Mistshore (19 page)

When she was finished, she opened her eyes and looked around, blinking in the darkness. Slowly, she recognized her surroundings. The ship’s hold—their sanctuary for the day.

She longed to cover her head and sleep for days on end. The cold combined with the raw emptiness in her stomach forced her to a sitting position. Her hair, stiff from multiple dunkings in salt water, stood out in snarls all over her head. And the smell…

Icelin groaned. The smell was coming off her body. Seeing she was awake, Sull ambled over to sit next to her. The butcher looked and smelled as unkempt as she.

“How do you feel?” he asked tentatively. His face was pale under his red hair.

“Food,” Icelin said. She tried to run a hand through her hair and ended up getting her fingers stuck. Cursing a streak that would have made Brant blush, she yanked her hand free. “Food,” she repeated, and smiled for Sull’s benefit. “Succulent lamb’s stew, to start, with fresh vegetables smothered in butter. Sharp cheese melted on bread slices. For the main course”—she scrunched up her face, pretending to give the matter grave consideration—”nothing whatsoever that includes fish.” She waved a hand imperiously. “That’s my order. Off with you.”

Sull’s deep chuckle filled the hold. “Ah, thank you, girl. I was worried you’d lost your good humor forever.” He shot her a look of chagrin. “As to the food: the waterskins are fine, but the rations are soaked. I don’t think they’re fit to eat. But I found this next to me when I woke up.”

He handed her a loaf of crusty bread. Icelin tore off a hunk and bit into it, expecting the worst. Surprisingly, the bread was flavorful and chewy inside. She took several more bites and a swig from her waterskin and immediately started to feel better.

“Where’s Ruen?” she asked, noticing for the first time that the thief—monk, she reminded herself—was not in the hold.

“Don’t know,” Sull said, but I heard a lot of activity going on up there. Must be near fightin’ time.”

Icelin listened to the footsteps clattering above them. Sull was right. The voices were building into a dull roar. She wondered how many people would be present for the fight. Her earlier apprehension returned in full.

Ruen meant to win them protection by fighting in the Cradle. But for how long could they realistically hope to stay safe? Icelin had never met Ruen’s contact, but already she didn’t trust the man. If Cerest offered him coin enough, Icelin had a feeling he would betray them in a heartbeat.

“Sull,” she said.

The butcher slanted her a look, his mouth puffed up with bread. The sight made Icelin smile and twisted her heart at the same time.

“If Ruen succeeds tonight, I want you to leave us. I trust Ruen to take care of me, and I don’t want you in anymore danger on my behalf.”

“Aw, don’t go startin’ that foolishness again.” Sull wiped the crumbs from his mouth with an angry swipe. “Doesn’t matter what that thiePs done, you need me looking out for you, unless”—he hesitated, his face reddening—”unless you think I’m slowin’ you down.” He clenched his hands into fists. “I know I’m not much good in a fight.”

“Sull, that’s not what I—”

“I know it!” His face crumpled. He looked near tears. The sudden shift in mood caught Icelin completely off guard. “I know you’re worried about me gettin’ hurt on your account. It isn’t fair—me strappin’ myself to you, makin’ you worry. Selfish is what it is.”

“Selfish?” Icelin said incredulously. “You’ve risked your life over and over for me. I’m the one who’s selfish and no good in a fight. Without you, Sull, I’d be lost.” Icelin felt dangerously close to tears herself.

“But it isn’t for you,” Sull said, his voice barely audible. He dropped his head in his hands.

Feeling helpless, Icelin scooted closer to the big man and put her arm around his shoulders. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you mean, Sull? If not for me, why are you here?”

Sull sniffed loudly. He wiped his eyes but wouldn’t look at her. “I love my shop,” he said. “Always wanted one of my own, ever since I was a lad.”

Guilt stabbed Icelin. “I’ll get you back to your shop. I promise.”

“No!” Sull roared. He jerked away from her as if he’d been

stung. “Serves me right if the place burns to the ground. Let me finish, lass, I beg you.”

Icelin nodded, staying silent.

“I love my shop,” he continued, each word a trial for him. “In the eady days, all the folk knew me. Once I got established in the neighborhood, I helped others just startin’ out. Wasn’t anything to it, I just liked em and wanted ‘em to have the same chance I got. So I gave meat to the baker and the blacksmith, kept em fed over two winters so they would have coin to spare for their wares. I spent the summer helpin’ Orlan Detrent put a roof over his cow pen. Hot as the Nine Hells, it was, but we laughed over a pitcher of ale afterwards.”

“That’s wonderful,” Icelin said. “They were lucky to know you.”

Sull’s eyes filled with fresh misery. “Not so lucky. You put me too high in your heart, lass, and I don’t deserve it. I made friends with a lot of folk, so when Darthol and his boys came to the neighborhood, they knew to come straight to me.”

“Darthol?” Icelin hadn’t heard the name in years. Darthol Herendon had conducted a brief but lucrative extortion operation in Blacklock Alley and other parts of South Ward. Icelin remembered Brant had insisted on escorting her everywhere she went during DarthoFs brief “reign.” Her great-uncle hadn’t wanted her to cross paths with any of DarthoPs men, though Icelin suspected he’d paid a substantial amount to ensure her safety. Fortunately, they’d been spared any lasting strife. DarthoPs body had been found in a garbage heap one night. Folk thought he’d been stabbed to death by one of his own men.

“I didn’t know you ever encountered him,” Icelin said. “I’m sorry for it. That was a dark time for many of us.”

“Darker than you know,” Sull said. He wasn’t crying now. He looked old and sad. “I was cleanin’ out the shop one night. I like to work late, when the streets are uncluttered, but I was being quiet so not to rouse folk. They didn’t hear me at first.”

The words hurt him. Icelin squeezed his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said.

But he went on. “I had the big wooden washtub outside the back door, couple of candles lit so I could see. My cleavers were all in the tub, needin’ a good scrub. I’d just picked up the rag”—he mimicked the gesture, lost in his tale—”when they came around the side of the shop, draggin’ old Orlan by his bare feet.”

“Oh, Sull,” Icelin gasped.

“He wasn’t dead,” Sull said, “least not then. Face was covered in blood and sort of mashed in, but his eyes were open. He stared at me the whole time they were beatin’ him, beggin’ with his eyes for help. Somehow, I was stuck. I couldn’t get my arms out of that washtub. I had my hand on a knife, gods forgive me, and I couldn’t raise it up out of the water.” He looked at his shaking hands, seeing a weapon that wasn’t there. “I could have planted it in that son of a whore’s back before his boys were ever the wiser. Worst of it was, Darthol knew I was there all the time. He beat poor Orlan to death in front of me. He knew I didn’t have the guts to stop him.”

“You were frightened, and rightly so,” Icelin said. “Even if you’d killed Darthol, his men would have slain you.”

“I wasn’t afraid,” Sull said. “Not for my life, anyway. All I could think was that they’d take my shop. Every thin’ I’d worked for—I didn’t want to lose it.” Finally, he looked at her, but his eyes were bleak, unfocused. “The years haven’t changed me any. You’d think they would have, but they haven’t. I’m still selfish. When you came into my shop, and those elves were after you, I wasn’t really aidin’ you. I’m not so noble. All I could see was Orlan’s bloody face, the whites of his eyes bulgin’ out when he died. Whenever I look at you, I see him. You have to let me stay with you, Icelin. I know it’s askin’ too much. My burden’s nothin’ to do with you. But if I leave you, I’m never going to see anythin’ but Orlan’s face.”

He started to cry then in earnest. Icelin laid her head on his shoulder so he would not have to see her. They sat that way for a long time while the big man sobbed quiedy. Above them, the voices rose and fell, but that world seemed a thousand miles away from the cramped ship’s hold.

Icelin reached for Sull’s hand and found it waiting for her. “Sull?”

“Yes, lass?” He sounded remote, drained.

“Please stay with me.” Her voice shook. “I’m selfish too, and frightened. Will you stay with me, until it’s all over?”

He sighed deeply. “I’ll stay. Thank you, Icelin.”

Icelin felt his big body relax slowly, the knotted muscles loosening. The misery was still there, but she could feel him burying it.

When she lifted her head, Ruen was coming down the ladder. Their eyes met for a breath, and Icelin knew, though she could not read his crimson gaze, that he’d heard every word of Sull’s confession. She nodded minutely. He mirrored the gesture.

“Thank you for the bread ” Icelin said. “I assume you left it for us?”

Ruen nodded. “I couldn’t arrange a bath for you. Perhaps if I win the tournament. Something to hope for, eh?” He wrinkled his nose.

Icelin glowered at him, but Sull said, “Tournament? You mean you have to fight more than once?”

“I’m a new entrant,” Ruen said. “I’ll have at least three matches before I get to fight Bellaril—Bells.” He picked up Icelin’s cloak and pack. “Keep these close,” he said, handing them to her. “They’re ready for us.”

No matter how intense her apprehension about the Cradle, Icelin was grateful to climb the ladder out of the oppressive ship’s hold.

On the main deck, night had fallen. Stars canopied the harbor, and the remnants of the day’s rain glimmered on

the wet wood. Torches lined the deck, lending smoky illumination to a sight Icelin could not have imagined in her wildest fancies.

The Cradle perched on the water, bounded by a loose circle of four half-sunk ships. The vessels listed at various angles, half supporting each other, their masts crisscrossing in a vast web work of rigging and wood. Rope bridges hung suspended from the main masts, allowing foot traffic to flow between the four ships. Figures swarmed the bridges or climbed, monkeylike, on the rigging to find a better vantage point for the activity.

On each of the four ships, wooden benches were bolted in rows to the deck, creating a sort of graduated seating on the listing surfaces. These rough seats were already packed with people, and the unlucky few who couldn’t find a bench were perched on the rails, their feet dangling above the water. All told, there must have been hundreds of people crowded on the ships.

In the center of the Cradle, water was allowed to flow freely in a sealed off” pool. Wooden platforms, not unlike Ruen’s raft, had been arranged at various points, so it was possible to cross from ship to ship without touching the water. Four guards arranged themselves on the outer fringes and took charge of distributing weapons.

Icelin watched a pair of men walk out onto the platforms. Both carried the same weapon: a spiked ball and chain. To her shock, they bore no shields and wore no armor. The crowd screamed and pounded their feet when the fighters faced each other and swung the chains like deadly pendulums in front of their bodies.

“Gods above,” Sull said, shaking his head. “I’d never have believed such a sight if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“The platforms are stained red,” Icelin said, half to herself. “What happens if they fall in the water?”

“Nothing, if they can get out fast enough,” Ruen said. “They stock the pool with blindfin, shark, eel, and whatever else they can find that’s vicious enough.”

Icelin flinched as the combatants leaped at each other. The spiked balls whistled through the air, thudding sickly into flesh. The crowd cheered wildly. Both men fell back, clutching gaping wounds to the leg and flank.

“The winner will bleed to death before he claims his prize,” Icelin said.

Ruen shook his head. “He only has to stay on his feet. Once the victor is confirmed, Arowall authorizes the winner to receive healing.”

“Where is Arowall now?” Icelin asked, leaning close so Ruen would hear her over the crowd.

“You won’t see him until after the tournament,” Ruen said. “He watches the matches from there.” He pointed to the largest ship in the circle.

In the Cradle, the combatants were already dring. The heavy weapons were difficult to maneuver under the best of circumstances. On the” water they were clumsy and shook both men’s balance. The taller of the two swung with both hands. His opponent dodged back but tripped on an uneven board. He went down on his knees at the edge of the platform.

Sensing victory, the man still on his feet leaped across to his opponent’s platform. Frantically, the man on his knees tried to scramble away, but there was nowhere left to go but into the water. Hurling the heavy weapon at his opponent, the man dived into the water.

The crowd went crazy, piling against the rails to see if the man would be devoured by sharks.

His head popped up a few feet away, next to another platform. He hoisted himself up, and for a breath it looked like he would make it. But the taller opponent had been watching, biding his time.

As soon as the man’s shoulders came out of the water, the taller opponent swung the ball, releasing it to fly across the water.

The ball impacted between his opponent’s shoulder blades. Blood spurted, and the man lost his grip on the platform. Jerking, he sank into the water.

Icelin thought the wound hadn’t been very deep, but then she saw the water churning, the flash of a gray fin.

“Gods,” she said, “how could he leave him for the sharks?”

“It was a clever move,” Ruen said. He watched the man intendy. “He’d already taken a wound to the thigh. He couldn’t jump from platform to platform, which is what his opponent was counting on. Essentially, he had one shot, and it turned out to be a good one.”

“Do they always fight to the death?” Icelin asked.

“No,” Ruen said. “You have the opportunity to yield, but many don’t. The winner’s purse is too tempting, and the crowd doesn’t like a coward.”

A guard approached their group. “I’m to escort you down,” he said to Ruen.