt occur to Fox until after hed caught her that Vishni didnt need his help to keep from touching the iron floor.He walked over to the shaft and held her over the opening. Ready?Before she could respond, he dropped her into the shaft.Shed barely cleared the rim before rose-colored wings unfurled to catch her and ease her fall. She dropped in a crouch. By the time she rose, the wings were gone.Fox slid down the rope after her. Someday youre going to explain how you do that. Its a great trick.Vishni smirked. You can pee standing up. Dont be greedy.Their words echoed in the silent tunnel. Fox pointed to an antechamber, where a clockwork machine stood ready.They stood, waiting, until the grinding crunch of gears resumed. Ropes creaked and began to move. Vishni leaped onto the rim of one wooden bucket, holding the ropes that attached it to the main line. Fox followed. Their combined weight did not slow the machinery in the slightest.Once the odd aqueduct reached the water tower shaft, they leaped clear. Fox took a blue robe from his bag and shook out the wrinkles. He donned it and pulled a pale wig over his tell-tale red locks. Most Sevrin natives were fair-haired, and the blue robe marked him as a student of alchemy. In this garb, hed look like one of dozens striding around the compound.Vishni tried the lock and shook her head. A few drops of alkahest burned straight through the door and the outer lock. Fox stepped out into sunlight, Vishni close on his heels.He nodded toward a tent where servants to the manors visitors gathered to rest and wait.Keep an eye on the blue door toward the back of the warehouse, he murmured. If Delgar and I walk out of there, just fall into step with us. If were running, do whatever comes to mind.An unholy gleam lit her eyes. You come up with the best plans.Fox arranged his face along arrogant lines and headed for a long, low building hugging the seaward edge of the manor.He stopped on the way to claim a broom and some rags from a passing servant. Armed with cleaning supplies and a scowl, he foot-dragged his way toward Rhendishs storehouse, the very picture of a student condemned to menial labor for a crime of carelessness or stupidity. No one paid him much heed, and the only reaction he elicited was a quick, superior smirk from another blue-robed youth.Once inside the building, Fox stood for a moment and listened. The only sound was a faint, musical chiming. When he glanced in that direction, his jaw dropped in astonishment.A macabre wind chime hung in a corner, nearly obscured from view by a painted screen. It was a skeleton, narrow of frame and apparently fashioned of pale pink crystal. Hed never seen anything so beautiful, or so disturbing, nor had he heard such music. He had the strangest feeling that there was more to it than his ears could hear. For the first time, Avidans theory about sound seemed not only sane, but obvious.Fox swiped a hand down the back of his neck, where the hair beneath his wig rose like the hackles of a spooked hound. It didnt help.He shook off the uncanny feeling and hurried through the crowded room.The people of Sevrin loved curiositiesstrange objects and plants and relics gathered from distant places and lost centuries. The city housed two public museums and several fine private collections. Rhendishs warehouse put them all to shame.Tall, glass-fronted shelves held relics from extinct races such as elves, griffons, and dragons. There were elven weapons ranging from simple bows to intricate swords. Jewel-toned dragon scales had been polished to a high gleam, feathers as long as Foxs arm displayed to advantage against sky-blue velvet. Mundane supplies were also plentiful: bins of dried plants, casks labeled with words hed never seen and could not begin to pronounce, piles of rare woods and thinly hammered sheets of metal.There was, however, no sign of Delgar.It took Fox nearly an hour to find the cellar door amid all the clutter. He took a small lantern from a nail, struck a light, and crept down the stairs.As he suspected, the room housed the sort of supplies Sevrins people would find less palatable than metal and wood and oils.Several large cats eyed Fox from their cages. Living lights blinked weakly in a glass box. There was more, but Foxs gaze skimmed over it and settled on the stocky young man sagging in chains bolted to the wall. A strip of linen bound one arm, and a beaker of blood stood on a nearby table.Foxs jaw clenched.Delgar was a Carmot dwarf, a race distinguished by the ability to change color to blend into their surroundings. There were few of his kind left, for the Carmot numbered among the stone races, dwarves whose blood was believed to amplify alchemical transmutations.Fox hiked up his blue robe and took the flask of restorative from his pocket. The dwarf dragged his head up at the sound of Foxs approach. Bruises darkened his face and his left eye was swollen nearly shut, but one corner of his mouth lifted in a shadow of his cocky grin.That color does not suit you.Fox uncorked the potion and tipped it into his friends mouth. The dwarf swallowed and nodded his thanks. His good eye widened when Fox produced the dragon tooth flask.So the crazy bugger did it, then?Other than the dragons tooth, I havent found anything it wont dissolve.Dont be adding dwarf to the list, Delgar muttered as Fox tipped a drop onto one chain.The metal fell away. Delgar grinned, a disconcerting sight to anyone not familiar with a Carmot dwavess nature. The dwarves were pale silvery grayhair, skin, even teethunless they chose to appear otherwise. At the moment, Delgars smile resembled a drawer full of knives.Fox made short work of the chains. His friend gave his shoulders an experimental roll and bounced on the balls of his feet like a fighter getting ready for a match.The way out?We walk.He handed the dwarf a second robe. Delgar grimaced but made no complaint. He pulled the robe over his head and tugged it down, revealing blue-gray eyes, a thick shock of blond hair, and a skin tone a shade darker than Foxs.Dont forget the teeth, Fox said.The dwarf bared a dazzling white smile. Pass for human?Oddly enough, Delgar could. He was tall for his kind, standing near the midpoint of five feet and six. Fox had no idea how many years the dwarf could claim, but he and Delgar looked to be about the same age. The dwarf was clean-shaven, with a square face and impressive slabs of muscle. Women noticed him, which was one more reason to disguise him with an alchemists robe.Lets go.Delgar turned back toward the table holding the beaker of his stolen blood. In one fluid motion he stooped, caught up a length of chain, and swung.The sound of shattering glass filled the dungeon.Fox lifted one brow. I appreciate a defiant gesture as much as the next person, butA board creaked overhead. Running footsteps beat a crescendo toward the cellar door.Fuggle! the dwarf spat.Fox sprinted toward the bulkhead door hed pointed out to Vishni, the dwarf close on his heels.Three men clattered down the stairs. Delgar waved away Foxs dragon tooth vial, put his shoulder to the door, and heaved.The wooden doors exploded upward, and the two friends raced out into the bailey.Vishni leaped to her feet, a pewter mead cup in one hand. Her form blurred. A blue-robed alchemist stood in her place, patrician disdain written on his face.Fox glanced at Delgar. The dwarf looked slimmer, taller, and enough like the altered Vishni to be her brother.Two of the servants in the mead tent now resembled the fugitives. A flick of Vishnis fingers created a phantom swarm of bees and sent them whirling toward her victims.The men fled. The guards followed.Delgar glanced at Fox, then down at his own longer, slimmer hands. Something tells me Im less handsome than usual.True.On you, though, its an improvement.Shut up and walk.Vishni fell into step with them. They strolled down the hills toward the twin gates. Never had three alchemy students exuded more casual arrogance.Never, Fox was certain, had the road out of Rhendishs compound ever been longer.Finally the black-bearded guard waved them through the gates. A trio of sighs escaped them.Good illusion, Delgar said to Vishni.She beamed. It is, yes.Better than the one that got me caught.The fairy boggled in mid stride. Up til now, she murmured.Fox followed the line of her gaze and groaned. Three tall, burly guards stalked toward them, moving with the stiff precision of clockwork.And clockwork creatures were not affected by illusions.Run!Vishni took off like a jackrabbit, weaving her way through the crowd so effortlessly they might as well have been strands of meadow grass.The dwarf ripped off the blue robe and hurled it aside. It cost him a moment, but Fox soon saw the sense of it. Holding up his skirts as he ran made him feel like a milkmaid fleeing a satyr.Delgar shot past him and veered into a narrow alley. He came to a stop so abruptly that Fox plowed into him. The experience was not unlike running full speed into a tree.The dwarf seized Foxs shoulders, spun him around, and shoved him in the direction of a side alley. Metallic footsteps behind them told him the reason why.How many of those things did Rhendish make? Fox complained.Seven so far, Delgar grunted, pointing to two more guards emerging from a gap between workshops just up ahead.They veered off again, hopping a low stone wall and trampling a vegetable garden. Fox wrestled off his robe and wig as he ran. An errant wind caught the robe, whisked it skyward, and draped a scarecrow in alchemist blue.Delgar grinned in appreciation. His smile dropped away, though, at what he saw in the alley ahead.

CHAPTER FOUR: The Foxs DenFoxs gut twisted at the sight in the alley ahead. A small woman in a dark cloak whirled and twisted, trying without success to break free of the two men who spun her back and forth between them, like tomcats toying with a lone mouse.She needed help. He couldnt just leave her. But if they stopped, Rhendishs clockworks guards would catch them.Evasion or rescue: In Foxs opinion, no one should have to make that choice.Inspiration struck, and with it the realization that perhaps he wouldnt have to choose.There was, after all, more than one way to create an illusion.Head straight for them, he told the dwarf. Can you get the girl?Delgar sent him a cocky grin. Dont I always?They ran toward the embattled woman. Fox skidded to a stop a few paces away, but the dwarf dipped one shoulder, scooped up the woman, and kept going without missing a step.The thugs howled curses and gave pursuit. Before theyd taken two steps, Fox crossed his arms, reached into his opposite sleeves, and came up with a throwing knife in each hand.Two quick flicks sent the knives spinning toward the thugs. Steel found flesh, the first knife slicing across the tall mans calf, the second burying itself hilt-deep in the shorter mans left buttock.Fox flashed past them at an easy loping pace. The sounds of battle in the alley behind him brought a grim smile to his face.Rhendishs clockwork marvels could do many things, but apparently they couldnt distinguish between the two sets of criminals.He quickened his pace and caught up to Delgar. It worked. You can let her down now.The dwarf slowed to a stop, a broad grin on his face. He gestured to the woman slung over his shoulder. Are you sure? Because I could carry this little thing foreeeeeOW!Before Delgars surprised yelp died away, the woman launched herself forward, rolled, and came up onto her feet.Fox caught her wrist before she could flee. She tried to jerk away. The sharp movement tossed back the dark hood of her cloak.For many moments, the world swam and spun as Fox stared into a face that was grim, beautiful, and hauntingly familiar.She bit me! Delgar clapped one hand to his backside.She responded with a string of lilting sounds that gave Fox the impression of summer winds and liquid gold.Delgar rumbled something curt and angry. The elffor an elf she undoubtedly wasresponded with a sweet comment that brought a flush of rage to the Carmots face.The brief interlude gave Fox time to gather his wits. I know you, he said.The elf shrugged and started to shake her head. Something flickered in her eyes. She reached out to touch his hair.Fox pelt, she said.A smile burst over the thiefs face like sunrise. It is you! I wasnt sure at first. Your hair and eyes are a different color. Of course, it was summer then. He frowned as the obvious occurred to him. Wait a minuteits summer now.I was wounded in midwinter. Now that I am well and can walk in the sun again, the Greening will come.Fox nodded and spun toward Delgar. I grew up on the mainland, on the edge of the forest. I wandered off when I was about nine. I spent the night in a tree, which seemed like a good idea until I fell out of the tree and into the river. This elf pulled me out of the water, brought me home. She saved my life.And now youve returned the favor, Delgar said. It all evens out, everyone can go home.The elf slipped her wrist out of Foxs unresisting hand. What he says is true, she said. Any debt between us is paid. I have no right to ask for your help.It was on the tip of Foxs tongue to offer it anyway, but the scowl on Delgars face stopped him.We should get off the street. Theres a safe place nearby where we can talk.Its safe, the dwarf said, because very few people know how to find it. An enviable state of affairs, and one I would like to preserve.Fox shot him a dirty look and offered his arm to the elf. She pulled up her hood and shook her head. I do not want to cause discord among friends. Its only . . .What?Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh. I know and trust no other human.To do what? the dwarf asked.A priceless elven artifact was stolen: a rose of pale crystal that opens each morning with the dawn and closes at sunset.Delgar folded his arms. So? Any garden rose can do as much.This is more than a pretty toy, she said. This is ancient and powerful magic. Such magic in human hands could bring catastrophic destruction.Vague, yet ominous, Delgar said. Ive known two-penny fortune tellers who were more generous with detail. The elf studied him for a moment. You are a Carmot dwarf. You can stoneshift?Hes very good, Fox said.Delgar didnt acknowledge the compliment. In fact, neither elf nor dwarf seemed to notice that Fox had spoken.You can do this because there are traces of carmite in your blood and bone, she said. Imagine enough carmite to fashion a rose, then place that rose within a dagger of amplifying crystal. When you have that image firmly in mind, imagine what that rose could do when fed a drop of a traitors blood.All color drained from Delgars face. His normal pale gray tone faded almost to while.The Thorn, he murmured.The elf nodded.Delgar passed a hand over his face and turned to Fox. I opened a new portal last moondark, under the back stairs of the tavern in Halfpenny Wynd. We can be in the Fox Den within the hour.***The Fox Den was hardly what Honor expected.Shed supposed a young thief might have a cellar room in some rough part of the city, or perhaps a hidden chamber in the manor of some wealthy patron. But this network of pristine stone passages and ever-shifting hidden doors throughout the city was beyond impressive.Strange carvings marked many of the tunnels, and the large and somehow airy chamber in which they now gathered was distinguished by elaborate carvings and a mirror that reflected not what was in the room, but other places and, Honor suspected, other times.For a while she watched as one scene after another swam into focus, lingered for a few breaths, and faded. It was oddly soothing.Even more surprising were the thieves themselves.While a fairya fairy!regaled the others with the story of Delgars rescue, Honor gathered her thoughts.Rhendish had told her the thief would not refuse her. He had not told her why.It seemed incredible, but apparently Rhendish knew shed crossed paths with this human. How had he come by this information? And what was this young man to Rhendish that the adept would go to such extreme lengths to get him in hand?And what use would he make of these others?The fairys presence astonished Honor. Didnt Fox and his companions know what sort of crime resulted in banishment to the mortal realm? Or didnt that sort of thing matter to a band of admitted thieves?Vishni was, admittedly, a fetching little thing, slim as a pixie with big dark eyes and a short mop of dark curls. She laughed often, but there was a flash in her eyes and a petulant twist to her rosebud lips that warned of storms lurking behind the sunshine.Honor suspected that might be part of her appeal.Delgar she understood a little better. Young dwarves often travelled abroad to seek adventure or knowledge. Delgars presence in Sevrin suggested he was more ambitious than most.Long before the seas rose and turned Sevrin into a city of islands, in a time far beyond the reach of human memory, an ancient dwarven culture had thrived beneath the current sea. Much of it had been destroyed when the long-dead volcano last stirred. This much was known to all of the old races, but as history ancient even by the measure of their kind.The stone chambers of the Fox Den gave Honor insight into Delgars quest: searching out the old passages, opening and restoring them.She wondered what drove the dwarf. Was he a treasure hunter hoping to plunder the tombs of his ancestors? A scholar seeking to uncover ancient glories? Or something far more?A Carmot settlement beneath Sevrin could be a powerful check on the growing power of the adepts. If Delgar had ambitions along those lines, he presented Rhendish with a legitimate concern.But if that was the case, why would Rhendish permit Delgars escape?The man they called Avidan was also complicated. He was not, Honor thought, a native of Sevrin. His aquiline features and swarthy skin suggested southern lands, and he spoke with the deliberation of someone translating his thoughts from a more familiar tongue. He followed the fashion of the city, though, wearing his dark hair long and tied back and dressing in the simple trousers and tunic of a master alchemist. But unlike Rhendish, he wore the soft green of early spring.Honor wondered whether the others knew why.Humans who lived near the forest knew better than to wear pale green, or to sing certain songs in the dark of the moon. Sound and color had a profound effect on the fey. Perhaps Fox had once known that wearing light green drew the attention of the fairy court, but years of city life had imposed a new set of survival rules.Still, how was it that none of them noticed the fey wildness lurking in Avidans eyes, the distinctive dance of his skittering thoughts? The man had dwelt in Faerie. Of that Honor was certain. The experience had broken him into tiny shards and rebuilt the pieces into patterns few mortals could understand.And if the color of his clothing signified what she thought it did, Avidan longed to return to the fairy realm.Vishni had to know this.The fairy turned to Honor, as if shed heard her unspoken name. And now it is time for our guest to tell her tale, she said gaily, laying a hand on Honors arm.A sound like swift-melting ice filled the stone chamber. Vishni hissed and snatched her hand away.She regarded her palm for a long moment before lifting it for the others to see. Blisters rose on her slim fingers.Cold iron, she said in a flat voice.Every eye turned to Honor. She pushed up the sleeve of her tunic to display the etched metal bracer covering her forearm, a gift from Rhendish.I did not expect to find fairies beneath the city.No one does, Fox said. His dismissive tone brought a scowl to Vishnis face that no one but Honor seemed to observe. Tell us about the rose dagger. Do you have any idea where it might be?Oh yes, she said. I know who has it. Do you know of a man named Muldonny?Silence settled over the group like morning fog.The fairys pout eased and lifted into a slow, speculative smile. This, she said, is going to be a lot more fun than Id expected.

CHAPTER FIVE: IllusionsHonor watched as four dwarves, short sturdy men as solid and gray as the stone beneath Muldonnys lair, tapped steadily at a solid rock wall. Chips of rock tumbled to the tunnel floor, but the pickaxes made no more sound than elven boots on a forest path.One of the dwarves, a broad-shouldered fellow whose head barely reached Honors shoulder, stepped back from his work and swiped the back of his hand across his forehead.Its a mite too hot hereabouts for an old cistern, he said. Im not one to be telling you your business, Delgar, but youre sure where were headed?The young dwarf glanced at Honor. She returned his gaze steadily, letting him see the warning in her eyes.Not entirely, he said.His crew exchanged glances. Then you know what we could be walking into.Stories echoed in the silence, tales theyd all heard of how the adepts wrested Sevrin from the sorcerer whod ruled it longer than any living human could remember. Muldonny had played no small part in that victory. His art was fashioning liquids with terrible properties: Fire that could not be quenched, fumes that killed anyone within twenty paces, and solvents that ate through metal armor.Muldonny kept stores of these liquids beneath his manor and in armories scattered around Stormwall Island. Cutting through the wrong wall could result in a deluge of flesh-dissolving sludge, or send liquid fire speeding along the tunnel.Let me study on it, Delgar said. Well break off now and come back at it tomorrow.The dwarves eyed him for a moment before responding with curt nods. They gathered up their tools and disappeared into a narrow side tunnel.Among elves, such behavior would be seen as beyond rudeness and well into the realm of mutiny, but Honor knew the Stone Folks ways well enough to recognize the deference they paid the young dwarf.The Carmot dwarves, like most of the other Old Races, put great store in their ancestry, but dwarves of common birth and exceptional talent were known to attract fame and followers.Honor had no idea what Delgars lineage might be, but he possessed gifts that could inspire other dwarves to take up tools, and perhaps weapons, at his direction. That made him useful, but it also made him dangerous.She watched as Delgar moved into the tunnel opening and placed one hand on either wall. He closed his eyes and began to sing.The song started out as a pleasant bass chant, but the melody descended until the notes sank beyond the reach of Honors hearing. She could still feel them, though. Deep vibrations hummed through the stone and echoed in her bones.A thin, irregularly shaped layer of stone peeled away from the wall near the tunnel. Delgar caught it as it started to fall forward and moved it over the tunnel opening. It fit as snugly as a peel fits an apple.Honor ran her fingers over the place where the tunnel door once stood. The rock wall was seamless. If she hadnt seen Delgar hide the tunnel, she would never suspect it was there. The young dwarfs skill at stoneshifting was nothing short of astonishing.You didnt tell them about the Thorn, Honor said.Delgar sank down on a boulder and wiped his sleeve across his face. If I had, they would have dug through a live volcano to get to it.The elf sat down beside him. How is it, she said hesitantly, that someone of your ability cannot sense the daggers presence? That much carmite should be drawing you to it like a loadstone draws iron fillings.Several possibilities come to mind, the dwarf said. Top of the list: Muldonny doesnt have the Thorn.It was stolen from my people. He bought it from the thieves.Youre sure of this.They confessed it before they died.This was not exactly what Rhendish had said, but Honor suspected her version lay closer to the truth.Delgar accepted it with a nod. Dwarves, like elves, had pragmatic views on how to deal with enemies and thieves.Second, hes keeping it somewhere else.Thats a possibility, Honor said, but what place would be as secure as the fortress that has successfully guarded the entrance to Sevrin for a dozen human lifetimes?True. The third possibility is that he has cast magic to hide its presence, same as you elves do.Hes an adept. They dont use magic.Thats what they say. That might even be what they believe. But some of the things they make are magic by another name, and no one can tell me differently.Honor saw no reason to dispute this. So Muldonny has created an area filled with some sort of alchemical energy that disguises the Thorns powers.That would be my guess.Which would mean he knows more about the Thorn than any human should.Delgar muttered a curse. I hadnt thought it in those terms. He scrubbed both hands over his face, then sent her a small, rueful smile. To be honest, I dont like the idea of elves holding onto so much carmite, but at least you people have the sense not to use it. Ive yet to meet a well-informed human who could resist acting on his knowledge.Time is short.Very. He paused for a thin smile. But thanks for not adding and so are you.Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. Why would I do that?Why indeed? Apparently Ive been spending too much time around humans. So, what do you propose we do next?She considered their options in light of these new possibilities. Have you ever seen the Thorn?Delgar huffed. Yes, the elves gladly lend it to my people whenever we cant be bothered moving vast quantities of stone around by hand.Oddly enough, Im in no mood for sarcasm.Do you prefer irony? Because any dwarf Ive ever met would see plenty of that in this little rescue mission.She supposed he had a point. Most dwarves believed the carmite in the Thorn had been stolen from one of their ancient troves.An idea began to take shape. Can you work in glass? If you had to, could you create a credible glass weapon?He shot her a quick, insulted glance. Thats the first crafting skill a Carmot learns, as well you know.So if I drew the Thorn, you could make a copy. A replica done in glass rather than crystal.The dwarf shifted to face her. What are you thinking?We get someone inside the adepts manor to steal the Thorn and replace it with a glass replica. Fox could do this?Delgar huffed a short laugh. I doubt theres a stronghold in Sevrin that could keep him out. But Muldonnys not like Rhendish. He doesnt take students and receives no tradesmen. Only his clockwork servants come and go, and a few invited guests.Then we shall have to intercept an invitation.His guests are all alchemists.We could send Avidan.Avidan?Why not? Hes an alchemist.Hes . . . less reliable than you apparently believe, Delgar said with careful diplomacy. And he hasnt left the tunnels once since we found him in the mirror room. That was three, maybe four years ago. Theres no telling how hed react in the outside world.Is there anyone else among you who could pass as an alchemist long enough to get the information we need?Delgars silence was sufficient answer.If you think it might help, someone can go with him to help keep him focused on the task at hand. The humans of Sevrin seem to take servants with them wherever they go.That might work, Delgar said. Fox seldom works on Stormwall Island. There are only a few people looking for him there. Of course, there are fewer people in general. Its harder to blend into a crowd.Fairies are generally quite skilled at illusions. Perhaps VishniNo, Delgar said emphatically.No?Imagine the last person youd want to take along when youre exploring an adepts lair, then put that name on a list. Vishnis name would be three lines south of it.His reaction confirmed Honors growing suspicions about the fairy. So Vishni is not to be trusted.Oh, you can trust Vishni, he said. The problem is, you can trust her to improve the story. And I suspect youve heard enough fairy tales to guess how that generally turns out.Then why do you keep her around?Delgars smile held a bitter twist. Every story needs a hero. Fairy tales tend to be twisty, but the hero usually wins. And Vishni sees Fox as an archetype, the young trickster hero who gets the better of wizards and lords with his native cunning.And if she changes her mind about Fox?Then were all fuggled, the dwarf said bluntly. Sideways.* * *Vishni and Fox strolled alongside the shores of Stormwall Island. The sun was warm, the day was summer-ripe, and the cherry ice Fox had bought her from a street vendor tasted like stolen kisses. Best of all, the story unfolding around her promised enough twists and corners to warrant inclusion in The Book of Vishnis Exile.All of this should have made the fairy giddy with delight. Instead, her mood darkened with each step.She still smarted from yesterdays encounter with the elf, from the tips of her blistered fingers to the depths of her pride.And Fox, night take him, could not stop chattering about the iron-clad wench!When Vishni could take no more she wheeled around to face Fox and stomped on his foot. Not hard enough to break bones, but with enough force to earn her an incredulous stare and a few moments of blessed silence.Muldonny? she said. Remember him? The adept who rules Stormwall Island? Owner of the fortress we plan to infiltrate? Looks like a fat, balding squirrel?That drew a snort of laughter from Fox. He is vaguely squirrel-shaped, now that you mention it. And by all reports, he has a temperament to match. Honor saysI dont care.Truth be told, Vishni didnt much care for any of this. Skulking around Stormwall Island, walking bridges with iron rails she couldnt touch, watching people slaughter fish that were in no position to fight back.At least their trip to the long pier where passenger ships docked had proved fruitful.She slipped one hand into a skirt pocket and gave the contents an affectionate pat. Several visiting alchemists were listed on the passenger manifests shed stolen, but one presented unusually promising storytelling potential.The name Insaamid was known in her homeland. If her suspicions were correct, kidnapping this particular alchemist would make Foxs task easier. More importantly, it would add a poignant touch and maybe even a bit of irony to the unfolding story.But that was a game for another day. Her gaze skimmed the wharfs in search of some immediate source of diversion.Two men struggled to lift a huge, sword-nosed fish from a wooden boat. Both men were roughly clad, fair-haired, and strong enough to put up an interesting fight. The older man looked like hed had some practice at it. A scar meandered across his forehead and his nose had that pleasantly bumpy, crooked look of one thatd been broken a time or two. If there was more damage, it was hidden by the mans long blond beard.Vishni liked long beards. Grabbing hold of them during a fight was one of her favorite strategies. No one ever seemed to expect it, which was half the fun.I dont like the looks of that smile, Fox said.She adjusted her expression until she was certain no fluffy kitten had ever looked as innocent.See that woman by the nets? The pretty, young one whos sorting fish? She has an odd sort of ring.You must have eyes like a hawk. I cant see it from here.The fairy held up a little silver hoop set with chips of green and blue sea glass. Is this better?Foxs eyes narrowed. What are you doing with that?Keeping it safe! She put it in her apron pocket before she started working. Taking it from her pocket when we walked past was as easy as smiling. Anyone could have done it.The thief sighed. We dont steal from fisherfolk, Vishni. You know that. They have troubles enough.Oh, the ring will turn up, she said airily. Maybe in her pocket, or on the table, or inside a fish . . .Angry voices rose from the dock, where two men crouched beside a mixture of fish guts and treasure.Fox squinted toward the pile of gold. Since each coin was large enough to cover the palm of Vishnis hand, it made quite a pile.Veldooni currency, Vishni? Seriously?The distant land of Veldoon had been on Vishnis mind since shed picked an alchemist to charm and kidnap.Why not?If I was going to create an illusion of treasure spilling out of a fishs belly, my first choice wouldnt be coins from a land-locked desert country. A fist-sized emerald would be more believable.That made sense, but Vishni had never admitted to making a mistake and saw no reason to start now.She gestured toward the dock, where the two fishermen were now standing toe to toe. Their shoulders were squared, their chests expanded with as much air and male menace as they could hold.Tell me, she said loftily, that they dont look like men who think bigger means better.As she spoke, it occurred to her that humans were a lot like tomcats. Both tried to make themselves look bigger before starting a fight. For a moment she considered giving the fishermen the illusion of tails. In their current frame of mind, those tails would be very fluffy. And it would be amusing to watch the tails twitch and swish like an angry cats.The expression on Foxs face suggested that this would be more trouble than it was worth.What are you up to? he said.Didnt you notice the way that woman keeps looking at the younger fisherman?So?So shes married to the older fisherman. She beamed. Want to know how I figured this out?No.Vishni ignored this. The boy whos carrying away the baskets of fish shes sorting? I heard him call her Melina. Thats the name written on the side of the fishing boat. Humans name boats after their people. Or maybe its the other way around, she said. She gave herself a little shake. Anyway, since the young fisherman is the one who gutted the fish, hes obviously the worker and not the owner.Leave them alone, Vishni.Once, you might have been interested in the plight of a common fisherman, she said sadly. Once, you had a grand and important quest of your own.A flicker of something that humans called guilt skittered across Foxs face. Vishni didnt understand this emotion, but it proved useful every now and again.Besides, she added in a more cheerful tone, every collection of stories should have a morality tale of some sort.Fox drew breath to protest. She clapped her hand over his mouth and tipped her head toward the dock to signify that they should stop talking and listen.The fish is mine, insisted the bearded fisherman. Any treasure in its belly is mine, as well.No man can say I take anything that isnt mine. The young man sent an insolent look toward the fish-sorting woman. Leastwise, nothing that isnt offered.The older mans face darkened as he glanced at the woman, whod stopped her work to watch the small drama.If its my Melina youre talking about, youre a liar. And I can see by that coin in your shirt pocket that youre a thief, as well.You know its my night to buy ale for the boys.Not with my coin, you wont!The youth sneered and held out hands that were bloody to the elbow. You go ahead and reach in after it. If its clean, youll know it came from no fish.After a moments hesitation, the bearded fisherman thrust his hand into the younger mans pocket.Both men stared blankly at the hoop of silver in his palm.Or the ring could turn up in someone elses pocket, Vishni added demurely.Fox snatched the real ring from Vishnis hand and hurried toward Melina, who was watching this exchange with a white face and guilty eyes.Did you by chance drop this ring? he asked in a carrying voice.Her husband turned toward them, murder simmering in his eyes. Another? he roared. How many markers do you have out, woman?Before Fox could say another word, both men rushed at him with raised and ready fists.Vishni tapped her chin as she watched the brawl. Multiple rings, she murmured. Yes, that would improve the tale considerably.

CHAPTER SIX: CompulsionUntil this afternoon, Honor had never felt any desire to explore Sevrin. It felt strange to be walking the broad streets and winding, narrow byways like any human.There were so many of them, striding here and there with great purpose. A few, like Honor, took a more leisurely pace, enjoying the gift of a fine summer day.Several days had passed since Honors rescue outside of Rhendish Manor. Plans to recover the Thorn moved steadily forward; in fact, things were going so well that Honor was starting to believe that her quest might come to a successful close. Her life would never be the same, but on a day such as this, with the summer sun warm on her face and an early morning rain still scenting the air, the forest did not seem so very far away.Fox and his companions thought she was spending the afternoon in the den, studying maps of Stormwall Island and reading histories of Muldonnys role in the overthrow of the sorcerer Eldreath. The thief and his friends would not approve of her wandering about the city on her own.Honor didnt begrudge them this attitude. It was, after all, her business that absorbed their full attention. But shed spent almost every hour since her awakening below ground; in fact, she so seldom left the tunnels that no hint of the Greening had touched her skin and hair. She was still nearly as pale as the Carmot dwarves who lived deep beneath the city.The small colony of dwarves who worked the tunnels below the Fox Den supported Honors suspicions about Delgar. He was opening the old passages, preparing the way for more dwarves to follow. Shed seen enough of Sevrin to know the adepts could not permit this to happen.Her people did not support the idea of overthrowing Sevrins human rulers. That might change now that an adepts men had found the Starsingers Grove, but elves were slow to embrace change.Too slow, in Honors opinion.For the first time, she began to understand why Delgar had thrown his lot in with a pair of humans and an impetuous fairy. There were times when things had to be done now. Humans understood that necessity, and fairies had little concept of anything other than now.Still, working with humans was risky. Honor had noticed Foxs regard shifting to dangerous territory over the last few days. Hed been a child when she pulled him from the river. He was now a young man, and to human eyes she appeared to be a young woman. And judging from the company he kept, Fox was drawn to the old magic and the people who embodied it.Honor had not been the only one to notice Foxs attentiveness. She often sensed Vishnis gaze following her, and she noted the calculating gleam in the fairys dark eyes. A jealous fairy could present a dangerous complication.Avidan, on the other hand, was largely oblivious to Honors presence. The fey-touched alchemist had embraced his role as a visiting alchemist and spent most of his time working with vials of foul-smelling liquids. Honor had little doubt that when an opportunity finally arose, he could hold his own in conversation with Muldonny.Each member of the Fox Den had a reason for helping Honor, but Delgar was the only one who understood the importance of her quest.And that was another problem.Most Carmot dwarves believed their affinity for carmite gave them an innate and sacred right to possess it. Delgar might say otherwise, but he had not yet heard the Thorns song. The call of like to like might well prove too powerful to resist. Honor had resigned herself to the possibility that she might have to fight Delgar for possession of the Thorn before this was over.A street urchin bumped into her. Honor immediately slapped one hand over her coin purse and spun to face a second boy. His jaunty pace never faltered, but she caught a glimpse of the small crescent knife he quickly palmed.Fox had warned her about this basic cut-purse ploy when hed tied the coin purse to her belt. Everyone in Sevrin carried one, he claimed, even if they held a few flat stones rather than coins. It was not prudent to be seen without one. There were no indigent people in Sevrin, just as there was no crime and no magic.And for that matter, no elves.Suddenly Honors determination to take a solitary walk struck her as self-indulgent and dangerous. The adepts had defined an ideal Sevrin, and they maintained that appearance by rigorously pruning away anything which did not conform to the desired shape.A strange hum, like the burn of muscles forced to hold still for too long, began to spread through Honors limbs. Her feet went numb. Icy torpor crept up her legs until she could neither feel nor command them.She expected to stumble and fall, but she did not. Without will or intent, she turned down a paved street that ended in an imposing white stone building.For one panic-filled moment, she considered seizing the iron fence and hanging on until the compulsion stopped. But that would draw attention she could not afford.So she walked to the building and climbed the broad white stairs. Runes on a large wood sign over the door indicated that this was the Sevrin Library. The carved image of books and scrolls embellished the sign for no reason Honor could perceive, except perhaps to keep the illiterate from wandering into the building by mistake. Another time, she might have chosen to explore what humans considered important enough to commit to page and parchment.But she could not choose.A profound sense of helplessness and violation washed over her. This compulsion, this utter loss of control, was far worse than the terror of awakening in Rhendishs lair.She walked past shelf after shelf of books in a room nearly as large as a forest clearing. To her ears, each quiet step sounded like a soft, dry sob.Her traitorous feet took her to a row of doors at the back of the library, then to the door at the very end of the row. She pushed it open and was not at all surprised to see Rhendish sitting at a small polished table.He gestured to the second chair. Bitterness rose in Honors throat like bile as she took the seat.I suppose you want me to take you to the thieves den now.The adepts eyebrows rose in mild surprise. Have you retrieved the dagger so soon?She shook her head.Then our original agreement stands. Once you have reclaimed your property, I will require your assistance in locating the Foxs lair.Why are you so interested in him?He tsked gently. I did not demand to know what value your dagger held for you. Is it not enough that he leads a band of thieves who can disappear into the shadows like roaches?You captured the dwarf without my assistance.The opportunity arose. And you must admit that he made admirable bait.You could have taken Fox when he came to rescue his friend.Perhaps, he said. That would have given me two of the thieves, but no guarantee that they would reveal the location of their den or the secret to their way of moving about the city. You will provide that, in due time. I assume they trust you? They are helping you in your quest?They are helping.Rhendish leaned forward, concern shadowing his forest-hued eyes. But they dont trust you. Have you given them reason to suspect you are working with me?Apart from meeting with you in a public place in the middle of the day?A valid point, he said in a dry tone. You may want to peruse a volume or two to explain your interest in the library, if youre called upon to do so. But I cannot stress too strongly the importance of keeping our alliance secret. It could mean your life.It is late in the game for threats, she said.I wasnt threatening you. To the contrary! My only desire is to ensure that you fully understand your situation.He tapped on the one of the walls. The door opened. A man with a long blond beard and a chest as broad as an elks filled the doorway.The adept motioned the big man inside. This is Volgo, the captain of my personal guard. He led the expedition into the forest. Ask him what you will.This, Honor had not expected. She took a moment to put her thoughts in order.Rhendish said you were pursuing a band of Gatherers. Why?The captain blinked. Those were my orders.Honor turned to Rhendish.These men had sold several elven artifacts to people in Sevrin who collect curiosities. I have purchased one or two from them, myself, Rhendish said. But over time, the sheer number of items they collected suggested a more, shall we say, active means of acquisition?You thought they might be raiding elven villages.It seemed a possibility worth investigating, Rhendish said.Why do you care? Would too many elven handiworks weaken your claim that the Old Races and their magic are gone?It might, the adept said coolly. Especially if the elves marched in force to retrieve these items and seek reprisals for the raids.The unexpected candor of this remark brought a wry smile to Honors face. Rhendish did not want trouble with the elves. If she learned nothing else from this odd meeting, that was information worth knowing.She turned back to the captain.Did you speak to my sister?The big man hesitated. As to that, I can give no guarantee. The elf said she was your sister.She looked like me?She might have, at one time. You were both badly wounded. Under the circumstances, a resemblance would be difficult to determine.Describe her.The mans gaze grew unfocused as it shifted to the contemplation of memory. White hair, streaked with brown and gray like the bark of a birch tree. Pale skin. Light eyes. She was about your size. If she was human, Id say shed lived no more than five-and-twenty years. But that could describe nearly all the females in the clearing.Everyone there was dressed in dark blue, she said.Nearly everyone, he said. The elf who claimed kinship to you wore a white gown and a mantle of some sort of white fur.Honors throat tightened. She did not recall the details of that night and retained no image of her sisters part in it, but Volgos description matched the sort of gown Asteria would have worn to a winter tribunal.What did she say to you?She spoke to one of my men at first. He called me over when she demanded to speak to the warlord. There was something in her manner that prompted obedience.This, beyond doubt, was Asteria. What did she ask of you?She asked for your life, the man said. Her wounds were mortal. Yours did not appear to be. She asked that you be tended. You were to return a stolen dagger to your people. She was most insistent.The adepts pursuit of the Gatherers, the honor shown the slain elves, the undertaking of Asterias questall these things bore evidence to Rhendishs determination to prevent trouble between her people and his. Honor found that admirable. As the queens sister and champion, she could do no less. Logic told her that Rhendish was an ally.And yet.Rhendish reached out to touch her hand. He seemed neither surprised nor offended when she snatched it away.Does that suffice? he asked.She nodded. The adept dismissed his captain with a flick of one hand.When they were alone, Rhendish leaned forward confidingly. You dont need to take the dagger back to the forest, if you dont wish to.Why wouldnt I?Her words came out sharper than she intended. Rhendish lifted both hands in a placating gesture.The captain told me certain other things that painted a rather ominous picture.Such as?There were no weapons in the glen except for a single long sword. Of course, he said, it is possible that any other weapons were taken as plunder, as was the dagger you seek. But none of the elves in the glen wore either belt or baldric. The bodies of a few armed elves were found in the forest nearby, but none in the clearing. Since its obvious that the elves didnt gather for battle or hunting, I assume the raiders interrupted a celebration or ritual of some sort.All of these things were undoubtedly true. So?Except for your sister, all of the elves were dressed in dark blue. But my men found a single crimson robe. The presence of a blood-red robe and a single sword strikes me as somew