Honor Among Thieves (13 page)

“She’ll be seen,” Fox protested. “Can you imagine the
hunt that will follow if Rhendish learns there’s a fairy in
Sevrin?”

Honor noted the way the young thief’s gaze darted her
way and slid casually aside, as if he was trying to take her
measure without attracting attention to that fact. She’d seen this
several times since Avidan’s meeting with Muldonny. Clearly,
Rhendish’s appearance at Muldonny’s stronghold had left Fox with
concerns.

Honor was none too happy about that, herself.
Rhendish had plans beyond those he shared with her. She had not
even a breath of doubt about that. But his appearance at Muldonny’s
manor so soon before their attempt to retrieve the Thorn raised
questions she feared would be answered in tears and blood.

For the first time, regret cast a shadow upon the
bright light of duty.

These people had given generously of their time and
labor to aid her quest. She suspected that Delgar had impressed
upon them the importance of finding the Thorn and removing it from
Sevrin. Still, Fox and his small band were risking their lives to
retrieve it. Even if their motivation began and ended with their
own survival, she regretted deceiving them.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of
Vishni’s knowing smile.

Apparently not everyone was quite as deceived as
Honor had believed.

“My people know of this Rhendish,” Honor said with
feigned regret. “We consider him a dangerous man, no friend to the
fey folk. What you say is true—the fairy cannot risk herself for
this task.”

This ploy brought a flicker of admiration to Vishni’s
dark eyes.

“
The fairy
,” Vishni said in acid tones, “can
make her own decisions. If I want to fly around Sevrin like a moth
at lamp-lighting, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“The decision to fly or not is yours to make,” Honor
said, speaking over Fox’s protests. “But let us at least agree that
you will do so only as a last resort.”

A smile tugged at one corner of Vishni’s lips and
found a reluctant echo on Fox’s face. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Yes, but will you listen this time?” Delgar
demanded.

No spring morning could match the sunshine in
Vishni’s smile. “I will do everything Honor wants me to,” she said
sweetly.

The elf and fairy exchanged a look of perfect
understanding.

* * *

They passed the evening quietly and retired to their
rooms early. Honor doubted that she was the only one who lay awake
that night.

The trip to Stormwall Island absorbed most of the
morning. Since the sea cave was inaccessible by water except at low
tide, they made their way through a deeply buried passage between
the main island and the fortress.

Honor was relieved to see Delgar’s crew gathered at
the work camp, armed for battle and ready to protect the tunnels if
the plan faltered. By then, her part in the dagger’s retrieval
would be over. It was good to know that her friends would not fight
alone.

Her friends?
When had
that
occurred?

She touched the padded bag containing the glass
dagger Avidan had prepared for her and reminded herself of the hard
decisions ahead.

They followed the grim trail of gray dust, all that
remained of the deathwing moths, to the door hiding the opening
into what Avidan called an oubliette—a forgotten place.

Delgar moved the hidden door. He led the way up the
shaft, in case his strength was needed to move the metal grate out
of the way.

But the grate was already gone. Honor hoped this
indicated that Avidan had already gotten to the workroom and done
his part.

She motioned for the others to hold for her signal
and slipped past Delgar into the workroom. The plan was for her to
scout and the others to await her signal. Behind her, fairy wings
whispered as Vishni rose to join them.

Avidan was waiting for them.

So, unfortunately, was Muldonny.

Compulsion slammed into Honor’s mind like an angry
wave. Her hand went to the hilt of her sword and she leaped toward
the plump, slack-faced man who gazed at her with shining wonder in
his eyes.

Her sword thrust deep under the human’s ribs as if
it, too, was under some evil spell.

The adept looked down at the sword, then at her, with
a look of such incredulous betrayal that Honor wished she knew how
to weep.

She wrenched the sword free. The adept fell to his
knees. His gaze clung to her face as the life faded from his
eyes.

Avidan spoke, but his words could not penetrate the
despair shrouding Honor’s thoughts.

How did Rhendish know where they were, what they were
doing? Could he see through her eyes, hear what she heard?

She went to one knee beside the man she’d been forced
to kill and caught him in her arms as he slumped. As she lowered
him gently to the floor, her gaze fell upon the ring on the adept’s
plump hand. A small cry escaped her.

Only one type of crystal possessed that faintly
luminous, pale rose hue. The ring was fashioned of elven bone.

And every instinct she possessed told her it was her
own.

The clang of an alarm rose from the fortress bailey
as Fox poked his head into Muldonny’s workroom. Metallic footsteps
clattered toward the workshop in numbers that suggested a dozen
runaway horses, or possibly a small rock slide.

“Time to go!” he called as he reached for the
rope.

Delgar seized him by the back of his shirt, hauled
him up into the room, and spun him toward the door. “Hold them off
for a few minutes. I know where the dagger is!”

Fox ran to the door and kicked it shut. He dropped
the wooden bar and looked around for something to reinforce it. A
long shaft of metal stood propped in one corner. He added that to
the bar.

The first thunderous blow shook the room. Bottles
fell from shelves. A glass orb rolled across the floor.

His gaze tracked its path back to a low wooden
barrel. A pile of glass spheres shivered under the second
impact.

“Avidan, over here!”

The alchemist tore his gaze away from the dead adept
and hurried to the barrel. Fox snatched up a handful of the
solvent-filled spheres.

“When the guards break through, hit them with
these.”

The alchemist nodded and cocked back his arm, ready
to hurl the first globe at the door.

“Honor, you too,” Fox said.

The elf turned toward him.

Fox took an involuntary step back. Never had he seen
such murderous rage. His hatred of the adepts was a pale thing next
to what burned in her silver eyes.

“Rhendish will die for this,” she said in a low,
terrible voice. “This I swear by wind and word, song and
starlight.”

She pulled a ring from the dead man’s hand and thrust
it onto her forefinger. Then she rose, bloody sword in hand, and
waited.

Fox felt a stab of pity for whatever came through the
door.

The wooden bar splintered, knocking the metal rod
aside and sending the door flying inward.

The elf held her ground while Fox and Avidan pelted
the clockwork knights with Muldonny’s solvent.

The first fell in the doorway, half in and half out
of the room. Acrid smoke rose from the ruin. Avidan took the next
knight out at the knees, sending it clattering backward down the
stairs.

The clockwork guards did not, as Fox hoped, go down
like a row of dominoes. More came, and still more, and finally two
of them broke into the room.

Honor met them.

Fox had no idea such fighting was possible.

The clockwork knights came at her with two weapons
each, a sword the length of Fox’s arm and a short, stout knife. She
slipped away from each attack like smoke and dealt two in
return.

It occurred to Fox that she showed considerably more
skill against these metal warriors than she did when her attackers
were two thugs in an alley. Later, he’d have to give that some
thought.

A thunderous crash rose above the clatter of
battle.

Fox glanced back over his shoulder. Daylight shone
behind what had been a solid stone wall. Delgar stood amid the
rubble, warhammer in hand. He caught Fox’s eye and beckoned him
over.

Since Honor had the clockwork guards well in hand,
Fox hurried over to help the dwarf.

The courtyard lay far below. It was surrounded by
walls on four sides, one of which was built upon a rocky cliff that
fell in a long, sheer drop to sea. The cliff continued beyond the
courtyard wall, curving inward and hugging a rock-strewn bay. At
the tip of the cliff stood a tall tower. A narrow stone ledge led
out over the bay, more decoration than walkway, supported only by
thin buttresses leading to the stronghold one side and the tower on
the other.

Delgar pointed to the ledge, which connected to the
workroom’s outer wall about six feet from the new opening.

“Find a plank, anything we can use as a bridge.”

Before Fox could turn away, Vishni, framed by wings
the color of a summer sky, burst from the tower’s highest window.
She held a shining object in her hand and waved it triumphantly as
she flitted toward the workshop.

A small storm of arrows rose to greet her.

Fox screamed in denial as the fairy plummeted toward
the sea.

One small, flailing hand found purchase on the stone
ledge. Vishni tossed the dagger onto the walkway to free her other
hand. She clung to the edge and wailed. Arrows protruded from her
side, her shoulder, her thigh. Her wings draped her like a torn and
bloody cloak.

Honor pushed past him and leaped through the opening
in the wall. She landed on the ledge and and ran toward the fairy,
as sure-footed as a bird on a limb.

She left behind her a spatter trail of blood and a
horrified thief.

He’d caught sight of the deep cut on her arm.

And the clockwork gears beneath.

Everything fell suddenly, horribly into place. The
only adept who could possibly create a clockwork creature of such
subtlety and complexity was Rhendish.

Shock flared into fury, then firmed into resolve.

“I’m going after Vishni,” Fox said.

“The elf’s got her,” Delgar said. “Let her handle
this.”

He shook his head. “She’s going after the
dagger.”

Delgar pointed toward the courtyard. Some signal had
alerted the human guards to the clockwork knights’ destruction.
Armed men stormed into the inner bailey.

“Make it fast.”

Fox hurried to Muldoony’s worktable and heaved it
over on its side. Delgar got the idea right away. He pulled a small
axe from his belt and with a few quick blows reduced the table to
long wooden planks. He and Fox carried one to the shattered wall
and slid it through the opening to form a bridge to the stone
ledge.

“The sands are shifting,” Avidan said.

Fox glanced back. The alchemist held up a small
hourglass to indicate how much time they had left. He’d already
added something of his own to Muldonny’s solvent, an alchemical
brew that would create an explosion big enough to seal off the
workroom.

A disturbing thought leapt into Fox’s mind. “I added
metal to that vat the last time we were here. Will that make a
difference?”

The alchemist’s eyes widened. It was more expression
than Fox had seen on his face in four years.

“You two go now,” Fox said, pointing to the shaft.
“We’ll be right behind you.”

He stepped out onto the board and teetered
dangerously. The next step was better. When he got to the stone
ledge he spread his arms out wide for balance and concentrated on
putting one foot in front of the other.

He was halfway there when the explosion shook the
fortress.

Fragile rock crumbled under his feet. He saw Honor
pitch forward. The dagger flew from her hand in a wide, shining
arc.

Vishni was gone.

Fox searched for the fairy as he plunged toward the
sea, but saw no trace of her. He took a certain grim satisfaction
in knowing that the dagger would either shatter or be lost in the
water. Either result was fine with him.

He heard the splash as Honor hit the water.

That was fine with him, too.

Dark water closed over him with a roar that rivaled
the explosion. Fox felt the pain of impact in every fiber as he
sank deep into the cold northern sea.

Finally, his descent slowed. He blew out the scant
remaining air in his lungs little by little as he clawed his way
toward the sun.

He broke the surface and dragged in air with long
painful gasps. A wave broke over him, leaving him sputtering and
coughing. He knew he should swim, but his arms refused to obey
him.

“Hold on. Almost there,” a man shouted.

A small fishing boat came toward him. Relief swept
through Fox and lent him the strength to reach for the line the
fisherman threw him.

His rescuer hauled in the line. As Fox neared the
boat, he noticed a slash of paint over the place where the boat’s
name was usually written. He lifted his gaze to the man in the
boat. As he feared, the man had a long blond beard, a crooked scar
on his forehead, and a nose that Fox had recently broken.

The last thing Fox saw was the man’s scowl of
recognition, and the oar he lifted high overhead.

Delgar stood at the mouth of the sea cave and watched
with grim face and clenched jaw as the fairy, minus the illusion of
arrow wounds and tattered wings, landed lightly on the rocky shore
and ran to him like a child who expected to be caught up and
twirled.

“I have the dagger!” she called, holding the shining
thing overhead.

The dwarf snatched it from her hand and turned to the
cave. He stalked toward the tunnel, the fairy trotting at his
heels.

“You’re in a foul mood,” she said.