Elaine Cunningham

Honor Among Thieves

The Book of Vishni’s Exile: Prologue

Not long ago, in a land of nightmare and dreams, afairy maiden committed an unspeakable crime. In her defense, itseemed like a good idea at the time.

She received the usual sentence: Exile to the mortalrealm until she could record enough entertaining tales to balancethe scales of fairy justice.

Alas, her arrival in the land called Sevrin cametwenty years too late. Had she been caught in some earlier bit ofmischief, she might have witnessed the fall of a powerful sorcererin a summer of bloodshed, heroism, and, from all accounts, highlyentertaining explosions.

To her dismay, the land into which she came borelittle resemblance to the realms described in fairy tales ofold.

Magic was dead, or so the adepts who now ruledSevrin

would have people believe. The old races hadwithdrawn deep into the forests, the seas, and the stone-so deepthat many mortals believed them gone beyond recall.

And what did this reborn land offer in return?

Alchemy, an Art that sought new names for thingsthat always were and always would be.

The greatest of these alchemists, the adepts, didnot stop at philosophy. They declared the gods dead and embarkedupon their own frenzy of creation.

They created potions that healed or destroyed on agrand scale. They created new weapons, useful machines, clevertoys, and wondrous metal creatures that owed their semblance oflife to clockwork and alchemical mysteries.

These innovations brought wealth and fame to theadepts, who shared their fortune with those they ruled. As aresult, the land was prosperous and peaceful, the people ascomplacent as cows.

In short, it was no fit place for a fairy.

Without conflict there can be no story. If the exilehoped to return to the fey realm, she would have to find trouble orcreate it.

Fortunately, there were in this land mortals whorefused the new ways, and members of the old races who were notcontent to fade into legend.

The fairy found them. And she soon learned, to herperil and delight, that neither adepts nor rogues were everythingthey believed themselves to be, nor were they all they hoped tobecome.

This was promising indeed. As every storysingerknows, the more brightly a hero shines, the darker the shadow hemight someday cast.

Chapter 1: Honor Bound

The 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 nowwhy the drowning child she’d pulled from the river some years backhad fought and flailed about in blind panic. She would do the sameif she could move.

The elf became aware of the distant murmur of voicesand a plodding metallic heartbeat. That sound was familiar. Aclock, the humans called it.

Humans! Here, in the deepest part of the forest!

Sorrow came swiftly on the heels of shock. Until now,she’d denied any suggestion that the forest might shelter atraitor. Not in centuries, not since Pharimen the Red last awokeand took wing, had any elf betrayed another. But she could think ofno other way any human might find the Starsingers Grove.

“You’re awake!”

The voice was male, the tones deep and rounded withdelight.

“Try to open your eyes.”

She consulted her eyelids and found them willing. Forseveral moments her vision swam with colors that should not be: patches of bright red and blue and yellow and a strange biliousgreen never found in the forest. Light glinted from what appearedto be metal trees decked with leaves ranging in hue from silver toiron grey to the dull green of old copper.

The strange sleep-mist faded. She found herself inthe center of a cluttered room, lying on a raised platform that wasnothing like the low, cozy beds she’d once seen in the forester’scottage.

A metallic monster, a thing more clock than man, bentover her, regarding her with empty silver eyes.

Instinct prompted her hand toward her dagger. To herhorror, she could not move.

“That will do, Feris,” said that pleasant malevoice.

The creature straightened and spun about. Metalwhirred and crunched as it strode away, its motions stiff butprecise.

Gentle living hands helped her sit. She bore thehuman’s touch and, to her surprise, found him as pleasing to beholdas he was to hear.

Not a young man, nor precisely an old one, he stoodtaller than most elves. His garments were simple but dyed a richdeep blue her people favored for starlight rituals. He kept hiswheat-gold hair pulled back from a narrow, clean-shaven face. Hissmile failed to reassure, but she found his gaze soothing, for hiseyes were bright with intelligence, and the color, a blend of greenand brown, was similar to the wood-hazel hue her own would turncome summer.

Thinking of the Greening made her aware of the room’sMidsummer warmth.

She glanced at her hands. They were still winterpale, and the thick braid of hair draped over her shoulder wasstill the color of snow and shadows. No hint of green spoke ofcoming spring.

Relief surged through her. She couldn’t have lostmore than a few days to her first sleep.

“My men found you in a forest clearing, gravelywounded,” the human said. “They brought you to me for healing.”

The memory of that night flooded back-the reason forthe starlit gathering, if not the attack that must have endedit.

“Your men.”

To her ears, her voice sounded flat from lack of use,devoid of music or meaning. But something of what she was feelingmust have sung through. For a long moment the human stared at heras if trying to recall the name of an elusive tune and hoping theanswer might be written on her face.

His eyes widened in understanding.

“Empty night!” He spoke softly, but with the peculiaremphasis humans gave to their oaths and curses. “You believeI was responsible for that appalling slaughter.”

For one terrible moment, her mind envisioned thescene his words painted.She thrust the image away.

“If not you, then who?”

The man turned and reached for a decanter on a smalltable, a long-necked bottle fashioned of blue glass and beaded withmoisture. He poured a small amount of pale gold liquid into a cupand handed it to her.

“Small sips,” he cautioned.

She sniffed at the liquid. It was some sort of fruitwine, sweetened with honey and diluted with a tisane of healingherbs.

The herbs surprised her. She had not expected cityhumans to be so civilized.

The first sip sent a cooling wave through her. Herparched body demanded more. She allowed herself two more sipsbefore 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 onehand. “Tell me of the forest, and your purpose there.”

“It may reassure you to learn that I have as littleinterest in the forest as you do in Sevrin. My men entered inpursuit of rogue gatherers.”

For a moment, she was tempted to ask what separated“ rogue” gatherers from the everyday sort-men who hunted rarecreatures and members of the old races for reasons too grim tocontemplate. 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 atone 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 seechains on your wrists? Bars on the door? This is not a dungeon, andI am no barbarian.

“I am Rhendish,” he said, naming himself in tones ofsolemn majesty. “I am one of seven adepts who rule the city ofSevrin. As such, I share responsibility for keeping order andseeing justice done. Justice,” he said, tapping his forehead withthe fingertips of one hand. He moved that hand down to rest overhis heart. “Not revenge.”

Clearly, his understanding of such things differedfrom hers. Revenge required thought and planning. Elven justice, onthe other hand, tended to be swift and certain.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself to hearhard truths.

“And the others?”

Regret washed over the man’s face. “Only yousurvived.”

Later, she reminded herself. Later shecould mourn.

“The ground was frozen too hard to permit burial. Mymen gathered the bodies beneath a single stone cairn.”

She nodded. That was not their way, but it wouldsuffice for now. No elven secrets would be revealed by tooth andworm and weather. No elven bones would sing to the touch ofstarlight.

But there remained one way the forest people could beundone. Speaking of it was dangerous, but she saw no otherchoice.

She took a moment to observe her surroundings,seeking clues to Rhendish’s nature.

A dizzying array of colors assaulted the eye, comingfrom a hodge-podge of bottles, books, and countless oddly shapedpieces of metal. Shelves lined the white-stone walls. Scrolls andstacks of parchment littered a long writing table fashioned frompolished wood. Richly embroidered hangings covered the windows andrippled in muted winds. The overall impression was wealth andchaos.

There was, however, a sense of purpose underlying theclutter. Books stood in neat rows. All the bottles and vials andbeakers bore tidy labels. Some of the metal objects appeared to besmall tools, and the high, narrow platform on which she’d sleptseemed more akin to a worktable than a bed.

She’d heard that some humans were like ravens,filling their nests with a hoard of shiny things for no betterreason than the urge to possess them. Rhendish, she sensed, was notsuch a man. Perhaps he would not covet what was hers.

“I had a curved knife,” she said, speaking asdiffidently as she could. “Fashioned of pale metal, with a roseetched onto the blade. A pretty trifle.”

This was a lie, of course. The weapon was beyondprice, grown from a rare and powerful crystal, and the rose withinit bloomed when fed a traitor’s blood.

“Your sister spoke of it before she died. It wouldseem-”

His words were lost in a sound like winter’s cruelestwinds. The room spun in a mad whirl of color and chaos and griefand 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 achildbirth gone wrong-pain of great intensity but short duration.Sorrow passed too slowly for such remedies.

“A thousand pardons,” he murmured. “I spoke abruptlyand without proper care. It is no easy thing to hear of a lovedone’s death.”

This was true, but elves accepted death in wayshumans did not. What shocked her to the core was that Asteria wouldtell any human about the Thorn.

But then, wasn’t she doing precisely that?

“What did she say?”

“She did not speak the trade tongue as well as youdo, but as I understand it, the knife had some ceremonialimportance. She was most insistent that it be returned to herpeople.”

This did not ring true, either. Asteria would burythe Thorn in her own belly before she’d entrust it to a human.

“It was taken by one of the attackers,” Rhendishsaid, almost as if he could read her mind, “and sold before my mencaught up with them.”

He spoke on, but his words could not part the tangledvines of her thoughts.

The grove defiled, the judgment circle destroyedbefore 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 becameaware that Rhendish stood silent, a wry smile on his face.

“I doubt you heard one word in ten. Here it is inbrief: I have determined the knife’s whereabouts and conceived of away that you might retrieve it.”

She regarded him for a long moment. “Why would you dothis?”

“I won’t try to convince you of my altruism,” he saidwith dry humor. “The answer to your question is complicated, but itbegins with this: Seven adepts rule this city-seven, becauseno single man can be trusted with too much power, andadepts, because no man can be trusted with magic.”

She began to see the path ahead. “You have men atyour command. The other adepts must also. You think one of themsent gatherers to steal elven magic.”

A burst of startled laughter escaped him.“That far I had not gone! I suppose it is possible, but morelikely Muldonny’s agents merely purchased the dagger after thefact.” His gaze sharpened. “Why? What magic does the daggerhold?”

She lifted one shoulder in the dismissive gestureshe’d seen humans use. “I spoke of intent, not result. The daggeris 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 I’ve longsuspected that any genuine knowledge he possesses could bepainlessly inscribed on his thumbnail.”

“So you suggest I trade ‘genuine knowledge’ forit?”

“No! Muldonny is. .”

He paused, considered.

“Persistent,” he said, in the manner of one who hasconsidered every word that dwelt within the realm of truth, only tochoose the palest and weakest. “Muldonny would not be content withsmall bits of history and lore. In fact, it would be best if he didnot learn of your presence in Sevrin. Elves, you see, do notofficially exist.”

“Nor do our handiworks, I suppose.”

He spread his hands, palms up. “You begin to see theproblem. No one denies the existence of elf-crafted items, but itis widely supposed that any artifact of the old races must holdancient and dangerous magic.”

“If such magic is bad, why would any adept want topossess it?”

“Why indeed?” he said darkly. “That is an importantquestion. It is not, however, a question that can roam free amongthe general populace.”

“So you are protecting this adept, even though yoususpect him of doing wrong.”

“I am protecting Sevrin,” he snapped. “The Council ofadepts stands between the city and any who might use sorceryagainst it. Can you imagine what might follow if the peoplebelieved one of the adepts was smuggling weasels into the henhouse?Muldonny cannot be accused. Your elven trinket must be acquiredunofficially.”

“Stolen.”

A smile flicked the corners of his lips. “Yes,stolen. I know of a thief who’s elusive enough to handle the joband foolish enough to take it on. For reasons that will soon becomeclear, he must hear of your need from your lips.”

She noted the twitch of chagrin on the adept’s faceas 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 thissimply because I ask it of him?”

“I don’t believe you will,” he said hesitantly, “butthat is a question we both need to answer.”

He lifted one hand and snapped his fingers. One ofthe window hangings slid open. The clockwork servant emerged fromthe curtained alcove and clanked toward her, leaving the curtainpushed to one side.

The hideous thing approached unheeded, for she couldnot tear her gaze from the windows lining the curving wall of thealcove, and the late summer garden beyond.

This could not be. The judgment circle had gatheredon Midwinter Night. How could season after season slip awayunnoticed?

And what was wrong with her, that she retained herwinter colors?

“Take the meadow sprite in your hand,” Rhendishsaid.

His voice broke the spell. She dragged her attentionto the small metal cage the servant thrust toward her. Inside atiny winged creature cowered, its blue and yellow wingstrembling.

The silver-grey cloak that could make the spriteappear to be a simple butterfly had been torn away, revealing aslender, winged maiden no taller than a child’s thumbnail.

The elf looked at Rhendish with horror in her eyes.He nodded.

Before she could tell him that she would sooner diethan do this thing, her hand stretched out and unlatched the cagedoor.

Traitorous fingers reached for the sprite.

Tightened.

And came away dusted with blue and gold.

For a long moment she gazed at the tiny, crumpledbody of the fey thing she’d been forced to kill. Cold, murderousrage filled her heart. No words came to her, but she lifted hergaze and let Rhendish read what was there to see.

The adept winced, but held his ground. “We bothneeded to know, beyond question, that you will do what must be doneto further both our causes.

“Come now,” he said when she made no reply. “Iunderstand this is strange to you, but surely your devotion to yourpeople is large enough to house all necessity. We can work togetherfor mutual benefit, perhaps in time become friends. Can we notbegin now? With your name, perhaps?”

Whatever Rhendish’s opinion of magic might be, surelyhe must know that names held power. She dared not yield morecontrol than he’d already taken from her.

To her relief, the strange compulsion that enslavedher 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 wasdetermined to retain.

He lifted one wheat-colored brow. “An unusualname.”

“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 youracquaintance. I will have servants bring food and water. You willneed your strength for the fox hunt.”

He took the clockwork servant and the meadow sprite’scage with him, leaving the newly named Honor alone with her griefand rage and a thousand clamoring questions.

She knew she should plan for the task ahead andpuzzle out what had been done to her since the night she was stolenfrom the forest. But try as she might, she could not move past asingle troubling thought:

What else did Asteria, her sister and her queen, tellthe humans?

Chapter Two: The Gatherers’ Shadow

In the city of Sevrin, people saw gatherers toofrequently to pay them much heed. No one spared more than a glanceto the man sauntering through the long shadows of Rhendish Manor.And why should they, when a single glance sufficed to read hisnature and purpose?

He wore a cutlass on his belt and affected the smirkand swagger of a man who knew its use. Pirate gold winked from oneear. A blue-and-white striped bandanna covered his hair. Perhapshis appearance sounded a few discordant notes-his bright greentunic quarreled with the red lining of his cloak-but the overalleffect sang in tune with Sevrin’s expectations.

A less cautious observer might have noted that thegatherer’s fine wool breeches had been cut to a taller man’smeasure. Discerning eyes might have perceived the gatherer’ssun-weathered face was several shades darker than his unglovedhands. Further study might reveal that he was several years youngerthan he strove to appear.

But anyone who might be inclined to take a secondglance had more interesting things to observe.

They would see the slim, dark-eyed girl wearing aservant’s hooded shawl and following at a proper half-pace behindthe Gatherer. They would see the well-filled sack slung over hershoulder and wonder what grim trophies and foreign oddities itmight contain.

They would not see Fox Winterborn, a streetthief who was still two seasons short of his twentieth-firstyear.

Fox had no reason to love the adepts who ruledSevrin. The banishment of magic weighed heavily on him, but itsofficial absence made people less inclined to question what theireyes told them. Fox saw no reason why he should not take advantageof this.

He and his companion turned a corner into a grassysquare organized around a fountain pool, over which presided asmall marble dragon. As they passed the fountain, the apparentmaidservant tossed a small gold coin into the dragon’s openmouth.

Clockwork whirred softly behind empty stone eyes.Clouds of fine mist burst from the statue’s nostrils. The girlstopped and lifted her face to the cooling spray.

Several small children rushed over to dance andshriek in the water while mothers or nurses looked on withindulgent smiles. One of the children, a sharp-eyed ferret of agirl, leaned over the pool’s wall and stretched her hand out toexplore the dragon’s mouth. She snatched her empty hand out of thewater and turned to regard the hooded servant.

The maidservant sent the child a wink as she slippedthe coin back into her pocket.

In response, the child fisted a small, grubby handand held it up to display the bent-nail ring on one finger.

“Cold iron,” she said in a tone full of puppy-growlmenace. “Away, foul sprite!”

Fox caught his companion’s arm and hurried her away.“Vishni, what did I tell you about spending fairy gold?”

The girl lifted one dark eyebrow.“‘Don’t?’”

He let out a huff that mingled amusement withexasperation. “I’m serious. No one pays much attention to a child’sstories, but the less we’re noticed, the better.”

“Not the advice I’d expect from someone who’s tartedup like Captain Pegleg’s parrot.”

“People see the plumage, not the bird.”

The implication of his words struck him like adwarf’s fist and stopped him midstride.

Vishni grinned. “Having visions of fairy wings, arewe? Big, gaudy wings? Maybe a nice bright shade of orange, sincethat’s the only color you don’t seem to be wearing.”

“Don’t even think about it!”

“Why not? By your own reasoning, wings would distractpeople and keep them from looking at my face.”

“A full-scale invasion of flying monkeys would beinsufficient to that purpose,” he said. “Now, for the love of athousand tiny gods, pull up your hood.”

The girl blinked. A small, pleased smile curved herlips as she arranged the folds of her shawl around her face.

They left the square and headed in silence down TwinGate Way, a broad street lined with shops and ending in a pair ofhigh, gated arches. Both gates stood open, and several uniformedguards monitored the flow of traffic into the walled district.

The sprawling complex known as Rhendish Manor crownedSevrin’s tallest hill. The hill itself had come to be calledCrystal Mountain, not because of any mineral deposits it mightcontain, but to reflect the particular obsession of its arcanelord.

Beyond the right-hand gate a long road wound uphillpast the workshops of artisans who crafted bits and pieces for theadept’s creations. A short line of carts and carriages awaitedinspection. Crafters came and went on foot. People bound directlyfor the manor, however, gathered at the left gate to ride the Mule,a wonder of ropes and pulleys and clockwork machinery that liftedpassenger carriages up over the steep rock of the mountain’s northwall.

Fox steered Vishni toward the queue awaiting theMule.She shaded her eyes with one small hand and fixed a doubtfulgaze on the mountain summit and the carriages swaying in the highwind.

“I don’t like this.”

A short huff of laughter escaped him. “Fear ofheights, Vishni? Completely understandable. It’s not as if youcould fly. .”

“No one flies far in a cage.” They edged closer tothe left gate. “And only a fool willingly steps into one.”

“Stop fussing. We’re not riding the Mule.”

He tipped his head toward the other gate. Her gazefollowed the gesture. Her eyes widened at the sight of theblack-bearded official who stood with one booted foot on a cart’swheel spoke, scowling down at a bill of lading.

“Is that-”

“The hero of ‘How Gompson Wed the Gorgon?’ The manwhose bride you locked in a root cellar because switching bridesmade for a better story? That’s him.”

“Hero?” Vishni sniffed. “Gompson knew fullwell the girl under the veil wasn’t the girl whose dowry he’dalready spent. He just thought it was a different differentgirl.”

“Thanks to your illusions.”

“So? Every story requires a twist or two,” she saidas they shuffled a step closer to the gate. “Everyone assumes truelove will win the day. A good storyteller subverts expectations. Ifyou ask me, it’s more satisfying to see a trickster paid in his owncoin.”

Fox nodded as he scanned the bustling scene.

“I could create a diversion,” Vishni said.

His gaze snapped back to her. “Yes, because thatworked out so well last time.”

She pouted and folded her arms. “It’s not my faultDelgar got himself captured.”

Actually, it was, but Fox saw no profit in pointingthis out. More to the point, a diversion of another sort demandedhis full attention.

A pair of barefoot urchins clambered up themountain’s steep rocky face, sure-footed as mountain goats. Theyclimbed to a jutting outcrop of rocks that came within a few feetof the Mule’s lower rope. One of the boys shuffled carefully to theedge of the rock.

Someone noticed and raised a hand to point. A murmurran through the crowd, and people fell back from the gate to get abetter look.

A Mule carriage swept downward toward the boy’sperch. It would clear the rock with little room to spare.

The woman behind Fox gasped like a blacksmith’sbellows.

“Too low,” she moaned. “Flatten him, it will, like acartwheel over a toad.”

Other people were coming to the same conclusions.From somewhere in the crowd, a woman screamed at the boy to getdown. Two of the guards tried to climb up after him, only to beshouted down by their captain.

“Get ready,” Fox murmured.

When the carriage was a few feet away from him, thelad leaped and caught the rope. He whooped and kicked as he rode itdown, the carriage following at a safe and steady distancebehind.

The boy let go of the rope and dropped onto the thickstraw thatching of a small shop that stood under the Mule’s ropesand just outside the walls. He rolled down, landed on his feet, andbounced off into a run.

For several moments, chaos reigned.

A stout woman rushed out of the shop in a cloud ofdust and straw, yelling at the boy as she brushed thatching fromher shoulders and hair. Three dogs darted after the boy, whovaulted over a flatbed cart loaded with wooden chicken crates. Oneof the crates tumbled to the street and broke apart. A dozen or sopanicked hens scattered. Two cart ponies shied and reared, tippingover the cart and its cargo of apples.

The crowd was evenly divided between those whohurriedly distanced themselves from the disturbance and those whorushed forward to take advantage of it. Children scrambled forapples. A few boys started an impromptu battle, pelting each otherand anyone within range with bruised fruit. One of the dogs gave uppursuit of the urchin in favor of chasing chickens. The merchantsnatched up his hen and held it high overhead while the dog leapedand 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 stoneworkshops. Fox stooped and slid a pair of silver pennies into acrevice. The boys who’d staged the disturbance could collect theirpay at their leisure.

“Not bad,” Vishni said. “But just imagine how muchmore interesting that could have been with an illusion or two.”

“No illusions,” he said firmly.

The girl propped her hands on her narrow hips. “Thenwhy, exactly, am I here?”

Fox’s stern expression wavered. “We might need you tocast an illusion. But only as a last resort.”

She rolled her eyes and started down the walk. Foxcaught her arm.

“I’ll meet you at the waulking bowl.”

Vishni’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Trying to getrid of me?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I’m going to theherbalist to get a restorative for Delgar. He might not need it,but if he does, it will save us the trouble of carrying himout.”

“I’ll meet you at the waulking bowl,” Vishni saidflatly. She spun on her heel and took off the way they’d come.

Fox smirked and continued down the walk. To Vishni,“herbalist” was another way of saying “green witch.” Her kind hadreason to avoid humans who meddled with plants and potions.Hestopped on the way to buy a pair of ducks, dressed and plucked andready for the pot. The herbalist lived on what her garden provided.It seldom occurred to her to eat anything else, and as far as Foxknew, he was the only one who bothered to remind her.

The door to the herbalist’s shop stood open, but Foxhad another, safer way in. He slipped into the shadows beside thecooper’s shop, where stood a courtyard paved with large, flatstones.

He slid a barrel aside as quietly as possible toreveal a stone twice the width of his shoulders. He removed twosmall, rounded rocks wedged under either edge of the stone andstepped onto one side. The rock spun on a hidden central hinge anddropped him into a low tunnel.

After securing the stone door from below, he creptthrough the tunnel. A short incline led to a door fashioned of thinwood covered by an even thinner layer of stone. He cracked it openand checked the room for occupants. Moving quickly, he pushedthrough and swung the door back into place. The facade blendedseamlessly 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 theroom, humming tunelessly.

Once, perhaps, she had been beautiful. The passage offorty hard years had left deep tracks on her face. Her eyes hadfaded to the same pale gray as her kirtle and shift, and she was asthin and pale as any tunnel-dwelling beggar. She would be ascolorless as rainwater, except for a thick braid of rich darkauburn draped over one shoulder.

The woman caught sight of him. Her eyes glazed withterror and the pottery in her hands clattered to the floor.

Too late, Fox remembered his disguise. Chagrin sweptthrough him like a winter blast. This woman had more reason thanmost to fear gatherers.

He ripped off the blue bandana, revealing hair as redas hers.

No flicker of recognition lit her eyes.

Fox cleared his throat. “I’ve come for arestorative.”

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 wouldn’t understand the significance. Butthen, most people believed that dwarves were long extinct.

The woman closed her eyes and listened for the musicFox had never been able to hear. After a moment she nodded and ledthe way into her back garden.

A hundred familiar scents swept over Fox. He brushedhis fingers over the lacy fronds of a fennel stalk as if greetingan old friend.

The herbalist moved among the terraced beds, pickinga sprig here, a blossom there. When her apron was well laden, shereturned to the shop and set to work.

He watched as she ground herbs and mixed them withoils and decoctions from a dozen tiny bottles. Her hands moved withthe deft skill of long practice.

Muscles have memories.

It was a phrase his friend Avidan used often, and oneof the few things the alchemist said that made sense to Fox. Itcertainly described the way the herbalist worked.

From time to time, she cocked her head as iflistening. According to Avidan, that was precisely what washappening.

There is no silence, Avidan claimed, only sounds onecannot hear. If he was to be believed, every metal, every liquid,even every scent had a sound, as precise as a well-tuned harpstring. Avidan said that everything, living and inanimate, vibratedat its own unique pitch. Hearing these sounds and blending them innew harmonies was not magic-at least not as most people understoodmagic-but art assisted by keenly honed senses.

Of course, Avidan was as crazy as three cagedsquirrels.

Fox banished the young alchemist from his thoughtsand watched as the herbalist poured the medicine into a vial,stoppered it firmly. She set it aside. Without even a moment’shesitation she reached for another mortar and pestle and began togrind dried feverfew and mint.

She’d already forgotten it, Fox realized. He pickedup the vial and took the ducks from his bag. He offered them with aslight bow.

Her face lit up with pleasure, which quickly dimmed.“I can’t afford those.”

Fox held up the vial. “A fair trade.”

Panic flared in her eyes. Fox gave himself a swiftmental kick. In some part of her mind, she remembered what happenedto green witches.

“I found this bottle in your yard,” he liedsmoothly.

She looked relieved. “Oh, that’s all right, there.But I should pay you for taking it away. Such things aredangerous.”

“I know.”

“Don’t hold onto it long.”

“I won’t,” he said, mimicking the singsong tone of achild told not to muddy his new boots.

The woman smiled at that. She reached out andstraightened the collar of his tunic, a maternal gesture as naturalas breathing.

For a moment hope burned bright in Fox’s heart. Hesearched the herbalist’s face but found no spark of light.

Muscles have memories.

Fox dropped his gaze, unable to meet that emptystare. His attention fixed for a moment on a small, familiarobject-an old silver locket, tarnished with age and neglect. Thechain was gone, but she’d tied it to her belt with a bit of ribbon.The locket gaped open. Fox squinted and noticed that the clasp wasmissing.

“Your locket is broken,” he said. “Do you want me tohave it repaired for you?”

To his astonishment, she untied the ribbon from herbelt and handed the locket to him.

Just like that.

The possession she most treasured, the only thingshe’d carried away from the ruin of her home and life. The thing soprecious and personal that she’d never once permitted Fox to handleit, much less look inside.

Fox thrust it into his pocket. “Someone’s at thedoor,” he said gruffly.

She nodded and wandered off, though no knock or callbeckoned. Fox slipped through his hidden door and slumped to theground.

Not everyone can be saved. Some wounds go too deepfor healing.

Avidan had repeated those words more times than Foxcould count. One of these days, he’d likely come around to thealchemist’s way of thinking on this matter.

But not today. Not when there was still a chance forDelgar.

Fox pushed himself to his feet and set a course forRhendish Manor.

Chapter Three: Curiosities

“What kept you so long?” Vishni demanded.

Fox held up the herbalist’s vial. The girl took aninvoluntary step back.

Her caution was probably unnecessary, but fairies hadstrange and sometimes dangerous reactions to an odd list of things.Iron, of course, but several plants and fruits could have oddeffects. In times past, certain green witches knew the secret ofherbs that could ward against the fey, bind them to a promise,render them helpless through fits of giggles, or simply make themsneeze. Fairies believed, with some justification, that elves hadtaught witches these things.

Elves belonged in this world. Fairies did not. Noneof the fair folk forgot this for a moment.

Vishni flicked one hand toward the waulking bowl asif she could ward off the stench.

“You couldn’t have picked a better place tomeet?”

The waulking bowl was actually a barrel, broad as acottage and nearly as tall as Fox. It provided a place for servantsto empty night water, which, in sufficient quantity, could stripthe grease from sheep fleeces. As useful as the waulking bowl mightbe, Fox could see why it had been located downwind of the workshopsand cottages.

What interested Fox, however, was a second, tallerbarrel.He took a bundle of carefully carved sticks from his packand fitted them together until he had a long-handled spoon. Foxscampered up the ladder secured to one side of the barrel andtwitched off the canvas covering. A cloud of flies arose, alongwith a barnyard stench.

Inside was a mound of dung, surrounded by a mulch ofrotting potato leaves. A neat pile of buckets stood on the groundnearby. Judging from the smell, they were used to carry thelant-stale cow urine-that was poured on the pile three or fourtimes each moon cycle.

Vishni’s face brightened. “Saltpeter! We’re makinggunpowder! How wonderful! You didn’t tell me there would beexplosions.”

“Only as a last resort.”

She sniffed. “That’s what you said about myillusions. You can’t have more than one last resort.”

“I’ll assign numbers to them. In case of disaster,we’ll count back in reverse order.”

The fairy nodded as if this made perfect sense.

Fox tossed her a half-filled leather bag that, Avidanassured him, lack only saltpeter. He lowered the spoon into thepit. Working quickly, he scraped off some of the white crystalsthat had formed on the top of the pile and transferred them to thebag Vishni held open.

He jumped down from the ladder. Vishni had alreadycinched the bag’s strings and was giving it a good shake.

“Thanks for mixing the gunpowder,” he said. “But justso you know, shaking won’t make it explode.”

“Oh.”

Fox laughed at her woe-stricken expression andreclaimed the bag. He tucked it into his pack and drew out a curvedivory flask as long as his hand.

Vishni’s eyes sparkled and she clasped her handstogether in delight. “A dragon tooth! Avidan was right? He solvedthe alkahest conundrum?”

“Seems likely,” Fox said. “The more bizarre his ideassound, the better they seem to work.”

That seemed to satisfy the fairy. They hurried pastthe odorous vats and half walked, half slid down a rocky incline toa narrow ledge.

Vishni stopped a few feet from the ledge, clinging toa large rock and staring down at the ledge with an expression mostpeople reserved for poisonous snakes.

“There’s iron down there. A lot of iron.”

“You’re safe where you are. Just stay put.”

Fox jumped the last few feet. His boots crunched onthe gravel covering the ledge. He kicked aside some of the stone toreveal an expanse of rusted iron.

For several moments he shoved at the gravel with hisboot. The ledge had been paved with vast plates of iron, the edgesof which had been welded together to form a surface too large andheavy 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 tothe lid. “This is the adept’s 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 tothe manor.”

“Seems like a lot of work.”

“The tunnels were already here,” Fox said. “Rhendishbuilt a clockwork system similar to the Mule, with ropes andpulleys 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 clearfluid, one careful drop at a time, onto the lid’s iron hinges.Better the hinges, he figured, than the padlock. The latter wasmore likely to be warded against intrusion with lethal shocks,small capsules that would release noxious fumes, or some othernasty little alchemical trick.

The metal melted away like sugar in hot tea.

Fox took a metal bar from his pack and pried the lidopen. 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 hisarms to Vishni.

The fairy jumped.

It didn’t occur to Fox until after he’d caught herthat Vishni didn’t need his help to keep from touching the ironfloor.

He walked over to the shaft and held her over theopening. “Ready?”

Before she could respond, he dropped her into theshaft.

She’d barely cleared the rim before rose-coloredwings unfurled to catch her and ease her fall. She dropped in acrouch. By the time she rose, the wings were gone.

Fox slid down the rope after her. “Someday you’regoing to explain how you do that. It’s a great trick.”

Vishni smirked. “You can pee standing up. Don’t begreedy.”

Their words echoed in the silent tunnel. Fox pointedto an antechamber, where a clockwork machine stood ready.

They stood, waiting, until the grinding crunch ofgears resumed. Ropes creaked and began to move. Vishni leaped ontothe rim of one wooden bucket, holding the ropes that attached it tothe main line. Fox followed. Their combined weight did not slow themachinery 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 outthe wrinkles. He donned it and pulled a pale wig over his tell-talered locks. Most Sevrin natives were fair-haired, and the blue robemarked him as a student of alchemy. In this garb, he’d look likeone of dozens striding around the compound.

Vishni tried the lock and shook her head. A few dropsof 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 manor’svisitors gathered to rest and wait.

“Keep an eye on the blue door toward the back of thewarehouse,” he murmured. “If Delgar and I walk out of there, justfall into step with us. If we’re running, do whatever comes tomind.”

An unholy gleam lit her eyes. “You come up with thebest plans.”

Fox arranged his face along arrogant lines and headedfor a long, low building hugging the seaward edge of the manor.

He stopped on the way to claim a broom and some ragsfrom a passing servant. Armed with cleaning supplies and a scowl,he foot-dragged his way toward Rhendish’s storehouse, the verypicture of a student condemned to menial labor for a crime ofcarelessness or stupidity. No one paid him much heed, and the onlyreaction he elicited was a quick, superior smirk from anotherblue-robed youth.

Once inside the building, Fox stood for a moment andlistened. The only sound was a faint, musical chiming. When heglanced in that direction, his jaw dropped in astonishment.

A macabre wind chime hung in a corner, nearlyobscured from view by a painted screen. It was a skeleton, narrowof frame and apparently fashioned of pale pink crystal. He’d neverseen anything so beautiful, or so disturbing, nor had he heard suchmusic. He had the strangest feeling that there was more to it thanhis ears could hear. For the first time, Avidan’s theory aboutsound seemed not only sane, but obvious.

Fox swiped a hand down the back of his neck, wherethe hair beneath his wig rose like the hackles of a spooked hound.It didn’t help.

He shook off the uncanny feeling and hurried throughthe crowded room.

The people of Sevrin loved curiosities-strangeobjects and plants and relics gathered from distant places and lostcenturies. The city housed two public museums and several fineprivate collections. Rhendish’s warehouse put them all toshame.

Tall, glass-fronted shelves held relics from “extinctraces” such as elves, griffons, and dragons. There were elvenweapons ranging from simple bows to intricate swords. Jewel-toneddragon scales had been polished to a high gleam, feathers as longas Fox’s arm displayed to advantage against sky-blue velvet.Mundane supplies were also plentiful: bins of dried plants, caskslabeled with words he’d never seen and could not begin topronounce, piles of rare woods and thinly hammered sheets ofmetal.

There was, however, no sign of Delgar.

It took Fox nearly an hour to find the cellar dooramid all the clutter. He took a small lantern from a nail, struck alight, and crept down the stairs.

As he suspected, the room housed the sort of suppliesSevrin’s people would find less palatable than metal and wood andoils.

Several large cats eyed Fox from their cages. Livinglights blinked weakly in a glass box. There was more, but Fox’sgaze skimmed over it and settled on the stocky young man sagging inchains bolted to the wall. A strip of linen bound one arm, and abeaker of blood stood on a nearby table.

Fox’s jaw clenched.

Delgar was a Carmot dwarf, a race distinguished bythe ability to change color to blend into their surroundings. Therewere few of his kind left, for the Carmot numbered among the “stoneraces,” dwarves whose blood was believed to amplify alchemicaltransmutations.

Fox hiked up his blue robe and took the flask ofrestorative from his pocket. The dwarf dragged his head up at thesound of Fox’s approach. Bruises darkened his face and his left eyewas swollen nearly shut, but one corner of his mouth lifted in ashadow of his cocky grin.

“That color does not suit you.”

Fox uncorked the potion and tipped it into hisfriend’s mouth. The dwarf swallowed and nodded his thanks. His goodeye widened when Fox produced the dragon tooth flask.

“So the crazy bugger did it, then?”

“Other than the dragon’s tooth, I haven’t foundanything it won’t dissolve.”

“Don’t be adding dwarf to the list,” Delgar mutteredas Fox tipped a drop onto one chain.

The metal fell away. Delgar grinned, a disconcertingsight to anyone not familiar with a Carmot dwaves’s nature. Thedwarves were pale silvery gray-hair, skin, even teeth-unless theychose to appear otherwise. At the moment, Delgar’s smile resembleda drawer full of knives.

Fox made short work of the chains. His friend gavehis shoulders an experimental roll and bounced on the balls of hisfeet like a fighter getting ready for a match.

“The way out?”

“We walk.”

He handed the dwarf a second robe. Delgar grimacedbut made no complaint. He pulled the robe over his head and tuggedit down, revealing blue-gray eyes, a thick shock of blond hair, anda skin tone a shade darker than Fox’s.

“Don’t forget the teeth,” Fox said.

The dwarf bared a dazzling white smile. “Pass forhuman?”

Oddly enough, Delgar could. He was tall for his kind,standing near the midpoint of five feet and six. Fox had no ideahow many years the dwarf could claim, but he and Delgar looked tobe about the same age. The dwarf was clean-shaven, with a squareface and impressive slabs of muscle. Women noticed him, which wasone more reason to disguise him with an alchemist’s robe.

“Let’s go.”

Delgar turned back toward the table holding thebeaker of his stolen blood. In one fluid motion he stooped, caughtup a length of chain, and swung.

The sound of shattering glass filled the dungeon.

Fox lifted one brow. “I appreciate a defiant gestureas much as the next person, but-”

A board creaked overhead. Running footsteps beat acrescendo toward the cellar door.

“Fuggle!” the dwarf spat.

Fox sprinted toward the bulkhead door he’d pointedout to Vishni, the dwarf close on his heels.

Three men clattered down the stairs. Delgar wavedaway Fox’s dragon tooth vial, put his shoulder to the door, andheaved.

The wooden doors exploded upward, and the two friendsraced out into the bailey.

Vishni leaped to her feet, a pewter mead cup in onehand. 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 resembledthe fugitives. A flick of Vishni’s fingers created a phantom swarmof 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 I’m less handsome thanusual.”

“True.”

“On you, though, it’s an improvement.”

“Shut up and walk.”

Vishni fell into step with them. They strolled downthe hills toward the twin gates. Never had three alchemy studentsexuded more casual arrogance.

Never, Fox was certain, had the road out ofRhendish’s compound ever been longer.

Finally the black-bearded guard waved them throughthe 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,” shemurmured.

Fox followed the line of her gaze and groaned. Threetall, burly guards stalked toward them, moving with the stiffprecision of clockwork.

And clockwork creatures were not affected byillusions.

“Run!”

Vishni took off like a jackrabbit, weaving her waythrough the crowd so effortlessly they might as well have beenstrands of meadow grass.

The dwarf ripped off the blue robe and hurled itaside. 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 milkmaidfleeing a satyr.

Delgar shot past him and veered into a narrow alley.He came to a stop so abruptly that Fox plowed into him. Theexperience was not unlike running full speed into a tree.

The dwarf seized Fox’s shoulders, spun him around,and shoved him in the direction of a side alley. Metallic footstepsbehind them told him the reason why.

“How many of those things did Rhendish make?” Foxcomplained.

“Seven so far,” Delgar grunted, pointing to two moreguards emerging from a gap between workshops just up ahead.

They veered off again, hopping a low stone wall andtrampling a vegetable garden. Fox wrestled off his robe and wig ashe ran. An errant wind caught the robe, whisked it skyward, anddraped a scarecrow in alchemist blue.

Delgar grinned in appreciation. His smile droppedaway, though, at what he saw in the alley ahead.

Chapter Four: The Fox’s Den

Fox’s gut twisted at the sight in the alley ahead. Asmall woman in a dark cloak whirled and twisted, trying withoutsuccess to break free of the two men who spun her back and forthbetween them, like tomcats toying with a lone mouse.

She needed help. He couldn’t just leave her. But ifthey stopped, Rhendish’s clockworks guards would catch them.

Evasion or rescue: In Fox’s opinion, no one shouldhave to make that choice.

Inspiration struck, and with it the realization thatperhaps he wouldn’t have to choose.

There was, after all, more than one way to create anillusion.

“Head straight for them,” he told the dwarf. “Can youget the girl?”

Delgar sent him a cocky grin. “Don’t I always?”

They ran toward the embattled woman. Fox skidded to astop a few paces away, but the dwarf dipped one shoulder, scoopedup the woman, and kept going without missing a step.

The thugs howled curses and gave pursuit. Beforethey’d taken two steps, Fox crossed his arms, reached into hisopposite sleeves, and came up with a throwing knife in eachhand.

Two quick flicks sent the knives spinning toward thethugs. Steel found flesh, the first knife slicing across the tallman’s calf, the second burying itself hilt-deep in the shorterman’s left buttock.

Fox flashed past them at an easy loping pace. Thesounds of battle in the alley behind him brought a grim smile tohis face.

Rhendish’s clockwork marvels could do many things,but apparently they couldn’t distinguish between the two sets ofcriminals.

He quickened his pace and caught up to Delgar. “Itworked. 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 for-eeeeeOW!”

Before Delgar’s surprised yelp died away, the womanlaunched herself forward, rolled, and came up onto her feet.

Fox caught her wrist before she could flee. She triedto jerk away. The sharp movement tossed back the dark hood of hercloak.

For many moments, the world swam and spun as Foxstared into a face that was grim, beautiful, and hauntinglyfamiliar.

“She bit me!” Delgar clapped one hand to hisbackside.

She responded with a string of lilting sounds thatgave Fox the impression of summer winds and liquid gold.

Delgar rumbled something curt and angry. The elf-foran elf she undoubtedly was-responded with a sweet comment thatbrought a flush of rage to the Carmot’s 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 hishair.

“Fox pelt,” she said.

A smile burst over the thief’s face like sunrise. “Itis you! I wasn’t sure at first. Your hair and eyes are adifferent color. Of course, it was summer then.” He frowned as theobvious occurred to him. “Wait a minute-it’s summer now.”

“I was wounded in midwinter. Now that I am well andcan walk in the sun again, the Greening will come.”

Fox nodded and spun toward Delgar. “I grew up on themainland, on the edge of the forest. I wandered off when I wasabout nine. I spent the night in a tree, which seemed like a goodidea until I fell out of the tree and into the river. This elfpulled me out of the water, brought me home. She saved mylife.”

“And now you’ve returned the favor,” Delgar said. “Itall evens out, everyone can go home.”

The elf slipped her wrist out of Fox’s unresistinghand. “What he says is true,” she said. “Any debt between us ispaid. I have no right to ask for your help.”

It was on the tip of Fox’s tongue to offer it anyway,but the scowl on Delgar’s face stopped him.

“We should get off the street. There’s a safe placenearby where we can talk.”

“It’s safe,” the dwarf said, “because very few peopleknow how to find it. An enviable state of affairs, and one I wouldlike to preserve.”

Fox shot him a dirty look and offered his arm to theelf. She pulled up her hood and shook her head. “I do not want tocause discord among friends. It’s only. .”

“What?”

Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh. “I knowand trust no other human.”

“To do what?” the dwarf asked.

“A priceless elven artifact was stolen: a rose ofpale crystal that opens each morning with the dawn and closes atsunset.”

Delgar folded his arms. “So? Any garden rose can doas much.”

“This is more than a pretty toy,” she said. “This isancient and powerful magic. Such magic in human hands could bringcatastrophic destruction.”

“Vague, yet ominous,” Delgar said. “I’ve knowntwo-penny fortune tellers who were more generous withdetail.”

The elf studied him for a moment. “You are a Carmot dwarf. You canstoneshift?”

“He’s very good,” Fox said.

Delgar didn’t’ 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 carmitein your blood and bone,” she said. “Imagine enough carmite tofashion a rose, then place that rose within a dagger of amplifyingcrystal. When you have that image firmly in mind, imagine what thatrose could do when fed a drop of a traitor’s blood.”

All color drained from Delgar’s face. His normal palegray 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 thetavern in Halfpenny Wynd. We can be in the Fox Den within thehour.”

The Fox Den was hardly what Honor expected.

She’d supposed a young thief might have a cellar roomin some rough part of the city, or perhaps a hidden chamber in themanor of some wealthy patron. But this network of pristine stonepassages and ever-shifting hidden doors throughout the city wasbeyond impressive.

Strange carvings marked many of the tunnels, and thelarge and somehow airy chamber in which they now gathered wasdistinguished by elaborate carvings and a mirror that reflected notwhat was in the room, but other places and, Honor suspected, othertimes.

For a while she watched as one scene after anotherswam into focus, lingered for a few breaths, and faded. It wasoddly soothing.

Even more surprising were the thieves themselves.

While a fairy-a fairy! — regaled the others withthe story of Delgar’s 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 knewshe’d crossed paths with this human. How had he come by thisinformation? And what was this young man to Rhendish that the adeptwould go to such extreme lengths to get him in hand?

And what use would he make of these others?

The fairy’s presence astonished Honor. Didn’t Fox andhis companions know what sort of crime resulted in banishment tothe mortal realm? Or didn’t that sort of thing matter to a band ofadmitted thieves?

Vishni was, admittedly, a fetching little thing, slimas a pixie with big dark eyes and a short mop of dark curls. Shelaughed often, but there was a flash in her eyes and a petulanttwist to her rosebud lips that warned of storms lurking behind thesunshine.

Honor suspected that might be part of her appeal.

Delgar she understood a little better. Young dwarvesoften travelled abroad to seek adventure or knowledge. Delgar’spresence in Sevrin suggested he was more ambitious than most.

Long before the seas rose and turned Sevrin into acity of islands, in a time far beyond the reach of human memory, anancient dwarven culture had thrived beneath the current sea. Muchof it had been destroyed when the long-dead volcano last stirred.This much was known to all of the old races, but as history ancienteven by the measure of their kind.

The stone chambers of the “Fox Den” gave Honorinsight into Delgar’s quest: searching out the old passages,opening and restoring them.

She wondered what drove the dwarf. Was he a treasurehunter hoping to plunder the tombs of his ancestors? A scholarseeking to uncover ancient glories? Or something far more?

A Carmot settlement beneath Sevrin could be apowerful check on the growing power of the adepts. If Delgar hadambitions along those lines, he presented Rhendish with alegitimate concern.

But if that was the case, why would Rhendish permitDelgar’s escape?

The man they called Avidan was also complicated. Hewas not, Honor thought, a native of Sevrin. His aquiline featuresand swarthy skin suggested southern lands, and he spoke with thedeliberation of someone translating his thoughts from a morefamiliar tongue. He followed the fashion of the city, though,wearing his dark hair long and tied back and dressing in the simpletrousers and tunic of a master alchemist. But unlike Rhendish, hewore the soft green of early spring.

Honor wondered whether the others knew why.

Humans who lived near the forest knew better than towear 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 hadonce known that wearing light green drew the attention of the fairycourt, but years of city life had imposed a new set of survivalrules.

Still, how was it that none of them noticed the feywildness lurking in Avidan’s eyes, the distinctive dance of hisskittering thoughts? The man had dwelt in Faerie. Of that Honor wascertain. The experience had broken him into tiny shards and rebuiltthe pieces into patterns few mortals could understand.

And if the color of his clothing signified what shethought it did, Avidan longed to return to the fairy realm.

Vishni had to know this.

The fairy turned to Honor, as if she’d heard herunspoken name. “And now it is time for our guest to tell her tale,”she said gaily, laying a hand on Honor’s arm.

A sound like swift-melting ice filled the stonechamber. Vishni hissed and snatched her hand away.

She regarded her palm for a long moment beforelifting it for the others to see. Blisters rose on her slimfingers.

“Cold iron,” she said in a flat voice.

Every eye turned to Honor. She pushed up the sleeveof her tunic to display the etched metal bracer covering herforearm, a “gift” from Rhendish.

“I did not expect to find fairies beneath thecity.”

“No one does,” Fox said. His dismissive tone broughta scowl to Vishni’s face that no one but Honor seemed to observe.“Tell us about the rose dagger. Do you have any idea where it mightbe?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I know who has it. Do you knowof a man named Muldonny?”

Silence settled over the group like morning fog.

The fairy’s pout eased and lifted into a slow,speculative smile. “This,” she said, “is going to be a lot more funthan I’d expected.”

Chapter Five: Illusions

Honor watched as four dwarves, short sturdy men assolid and gray as the stone beneath Muldonny’s lair, tappedsteadily at a solid rock wall. Chips of rock tumbled to the tunnelfloor, but the pickaxes made no more sound than elven boots on aforest path.

One of the dwarves, a broad-shouldered fellow whosehead barely reached Honor’s shoulder, stepped back from his workand swiped the back of his hand across his forehead.

“It’s a mite too hot hereabouts for an old cistern,”he said. “I’m not one to be telling you your business, Delgar, butyou’re sure where we’re headed?”

The young dwarf glanced at Honor. She returned hisgaze steadily, letting him see the warning in her eyes.

“Not entirely,” he said.

His crew exchanged glances. “Then you know what wecould be walking into.”

Stories echoed in the silence, tales they’d all heardof how the adepts wrested Sevrin from the sorcerer who’d ruled itlonger than any living human could remember. Muldonny had played nosmall part in that victory. His art was fashioning liquids withterrible properties: Fire that could not be quenched, fumes thatkilled anyone within twenty paces, and solvents that ate throughmetal armor.

Muldonny kept stores of these liquids beneath hismanor and in armories scattered around Stormwall Island. Cuttingthrough the wrong wall could result in a deluge of flesh-dissolvingsludge, or send liquid fire speeding along the tunnel.

“Let me study on it,” Delgar said. “We’ll break offnow and come back at it tomorrow.”

The dwarves eyed him for a moment before respondingwith curt nods. They gathered up their tools and disappeared into anarrow side tunnel.

Among elves, such behavior would be seen as beyondrudeness and well into the realm of mutiny, but Honor knew theStone Folk’s ways well enough to recognize the deference they paidthe young dwarf.

The Carmot dwarves, like most of the other Old Races,put great store in their ancestry, but dwarves of common birth andexceptional talent were known to attract fame and followers.

Honor had no idea what Delgar’s lineage might be, buthe possessed gifts that could inspire other dwarves to take uptools, and perhaps weapons, at his direction. That made him useful,but it also made him dangerous.

She watched as Delgar moved into the tunnel openingand placed one hand on either wall. He closed his eyes and began tosing.

The song started out as a pleasant bass chant, butthe melody descended until the notes sank beyond the reach ofHonor’s hearing. She could still feel them, though. Deep vibrationshummed through the stone and echoed in her bones.

A thin, irregularly shaped layer of stone peeled awayfrom the wall near the tunnel. Delgar caught it as it started tofall forward and moved it over the tunnel opening. It fit as snuglyas a peel fits an apple.

Honor ran her fingers over the place where the tunneldoor once stood. The rock wall was seamless. If she hadn’t seenDelgar hide the tunnel, she would never suspect it was there. Theyoung dwarf’s skill at stoneshifting was nothing short ofastonishing.

“You didn’t tell them about the Thorn,” Honorsaid.

Delgar sank down on a boulder and wiped his sleeveacross his face. “If I had, they would have dug through a livevolcano to get to it.”

The elf sat down beside him. “How is it,” she saidhesitantly, “that someone of your ability cannot sense the dagger’spresence? That much carmite should be drawing you to it like aloadstone draws iron fillings.”

“Several possibilities come to mind,” the dwarf said.“Top of the list: Muldonny doesn’t have the Thorn.”

“It was stolen from my people. He bought it from thethieves.”

“You’re sure of this.”

“They confessed it before they died.”

This was not exactly what Rhendish had said, butHonor 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, he’s keeping it somewhere else.”

“That’s a possibility,” Honor said, “but what placewould be as secure as the fortress that has successfully guardedthe entrance to Sevrin for a dozen human lifetimes?”

“True. The third possibility is that he has castmagic to hide its presence, same as you elves do.”

“He’s an adept. They don’t use magic.”

“That’s what they say. That might even be what theybelieve. But some of the things they make are magic by anothername, and no one can tell me differently.”

Honor saw no reason to dispute this. “So Muldonny hascreated an area filled with some sort of alchemical energy thatdisguises the Thorn’s powers.”

“That would be my guess.”

“Which would mean he knows more about the Thorn thanany human should.”

Delgar muttered a curse. “I hadn’t thought it inthose terms.” He scrubbed both hands over his face, then sent her asmall, rueful smile. “To be honest, I don’t like the idea of elvesholding onto so much carmite, but at least you people have thesense not to use it. I’ve yet to meet a well-informed human whocould resist acting on his knowledge.”

“Time is short.”

“Very.” He paused for a thin smile. “But thanks fornot adding ‘and so are you.’”

Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Why would I dothat?”

“Why indeed? Apparently I’ve been spending too muchtime around humans. So, what do you propose we do next?”

She considered their options in light of these newpossibilities. “Have you ever seen the Thorn?”

Delgar huffed. “Yes, the elves gladly lend it to mypeople whenever we can’t be bothered moving vast quantities ofstone around by hand.”

“Oddly enough, I’m in no mood for sarcasm.”

“Do you prefer irony? Because any dwarf I’ve ever metwould see plenty of that in this little rescue mission.”

She supposed he had a point. Most dwarves believedthe carmite in the Thorn had been stolen from one of their ancienttroves.

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. “That’s thefirst crafting skill a Carmot learns, as well you know.”

“So if I drew the Thorn, you could make a copy. Areplica done in glass rather than crystal.”

The dwarf shifted to face her. “What are youthinking?”

“We get someone inside the adept’s manor to steal theThorn and replace it with a glass replica. Fox could do this?”

Delgar huffed a short laugh. “I doubt there’s astronghold in Sevrin that could keep him out. But Muldonny’s notlike Rhendish. He doesn’t take students and receives no tradesmen.Only his clockwork servants come and go, and a few invitedguests.”

“Then we shall have to intercept an invitation.”

“His guests are all alchemists.”

“We could send Avidan.”

“Avidan?”

“Why not? He’s an alchemist.”

“He’s. . less reliable than you apparentlybelieve,” Delgar said with careful diplomacy. “And he hasn’t leftthe tunnels once since we found him in the mirror room. That wasthree, maybe four years ago. There’s no telling how he’d react inthe outside world.”

“Is there anyone else among you who could pass as analchemist long enough to get the information we need?”

Delgar’s silence was sufficient answer.

“If you think it might help, someone can go with himto help keep him focused on the task at hand. The humans of Sevrinseem to take servants with them wherever they go.”

“That might work,” Delgar said. “Fox seldom works onStormwall Island. There are only a few people looking for himthere. Of course, there are fewer people in general. It’s harder toblend into a crowd.”

“Fairies are generally quite skilled at illusions.Perhaps Vishni-”

“No,” Delgar said emphatically.

“No?”

“Imagine the last person you’d want to take alongwhen you’re exploring an adept’s lair, then put that name on alist. Vishni’s name would be three lines south of it.”

His reaction confirmed Honor’s growing suspicionsabout 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 you’veheard enough fairy tales to guess how that generally turnsout.”

“Then why do you keep her around?”

Delgar’s smile held a bitter twist. “Every storyneeds a hero. Fairy tales tend to be twisty, but the hero usuallywins. And Vishni sees Fox as an ‘archetype,’ the young tricksterhero who gets the better of wizards and lords with his nativecunning.”

“And if she changes her mind about Fox?”

“Then we’re all fuggled,” the dwarf said bluntly.“Sideways.”

Vishni and Fox strolled alongside the shores ofStormwall Island. The sun was warm, the day was summer-ripe, andthe cherry ice Fox had bought her from a street vendor tasted likestolen kisses. Best of all, the story unfolding around her promisedenough twists and corners to warrant inclusion in The Book ofVishni’s Exile.

All of this should have made the fairy giddy withdelight. Instead, her mood darkened with each step.

She still smarted from yesterday’s encounter with theelf, from the tips of her blistered fingers to the depths of herpride.

And Fox, night take him, could not stop chatteringabout the iron-clad wench!

When Vishni could take no more she wheeled around toface Fox and stomped on his foot. Not hard enough to break bones,but with enough force to earn her an incredulous stare and a fewmoments of blessed silence.

“Muldonny?” she said. “Remember him? The adept whorules Stormwall Island? Owner of the fortress we plan toinfiltrate? Looks like a fat, balding squirrel?”

That drew a snort of laughter from Fox. “He isvaguely squirrel-shaped, now that you mention it. And by allreports, he has a temperament to match. Honor says-”

“I don’t care.”

Truth be told, Vishni didn’t much care for any ofthis. Skulking around Stormwall Island, walking bridges with ironrails she couldn’t touch, watching people slaughter fish that werein no position to fight back.

At least their trip to the long pier where passengerships docked had proved fruitful.

She slipped one hand into a skirt pocket and gave thecontents an affectionate pat. Several visiting alchemists werelisted on the passenger manifests she’d stolen, but one presentedunusually promising storytelling potential.

The name Insa’amid was known in her homeland. If hersuspicions were correct, kidnapping this particular alchemist wouldmake Fox’s task easier. More importantly, it would add a poignanttouch and maybe even a bit of irony to the unfolding story.

But that was a game for another day. Her gaze skimmedthe wharfs in search of some immediate source of diversion.

Two men struggled to lift a huge, sword-nosed fishfrom a wooden boat. Both men were roughly clad, fair-haired, andstrong enough to put up an interesting fight. The older man lookedlike he’d had some practice at it. A scar meandered across hisforehead and his nose had that pleasantly bumpy, crooked look ofone that’d been broken a time or two. If there was more damage, itwas hidden by the man’s long blond beard.

Vishni liked long beards. Grabbing hold of themduring a fight was one of her favorite strategies. No one everseemed to expect it, which was half the fun.

“I don’t like the looks of that smile,” Fox said.

She adjusted her expression until she was certain nofluffy kitten had ever looked as innocent.

“See that woman by the nets? The pretty, young onewho’s sorting fish? She has an odd sort of ring.”

“You must have eyes like a hawk. I can’t see it fromhere.”

The fairy held up a little silver hoop set with chipsof green and blue sea glass. “Is this better?”

Fox’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing withthat?”

“Keeping it safe! She put it in her apron pocketbefore she started working. Taking it from her pocket when wewalked past was as easy as smiling. Anyone could have done it.”

The thief sighed. “We don’t steal from fisherfolk,Vishni. You know that. They have troubles enough.”

“Oh, the ring will turn up,” she said airily. “Maybein her pocket, or on the table, or inside a fish. .”

Angry voices rose from the dock, where two mencrouched beside a mixture of fish guts and treasure.

Fox squinted toward the pile of gold. Since each coinwas large enough to cover the palm of Vishni’s hand, it made quitea pile.

“Veldooni currency, Vishni? Seriously?”

The distant land of Veldoon had been on Vishni’s mindsince she’d picked an alchemist to charm and kidnap.

“Why not?”

“If I was going to create an illusion of treasurespilling out of a fish’s belly, my first choice wouldn’t be coinsfrom a land-locked desert country. A fist-sized emerald would bemore believable.”

That made sense, but Vishni had never admitted tomaking a mistake and saw no reason to start now.

She gestured toward the dock, where the two fishermenwere now standing toe to toe. Their shoulders were squared, theirchests expanded with as much air and male menace as they couldhold.

“Tell me,” she said loftily, “that they don’t looklike men who think bigger means better.”

As she spoke, it occurred to her that humans were alot like tomcats. Both tried to make themselves look bigger beforestarting a fight. For a moment she considered giving the fishermenthe illusion of tails. In their current frame of mind, those tailswould be very fluffy. And it would be amusing to watch the tailstwitch and swish like an angry cat’s.

The expression on Fox’s face suggested that thiswould be more trouble than it was worth.

“What are you up to?” he said.

“Didn’t you notice the way that woman keeps lookingat the younger fisherman?”

“So?”

“So she’s married to the older fisherman.” Shebeamed. “Want to know how I figured this out?”

“No.”

Vishni ignored this. “The boy who’s carrying away thebaskets of fish she’s sorting? I heard him call her Melina. That’sthe name written on the side of the fishing boat. Humans name boatsafter their people. Or maybe it’s the other way around,” she said.She gave herself a little shake. “Anyway, since the young fishermanis the one who gutted the fish, he’s obviously the worker and notthe owner.”

“Leave them alone, Vishni.”

“Once, you might have been interested in the plightof a common fisherman,” she said sadly. “Once, you had a grand andimportant quest of your own.”

A flicker of something that humans called “guilt”skittered across Fox’s face. Vishni didn’t understand this emotion,but it proved useful every now and again.

“Besides,” she added in a more cheerful tone, “everycollection of stories should have a morality tale of somesort.”

Fox drew breath to protest. She clapped her hand overhis mouth and tipped her head toward the dock to signify that theyshould 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 isn’t mine.” Theyoung man sent an insolent look toward the fish-sorting woman.“Leastwise, nothing that isn’t offered.”

The older man’s face darkened as he glanced at thewoman, who’d stopped her work to watch the small drama.

“If it’s my Melina you’re talking about, you’re aliar. And I can see by that coin in your shirt pocket that you’re athief, as well.”

“You know it’s my night to buy ale for the boys.”

“Not with my coin, you won’t!”

The youth sneered and held out hands that were bloodyto the elbow. “You go ahead and reach in after it. If it’s clean,you’ll know it came from no fish.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the bearded fishermanthrust his hand into the younger man’s pocket.

Both men stared blankly at the hoop of silver in hispalm.

“Or the ring could turn up in someone else’spocket,” Vishni added demurely.

Fox snatched the real ring from Vishni’s hand andhurried toward Melina, who was watching this exchange with a whiteface and guilty eyes.

“Did you by chance drop this ring?” he asked in acarrying voice.

Her husband turned toward them, murder simmering inhis eyes. “Another?” he roared. “How many markers do you have out,woman?”

Before Fox could say another word, both men rushed athim with raised and ready fists.

Vishni tapped her chin as she watched the brawl.“Multiple rings,” she murmured. “Yes, that would improve the taleconsiderably.”

Chapter Six: Compulsion

Until this afternoon, Honor had never felt any desireto explore Sevrin. It felt strange to be walking the broad streetsand winding, narrow byways like any human.

There were so many of them, striding here and therewith great purpose. A few, like Honor, took a more leisurely pace,enjoying the gift of a fine summer day.

Several days had passed since Honor’s “rescue”outside of Rhendish Manor. Plans to recover the Thorn movedsteadily forward; in fact, things were going so well that Honor wasstarting to believe that her quest might come to a successfulclose. 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 rainstill scenting the air, the forest did not seem so very faraway.

Fox and his companions thought she was spending theafternoon in the den, studying maps of Stormwall Island and readinghistories of Muldonny’s role in the overthrow of the sorcererEldreath. The thief and his friends would not approve of herwandering about the city on her own.

Honor didn’t begrudge them this attitude. It was,after all, her business that absorbed their full attention. Butshe’d spent almost every hour since her awakening below ground; infact, she so seldom left the tunnels that no hint of the Greeninghad touched her skin and hair. She was still nearly as pale as theCarmot dwarves who lived deep beneath the city.

The small colony of dwarves who worked the tunnelsbelow the Fox Den supported Honor’s suspicions about Delgar. He wasopening the old passages, preparing the way for more dwarves tofollow. She’d seen enough of Sevrin to know the adepts could notpermit this to happen.

Her people did not support the idea of overthrowingSevrin’s human rulers. That might change now that an adept’s menhad found the Starsingers Grove, but elves were slow to embracechange.

Too slow, in Honor’s opinion.

For the first time, she began to understand whyDelgar had thrown his lot in with a pair of humans and an impetuousfairy. There were times when things had to be done now.Humans understood that necessity, and fairies had little concept ofanything other than “now.”

Still, working with humans was risky. Honor hadnoticed Fox’s regard shifting to dangerous territory over the lastfew days. He’d been a child when she pulled him from the river. Hewas now a young man, and to human eyes she appeared to be a youngwoman. And judging from the company he kept, Fox was drawn to theold magic and the people who embodied it.

Honor had not been the only one to notice Fox’sattentiveness. She often sensed Vishni’s gaze following her, andshe noted the calculating gleam in the fairy’s dark eyes. A jealousfairy could present a dangerous complication.

Avidan, on the other hand, was largely oblivious toHonor’s presence. The fey-touched alchemist had embraced his roleas a visiting alchemist and spent most of his time working withvials of foul-smelling liquids. Honor had little doubt that when anopportunity finally arose, he could hold his own in conversationwith Muldonny.

Each member of the Fox Den had a reason for helpingHonor, but Delgar was the only one who understood the importance ofher quest.

And that was another problem.

Most Carmot dwarves believed their affinity forcarmite gave them an innate and sacred right to possess it. Delgarmight say otherwise, but he had not yet heard the Thorn’s song. Thecall of like to like might well prove too powerful to resist. Honorhad resigned herself to the possibility that she might have tofight Delgar for possession of the Thorn before this was over.

A street urchin bumped into her. Honor immediatelyslapped one hand over her coin purse and spun to face a second boy.His jaunty pace never faltered, but she caught a glimpse of thesmall crescent knife he quickly palmed.

Fox had warned her about this basic cut-purse ploywhen he’d tied the coin purse to her belt. Everyone in Sevrincarried one, he claimed, even if they held a few flat stones ratherthan coins. It was not prudent to be seen without one. There wereno indigent people in Sevrin, just as there was no crime and nomagic.

And for that matter, no elves.

Suddenly Honor’s determination to take a solitarywalk struck her as self-indulgent and dangerous. The adepts haddefined an ideal Sevrin, and they maintained that appearance byrigorously pruning away anything which did not conform to thedesired shape.

A strange hum, like the burn of muscles forced tohold still for too long, began to spread through Honor’s limbs. Herfeet went numb. Icy torpor crept up her legs until she couldneither 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 endedin an imposing white stone building.

For one panic-filled moment, she considered seizingthe iron fence and hanging on until the compulsion stopped. Butthat would draw attention she could not afford.

So she walked to the building and climbed the broadwhite stairs. Runes on a large wood sign over the door indicatedthat this was the Sevrin Library. The carved image of books andscrolls embellished the sign for no reason Honor could perceive,except perhaps to keep the illiterate from wandering into thebuilding by mistake. Another time, she might have chosen to explorewhat humans considered important enough to commit to page andparchment.

But she could not choose.

A profound sense of helplessness and violation washedover her. This compulsion, this utter loss of control, was farworse than the terror of awakening in Rhendish’s lair.

She walked past shelf after shelf of books in a roomnearly as large as a forest clearing. To her ears, each quiet stepsounded like a soft, dry sob.

Her traitorous feet took her to a row of doors at theback 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 Rhendishsitting at a small polished table.

He gestured to the second chair. Bitterness rose inHonor’s throat like bile as she took the seat.

“I suppose you want me to take you to the thieves’den now.”

The adept’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “Have youretrieved the dagger so soon?”

She shook her head.

“Then our original agreement stands. Once you havereclaimed your property, I will require your assistance in locatingthe Fox’s lair.”

“Why are you so interested in him?”

He tsked gently. “I did not demand to know what valueyour dagger held for you. Is it not enough that he leads a band ofthieves who can disappear into the shadows like roaches?”

“You captured the dwarf without my assistance.”

“The opportunity arose. And you must admit that hemade admirable bait.”

“You could have taken Fox when he came to rescue hisfriend.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “That would have given me two ofthe thieves, but no guarantee that they would reveal the locationof 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? Theyare helping you in your quest?”

“They are helping.”

Rhendish leaned forward, concern shadowing hisforest-hued eyes. “But they don’t trust you. Have you given themreason to suspect you are working with me?”

“Apart from meeting with you in a public place in themiddle of the day?”

“A valid point,” he said in a dry tone. “You may wantto peruse a volume or two to explain your interest in the library,if you’re called upon to do so. But I cannot stress too stronglythe importance of keeping our alliance secret. It could mean yourlife.”

“It is late in the game for threats,” she said.

“I wasn’t threatening you. To the contrary! My onlydesire is to ensure that you fully understand your situation.”

He tapped on the one of the walls. The door opened. Aman with a long blond beard and a chest as broad as an elk’s filledthe doorway.

The adept motioned the big man inside. “This isVolgo, the captain of my personal guard. He led the expedition intothe forest. Ask him what you will.”

This, Honor had not expected. She took a moment toput 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 peoplein Sevrin who collect curiosities. I have purchased one or two fromthem, myself,” Rhendish said. “But over time, the sheer number ofitems they collected suggested a more, shall we say, activemeans of acquisition?”

“You thought they might be raiding elvenvillages.”

“It seemed a possibility worth investigating,”Rhendish said.

“Why do you care? Would too many elven handiworksweaken your claim that the Old Races and their magic are gone?”

“It might,” the adept said coolly. “Especially if theelves marched in force to retrieve these items and seek reprisalsfor the raids.”

The unexpected candor of this remark brought a wrysmile to Honor’s face. Rhendish did not want trouble with theelves. If she learned nothing else from this odd meeting, that wasinformation worth knowing.

She turned back to the captain.

“Did you speak to my sister?”

The big man hesitated. “As to that, I can give noguarantee. The elf said she was your sister.”

“She looked like me?”

“She might have, at one time. You were both badlywounded. Under the circumstances, a resemblance would be difficultto determine.”

“Describe her.”

The man’s gaze grew unfocused as it shifted to thecontemplation of memory. “White hair, streaked with brown and graylike the bark of a birch tree. Pale skin. Light eyes. She was aboutyour size. If she was human, I’d say she’d lived no more thanfive-and-twenty years. But that could describe nearly all thefemales in the clearing.”

“Everyone there was dressed in dark blue,” shesaid.

“Nearly everyone,” he said. “The elf who claimedkinship to you wore a white gown and a mantle of some sort of whitefur.”

Honor’s throat tightened. She did not recall thedetails of that night and retained no image of her sister’s part init, but Volgo’s description matched the sort of gown Asteria wouldhave worn to a winter tribunal.

“What did she say to you?”

“She spoke to one of my men at first. He called meover when she demanded to speak to the ‘warlord.’ There wassomething in her manner that prompted obedience.”

This, beyond doubt, was Asteria. “What did she ask ofyou?”

“She asked for your life,” the man said. “Her woundswere mortal. Yours did not appear to be. She asked that you betended. You were to return a stolen dagger to your people. She wasmost insistent.”

The adept’s pursuit of the Gatherers, the honor shownthe slain elves, the undertaking of Asteria’s quest-all thesethings bore evidence to Rhendish’s determination to prevent troublebetween her people and his. Honor found that admirable. As thequeen’s sister and champion, she could do no less. Logic told herthat Rhendish was an ally.

And yet.

Rhendish reached out to touch her hand. He seemedneither surprised nor offended when she snatched it away.

“Does that suffice?” he asked.

She nodded. The adept dismissed his captain with aflick of one hand.

When they were alone, Rhendish leaned forwardconfidingly. “You don’t need to take the dagger back to the forest,if you don’t wish to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Her words came out sharper than she intended.Rhendish lifted both hands in a placating gesture.

“The captain told me certain other things thatpainted a rather ominous picture.”

“Such as?”

“There were no weapons in the glen except for asingle long sword. Of course,” he said, “it is possible that anyother weapons were taken as plunder, as was the dagger you seek.But none of the elves in the glen wore either belt or baldric. Thebodies of a few armed elves were found in the forest nearby, butnone in the clearing. Since it’s obvious that the elves didn’tgather for battle or hunting, I assume the raiders interrupted acelebration or ritual of some sort.”

All of these things were undoubtedly true. “So?”

“Except for your sister, all of the elves weredressed in dark blue. But my men found a single crimson robe. Thepresence of a blood-red robe and a single sword strikes me assomewhat. . suggestive.”

“You’ve concluded the gathering was to be a trialfollowed by an execution.”

He nodded. “And after the trial was interrupted, anelf in garb befitting a queen or a priestess demanded that youpresent yourself and a ceremonial dagger to your surviving clan.Forgive me if I presume, but it sounds very much like sentence wasalready passed-in your sister’s mind, if none other.”

A sound like rushing waters closed over Honor’s head.As much as she wanted to refute the adept’s words, she could not becertain that he was wrong. There was much about that night that waslost to memory. It might have been as he said.

“So when I say that you need not return to theforest, I’m offering you an alternative. You could stay in Sevrin.Volgo has faced elven swords before. He’s very eager to add one tohis company.”

“Not every elf is a warrior.”

Rhendish took her sword hand and turned it up,displaying the row of nearly bone-deep calluses across the top ofher palm and the scar along the pad of her thumb.

His eyes narrowed and he pushed up her sleeve. “Youremoved the bracers.”

“They were uncomfortable.”

“To you or to one of the Fox’s band of thieves?” heasked slyly.

She kept her gaze on his and her face impassive.“Obviously you’ve never worn armor of any kind.”

“But the scars. .”

She glanced down at her forearm. Pale silver linesran the length of her arm, crisscrossing older scars she’d won inbattle. None of the marks were unsightly. Elves healed quickly andvalued signs of valor.

“What about them?”

He shook his head in astonishment. “Most women of myacquaintance-and most men, for that matter-would consider suchmarks disfiguring.”

“You don’t know many warriors, then.”

“All the more reason for me to secure your services.I promise you, this arrangement would suit us both,” he saidearnestly. “Whatever you sought to achieve in the forest is lost.With me, you can gain wealth, a position of command, whatever youdesire.”

“What if my desire is to return to my people?”

“Only to die over some failed plot or unrealizedambition?” He shook his head. “You might think honor requires thisof you, but isn’t there greater honor to be found in keeping yourpeople safe and at peace? I’m offering you an alliance that puts inyour hands all the resources necessary to protect the forest fromthose who would despoil it.

“And who knows?” He turned his hands palms up andspread them out wide in the manner of one presenting vastpossibilities. “In time, you might achieve whatever it was thatbrought you to trial.”

“Or prove myself innocent.”

“Or that,” he said in a bland tone that contradictedhis words.

Honor studied him for any sign of duplicity. To allappearances, he sincerely believed her a traitor who might be wonto his cause. Why, she could not begin to fathom.

“I will think on it,” she said. “May I go?”

He swept one hand toward the door in a graceful arc.Honor rose, grateful to find her body back under her command.

Somehow she found her way through the walls of booksand out onto the street. She walked for a long time, playing thehuman’s words over and over in her mind.

He could be right. It was possible. If for somereason Asteria thought her capable of treachery, the Thorn wouldconfirm her suspicions.

On the other hand, it was possible that someone hadaccused Honor of wrongdoing, and Asteria knew that only theceremonial dagger would prove her innocence beyond doubt.

The more Honor thought about this, the more likely itseemed.

There was, of course, one other possibility:

Rhendish was lying to her because he wanted the Thornfor himself. What better way to learn of its power than placing itin the hands of an elf he so obviously controlled?

And if he was lying about this, what else might he bekeeping from her?

She turned off the street and walled through the archleading into a city park, one of the small green spaces that dottedthe city. Perhaps standing under the shade of these trees wouldlend her a moment of peace and clarity.

The tumult of her thoughts began to wane as shewalked along the paths. A lone songbird called from a butternuttree. She stopped and whistled back the little fragment of melody.The bird flitted down to a lower branch and hopped closer, itslittle head tipped inquisitively to one side.

She held out one hand and repeated the bird’s call.Tiny black eyes regarded her as if taking her measure. Honor calledagain. The bird leaped into the air and winged off toward the farend of the park.

Honor stood in stunned silence. No forest bird hadever fled from her before.

“Have you city birds forgotten the elves?” she saidsoftly. “Or has Rhendish changed me beyond recognition?”

She headed toward a small man-made pond, halfwondering if the reflection in it would be familiar. A stand ofmeadow flowers near the pond caught her eye. She moved over for acloser look.

Most of the flowers were yellow and blue blossomscommon to the northland meadows. A pang of remorse struck Honor asshe remembered the sprite Rhendish had forced her to kill. Sheglanced down at the palm of her sword hand, half expecting to seeit stained with gold and blue dust from tiny crushed wings.

Honor pushed this thought aside. Some instinct haddrawn her to the meadow flowers. She closed her eyes and stilledher mind.

When she opened her eyes, her gaze fell upon a patchof wild carrots. The large, lacy white flowers swayed on delicatestalks longer than Honor’s arm.

A light began to dawn in the back of Honor’s mind.She didn’t dare hope that the idea taking shape would gain her herfreedom, but it might enable her to do her duty.

She stooped and snapped off several of the flowersnear the base of the stem. Bouquet in hand, she headed toward theFox Den, and the fey-touched madman who might become her mostvaluable ally.

Fox sat on the edge of Avidan’s worktable, eyeing avase of meadow flowers with a mixture of curiosity and concern.That the alchemist would keep a bouquet of wild carrot blossoms inhis workroom was strange enough. His motivation for keeping them inblood red liquid was something Fox didn’t care to contemplate.Whatever the reason, the color had worked its way up the narrowstems, dying the lacy white blossoms a deep shade of rose.

The alchemist sprinkled a handful of green crystalsinto a bowl of water and attacked them with a whisk. Crystals brokeapart, sending blood-red streaks swirling through the water.

Fox was beginning to sense a disturbing theme.

“Should I be worried about that concoction?”

“It stings a little, if that’s a concern,” Avidansaid without looking up from his work. “This is an aqueous solutionof mercury. It prevents wounds from going septic.”

The alchemist’s tone was confident and his movementsprecise and practiced. At moments like this, Fox could envisionAvidan leading a successful foray into Muldonny’s mansion. Theywould walk in through the well-guarded gates without a qualm,Avidan would discourse learnedly with the adept, Fox would switchthe daggers, and they’d be back on Sevrin’s main island before thetaverns opened.

“The mercury solution is also effective in earlystages of the pox,” Avidan said. “Naturally, it must be applieddirectly to the site of initial contact.”

This image effectively dispelled Fox’s optimisticdaydream. “That’s more information than I need.”

“I have heard, however, that some women find thebright orange color a bit off-putting.”

“To say nothing of the pox,” Fox muttered.

“Of course, you’ll need a larger codpiece toaccommodate the bandages.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

Avidan lifted the bowl. “Are you sure? I haveextra.”

The thief sighed. “Let’s just get this done.”

The alchemist dipped a cloth into the bowl andclucked like a brooding hen as he dabbed rust-colored solution ontoFox’s forehead.

“What did you do to anger her?”

“Who?”

“The fairy, of course.”

Fox’s laughter was cut short by a stab of pain fromhis split lip. He winced and prodded at it with one finger.

“Vishni didn’t do this.”

“If you say so.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but realized thealchemist was probably more right than wrong.

“I will go alone to meet with Vishni and thealchemist whose place I am to take,” Avidan said.

The combined weight of everything that could go wrongwith that plan hit Fox like a fist to the gut. “That’s notnecessary.”

Avidan reached for a polished metal tray and held itin front of Fox’s face. The thief grimaced at the reflectedimage.

“It’s necessary,” Avidan said. “You cannot walk intoa fest hall looking as you do. Since there is no crime in Sevrin,people might wonder how you found yourself on the wrong side of abrawl. You can stay with Delgar and help our new friend return tohis lodgings.”

Fox accepted this with a nod. Playing the role of acharming courtesan should offer Vishni enough diversion to keep herattention from straying. And if it did not, they had a reliableescape route in place.

“Just so you know, I’m not letting you walk intoMuldonny’s alone.”

“I will make unguents to darken your skin and hidemost of the damage to your face. In the meanwhile, this willhelp.”

Avidan reached into a metal box and removed a cube ofraw meat. A droplet of blood splashed onto the alchemist’sworktable.

Fox leaned away from the offered tidbit. “Nothanks.”

“Are you sure? Vishni stole this from the butcher onRedcloak Street. He has an ice house. It’s good and cold.”

“I’ve already eaten.”

The alchemist’s lip curled in disgust. “You’re notsupposed to eat it. You’re supposed to put it on your black eye.The cold will bring down the swelling.”

“Why didn’t she just steal some ice? Wouldn’t thatwork as well?”

“Better,” Avidan said. “But there is very little foodvalue in ice.”

Fox started to respond, decided it wasn’t worth it,and hopped off the table. He took the cube of raw steak and pressedit to his swollen eye as he left for saner regions. The remedymight be disgusting, but he found it surprisingly soothing.

The gathering room with its ever-shifting mirror wasempty. Fox slumped into a chair and stared at an image of pale sandcurling around an inlet of bright turquoise sea.

Since he was alone, he had no need to temper hisfascination with the mirror. He devoured images of woodlandwaterfalls, distant cities glimpsed from mountaintops, painteddeserts. His favorite scene showed him a single wolf silhouettedagainst a rising moon, muzzle lifted in song.

There had been no wolves on the islands of Sevrin fora hundred generations. No one who lived in Sevrin could hope to seea wolf.

No one who lived in Sevrin could hope to see manythings.

Fox’s sigh came from the depths of his soul. None ofhis friends, not even Delgar, knew of his longing for distantplaces. But his work was here. So was his mother, even if she nolonger knew him.

He suddenly remembered the locket she’d handed himdays earlier. A quick pat-down of his pockets yielded nothing but astab of panic.

The green tunic he wore for his Gatherer disguisecame to mind. He tossed the meat into the hearth and hurried to thelittle stone-walled room where he slept and stored his things.

A bit of rummaging in his chest yielded the gaudytunic. To his relief, the locket was tucked in the hip pocket.

He flipped it open and looked inside, expecting theusual lock of hair or miniature painting of some long-deadrelative. Instead, a design of intertwined runes surrounded a nameeveryone in the northlands knew:

Eldreath.

Eldreath, the sorcerer whose long and brutal reignhad given way to the age of adepts and alchemy.

In Fox’s opinion, the new regime wasn’t much of animprovement. This belief stood at the core of his work, his life.He’d never thought to question why he felt as he did.

Until now.

He had grown up hearing stories of the sorcerer’satrocities. But those were just stories. No matter what Vishnisaid, no story could be as powerful as experience.

Fox had seen the work of the adepts and theirGatherers with his own eyes. He’d seen his village attacked, hishome burned. He and his mother had been captured, dragged to thecity, questioned, tortured. What became of his father was somethinghe might never learn.

He didn’t remember much from those terrible days, buthe doubted anyone could forget the tall, blond-bearded Gatherer whokept asking about a bloodline.

Fox had always assumed these questions sprung fromhis mother’s reputation as a green witch. Magic tended to run infamilies, so of course the adepts would want to round up herrelatives. But the locket opened a new door of possibility.

His mother told him it had been passed down in thefamily. Eldreath had lived long past the normally allotted span. Ifhe gave the locket to some lady as a token, she might have passedit down through several generations before it came into Fox’shands.

“A sorcerer’s bloodline,” Fox murmured, unsurewhether he should be appalled or thrilled.

This explained Rhendish’s abiding interest incapturing Fox, and the near-captivity his mother endured within thewalls of the adept’s domain. It also explained Fox’s passion formagic.

It might even explain his personal vendetta againstthe adepts and his determination to take part in their overthrow.According to Vishni’s stories, and for that matter nearly everyother tale Fox had heard, blood and destiny were inseparable.

The only outlying fact was his total lack of anymagical talent.

This revelation was too big for one mind toencompass. Fox pushed himself out of the chair and went looking forDelgar.

The heat hit him while he was still several pacesaway from the dwarf’s workroom. He plunged through a cloud of steamand stepped into the stone chamber.

In the center of the room, flames danced in a stonefire pit. The dwarf sat in a stout wooden chair, his stocky formdraped in a protective leather apron.

Delgar picked up a narrow bar of glass with an irontong and dipped it into the fire. He drew one of several long,slender tools from the coals, wiped it clean on the damp rag drapedover his leather-clad lap, and began to shape the blade. A fewstrokes, then back into the fire went the glass and the iron. Backand forth, bit by steady bit, the dagger took shape.

“This is like watching a river eroding stone,” Foxsaid.

Delgar glanced up. “I’m about to add the handle.Watch if you want, but don’t expect scintillatingconversation.”

“In this workshop?”

The dwarf snorted and reached for a delicately etchedcross guard. He lowered a metal dropper into a beaker sitting amidglowing coals and measured a few drops of clear liquid onto thehilt. Before the glass could cool, he pressed the heated bladeagainst the guard and held it in place.

“Looks like that would break easily.” Fox grimaced.“You know, that sounded a lot more sensible before I said it outloud.”

Delgar shot a quick glance in his direction.“Glassweapons can be surprisingly durable. Dwarves have several reasonsfor making them. But these daggers aren’t meant for fighting.They’re like costumes: meant for effect, not everyday wear.”

“These daggers? How many are there?”

The dwarf tipped his head toward a table. Fivefinished daggers rested on a soft, thick cloth.

Fox went over for a closer look. “Why so many?”

“Practice, for starters,” Delgar said. “I haven’tworked in glass for more than forty years.”

“They all look perfect.” Fox picked up one of thecurved blades, turned it this way and that to catch the light, andtraded it for another. “They’re also identical.”

“Not quite. Look more closely at the roses.”

At first glance, Fox assumed that the tightly furled,long-stemmed rosebud had been etched into the glass. But it lookedsomehow. . deeper.

He ran his fingertips over the blade to find that itwas perfectly smooth.

“The design is inside the glass! How did youdo this?”

The dwarf put down the cooled glass and stretched.“When you have a few years to spare, I’d be happy to show you. Putthat dagger back and run your eye down the line from left to right.Concentrate on the roses.”

Fox did as he was told. The tight rosebud on thefirst dagger unfurled a bit on the next, and so on until the fifthdagger depicted a half-blown rose.

“The Thorn’s rose opens at sunrise and closes atsunset. There’s no telling exactly when we’ll get into Muldonny’scuriosity room. If you have to make the switch with someonewatching, you’ll have less chance of detection if the copy andoriginal match.”

Fox grimaced. “I should have thought of that. Goodplanning.”

“I’d take credit if I could. It was the elf’s idea.She’s got Avidan working on them, too.”

“Now there’s a frightening thought.”

“He was in here a little earlier. He said he’doffered to treat you for the pox but you declined, so he wasextending the offer to me.” Delgar lifted one eyebrow. “Clearly,Avidan misunderstands the nature of our relationship.”

Fox touched the cut on his forehead. “He made themedicine for this. He had extra.”

The dwarf’s lips twitched as he took in his friend’sbattered face. “Is that the fairy’s handiwork?”

“Indirectly,” Fox said. “She created what you mightcall a misunderstanding with a couple of fishermen. The older onehad a wicked hook.”

The dwarf snorted. “How long have you been waiting touse that line?”

“Oh, I’ve been casting about for an hour or two.” Foxpaused. “We could probably do this for hours.”

“Let’s not.”

The dwarf pushed his chair away from the fire pit andstretched his muscled legs. “Are you going to tell me what’s onyour mind, or do I have to fish for it?”

“I thought we were stopping.”

“Believe it or not, that one was accidental. Changethe subject before someone overhears and kills us both.”

Fox took the locket from his bag and handed it to thedwarf.

Delgar’s gaze went right to the broken clasp. “Thislooks like an easy fix. I’ll get to it tonight.”

“Never mind the clasp. Look inside.”

The dwarf flipped the locket open and studied therunes. Color faded from his forge-reddened face.

“You, my friend, have been dipping into the wrongpockets.”

“The locket isn’t stolen. It was passed down throughmy family.”

A long slow whistle escaped the dwarf. “Are you surethis means what it seems to? The adepts claim that Eldreath’sbloodline had been wiped out.”

“They claim a lot of things.”

“True.”

“If I am descended from Eldreath, I’m making a liarout of Rhendish just by breathing and walking around.”

“How did he find out?” The dwarf grimaced as theanswer came to him. “Your mother.”

“That’s the obvious answer.” The words tasted bitterin Fox’s mouth. “You’ve seen how they left her.”

“If that’s how they got the information, she didn’tmake it easy for them.”

They sat in silence for several long moments. Delgarcleared his throat. “So what are you going to do?”

Fox didn’t need to ask what his friend meant. In thenext chamber, hidden behind one of the dwarf’s apparently solidrock doors, was a trove of magical items. Some still held weaksputters of arcane power, others were as silent as tombstones. Foxhad spent the past eight years stealing them from museums andprivate collectors and curiosity shops and from Rhendish himself,hoarding them against the day when magic returned to Sevrin. Hisassociation with a dwarf, a fairy, and now an elf gave himimportant contacts to the old races. The magical items gave himbargaining power and potential weapons. In time, he hoped to buildan alliance strong enough to force the adepts from power.

No one but Delgar knew the extent of his collection,but Fox had a certain following in the city, mostly among youngpeople who celebrated his exploits as acts of daring andrebellion.

That, of course, was Vishni’s doing. The fairy’s“ improved tales” put Fox well along the path to becoming a folkhero.

Fox had mixed feelings about this, but he permittedit because he believed the folk hero of Vishni’s stories couldaccomplish great things. But the same actions, undertaken by a manof Eldreath’s bloodlines, would be perceived in a very differentlight.

“What does the elf say about this?” Delgar asked.

“I haven’t told her. I just found out myself.”

“But you’re planning to,” the dwarf said.

Fox scowled and folded his arms. “I might.”

“You like her.”

“She doesn’t make it easy,” Fox said cautiously, “butyes, I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

Delgar rose and began to pace. “You didn’t noticeanything strange about the two men we saw in the alley with theelf?”

He thought this over. “Now that you mention it, oneof them looked a little old for a street thug.”

“Define old.”

“Well, he had gray hair. And he looked pretty wellfed, which tends to make people look older.”

“He was stocky, in other words. About my height, youthink?”

“Pretty close,” Fox said.

“And he was clean-shaven, which is unusual for ahuman of his age.” Delgar stroked his own smooth chin. “What aboutthe other man?”

“About six feet tall, lean, probably about my age.”Understanding flooded Fox’s face. “You think they looked likeus.”

“They were close enough to fool Rhendish’s clockworkguards.”

Fox laughed and shook his head. “Are all dwarves thissuspicious?”

“I prefer to think of myself as analytical. And yes,dwarves tend to be analytical. Humans, on the other hand, tend tobe emotional and impulsive.”

“I prefer to think of myself as instinctual,” Foxsaid.

“Have it your way. But I noticed you haven’t broughtthe elf this far into the tunnels. You haven’t shown her thetrove.”

Fox rolled his eyes. “I’m not a perfect idiot, youknow.”

“That you’re not.” The dwarf stopped pacing andclapped Fox on the shoulder. “But only because nobody’sperfect.”

Chapter Seven: Shoddy Workmanship

For nearly four years now, Avidan had harbored nothought of leaving the warren of rooms and tunnels he knew as theFox Den. He had no aversion to the larger world; the thought ofventuring out into it had simply never occurred to him.

But something very similar to curiosity began to stiras he followed Fox and Delgar through an intricate maze of tunnelsand secret doors.

The hidden web Delgar had created was nothing shortof marvelous. In addition to clearing ancient dwarf-built tunnels,the dwarf had made use of human constructions, such as the culvertsbelow the streets for rain run-off and the cellars of houses builtclosely together. He’d dug small tunnels connecting these cellars,and fashioned doors that seemed to disappear into the stonewalls.

For the first time Avidan realized how Fox was ableto procure any materials he requested. Now that he thought aboutit, the herbs and minerals and oils he was putting into the elf’srose daggers would require a small fortune.

Or access to the workrooms of Sevrin’salchemists.

This, too, was a fascinating thought. He’d never beenparticularly impressed by the northern alchemists. His own work wasfar more advanced. But the most recent assortment of materials Foxbrought him showed a certain amount of sophistication.

“I suppose much progress can be made in one hundredyears,” he murmured.

Delgar glanced back over his shoulder. “I haven’tbeen at it quite that long, but thanks.”

Avidan saw no reason to explain that he spoke ofalchemy, not excavation. He followed Fox and the dwarf up a flightof rough-hewn stone stairs and waited while Fox tinkered with awood-and-wire mechanism. After a few moments, the young thief swunga flagstone portal to one side.

The two friends crawled through the opening. Foxreached down to help Avidan up.

He stood and dusted himself off. The flagstone provedto be part of the stone paving separating a large hearth from theroom’s wooden floor. Fortunately for them, the warm summer nightmade a fire unnecessary.

Avidan surveyed the private supper room Vishni hadrented in what he’d been told was one of Sevrin’s better taverns.The walls were paneled with smoke-darkened wood. A garish tapestrydepicting a dragon hunt covered one wall, adding color andsubtracting from Avidan’s estimation of the owner’s taste. Bluelinen draperies softened the open windows. The room was hardly whathe had been accustomed to in his youth, but the furnishings wereadequate and the food plentiful.

The small table held a large bottle of wine and aplatter of bread, cheese and fruit. Fragrant steam rose from abasket of savory hand pies. Smoked fish had been cut into neatslices and arranged on a plate. Three chairs and place settingsstood ready.

“There’s no need for you to talk much,” Fox said,repeating words Avidan had heard and ignored several times now.“Let the other alchemist do the talking. Learn as much as you canabout him.”

“You need have no concerns about the conversation. Nodoubt we will find much to discuss.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” muttered the dwarf.

“No going off on tangents,” Fox said. “And for thelove of a thousand tiny gods, don’t offer to treat him for thepox.”

Avidan’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Why would I dothat?”

The dwarf and the thief exchanged a quick, worriedglance. Fox cleared his throat. “We’ll hold onto the alchemistuntil after the dagger is retrieved, so you don’t need to worry toomuch about what you say to him. Just make sure you don’t give himreason to leave the room or raise an alarm. Vishni will give you asignal if you’re heading into dangerous waters.”

“I believe the plan is for her to kick me in theshins.”

Fox shrugged. “It’s best to keep these thingssimple.”

Avidan accepted this with a nod and took his place atthe table. “I am ready.”

The dwarf glanced out the window. Twilight fadedtoward dark. A lamplighter sang the hour as he went about hiswork.

“Ready or not, we have to leave,” Delgar said. “We’llbe waiting in the tunnel and we can come if you need us, but onlycall as a last resort. Revealing this tunnel would lose us a bigsection of the city.”

“I am well aware of the risks attending thismeeting,” Avidan said with simple dignity. “As I’m aware how theserisks might be compounded by the participation of someone who is,as I believe the expression goes, as crazy as three squirrels ina cage.”

A wave of chagrin swept Fox’s face. “Listen,Avidan-”

He cut the young man off with an upraised hand. “Ihave long been aware of your opinion. It could hardly be otherwise,given how you found me. And in all candor I cannot dispute yourconclusion.

“But this task I can do,” he said firmly. “Go now,and leave me to it.”

The two friends exchanged another troubled glance,but they left the room without further comment.

Avidan poured a little wine and sipped. To hissurprise, the rich taste of pomegranate liqueur slid across histongue. He had not tasted this treasure of Veldoon since-

He stopped this thought before it could lead him ontodangerous pathways. He could not afford to think about those lostyears, not if he hoped to play the part of a sane man.

A woman’s laughter rang out in the hall beyond thesupper room. The door opened and Vishni swept in on the arm of thealchemist she’d hunted and charmed.

As always, Avidan could see through the illusionVishni wore to the reality beneath. The experience was a bit likelooking through a very solid rainbow. Tonight she chose to appearblond and blue-eyed and buxom-the quintessential northland woman,everything a visitor to Sevrin might hope to find in a temporarycompanion.

The man with her was somewhat less than averageheight, by the standards of Sevrin, and slightly built. He wore hisglossy black hair neatly combed and oiled. His skin had been warmedby the southern sun to a color just short of brown. His nose wasthin and aquiline, his eyes an unusual shade of light graysurrounded by a darker ring.

Looking upon him was like gazing into a mirror.

Avidan rose and spread both hands palms up in theVeldooni gesture of greeting.

The alchemist started when he saw Avidan. “I did notexpect to meet a countryman.” His gaze swept Avidan’s simple bluetunic. “And a brother of alchemy, as well!”

Avidan glanced at Vishni. “I am equallysurprised.”

“A pleasant surprise, I trust.” The Veldooni manbowed. “Shavin Insa’amid.”

“An honor, Master Insa’amid.” He returned the bow. “Ifollow the Sevrin custom of a single name. Avidan.”

The man’s dark brows rose. “A common name among myfamily, though I have not heard it elsewhere.”

“Shall we sit?” Vishni said. “I’m famished, and thoselittle pies smell wonderful.”

They took their places around the small table. Vishnikept up a spate of entertaining chatter as she poured wine andheaped food onto small plates.

“I hope you don’t mind me inviting Avidan to joinus,” she told her guest. “He has been longing for news from home,so I thought I’d surprise you both.”

“How long has it been since you left our homeland?”Shavin asked.

“I have not been in Veldoon for generations.”

Shavin laughed. “How well I understand thatsentiment! Though I left but four moons ago, it seems years havepassed. Do you plan to return home soon?”

“I hope to. But I no longer consider Veldoon tobe-”

Vishni kicked him under the table.

He took a deep breath and chose one of the questionsFox had bid him memorize. “What brings you to Sevrin, brother?”

“Oh, the fame of the adepts, of course! I have thehonor of conferring with one of Sevrin’s masters tomorrow. Do youknow the adept Muldonny?”

“I am familiar with his work and reputation, butsince we are not on the same level of accomplishment, there islittle call for us to confer.”

“You are too modest, I’m sure.”

“Not at all. Muldonny’s attempts to achieve alkahestare far from-”

Another sharp kick warned Avidan away from thatparticular precipice. Vishni sent him an innocent smile and reachedfor the wine bottle.

“Alkahest!” Shavin said with a smile. “That was mygreat-grandsire’s study. They say he was determined to solve thealkahest conundrum. Do you know it?”

“A universal solvent cannot be formulated until onediscovers a container it cannot dissolve.”

The Veldooni man slapped his knee and beamed. “That’sit precisely!”

“A dragon’s tooth.”

Shavin’s smile faltered. “Pardon?”

“The container,” Avidan said. “Dragons are notcreatures of this realm of existence. The great Palanir limits thedefinition of ‘universal’ to substances known to the mortal realm.Thus, alkahest can be contained by immortality.”

The Veldooni’s eyes brightened with the excitement ofa swordsman meeting a worthy foe. He gestured to the tapestry. “Ah,but can an immortal being be slain?”

“More importantly,” Vishni broke in, “can the peoplewho wove that tapestry be slain before they weave again?”

Shavin chuckled and Avidan found the corners of hisown lips turning up in agreement.

“If the old tales hold fact as well as truth, godscan die,” Avidan said. “Would you deem them mortal, as well?”

The Veldooni’s eyebrows rose. “Palanir again! Aclassic rhetorical argument, one I have not heard in years. So fewmen of our years bother to study the Philosophers. Alchemy hasbecome the art of mixing and measuring.”

“Like a guild of bakers.”

“Just so!” Shavin slapped his knee again. “If it werein my power to do so, I would invite you to accompany me tomorrow.Muldonny has expressed an interest in my pursuit of alkahest. Ifall well short of my great-grandsire’s knowledge on this subject,but what I know I will gladly share with him.”

Vishni poured the last of the wine into her cup andtossed it back. She reached for the bottle and turned to Avidan.“Do you think you can take it from here?”

“I believe so, yes.”

The fairy rose, the empty bottle in her hand. Sheraised it high and brought it down hard on Shavin’s head.

His eyes glazed and his jaw fell slack. The grapehe’d just popped into his mouth dropped out and rolled off thetable.

“He’s not falling,” Vishni said. “Shall I hit himagain?”

Avidan reached out and gave the man’s shoulder alittle nudge. He slumped and fell face down into the smokedfish.

The fairy pouted. “You’re not much fun.”

“Oh, I think you’ve amused yourself quite enough forone day.”

Vishni beamed. “That was fun, wasn’t it? For a minutethere, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. When Shavin and I camein.”

“Highly diverting, I’m sure.”

She waited for more. When none was forthcoming, sheshrugged and turned toward the hearth. “I’ll call Fox andDelgar.”

“Wait.”

He reached into the neck of his tunic and found thechain holding his most prized and dreaded possession: a tiny bottleshaped like a green teardrop.

Vishni caught her breath. “Is that-”

“Nepenthe,” he said. “The potion of forgetfulness.The fairies’ last and kindest gift.”

He pulled the tiny stopper and reached for Shavin’sgoblet. Vishni caught his wrist before he could empty it.

“That vial holds enough to remove a hundred yearsfrom a mortal’s memory. A single drop will empty Shavin’s mind ofeverything that occurred since he left his homeland.”

Avidan took a needle from his bag and dipped it intothe vial. The tiny drop that fell from the slender dipper would, hehoped, steal no more than a few days from his kinsman’s memory.

He pushed Shavin upright and let his head fall back.While Vishni held the alchemist so he would not fall from hischair, Avidan fed him the drugged liqueur little by little,patiently spooning oblivion down the man’s slack throat.

When the task was finished, Vishni regarded Avidanwith something akin to compassion in her dark eyes.

“There’s enough left to take the memory of faeriefrom you. You could drink and forget.”

“Would you drink? Would you choose to forget?”

He turned away without waiting for her reply andtapped his foot twice on the flagstone portal.

The stone swung aside. Delgar and Fox hauledthemselves into the room and took in the scene.

“You can take him right to his chambers,” Avidansaid. He held up the teardrop bottle. “He will not recall anythingthat transpired here.”

“Believe him,” Vishni said firmly.

“Well, that’s good enough for me,” Delgarmurmured.

Avidan recognized sarcasm in the dwarf’s voice. Itoccurred to him that he had heard Delgar use this tone before. Infact, it was exceeding familiar, perhaps even habitual. When timepermitted, he would reconsider the dwarf’s past comments in thelight of this new insight.

Fox looked skeptical. “I suppose I can sit with himuntil he wakes up. If you’re right, I can give him some story aboutsaving him from street thugs. One look at my face, and he’ll knowI’ve been fighting someone. If you’re wrong, I can hit him againand we’ll go back to the original plan.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Delgar said. He bent down andslung the man over his shoulder. “You go first. I’ll hand him downto you and then I’ll take it from there.”

“Clothes,” Fox reminded him. “Papers, jewelry.”

The dwarf grimaced and lowered the unconscious man tothe floor. He and Fox made short work of stripping him of hisVeldooni finery.

Avidan traded clothing with Shavin Insa’amid and slidhis kinsman’s rings onto his fingers. The fit could not have beenbetter if they’d been made to his measure.

Fox’s gaze slid from Avidan to the unconscious man.“The resemblance is remarkable. Good thinking, Vishni. This makesthings easier.”

“Considerably,” Avidan said. “Go about your businessnow. I will meet you in the Fox Den later tonight.”

He stood a little taller than was his custom and hespoke with an authority he had not assumed for three generations.It did not seem strange to him that Fox and the dwarf did as he bidthem.

Nor did it feel as strange as he might have expectedto be wearing the layers of embroidered silk that stillcharacterized the clothing of his homeland. In a land of ancientways and ancient arts, styles changed but little with a singlepassing century.

Vishni eyed him with approval. “You look like MasterInsa’amid now.”

The alchemist returned her gaze steadily. “I alwaysdid. As you well know.”

“Crazier than three caged squirrels,” Delgar mutteredas he pulled the stone door shut behind him.

Delgar and Fox returned to the den shortly aftermoonrise. They did not speak of the hour or the moon, but Honorknew. She could sense the rising of the moon despite the tons ofearth and stone between her and the Silver Lady.

She could do this despite whatever it was thatRhendish had done to her.

Her joy in this discovery was, however, swiftly mutedby her concern for Avidan’s absence.

Midnight came and went before the alchemist returned.Honor, who had been pacing the tunnels, pulled up short at theentrance to the mirror room. The alchemist stood before the strangeglass, his gaze lost to lands far beyond the woodland pondreflected in the mirror.

The scent of night air clung to the alchemist’s silkgarments, a delicate note amid the chorus of sandalwood and herbsperfuming them.

“You were out walking,” she said. “Did you run intoFox and Delgar? They went out looking for you a couple of hoursago.”

Avidan turned toward her. His face, backlit by thesoft sunrise glow coming from the mirror, was haggard and drawn,twisted with emotions she understood all too well.

“You do not sleep. I envy you.”

She did not require an explanation. Her oneexperience with dreams was nothing she cared to repeat.

“I’ve completed the research you requested,” shesaid. “There are many descriptions of what Muldonny’s liquidweapons can do, but very little about how they are made.”

Avidan dismissed this with a flick of his fingers.“Give it to Fox. The information may be of use to him.”

Before Honor’s astonishment had a chance to turn toindignation, he added, “The solution you requested is ready totest.”

He strode from the room without waiting for herresponse. Honor trotted to his side and fell into step.

They made their way to Avidan’s workroom withoutfurther speech. He placed a small glass beaker on his table andpushed it toward her. Beside the beaker he placed a small, sharpknife.

Honor used it to make a shallow cut on her wrist. Sheheld it over the beaker and let the blood drop into thecontainer.

After a few moments Avidan nodded. “That issufficient.”

She took the strip of cloth he handed her. While shewrapped her wrist, Avidan inserted a thin glass tube into thebeaker.

A narrow crimson thread rose toward his hand as bloodflowed up the tube.

“Capillary action,” Avidan said. “Liquid will flowupward in a narrow opening.”

She tipped her head toward the vase of wild carrotblossoms, now nearly as red as the liquid in the vial. “Just likein the meadow flowers.”

“Precisely.”

“And the solution you made will react with my bloodeven when it’s dry?”

“Wait and see.”

Honor watched as the thin line crept toward the topof the tube. A faint glow dawned in the heart of the tiny bulb.

“Enough?” Avidan asked.

The elf shook her head. “I need a more dramaticeffect.”

“A stronger solution is possible, but dangerous. Itwould become unstable when combined with blood.”

“That’s not a deterrent,” Honor said. “If you cangive me a few seconds, I’ll make it work.”

Avidan studied her as if he were beholding her forthe first time. “You are placing a great deal of confidence in theability of a madman.”

She took a few moments to choose her words. “SupposeI was offered two swords and told to pick one to take into battle.One of these swords new and gleaming and perfect, the other nickedand dulled through countless battles yet strong enough to hold anedge. Which do you think I would choose?”

“The analogy does not hold. I am no elven blade.”

“You,” she said firmly, “are beyond doubt thestrongest and sanest man I have ever met. Anyone else would haveshattered long ago.”

The alchemist’s gaze dropped to the beaker of blood.A long moment passed. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes heldclarity, determination, and an expression that Honor had only seenturned upon her sister the queen.

“For that-”

He broke off, shook his head, and began again. “Foryou, I would craft a substance that can turn the night skyto flame.”

Fox spent the night in fitful slumber, waking upagain and again from dreams that explored ways tomorrow’senterprise could go awry. Somehow he doubted a single night wassufficient to cover all possibilities.

Long before sunrise, he gave up any attempt at sleepand sought out Avidan. The alchemist was already awake and at work.A faint red glow came from a small beaker on the table.

“Working on a new source of light for thetunnels?”

Avidan looked up, a thoughtful expression on hisface. “That might be a useful application. I suppose we could makea deal with that butcher on Redcloak for supplies.”

Fox grimaced. “I don’t want to know. Ready topractice?”

They spent the next two hours going over signals,memorizing questions, running scenarios that might occur and howbest to deal with each. The trip to Stormwall Island occupiedseveral hours more, but shortly after midday Fox and Avidanpresented themselves at the gate to Muldonny’s domain.

The adept was famous for using only clockwork guardsand servants within his inner walls, but a small battalion of armedmen patrolled the outer bailey.

A grizzled old soldier took the papers Avidanproffered and gave the alchemist and his servant carefulscrutiny.

Fox was reasonably certain they would passinspection. Avidan looked the part of a visiting Veldoonialchemist. He’d even cut his hair, which greatly increased hisresemblance to Shavin Insa’amid. Fox wore clothes he’d removed froma tinsmith’s clothesline-simple garments of good but middlingquality, such as might be expected in an important man’s servant.Avidan’s unguents covered the bruises on Fox’s face and darkenedhis skin to a hue nearly approaching the alchemist’s. He’d darkenedhis red hair with a black dye that Avidan swore, and Fox dearlyhoped, was temporary.

The guard waved them through and pointed them to thevisitor’s entrance.

As they walked through the bailey, Fox kept up asteady stream of last-minute instructions.

“You’re sure you remember the signs.”

“Do not concern yourself. My memory has been trainedto retain copious amounts of information.”

“Copious. That’s good,” Fox murmured as he scannedthe courtyard. “What do you do if I scratch my ear?”

Avidan sighed. “I stop talking about the subjectcurrently under discussion.”

“What if I touch my mouth?”

“Then I am to echo what the speaker said, in a mannerlikely to encourage him to continue in that vein. In short, I am toelicit more information.”

Fox nodded. “The host gift is offered after you’vehad the wine or tea or whatever Muldonny offers. Not before.”

“And if I find the refreshments insufficientrecompense for the gifts?”

To Fox’s astonishment, the alchemist wore a wrysmile.

“Was that a joke?”

“Not a successful one, apparently.”

“Huh.” Fox studied the alchemist. “You look. .better.”

“Than what?”

“Usual.”

Avidan shrugged. “It is good from time to time toremember who you once were.”

Thanks to his resemblance to the Veldooni alchemist,Fox had a pretty good idea what that was. It shamed him a littlethat he’d never thought to inquire into Avidan’s history. He’dassumed that the alchemist was one of many students driven mad bythe study, and that he’d found his way into the tunnels fleeing theinevitable result of not conforming to the adept’s vision ofSevrin. That, in and of itself, had been reason enough for Fox toaccept Avidan into his inner circle.

But now his curiosity was aroused.

“As for protocol,” he said in a casual tone, “justfollow whatever rules the Veldooni go by. Do you rememberthese?”

“Yes.”

An unspoken “Of course!” resounded through thealchemist’s terse response.

“You looking so much like this Shavin Insa’amid is afortunate coincidence.”

“Fortunate, perhaps. A coincidence, almost certainlynot.”

They came to a stop before the second gate. Anotherhuman guard checked Avidan’s papers and his letter of invitationbefore unlocking the gate and turning them over to the clockworkguard.

To Fox’s eyes, the design of Muldonny’s guardsrecalled an earlier era. Unlike Rhendish, whose clockworkconstructs looked more and more like humans with each newinnovation, the Adept of Stormwall Island surrounded himself withmachines that resembled armored knights of centuries past.

They followed the animated knight into the fortressand down a corridor that opened into a grand hall. Muldonny bustledforward to meet them.

Vishni’s description of Muldonny as a human squirrelhit very near the mark. His gray robe draped his pot belly andequally broad posterior. It reached below his knees, making hisshort legs appear even shorter. A jittery energy surrounded thelittle man, and his large dark eyes darted here and there as ifexpecting to see a lurking cat or the shadow of a giant raptor.

The man lacked only a fluffy gray tail to completethe picture.

Fox raised one hand to his mouth and coughed todisguise a smile.

He stood back and looked appropriately servile as thetwo alchemists went through the formalities. Avidan handled himselfsurprisingly well. By the time they arrived in Muldonny’s workroom,Fox’s worry began to ebb.

The room was like most of the alchemist shops Fox hadinfiltrated, cluttered with books and bottles and metal and leatherand a dozen projects in various stages of completion. Of particularinterest to him was the shell of a clockwork knight, identical tothe one that stood outside the workshop door, lying on aworktable.

Muldonny gestured to a trio of large vats in an lcoveoff the main workroom.

“These are some of my more effective solvents. Theyare not alkahest, not by any means, but they have provenuseful.”

Avidan walked closer to the nearest vat. He inhaleddeeply, closed his eyes, and stood as if listening.

“It’s a foul stench, I’ll grant you, but the solventis quite effective,” Muldonny said. “This dissolves metal, veryuseful in combat.”

“A strange weapon for someone who works with metal,”Avidan said.

The adept reached into a pocket over one massive hipand produced a small glass orb.

“It is because I work with metal that I still keepthe solvent in quantity. Should one of my servants malfunction, itcan be stopped quickly.”

“Very prudent, I’m sure.” Avidan shrugged off hiscloak and handed it to Fox. “I see you are building yet anotherservant.”

“My standard model,” the adept said dismissively.“Useful, but nothing innovative. But come-let me show you mygarden.”

Fox followed them out of the workshop, droppingAvidan’s cloak to the floor before he closed the door behindthem.

A small table had been set up in the courtyardgardens. The refreshments were not lavish-a tall samovar of tea anda plate of small biscuits.

Fox hoped the alchemist did not remember his commentabout fair reimbursement for the host gifts. Or if he did, thathe’d recall it was only a jest.

A clockwork servant poured out tea and then fell backseveral paces. Fox took his cue from the machine and measured hisown distance.

For a while, he listened while the men talked abouttheir work. Fox had little use for alchemy, so he learned for thefirst time that it arose in Veldoon in past centuries and onlyrecently spread to the northlands. Interesting, he supposed, but itwas time to move things forward.

He caught Avidan’s eye and tapped a hand to hischest. The alchemist acknowledged him with a barely perceptiblenod.

“I have heard that Sevrin is preoccupied withcollecting curiosities. Is this an interest you share?”

Muldonny gestured for more tea. “I have been to themuseums, of course, but not for several years. You may wish tovisit them, if your time in Sevrin permits.”

Avidan glanced at Fox for a prompt. The thief touchedhis left shoulder.

“So you are not a collector, then.”

“That would depend upon your definition of the term.Alchemists collect all manner of things. We must do so for ourwork, is that not so? But amassing a display of quaint objectsmerely to say you possess them?” He shook his head. “No, I am a manof singular focus.”

Fox touched his mouth. Echo him, keep himtalking.

“And what is that focus?” Avidan asked.

The adept smiled. “I admire your devotion to yourgreat-grandsire’s art. Like you, I believe there is much to learnfrom the past. Sevrin is not wise to cut ties to the old ways.Perhaps not even the old races.”

This was not something Fox had ever expected to hearan adept say. He touched his mouth again, urging Avidan to pursuethis.

Before he could speak, a metal servant approachedwith a silver tray. A single calling card lay on the tray. Fox’seyes widened as he recognized Rhendish’s seal.

Muldonny did not look much happier than Fox aboutthis development. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said in aflat tone. “It would appear that one of my brother adepts has cometo call.”

Avidan rose. “Then I will leave you to confer.”

“Oh, you must meet Rhendish. It will do him good toconverse with a man more learned than himself.”

Fox flashed the symbol for Lie.Graciously.

“You do me too much honor.” The alchemist resumed hisseat. “It will be my pleasure. I had hoped to gain an audience withsome of your fellow adepts. I have brought samples of my work withalkahest, if you think he might be interested.”

Muldonny’s eyebrows rose. “I am never quite certainabout Rhendish, but I’m certainly interested.”

“The vials are in my cloak.” Avidan snapped hisfingers as a signal for Fox to produce them.

The thief stepped forward and dipped into a low bow.“A thousand pardons, my lord. I left your cloak in Muldonny’sworkroom.”

“Fetch it immediately.” Avidan looked to Muldonny.“With your permission?”

As Fox expected, Muldonny turned to the clockworkknight.

“See Master Insa’amid’s man to the workroom andreturn with him.”

Fox bowed low to each alchemist in turn, and he leftwith the adept’s globe of solvent tucked into his sleeve. It was,if he did say so himself, a pretty bit of pocket-mining.

He retrieved Avidan’s cloak from the floor of theworkroom and patted it down. The lining held several pockets.Avidan had tucked into them four small ivory vials, all of themcarved from dragon’s teeth Fox had liberated from several privatecollections.

He grimaced at the sight of the scrimshaw carvings onone of the teeth. The vial would be too easily traced. He tucked itinto his pocket.

The clockwork servant gestured to the door. “Returnnow.”

Fox jumped, startled by the hollow, metallic voice.“These things are talking now?”

“Talking now.”

“Empty night,” Fox muttered. “The adepts are gettingtoo good at their work.”

“Return now,” the construct said.

“If you’re in a hurry, feel free to go on without me.In fact, if you would take these vials to my master, I’d appreciateit.”

“Take vials.”

“That’s right,” Fox said. He held out two of thedragon tooth vials.

The clockwork servant stood motionless. Apparently ittook instructions from no one but Muldonny.

Another idea came to Fox. He wandered over to theworktable and picked up a handful of tiny gears.

“Thief take clockwork!”

“No, just exploring your ability to assesssituations.” He dropped the handful of metal onto the table. “Outof curiosity, what would you do if I did steal somethingfrom the workshop?”

The clockwork servant spun toward the alcove wherethe vats of solvent stood. On the floor just in front was a roundmetal grate. The construct bent down and lifted the cover withabout as much effort as Fox might require to pick up his boots.

“Thief disappears.”

“That’s what I thought.” Fox hefted Muldonny’s globeof solvent. “You go first.”

He hurled the little sphere at the construct. Glassshattered against its plate-armor chest.

Fetid steam surrounded the clockwork knight. When itcleared, no more than three heartbeats later, Fox could see thesolvent vats through a gaping hole in the construct’s chest.

The clockwork servant stumbled forward and fell intothe shaft.

Several moments passed before a distant clatter andthud sounded from below.

No splash.

A triumphant smile spread across Fox’s face. He mightnot be able to make the dagger switch today, but at least he’dfound a way into Muldonny’s manor.

Now, to find a way to get himself and Avidanout.

He shoved the grate back into place and looked aroundfor some sort of disguise.

His gaze fell on the half-finished servant on theworktable. The shell really did look like a suit of armor.

He went over for a closer look. The torso was emptyexcept for a few handfuls of tightly assembled machinery. Foxpulled them out and fed them to the vat of metal solvent.

Fox climbed onto the table and worked his way intothe armor suit. He swung his legs over the side of the table andfound the metal was surprisingly light. Gripping the edge of thetable, he pulled himself upright.

So far, so good.

The helmet was another concern. To his relief hecould see through the hard silver substance covering the eyesockets. He worked his hands into the articulated gloves, flexedhis fingers several times. He hopped off the table and took anexperimental step. The armor was a little too big, but it felt wellbalanced. After two circuits of the workroom, he figured he was asready as he was likely to get. He clanked down the narrow stairsleading to the courtyard.

His heart quickened at the sight of Rhendish sittingnext to Avidan. The two adepts played some sort of card game, whichAvidan had prudently chosen to observe.

Muldonny’s eyes narrowed as he took in the metal-cladFox. “And where is Master Insa’amid’s servant?”

“Thief take clockwork,” Fox said, making his voicelow and grating.

It was, in his opinion, an excellent approximation ofthe servant’s voice. The slight tick at one corner of Avidan’smouth indicated that the alchemist thought otherwise.

“My most abject apologies,” Avidan murmured. “Theservant came highly recommended. I will recompense you for any lossand shall deal most harshly with him.”

“You needn’t trouble yourself on either account,” theadept said. “I’m certain he has already been dealt with.”

“Servants,” said Rhendish, shaking his head incommiseration. “You treat them well, pay them fairly, and stillthey rob you.”

Muldonny drew a card from the deck and scowled at hishand. “So I am told.”

Fox raised a metal hand to his mouth, the signal forAvidan to press for information.

“One of your servants has been caught stealing?”

“He was caught, yes, but unfortunately long after thetheft,” Rhendish said. “He sold the item before we could recoverit.”

A muscle twitched near Muldonny’s left eye. “Nothingof great value, I trust.”

Rhendish waved one hand dismissively. “A curiosity,nothing more.”

They played several hands in silence. At lastRhendish threw down his cards.

“My luck is singularly bad today. It would appearthat your winnings exceed my purse. I’ll send my steward firstthing tomorrow to settle up.”

“There is no need,” Muldonny said. “This was afriendly game, nothing more.”

Rhendish’s sardonic smile fell just short of insult.He removed a ring and handed it to Muldonny.

“But I insist. Perhaps you will take this as payment,or at least as a surety of payment to come.”

Muldonny’s eyes widened as he took in the pale pinkcrystal and the tiny, intricate runes encircling the silver band.“This is elf-crafted! It’s far too valuable.”

“Not to me,” Rhendish said. “I have more than enoughelven trinkets in my collection of curiosities and, truth be told,I don’t particularly fancy wearing pink.”

The adept slipped the ring onto his small finger andadmired his plump hand. “In that case, I accept with pleasure.Please send word any time you feel the urge to gamble.”

“I have several other elf-crafted items that might beof interest to you,” Rhendish said. “It’s a shame about the theft,though. I suspect you would have risked a great deal to possessthat dagger.”

The adept’s studiously casual tone set off alarms inFox’s mind.

According to Honor, Muldonny possessed a stolen elvendagger. According to Rhendish, an elven dagger was recently stolenfrom him. Rhendish was clearly putting Muldonny on notice. Andelven daggers were not exactly plentiful in Sevrin. Fox did notrequire an abacus to add these pieces of information into adisturbing total.

Why hadn’t Honor mentioned that Rhendish oncepossessed the Thorn?

On second thought, he realized there was no reasonwhy she should. She knew nothing of the enmity between him and theadept.

Still, the fact remained that if Rhendish had aninterest in the dagger, their task had just become much morecomplicated.

“It seems that we are both unfortunate in our choiceof servants,” Avidan said. He lifted his cup in salute to his host.“It would appear that Muldonny has the right idea.”

Rhendish shrugged. “Clockwork servants might beimpervious to greed, but they do wear out rather quickly. You mustgo through dozens each year.”

“Mine are built for strength and durability, but yes,a few.”

Muldonny lifted one hand in a gesture Fox remembered.He plodded forward and reached for the samovar.

The metal hands were fully articulated, but withoutthe sensation of touch, Fox had no idea whether his grip wassecure. He gripped the vessel hard enough, in his estimation, tocrack the glass and dribble a bit of tea onto Avidan’s stolenfinery.

The samovar shattered, dumping the entire contents ofthe pot into Avidan’s lap. The alchemist jumped to his feet andpeeled off his sodden outer robe.

Rhendish smirked. “Well, it’s certainly obvious thatyou’ve built for strength.”

Avidan held up a hand to cut off Muldonny’sapologies. “We are none of us well served today by those in ouremploy. Perhaps you will permit me to return at another time?”

“Of course! I look forward to continuing ourdiscussion.”

The alchemist bowed to each adept in turn. “No doubtyour servant is dexterous enough to see me out.”

“That is not a risk I care to take.”

Muldonny reached for a bell. Three clockworkservants, identical to the form Fox wore, stomped into thegarden.

The adept pointed to one of the constructs. “You. SeeMaster Insa’amid to the gate. You two dispose of this andreturn to the garden.”

It took Fox a moment to realize that he was the itemslated for disposal.

He turned to run. Before he could take a single step,the two clockwork guards flanked him, closed metal hands around hisupper arms, and carried him out of the garden.

They marched him to the outer wall and tossed himover.

As the ground sped up to meet him, Fox hoped thatMuldonny’s claim of durability was more than an idle boast.

Stars sparkled in the sky over Stormwall Island whenFox awoke. He struggled for several moments to sit up before itoccurred to him to remove the metal shell.

One of the gloves had come loose during the fall. Foxshook it off and tossed it aside. It landed with a sharp clunk ofmetal on metal.

Starlight glimmered on piles of metal around him. Ittook a while for his befuddled mind to understand that he’d beentossed into a pit of defective or outdated clockwork creatures.

Fox flung the arm of another knight off his chest androlled away from the metallic corpses. He shed the armor andclimbed out of the pit as quickly as he would flee a massgrave.

That was foolishness, of course. These were machines.The pit might as well be filled with broken pottery.

An unnerving whimper came from one mangled form. Foxhad already started to turn back to help when he remembered thevoice belonged to a machine, not a comrade.

He squared his shoulders and strode off into thenight.

But he took with him the odd conviction that he wouldcarry the memory of this desertion for the rest of his days.

Chapter Eight: Blood and Bone

For the next several days, Delgar kept the dwarvesworking in shifts, chipping away at the solid stone between a seacave and the shaft Fox had discovered under Muldonny’sworkroom.

The elf, to her credit, worked as hard as any of thedwarves, carrying away baskets of rubble and refilling tankardsfaster than thirst could keep pace. In fact, she worked longerhours than anyone. She’d gotten a sword from Fox’s little armoryand spent the night shifts standing guard.

This puzzled Delgar. Elves might look delicate, butthey were known and feared for their bursts of speed or strength ormagic. They could unleash quick flashes of power like cloudsspewing forth lightning. This sort of sustained effort thiself exhibited struck Delgar as unnatural.

At the end of the sixth day of work, the elf lingeredafter the first team of dwarves had disappeared into the sea cave’shidden passages. Delgar always stayed to get the second shiftstarted and he insisted upon a short respite to rest the stone. Theconstant noise and vibration of excavation could stress stone inunexpected ways.

The elf waited until the day workers were well beyondhearing range.

“About the Thorn.”

Delgar folded his arms. “Here it comes.”

“I just want to make sure there are nomisunderstandings. The dagger must be returned to the forest.”

“And it will be.”

“Immediately,” the elf said. “Not decades later, notafter you’ve used its power to clear the tunnels and halls ofancient Cragslore.”

He placed one hand over his heart and affected awounded expression. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Of course it did not. It entered your mind andremained firmly in the center of it.”

The dwarf’s response fell midway between a laugh anda snort. “You’ve been around Fox for too long. Three more days, andyou’ll be making bad puns.” He picked up a lantern. “Come on. I’llwalk with you to the camp.”

She picked up her basket and fell into step with him.“There is too much power in the Thorn to permit its safe use onSevrin.”

Delgar’s jaw firmed. “I do not need an elf to schoolme in the structural integrity of a tunnel system. Why do you thinkI’m going to all this trouble to help you? I want the Thorn removedfrom Sevrin as much as you want to take it away.”

“That is good to hear. I have found, however, thatgluttons seldom eat moderately when presented with platters ofcakes.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I’m allmuscle.” He paused for a cocky smile. “If you don’t believe me, I’dbe happy to take off my shirt and flex.”

The elf sent him a withering glance. “The Thorn mustreturn to the forest. Do not test me on this.”

He was seriously contemplating a childish foray into“ Or what?” when a three-foot expanse of wing peeled free of thetunnel wall.

Honor’s sword leaped from its sheath before he couldreach for his miner’s pick.

She darted forward and swung her sword in a risingbackhand slash. The blade sliced through the snout of a creaturethat was half giant moth, half mosquito.

The elf ducked away from a splash of venom and seizedone of the creature’s wings. She spun once and flung it into thepath of a second moth. They went down in a tangle of wings andspindly limbs. The elf leaped on the struggling creatures andstomped several times.

They stood in silence for several moments,listening.

The distance sea murmured. Farther down the tunnel,water dripped from wet stone to fall with an echoing ping.Delgar was just started to breathe easily when he heard a paperyrustle.

The sound spread through the tunnels like fire on drygrass. A swift-growing whisper of many wings filled thedarkness.

“The lantern!” the elf snapped. “Put it down and moveaway.”

Delgar set down the lantern and fell back as a swarmof moths burst into the light.

Two of the moths came at him. He batted the first oneaway with the flat of his pickaxe and seized the other by thesnout. Furious wings buffeted him as the creature fought to getfree.

Suddenly Delgar found himself holding a disembodiedhead. He sent the elf an incredulous glance. She’d already spunaway and cut down two more moths.

He tossed aside the grisly thing and batted awayanother of the creatures. He looked around for the elf and foundher in the center of a storm of wings. Delgar hefted his axe andwaded in.

They worked together, the elf slicing flight from thedeadly creatures as she drew the slowly diminishing swarm away fromthe light, Delgar following to finish off the fallen monsters.

Finally the grim trail ended in a crumpled pile. Thelast of the creatures gave a fluttering twitch and lay still.

The elf sank down to the tunnel floor, her backagainst solid stone. Delgar kept standing, just in case more showedup.

“Deathwing moths,” Honor said in a conversationaltone. “Dwarf tomb guardians. Not the sort of thing I’d expect tofind in a Sevrin sea cave.”

Delgar made no response. They both knew where thedeadly creatures must have laired.

“You have your own reasons for excavating Cragslore,”she said. “I accept that. But before you start delving into yourancestors’ tombs, you might want to give some thought to how theydied.”

She pushed herself to her feet and headed off downthe tunnel. Delgar heard the sound of dwarven voices raised ingreeting. Four days ago, the dwarves working the night shift mighthave passed Honor with a grunt of disapproval. Now, if they knewshe could lead them to a treasure trove of carmite, Delgar wasn’tsure he could stop them from following.

The sooner the elf and her damned dagger were back onthe mainland and deep in the forest, the happier he’d be.

Two days later, the dwarves broke through into theshaft leading to Muldonny’s workroom. Honor tried not to dwellovermuch upon the jumble of human and mechanical remains they foundat the base.

Climbing the shaft proved surprisingly easy. Thecircular pit had been fashioned of rough-cut stones, so handholdswere plentiful and secure.

She and Fox made the first climb. In their packs werefour sets of ropes and pulleys that Avidan had made to Honor’sdesign. Forest elves used such devices to drop quickly from thetreetops, and Honor figured they would also aid a quick descentinto the tunnel once the dagger had been secured.

She passed the rest of the day instructing Fox,Delgar, and Avidan in their use. Under her direction, they climbedthe shaft and rappelled down over and over, until Delgar declaredthat he’d rather jump into the pit without the damned rope thanclimb one more time.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait.

Two more days passed before Vishni intercepted aninvitation for Shavin Insa’amid to return to Muldonny’s manor.

Delgar set to work on the invitation at once,scraping away selected bits of ink with a tiny knife and thenadding some script of his own. He moved the meeting a day ahead andadded a postscript that instructed Shavin to come directly toMuldonny’s workroom.

Fox picked up the invitation and let out a whistle ofadmiration. “I need to start thinking of things we cancounterfeit.”

Vishni tucked her arm through his and beamed up athim. “It’s good to hear you talking about your own work.” She senta pointed sidelong glance toward Honor. “I don’t like being leftbehind.”

“Actually, I think you should come.”

Silence, Honor noted with wry amusement, had athousand difference voices. Vishni’s silence sang withastonishment.

“We don’t know where the dagger is being kept,” shesaid, although she was fairly certain where it must be. Rhendishhad spoken of Muldonny’s interest in elves, and Fox confirmed theadept’s fascination. If the adept knew anything at all about elvencustoms, he would keep elven treasures in the highest placeavailable to him.

“Fox’s description of Muldonny’s manor suggestsseveral possible locations. If it’s in one of the towers, Vishnicould fly up, get the dagger, and bring it to Delgar.”

Vishni pursed her lips and regarded Honor with waryinterest. “I suppose I could do that.”

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

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

Honor was none too happy about that, herself.Rhendish had plans beyond those he shared with her. She had noteven a breath of doubt about that. But his appearance at Muldonny’smanor so soon before their attempt to retrieve the Thorn raisedquestions she feared would be answered in tears and blood.

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

These people had given generously of their time andlabor to aid her quest. She suspected that Delgar had impressedupon them the importance of finding the Thorn and removing it fromSevrin. Still, Fox and his small band were risking their lives toretrieve it. Even if their motivation began and ended with theirown survival, she regretted deceiving them.

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

Apparently not everyone was quite as deceived asHonor had believed.

“My people know of this Rhendish,” Honor said withfeigned regret. “We consider him a dangerous man, no friend to thefey folk. What you say is true-the fairy cannot risk herself forthis task.”

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

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

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

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

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

No spring morning could match the sunshine inVishni’s smile. “I will do everything Honor wants me to,” she saidsweetly.

The elf and fairy exchanged a look of perfectunderstanding.

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

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

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

Her friends? When had thatoccurred?

She touched the padded bag containing the glassdagger Avidan had prepared for her and reminded herself of the harddecisions ahead.

They followed the grim trail of gray dust, all thatremained of the deathwing moths, to the door hiding the openinginto what Avidan called an oubliette-a forgotten place.

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

But the grate was already gone. Honor hoped thisindicated that Avidan had already gotten to the workroom and donehis part.

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

Avidan was waiting for them.

So, unfortunately, was Muldonny.

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

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

The adept looked down at the sword, then at her, witha look of such incredulous betrayal that Honor wished she knew howto weep.

She wrenched the sword free. The adept fell to hisknees. His gaze clung to her face as the life faded from hiseyes.

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

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

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

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

And every instinct she possessed told her it was herown.

Chapter Nine: A Daring Rescue

The clang of an alarm rose from the fortress baileyas Fox poked his head into Muldonny’s workroom. Metallic footstepsclattered toward the workshop in numbers that suggested a dozenrunaway horses, or possibly a small rock slide.

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

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

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

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

His gaze tracked its path back to a low woodenbarrel. A pile of glass spheres shivered under the secondimpact.

“Avidan, over here!”

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

“When the guards break through, hit them withthese.”

The alchemist nodded and cocked back his arm, readyto 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 seensuch murderous rage. His hatred of the adepts was a pale thing nextto 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 andstarlight.”

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

Fox felt a stab of pity for whatever came through thedoor.

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

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

The first fell in the doorway, half in and half outof the room. Acrid smoke rose from the ruin. Avidan took the nextknight out at the knees, sending it clattering backward down thestairs.

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

Honor met them.

Fox had no idea such fighting was possible.

The clockwork knights came at her with two weaponseach, a sword the length of Fox’s arm and a short, stout knife. Sheslipped away from each attack like smoke and dealt two inreturn.

It occurred to Fox that she showed considerably moreskill against these metal warriors than she did when her attackerswere two thugs in an alley. Later, he’d have to give that somethought.

A thunderous crash rose above the clatter ofbattle.

Fox glanced back over his shoulder. Daylight shonebehind what had been a solid stone wall. Delgar stood amid therubble, warhammer in hand. He caught Fox’s eye and beckoned himover.

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

The courtyard lay far below. It was surrounded bywalls on four sides, one of which was built upon a rocky cliff thatfell in a long, sheer drop to sea. The cliff continued beyond thecourtyard wall, curving inward and hugging a rock-strewn bay. Atthe tip of the cliff stood a tall tower. A narrow stone ledge ledout over the bay, more decoration than walkway, supported only bythin buttresses leading to the stronghold one side and the tower onthe other.

Delgar pointed to the ledge, which connected to theworkroom’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 wingsthe color of a summer sky, burst from the tower’s highest window.She held a shining object in her hand and waved it triumphantly asshe flitted toward the workshop.

A small storm of arrows rose to greet her.

Fox screamed in denial as the fairy plummeted towardthe sea.

One small, flailing hand found purchase on the stoneledge. Vishni tossed the dagger onto the walkway to free her otherhand. She clung to the edge and wailed. Arrows protruded from herside, her shoulder, her thigh. Her wings draped her like a torn andbloody cloak.

Honor pushed past him and leaped through the openingin 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 ahorrified thief.

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

And the clockwork gears beneath.

Everything fell suddenly, horribly into place. Theonly adept who could possibly create a clockwork creature of suchsubtlety 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 handlethis.”

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

Delgar pointed toward the courtyard. Some signal hadalerted 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 itover on its side. Delgar got the idea right away. He pulled a smallaxe from his belt and with a few quick blows reduced the table tolong wooden planks. He and Fox carried one to the shattered walland slid it through the opening to form a bridge to the stoneledge.

“The sands are shifting,” Avidan said.

Fox glanced back. The alchemist held up a smallhourglass to indicate how much time they had left. He’d alreadyadded something of his own to Muldonny’s solvent, an alchemicalbrew that would create an explosion big enough to seal off theworkroom.

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

The alchemist’s eyes widened. It was more expressionthan 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 teetereddangerously. The next step was better. When he got to the stoneledge he spread his arms out wide for balance and concentrated onputting one foot in front of the other.

He was halfway there when the explosion shook thefortress.

Fragile rock crumbled under his feet. He saw Honorpitch forward. The dagger flew from her hand in a wide, shiningarc.

Vishni was gone.

Fox searched for the fairy as he plunged toward thesea, but saw no trace of her. He took a certain grim satisfactionin knowing that the dagger would either shatter or be lost in thewater. 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 rivaledthe explosion. Fox felt the pain of impact in every fiber as hesank deep into the cold northern sea.

Finally, his descent slowed. He blew out the scantremaining air in his lungs little by little as he clawed his waytoward the sun.

He broke the surface and dragged in air with longpainful gasps. A wave broke over him, leaving him sputtering andcoughing. He knew he should swim, but his arms refused to obeyhim.

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

A small fishing boat came toward him. Relief sweptthrough Fox and lent him the strength to reach for the line thefisherman threw him.

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

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

Chapter Ten: Sundered Stone

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

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

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

“You’re in a foul mood,” she said.

“That happens when I watch two friends die becausesomeone decided to ‘improve the story’ with a daringrescue.”

“Two friends?” she said. “Suddenly you like theelf?”

“I admire courage and integrity.” He shot her a darklook. “And I like people who can think of something, anything,beyond the possibility that a stupid and dangerous game might befun.”

Vishni flung the back of her hand against herforehead in a parody of a swoon. “So much drama, so little cause!Fox is fine. I saw a fisherman pick him up.”

“What about the elf?”

The fairy shrugged. “Ask Fox about her when hereturns to the den.”

Avidan stood in the tunnel ahead, milling one arm ina circle to urge them to hurry. Delgar broke into a run.

“The explosion did its job too well,” the alchemistsaid. “It took out half the wall and exposed much of the oublietteshaft. Muldonny’s men will be able to follow us into thetunnels.”

Delgar surveyed the opening. The too-hurried mininghad stressed the stone, and the too-powerful explosion caused thewalls on either side of the opening into the shaft to crumble. Theresulting gap was too wide for him to seal using stoneshift.

A shout of discovery echoed from the ruins above.

“If you can close the tunnel, do it now,” Avidansaid.

Delgar glanced at the dagger. It was smeared withHonor’s blood, yet the rose within remained closed and pale. If thedagger’s magic had been amplified by contact with a traitor’sblood, he would not dare awaken its power.

He took a deep breath and pointed the Thorn at thesundered stone.

Power sang through his blood and bones in a song ofstoneshifting beyond anything he’d ever imagined.

Delgar joined the song, blending with it until he wasnot certain where his voice ended and the Thorn’s picked up. Neverhad he experienced anything like this joining-terrifying,wonderful, intoxicating.

Boulders faded into mist and flowed to fill theopening. The tunnel wall slammed into place with a booming crash.Delgar instinctively knew that solid rock stretched to the far sideof the oubliette shaft, encasing bones and metal limbs like relicsof an ancient sea.

And still the power came.

Delgar sent it upward, melting stone and mortar untilthe mountain creaked and leaned to fill the gap. The men climbingdown into the shaft cursed and screamed as solid rock seized theirfeet and rose to encase their bodies.

Their screams faded into silence. No pursuersremained; the tunnels were secure.

But the fortress above remained-the fortress thathad played so important a role in the adepts’s control of Sevrin,and in the reign of Eldreath before them, and in the service of thewarlords who ruled before him. Delgar could bring it down.The song of destruction and renewal sang in his ears like a lustfulmermaid.

In some distant part of his mind he felt Vishni’shand on his shoulder, heard her repeating a tale he’d first heardas a boy. A tale of an ancient evil, and the last remaining dwarfking, and the sons destined to travel the northlands in search ofsecrets that could mean the dwarves survival or ensure theirdestruction.

For once, the fairy did not need to improve upon thetale.

The familiar story slowly edged its way through themadness of power, bringing the dwarf back to where he stood, andwho he was, and what he was born to do.

When he returned fully to himself, Delgar tucked theelven dagger into his belt and inclined his head to the fairy. “Youhave my most profound gratitude.”

“Good,” she said. “Can I have the dagger, too?”

The shadow of a smile touched the dwarf’s lips. “I’mnot that grateful.”

Fox awoke in a bed with a straw-filled mattress andthick woolen blankets. This was, in his opinion, a greatimprovement over a pit filled with metal corpses.

“So you’re not dead.”

He squinted up at the forbidding visage of thescarred and bearded fisherman. “Do you plan to remedy thesituation?”

The man huffed. “Ought to. First, though, I’d like tohear how Gorm’s copper coin turned into a silver ring and backagain.”

Fox scoured his thoughts for an explanation the manmight believe, but he was too groggy and dazed for anything but thetruth.

“Do you believe in fairies?”

The fisherman made a sign of warding. “The girl withyou?”

Fox nodded.

“Thought there was something about her,” he said.“She stood and watched Gorm and me kick you six ways around thebend and smiled the whole time. Now, I’ve seen women get mad attheir men, mad enough that seeing them on the wrong side of a fightmight make them happy. Not this girl. She was just. .happy.”

“Fights make for good stories,” Fox said. “She likesthose.”

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked aroundthe cottage. All there was to it was one room. Other than the bed,furnishings consisted of a table, an iron pot sitting amid thecoals in the hearth, and a few pieces of men’s clothing hanging onhooks lined neatly along one wall. There was no evidence of thefisherman’s wife.

“It seems you got the worse of the fairy’smischief.”

The fisherman shrugged. “I’ve got a new worker,Gorm’s got a new woman. At the end of the day, I’d say he came outbehind on the deal.”

Fox had nothing to add to that. “You pulled me out ofthe sea.”

“If you’re gearing up for a thank-you, you might aswell hold your clockwork. I don’t want your thanks.”

“You could have turned me in to Muldonny’s men.”

“Don’t want anything from the adepts, either.” Theman paused for a grim smile. “I got a brother in Muldonny’s guard.He came by last night looking for work, seeing how Muldonny’s dead.One adept down, six more to go, is all I got to say.”

The fisherman abruptly turned away. He took a woodenmug from the table and dipped up some soup from the kettle.

“Drink this,” he said as he thrust the mug into Fox’shands. “As soon as you think you can walk, start doing it.”

The man strode from the cottage, letting the doorslam behind him.

Fox drank the soup and tried standing. After the roomstopped spinning, he headed for the wooden chair near the hearth.His host had draped Fox’s clothes over the chair to dry. They werestill slightly damp. Fox found that reassuring. He couldn’t havebeen unconscious for more than a day.

Dim morning light greeted him outside of the cottage.It took him to late afternoon to make his way to Rhendish Manor. Hepaid for passage on the Mule with a stolen coin and rode therope-drawn carriage to the summit of Crystal Mountain. He steppedout of the carriage and went in search of Rhendish.

One adept dead. Six more to go.

That was a point on which Fox and the fisherman couldagree. He didn’t expect to survive his encounter with Rhendish, butat the moment he didn’t much care.

The adept had played him. Now his friends were dead,leaving Fox with the knowledge that his stupidity had killedthem.

He went straight for the wall that separatedRhendish’s private quarters from the rest of the manor complex. Heclimbed it, ignoring the thorns amid the mixture of ivy androses.

In the courtyard beyond, Rhendish was enjoying aleisurely stroll with his beautiful clockwork spy. A bandagedwrapped her wounded arm, and the Thorn hung from a loop on herbelt.

The clockwork elf looked up and caught Fox’s eye.

He expected her to sound the alarm. What he did notexpect was the silent entreaty in her eyes.

She lifted one hand and ran her fingertips lightlyacross her chin. Fox had taught Avidan that signal in case theirforay into Muldonny’s fortress went awry.

Return home. Friends are safe and waiting.

The suicidal madness that possessed him flowed awaylike water from a broken skin. He slipped quietly down the wall andwalked out of Rhendish manor. A couple of the guards glanced hisway, their gazes lingering on his red hair. But no one seemed toconnect him to the thief they’d been hunting for years.

It occurred to Fox that Rhendish probably thought hewas dead. No doubt he had Honor to thank for that.

He tried four of Delgar’s hidden doors before hefound one that was still open. Once he made his way into thetunnels, he hurried toward the den, half fearing he’d find itoverrun with Gatherers and guards.

He heard Vishni’s laughter when he was still twopassages away from the den and broke into a run. He burst into themirror room to find his three friends holding wine goblets raisedin a toast.

Delgar tossed aside his goblet and caught Fox in acrushing hug.

“Vishni’s alive!” Fox said.

The dwarf released him and stepped back. “She is,yes. But we thought we’d celebrate anyway.”

“But how-”

Fox’s eyes fell upon the Thorn and all other thoughtsfled.

He’d never seen the dagger close up, but he knew thiscould be no other. Delgar’s copies were good, but they lacked thepower that hummed in the weapon like an unsung song.

As he gazed, the rose petals within the crystal bladefolded to herald the setting sun.

“Honor threw the dagger to Vishni. The fairy caughtit and brought it to me. We closed the tunnel.” Delgar spread hishands, palms up.

“You’re not much of a storyteller,” the fairy said,“but that will do.”

“Vishni said you had a story to tell us about Honor,”Delgar said.

Fox told them what he had seen in Rhendish’s garden.For reasons he did not quite understand, he didn’t tell them aboutthe clockwork he’d glimpsed under her skin.

“Well, that explains a few things.” Delgar pulled aglass copy from his belt. “You only took two copies to StormwallIsland. This is the last one left in the den. I figured she tookthe others.”

“If Rhendish thinks he has the dagger, he won’t belooking for it,” Fox said. “Impressive planning.”

“Even more impressive is her sense of honor,” thedwarf said. “She’s well named.”

Fox turned a wry smile in Vishni’s direction. “Do youhave anything to add to the accolades?”

The fairy smiled sweetly. “She’s not half bad,considering what she is.”

Chapter Eleven: A Traitor’s Blood

Honor sat in stoic silence as the adept probed theclockwork in her arm with a slender metal tool.

“The mechanism is broken,” he announced. “I fear it’spast repairing. It will need to be replaced.”

“Remove it, then.”

Rhendish shook his head. “That would take months.Years, perhaps. It would be a terribly painful process, and there’sno guarantee that you would survive it.”

“And if I did, you would have no guarantee that I’dbe of further use to you.”

“A harsh assessment,” he said, “but truenonetheless.”

“Give me my sword arm back, and I’ll serve you of myown will.”

The adept smiled. “As much as I appreciate the offer,you must forgive me if I prefer my own proven methods to yourunproven word.”

Honor pulled the dagger from her belt and laid it onthe worktable. “You offered me a position if I decided not toreturn to the forest. Well, I’ve decided. Everything you said wastrue. The dagger will condemn me, for the rose blooms at the touchof a traitor’s blood.”

She picked up the dagger and pressed it deep into theopen wound.

Blood flowed into the blade, rising up a tiny pipeAvidan had hidden in the long stem of the rosebud. It flowed intothe tightly furled rose, and then into tiny, petal-shaped chambersbehind the rosebud, each petal thinner than a whisper’s shadow. Toall appearances, the rose was blooming in response to a traitor’sblood.

Finally the blood reached the last rose petalchamber, where Avidan’s latest alchemical marvel waited.

The substance ignited at the first touch of Honor’sblood. Rhendish watched, entranced, as light dawned in the heart ofthe blade and gained brightness and power until it seemed that therose itself might catch fire.

Honor jerked the knife from her arm. “That is what mysister expected the other elves to see. I intend to ensure theywill not.”

She rose and hurled the dagger at the wall. Itshattered like lost innocence. Crimson light hovered around theshards for a breath or two, then faded.

Rhendish regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Was thattruly necessary?”

“Would you do otherwise, in my position?”

“Perhaps not,” he said. “And if I employ you, you’lltake me into the Fox’s lair?”

“If I can,” she said. “Before we left for StormwallIsland, Delgar shifted the passages beneath the city beyondrecognition. I’m not sure I can find my way back into the passage,much less locate the den.”

The adept rose and began to pace. “So. The dagger isdestroyed and I do not have the thief.”

“What does it matter if you find his lair? Fox isdead. They’re all dead. A dozen witnesses saw the fairy shot out ofthe sky. The explosion destroyed Muldonny’s workroom and collapsedthe escape shaft. If your concern is, as you said, ridding Sevrinof a band of thieves, you have achieved your goal. Define another,and I will help you achieve that as well.”

Rhendish came to a stop beside a curtained alcove.“And what do you want in return?”

She removed Muldonny’s ring from her coin bag and putit on the table. “I want this back. When you remove thegears and metal shafts from my arm, put the crystal back. In timethe crystal will grow together, like human bone.”

A low, sly smile crept over the adept’s face. “Thereis a quicker way.”

He pulled the curtain aside with a flourish.

Hanging in the alcove was an elven skeleton, adelicate marvel of luminous pink crystal.

Rhendish brushed his fingertips over the ribcage as abard might sweep the strings of a harp. Faint music touched theair, like echoes of fairy bells or the memory of childhoodlaughter.

Beneath the eerie sound lay one no human ears couldhear. The sound of magic vibrated through the crystal-a magic asfamiliar to Honor as her own heartbeat. Surely these bones couldbelong to none but her twin-born sister.

“Asteria,” she whispered.

The adept waited until the heartbreaking sound diedaway before speaking.

“No, my dear. Your sister is very much alive.”

That wasn’t possible. “But who. . How. .”

He spread his hands in a gesture of apology. “I’mafraid that some of the details of your history altered somewhat inthe telling. There was a tribunal meeting in your forest grove, andit ended in blood before the traitor was named. That much is true.But that winter night occurred years ago. You have been with meever since.”

Not seasons. Years.

The room tilted and swam as Honor struggled to takethis in. She wanted to deny it, but she could not.

“As you pointed out,” Rhendish said, “the livingcrystal that is elven bone grows. It is amazing to me how swiftlyit grows, and how intelligently. Truly marvelous, what the properapplication of alchemical knowledge and the passage of a few shortyears can accomplish.”

A terrible possibility stirred amid the whirl andtangle of Honor’s thoughts. What this her crystal shadow, born ofher bone?

“Ah, you see it now,” Rhendish said in tones roundedwith satisfaction. “But you’re not yet sure you believe.”

He reached for the skeleton and lifted one delicatehand as if he were a courtier about to honor a lady with akiss.

Honor’s hand lifted in a mirror-true reflection ofthe crystal bones.

The adept dropped both the compulsion and theskeletal hand. “I will restore your sword arm now,” he said. “Therest you will have to earn.”

Horror pounded Honor in crushing waves. She could donothing to resist this, nothing to fight against the magic thatheld her captive.

Magic.. .

Of course! Why had she not seen it before?

The strange compulsions, the crystal ring that placeda target on Muldonny, the grim experiments Rhendish had worked onher-these were not the work of alchemy. Whatever he claimed to be,whatever face he showed the world, Rhendish was a sorcerer.

And there was no magic that elven crystal could notfocus and magnify.

It occurred to Honor that there was a lot ofelven crystal in this room.

She darted toward the worktable and snatched upsharp, slender metal tool.

Perhaps Rhendish would force her to thrust it intoher own heart. Perhaps he would hit the tool with a burst ofsorcerous lightning and shock her into immobility. Perhaps shewould slip past his guard and plunge the metal into his eye, endinghis life and with it, her only hope of restoration.

Honor lunged at the adept, determined to break hishold on her whatever the cost.

Rhendish lifted one hand in a swift, sharpgesture.

Compulsion slammed into her, stopping her as suddenlyand effectively as an invisible wall.

Honor’s first impulse was to fight it. Instead, sheopened herself to the adept’s magic, drew it deeper into herbeing.

Agony seared through her, bone and sinew. Honordropped to her knees as the weapon fell from nerveless fingers.

She was wrong. Foolish. The sorcerer’s magic was toocrude, too harsh, too powerful, too alien. No elf could ever singin tune with such magic.

And yet, elves could gather energy from starlight.From bonfires, even blizzards.

She did not have to assimilate Rhendish’s magic. Sheonly had to use it.

The compulsion was still an overwhelming, discordantnoise, but surely it contained familiar notes. Honor found one,drew it out in a thin stream, and sent it toward the pale roseskeleton.

For a moment she was back in the Starsingers grove,among a chorus of elves attuned to starlight. She gathered energy,focused it, shared it and received it back in a cycle that went onand on until every elf in the clearing sang with silent power.

Slender crystal arms rose, delicate crystal fingersencircled the adept’s throat.

Tightened.

Rhendish’s eyes widened in shock. He tugged at theskeletal hands for a few moments-the instinctive struggle of anytrapped creature-before he remembered who he was, and what he coulddo.

Unseen threads of magic slipped from the room insearch of the clockwork guards. Honor gathered the threads into asingle cord and sent her own will coursing through it.

Four guards clanked into the room. They dropped toone knee before Honor and raised mailed fists to their chests in agesture of fealty.

Honor turned toward the blue-faced adept.

“Release him, sister,” she said.

Crystal fingers came away from Rhendish’s throat,crystal arms dropped to the skeleton’s sides. The gentle tinkle ofbone against bone sounded like distant, faintly mockinglaughter.

The silence that followed was broken only byRhendish’s rasping breaths. To his credit, he faced Honor withoutflinching, and he offered neither pleas nor blustering threats.

Of course, the effects of his near-throttling couldhave a lot to do with the latter.

“You need my help,” he said at last. “You haven’tbegun to understand how much, or in how many ways.”

Honor could find no words to refute this. “You willrestore my sword arm now,” she said, tossing his words back at him.“As for the rest, it would appear that we both have a great deal tolearn.”

Chapter Twelve: Answers

Return the Thorn to the cabin where you were born.The elves will find you there and answer the questions you musthave.

Fox had read the note a hundred times since he foundit tucked in his mother’s locket. A hundred more before he showedit to his friends.

They responded with enthusiasm, each for reasons oftheir own. Vishni, of course, was eager to pursue a new tale.Delgar confessed that he was still shaken by his experience withthe Thorn, still drawn by the seductive lure of so much power. Hewanted the dagger safely away and in the hands of elves who weretoo stone-deaf to hear its song. Avidan put aside his new-foundclarity along with his blue alchemist tunic, returning to his palegreen clothing and his dreams of faerie lands.

Planning for a trip required far more than Fox wouldhave supposed, and he was more than happy to leave the details toDelgar.

He left his friends to their work and sought a quietplace to think. Several twisting tunnels later, he sank down to thestone floor and closed his eyes. Delgar and Avidan’s voicesfollowed him, mercifully muted to distant echoes.

“Who peed in your porridge?”

Fox jolted with surprise. Vishni stood over him, herBook of Exile tucked under one arm and a wry expression on herpretty face.

The fairy shook her head. “Human males,” she saidsuccinctly, “are idiots.”

Fox conceded the point with a shrug. Whatever thespecifics of Vishni’s observation might be, he had no quarrel withthe overall concept.

“She’s not worth mooning over, you know.”

He stared at Vishni for a long moment before hermeaning set in.

“It’s not like that.”

“It never is.”She plunked down beside him. “TellVishni all about it,” she crooned in a voice that, it seemed toFox, was only half mocking.

He’d wanted to tell the others about Honor, but hewasn’t sure how much he should tell them. Of all his friends,Vishni had the most creatively devious mind. If anyone could helphim sort through his tangled thoughts, it would be the fairy.

And his thoughts were very, very tangled.

They’d done a good thing, an important thing, ingetting the Thorn away from both Rhendish and Muldonny. EvenDelgar, who coveted the dagger on a physical level, believed thatreturning the dagger to the elves was a worthy quest.

On the other hand, they’d all been fooled andmanipulated by a clockwork elf, the half-living creation of theirmost determined foe. No matter how worthy the result might be, itgrated on Fox that he’d been doing the adept’s bidding.

On the other hand, this journey could save elvenlives. Knowing the adept as he did, Fox doubted Rhendish would becontent to stop with one clockwork elf.

A memory slipped into his mind like the suddenappearance of a ghost. He knew with chilling certainty that thosedelicate bones amid Rhendish’s curiosities were not, as he hadassumed, a macabre work of art, but the mortal remains of amurdered elf.

But what about the locket? The adepts had hunted downand slain anyone associated with Eldreath. If Fox was right aboutthe inscription on his mother’s locket, Rhendish needed no otherreason to seek Fox’s death. Fox might end up leading him to theforest elves. That was a risk too large to take.

On the other hand, the desire to learn the truth ofhis heritage and destiny burned in Fox like a three-day thirst. Forthat reason alone, he would consider all the risks of the journeyworth taking.

And, considering his possible ancestry, thatsingle-mindedness worried him more than a little.

“How many ‘other hands’ are you up to?” Vishniinquired.

Fox glanced down at her amused face. “Five orsix.”

“There are a lot of possibilities,” she said, “butI’ll tell you what this isn’t about.”

“That’s a place to start.”

“Rhendish is not running a long con,” Vishni saiddecisively. “If he wanted to find and destroy the northland forestelves, he doesn’t need us to do it.”

Fox blinked. He hadn’t even thought in terms of along con. How could he have missed that?

“Explain.”

She blew out a breath in a short, derisive sputter.“What,

if anything, in your ongoing conflict with Rhendishhas ever suggested that he’s capable of running a long con?”

“You have a point. So what’s his game?”

The fairy tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Rhendishwanted to get the dagger away from Muldonny. Maybe because Muldonnyhad ideas Rhendish didn’t like, maybe because Rhendish was tryingto avoid trouble with the elves. Or maybe he just didn’t like theidea of a rival adapt holding onto so much power.”

“Maybe he wanted it for himself. Why else would Honortake one of Delgar’s glass daggers with her when she returned toRhendish?”

“In that case, the story’s over,” Vishni said. “Butfor the moment, let’s assume the elf is Rhendish’s creature and hernote to you was Rhendish’s idea. He arranged for us to take thedagger off on a gallant quest. And in the process, he rids the cityof the most daring and clever band of thieves Sevrin has everknown.” She grinned and brandished her book. “Or so the storygoes.”

“I suppose it could be that simple,” he murmured.

“Of course it could. You’re giving the adept far toomuch credit. Sometimes overestimating your enemies is as dangerousas underestimating them.”

Fox thought this over. It sounded reasonable, in atwisted sort of way. “Did you know,” he said hesitantly, “thatHonor is-”

“A reasonably pretty machine? Don’t look sosurprised. I knew it almost from the beginning.”

He recalled the way she had jolted when she touchedthe elf’s arm. Having seen the cold iron gears under that paleskin, he understood why.

“You couldn’t have told me?”

Vishni shrugged. “That a living elf was also aclockwork monster? You might have believed me, but I doubt it.”

In truth, Fox wasn’t sure what he believed.

“What if we’re wrong about Honor?” he said softly.“What if she’s staying with Rhendish because she has nochoice?”

The fairy took a deep breath, let it out on a quickhuff. “What if we are? If we snatched her from Rhendish, he wouldpursue. Our chances of getting the Thorn back to the forest elveswould be slim. And assuming there’s still a real elf somewhereamong those gears, this is what she would want us to do.”

Fox remembered the silent entreaty in Honor’swinter-cloud eyes and found that he could not disagree.

The fairy rose and glowered down at Fox. “Are yougoing to pack, or do you plan to let Delgar carry your supplies?Because it’s only fair to warn you that I plan to make him carrymine.”

A grin edged onto his face. “I wouldn’t have expectedanything less.”

Fox took the hand she offered and let her pull him tohis feet. The distant cacophony of voices sounded less discordantnow, and he felt the first stirrings of excitement. They wereleaving Sevrin on an adventure, a good and worthy quest.

And when he returned, he would rescue Honor fromRhendish Manor.

This thought surprised him. The next insight wasequally startling: It didn’t much matter to him whether she was elfor machine. He would save her, whatever that meant. Whatever thattook.

The decision felt right. He strode back toward theFox Den with a light step and a lighter heart.

Vishni watched him go, and gave him a merry wave andsmile when he looked back.

When at last he disappeared into the maze of tunnels,the fairy settled down, opened her book, and began to write.