Mistshore (15 page)

There were other figures moving up the hill toward the tower, indistinct shadows darting in and out of her field of vision. She tried to grasp them with her eyes, but they had no more substance than the wind brushing her cheeks.

I will follow them, Icelin thought. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to stride across the grass to the gap in the immense tower. She put her hands on the exposed stone. Warm from the sun, bleached with age, and ribboned with thousands of miniscule cracks, the stone held secrets. Someone had told her this.

“All the ancient places of the world hold secrets. Who knows what manner of men walked here, be they beggars or kings—men who now lie in dusty tombs, their memories husks. Will the stones remember who touched them, when you lie beside these somber lords of the earth?”

Icelin remembered the words vividly, but for the first time in her life she could not recall who said them. The thought was vaguely disturbing, but she pushed it to the back of her dreaming mind.

She had entered the tower now. The stones blotted out the sun at her back. The tower’s wood floors had long rotted away, leaving the interior open from earth to sky. Crushed grass and the remains of a small human body were strewn on the ground.

Icelin tilted her head as far back as she could, taking in the circle of blue rimmed by blackened stones through a gap in the ceiling. The tower had been damaged by fire; she could see the soot stains streaking the walls. Had this small human been the only person to die here? How had it come to be?

She felt tired now. Icelin sat down in the middle of the tower, still staring up at the sky. The shadow shapes moved around her, but she wasn’t afraid of them. She felt that if they would only be still, she would be able to name them. It was the same with the tower—a living presence that, if she knew its name, would open its secrets to her and welcome her inside. Unnamed, it cast an

immutable shadow over her dreams, dominating everything. “‘Have you found anything?”

The voice, so loud in the peaceful place, made Icelin jump. The shadows flitted closer to her, and Icelin felt their urgency. Something was happening. The stones around her changed color and became bright orange and blue like storm clouds. The sun pouring through the tower roof was too hot, too hot.

She looked down at her skin and found it melting off her bones. She was burning alive.

Icelin awoke to darkness and more shadows moving around her. This time she felt real terror, for she knew where she was. The gag stank in her mouth, and voices floated around her.

Cerest was there, somewhere in the darkness. She heard him say, “We’ll wait for gateclose. Bring her, if she’s awake. Be careful of her arm.”

Icelin looked down and saw the clean bandage tightly wrapped around her injured arm. There was a dull ache where the pain had been.

Two pairs of rough hands grabbed her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. The dark-haired man stood to her right. Her captors guided her over to the center of a large, rectangular room.

Icelin looked up, just as she’d done in her dream. Timber beams crisscrossed above her head. Tin sheets formed parts of the walls. Wooden crates lined the whole building, some stacked as high as the ceiling.

A warehouse, Icelin thought. She felt the floor slope down sharply; the ground the warehouse was built upon had shifted over the years. There was a good chance they were still in Mistshore, near the harbor.

In the center of the room, Cerest and the female elf stood talking. The two men guiding her sat her on a crate before them. The dark-haired man removed her gag.

Cerest faced her, a cloak hood tucked close around his face. He appeared to be keeping his distance from the human men. Did he fear their reaction to his scars? The thought came unbidden to Icelin, and she wondered why the murderous elf

would be bothered to care how others saw him. He nodded to one of the men.

“Wait outside,” he said. “Greyas, you remain here, but step back so we may talk.”

With the men dismissed, Cerest focused his attention solely on Icelin. “Hello again,” he said softly. The female elf-—Shenan, he’d called her—brought a lantern close and handed it to Cerest. The elf held the flickering flame close to her face so he could see her clearly.

“What do you want?” Icelin asked.

To her surprise, the elf went down on one knee in front of her, so that he was looking up into her face. She supposed he meant to appear non-threatening, but Icelin found the effort he took more unsettling than comforting. He angled his body so that the unscarred portion of his face was most visible.

“I would like,” Cerest said, “for you to tell me how much you remember of your childhood.”

The question was so bizarrely out of context with the situation that Icelin didn’t immediately answer. Cerest, intent on her expression, seemed to take her silence as defiance. He frowned.

“Icelin,” he said, at the same time gesturing to the dark-haired man—Greyas, he’d called him. “I know you don’t trust me. That’s to be expected. You don’t remember who I am.” He smiled. “But I have known you for a very long time. Gods, I named you. I remember the night you were born—”

Icelin lunged at him. Shenan caught her by the throat and pushed her back, but Icelin’s gesture had the desired effect. Cerest stopped speaking and stood back a safe distance. He regarded her with wounded curiosity.

“Why do you behave this way?” he asked. “I’ve not hurt you, and I don’t intend to.”

“You killed Brant,” Icelin said. Her throat burned. “All your lies, no matter how prettily spoken, won’t change that.”

“I’m not lying,” Cerest said. “Brant cared for you. He was a

good man. I know that.” When Icelin only stared at him, he went on, “But I think you’ll discover Brant had his share of secrets, especially where you were concerned. I’m confident he acted to protect you, but in doing so, he shortened his own life.”

“Master.” Greyas stepped forward again, dragging a smaller figure. Icelin pulled her gaze away from Cerest’s face to see who it was. Her heart dropped.

Fannie stood in front of Greyas, looking like a doll in the man’s muscular arms. While Icelin watched, Greyas placed a hand on either side of Fannie’s head. Fannie quailed, but he did not exert any pressure on her skull. He didn’t have to. Fannie stood utterly still, held in place by the mere threat of what he could do to her with those large hands. She was gagged, as Icelin had been. Her eyes were huge above the scrap of dirty cloth. She looked beseechingly at Icelin.

“We took her at the same time we took you,” Cerest said. He motioned for Greyas to bring Fannie into the light. He pushed her, stumbling and barefoot, into the small circle of illumination.

“Shenan,” Cerest said, and the female elf stepped forward, taking Greyas’s place at Fannie’s back. She patted the woman on the shoulder, whispering comforting noises that made Icelin’s skin crawl.

“What do you remember of your childhood, Icelin?” Cerest repeated the question slowly, glancing meaningfully between Fannie and Icelin.

“I am an orphan,” Icelin said. She met Fannie’s eyes, trying to silently reassure her. “My parents were killed when I was barely two summers old. Brant, my great-uncle, raised me.”

“Your great-uncle,” Cerest said. “What about your grandfather, Icelin?”

“My grandfather is dead. I have no other living family,” Icelin said. “Why are you asking me these questions? If you want to revenge yourself on me, let this woman go and have your

pleasure! What more can I possibly give you than my life?”

Cerest’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Revenge?” he said, sounding almost amused. “My dear girl, far from it. I have no quarrel with you. What gave you that notion?”

“I—” Icelin turned away. Her mind raced. He wasn’t after her. She’d been wrong this whole time. He hadn’t been in the fire____

Relief and fear vied for control of Icelin’s emotions. She hadn’t injured the elf. But if it wasn’t revenge he sought, why had he killed Brant? Why had he hunted her so diligendy?

“Shenan,” Cerest said quietly.

Fannie’s muffled scream snapped Icelin back to the present. She looked up in horror to see the female elf holding Fannie’s head back by the hair. She placed a gleaming dagger blade against Fannie’s arched neck. Blood welled where the blade pressed flesh. The dagger was so sharp, one slip and Shenan would slice open the prostitute’s throat.

“Answer my question, please,” Cerest said. He sounded like a father coaxing a child. “I think it important I hear this tale, so that we understand each other.”

Icelin swallowed. She looked at Cerest, letting him see the undisguised hatred. “I studied magic under the tutelage of Nelzun Decampter, a skilled wizard,” she said. “My great-uncle paid out most of his savings to apprentice me to the man because Decampter specialized in handling wielders of unstable magic. Such was mine. I studied under Nelzun for three years and acquired a reasonable level of skill in the Art.”

“A reasonable level—did Nelzun believe you had the potential for greater power?” Cerest asked.

Icelin’s jaw clenched at the eager light in his eyes. “Yes. He wanted me to travel with him, to test my skills out in the wodd. But I had no desire to leave my home. That mistake cost Nelzun his life.”

“What happened?” Cerest said.

“First tell her to move the dagger,” Icelin said, looking at Shenan but addressing Cerest.

Cerest nodded to the elf woman. Shenan appeared disappointed as she removed the blade from Fannie’s throat.

“Nelzun took me into the city to test my powers. He wanted me to be able to defend myself in the rougher districts. None of the spells I was to cast that day were dangerous, and Waterdeep is more stable than many cities when it comes to magic going awry.” Icelin knew she shouldn’t care what the elf thought of her, but the need to explain, to justify what couldn’t be justified, clawed at her.

“We were in Dock Ward. A fight broke out at a tavern as we were passing by, and the brawl spilled into the street.” Icelin could see it clearly in her mind: the shattered door, the man being thrown into the street. Another pair of men followed, brandishing weapons. She’d thought…

It didn’t matter what they’d intended. She never had the chance to find out.

“I ran toward the fight. I left Nelzun. When I saw the man about to be attacked, I cast the only spell I knew that would hurt. I’d never called the fire before, but Nelzun had showed me how it was done.”

” To summon fire to yourfingertips is one of the easiest attack spells to master, because you cannot burn yourself, as real flame would.”

Her teacher’s words, Icelin thought. But he’d never given a care to what might happen to him if things went wrong.

“The spell ran wild?” Cerest asked. He touched his face, rubbing the scars thoughtfully. “The fire spread?”

“I can still remember how high the flames soared,” Icelin said. She was dimly aware of wetness on her face. She reached up with her bound hands and felt the tears. It didn’t matter. They had already seen how weak she was. “There was a boardinghouse— old wood, and a dry season—next door to the tavern. The fire took the roof first, caving in the ceiling on the people inside.

Five people on the topmost floor were killed instandy, including a Watchman who’d been investigating a woman’s disappearance. The people below escaped—miraculously, I thought.” She took a shuddering breath. “Until the spell ended, and I realized Nelzun wasn’t with me.”

“What happened to him?” Cerest asked. But Icelin wasn’t listening. She recited the tale automatically, numbing her mind to the most painful part of all.

“Nelzun had gone into the boardinghouse to save the rest of the people inside. He got them all out, and then he collapsed outside the building. I tried to get him to take healing, but he said he’d breathed too much of the smoke, that healing wouldn’t save him. He spent his last breaths telling me not to blame myself.”

Icelin looked up. The warehouse was utterly silent. Greyas stood somewhere in the shadows, unseen, but probably listening. Nothing seemed to exist outside the dim circle of lantern light: it was only herself, Cerest, Shenan, and Fannie. She glanced at the two women and was horrified to find them both looking at her with pity in their eyes.

Gods above, she’d never thought to be making a confession before two monsters and a terrified prostitute. She’d never imagined such beings pitying her.

“I understand now,” Cerest said. “You believed I escaped the boardinghouse fire, horribly scarred and out for revenge against the lass who’d maimed me.”

Icelin nodded.

Cerest smiled gently. “You have nothing to fear from me, Icelin. My scars are from a different fire. Like your teacher, I see great strength in you. I want to help you harness your gifts—* “Never!” Icelin’s shout shattered the stillness. “I swore I’d never pursue magic again.”

Cerest and Shenan traded glances. Icelin couldn’t tell what passed between them.

“She is untried, Cerest,” Shenan said, voicing her thoughts aloud. “You have led us on a fool’s chase.” Her tone was mild, but she tightened her grip on the dagger.

Good, Icelin thought. Let them slay each other and have done with the whole business. For the first time in her life she felt grateful for being inadequate.

“She can learn,” Cerest said. “She’s already had a wizard’s training, which is more than Elgreth had.”

“Elgreth,” Icelin said, surprised, “you knew my grandfather?”

“It’s true,” said Cerest. “Elgreth was my best friend.”

“No. You’re lying again,” Icelin said. His words cut her. This couldn’t be. Her family would never be connected to a murderer.

“You don’t know your family as I do, Icelin. Your grandfather was afflicted with a powerful spellscar. Did Brant ever tell you that?”

Mute, Icelin shook her head.

“He should have. The scar gave Elgreth substantial abilities,” Cerest said, “abilities that I believe you also possess.”

“That’s not possible. You have to be exposed to the spellplague to bear such a scar,” Icelin said. “I have never been outside Waterdeep’s walls.”

“You were too young to remember—”