Honor Among Thieves (12 page)

“He was caught, yes, but unfortunately long after the
theft,” Rhendish said. “He sold the item before we could recover
it.”

A muscle twitched near Muldonny’s left eye. “Nothing
of great value, I trust.”

Rhendish waved one hand dismissively. “A curiosity,
nothing more.”

They played several hands in silence. At last
Rhendish threw down his cards.

“My luck is singularly bad today. It would appear
that your winnings exceed my purse. I’ll send my steward first
thing tomorrow to settle up.”

“There is no need,” Muldonny said. “This was a
friendly 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 pink
crystal 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 enough
elven 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 and
admired 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 be
of interest to you,” Rhendish said. “It’s a shame about the theft,
though. I suspect you would have risked a great deal to possess
that dagger.”

The adept’s studiously casual tone set off alarms in
Fox’s mind.

According to Honor, Muldonny possessed a stolen elven
dagger. According to Rhendish, an elven dagger was recently stolen
from him. Rhendish was clearly putting Muldonny on notice. And
elven daggers were not exactly plentiful in Sevrin. Fox did not
require an abacus to add these pieces of information into a
disturbing total.

Why hadn’t Honor mentioned that Rhendish once
possessed the Thorn?

On second thought, he realized there was no reason
why she should. She knew nothing of the enmity between him and the
adept.

Still, the fact remained that if Rhendish had an
interest in the dagger, their task had just become much more
complicated.

“It seems that we are both unfortunate in our choice
of 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 be
impervious to greed, but they do wear out rather quickly. You must
go 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 without
the sensation of touch, Fox had no idea whether his grip was
secure. He gripped the vessel hard enough, in his estimation, to
crack the glass and dribble a bit of tea onto Avidan’s stolen
finery.

The samovar shattered, dumping the entire contents of
the pot into Avidan’s lap. The alchemist jumped to his feet and
peeled off his sodden outer robe.

Rhendish smirked. “Well, it’s certainly obvious that
you’ve built for
strength
.”

Avidan held up a hand to cut off Muldonny’s
apologies. “We are none of us well served today by those in our
employ. Perhaps you will permit me to return at another time?”

“Of course! I look forward to continuing our
discussion.”

The alchemist bowed to each adept in turn. “No doubt
your servant is dexterous enough to see me out.”

“That is not a risk I care to take.”

Muldonny reached for a bell. Three clockwork
servants, identical to the form Fox wore, stomped into the
garden.

The adept pointed to one of the constructs. “You. See
Master Insa’amid to the gate. You two dispose of
this
and
return to the garden.”

It took Fox a moment to realize that he was the item
slated for disposal.

He turned to run. Before he could take a single step,
the two clockwork guards flanked him, closed metal hands around his
upper arms, and carried him out of the garden.

They marched him to the outer wall and tossed him
over.

As the ground sped up to meet him, Fox hoped that
Muldonny’s claim of durability was more than an idle boast.

* * *

Stars sparkled in the sky over Stormwall Island when
Fox awoke. He struggled for several moments to sit up before it
occurred to him to remove the metal shell.

One of the gloves had come loose during the fall. Fox
shook it off and tossed it aside. It landed with a sharp clunk of
metal on metal.

Starlight glimmered on piles of metal around him. It
took a while for his befuddled mind to understand that he’d been
tossed into a pit of defective or outdated clockwork creatures.

Fox flung the arm of another knight off his chest and
rolled away from the metallic corpses. He shed the armor and
climbed out of the pit as quickly as he would flee a mass
grave.

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. Fox
had already started to turn back to help when he remembered the
voice belonged to a machine, not a comrade.

He squared his shoulders and strode off into the
night.

But he took with him the odd conviction that he would
carry the memory of this desertion for the rest of his days.

For the next several days, Delgar kept the dwarves
working in shifts, chipping away at the solid stone between a sea
cave and the shaft Fox had discovered under Muldonny’s
workroom.

The elf, to her credit, worked as hard as any of the
dwarves, carrying away baskets of rubble and refilling tankards
faster than thirst could keep pace. In fact, she worked longer
hours than anyone. She’d gotten a sword from Fox’s little armory
and spent the night shifts standing guard.

This puzzled Delgar. Elves might look delicate, but
they were known and feared for their bursts of speed or strength or
magic. They could unleash quick flashes of power like clouds
spewing forth lightning. This sort of sustained effort
this
elf exhibited struck Delgar as unnatural.

At the end of the sixth day of work, the elf lingered
after the first team of dwarves had disappeared into the sea cave’s
hidden passages. Delgar always stayed to get the second shift
started and he insisted upon a short respite to rest the stone. The
constant noise and vibration of excavation could stress stone in
unexpected ways.

The elf waited until the day workers were well beyond
hearing range.

“About the Thorn.”

Delgar folded his arms. “Here it comes.”

“I just want to make sure there are no
misunderstandings. The dagger must be returned to the forest.”

“And it will be.”

“Immediately,” the elf said. “Not decades later, not
after you’ve used its power to clear the tunnels and halls of
ancient Cragslore.”

He placed one hand over his heart and affected a
wounded expression. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Of course it did not. It entered your mind and
remained firmly in the center of it.”

The dwarf’s response fell midway between a laugh and
a snort. “You’ve been around Fox for too long. Three more days, and
you’ll be making bad puns.” He picked up a lantern. “Come on. I’ll
walk 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 on
Sevrin.”

Delgar’s jaw firmed. “I do not need an elf to school
me in the structural integrity of a tunnel system. Why do you think
I’m going to all this trouble to help you? I want the Thorn removed
from Sevrin as much as you want to take it away.”

“That is good to hear. I have found, however, that
gluttons seldom eat moderately when presented with platters of
cakes.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I’m all
muscle.” He paused for a cocky smile. “If you don’t believe me, I’d
be happy to take off my shirt and flex.”

The elf sent him a withering glance. “The Thorn must
return 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 the
tunnel wall.

Honor’s sword leaped from its sheath before he could
reach for his miner’s pick.

She darted forward and swung her sword in a rising
backhand slash. The blade sliced through the snout of a creature
that was half giant moth, half mosquito.

The elf ducked away from a splash of venom and seized
one of the creature’s wings. She spun once and flung it into the
path of a second moth. They went down in a tangle of wings and
spindly limbs. The elf leaped on the struggling creatures and
stomped 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 papery
rustle.

The sound spread through the tunnels like fire on dry
grass. A swift-growing whisper of many wings filled the
darkness.

“The lantern!” the elf snapped. “Put it down and move
away.”

Delgar set down the lantern and fell back as a swarm
of moths burst into the light.

Two of the moths came at him. He batted the first one
away with the flat of his pickaxe and seized the other by the
snout. Furious wings buffeted him as the creature fought to get
free.

Suddenly Delgar found himself holding a disembodied
head. He sent the elf an incredulous glance. She’d already spun
away and cut down two more moths.

He tossed aside the grisly thing and batted away
another of the creatures. He looked around for the elf and found
her in the center of a storm of wings. Delgar hefted his axe and
waded in.

They worked together, the elf slicing flight from the
deadly creatures as she drew the slowly diminishing swarm away from
the light, Delgar following to finish off the fallen monsters.

Finally the grim trail ended in a crumpled pile. The
last of the creatures gave a fluttering twitch and lay still.

The elf sank down to the tunnel floor, her back
against solid stone. Delgar kept standing, just in case more showed
up.

“Deathwing moths,” Honor said in a conversational
tone. “Dwarf tomb guardians. Not the sort of thing I’d expect to
find in a Sevrin sea cave.”

Delgar made no response. They both knew where the
deadly creatures must have laired.

“You have your own reasons for excavating Cragslore,”
she said. “I accept that. But before you start delving into your
ancestors’ tombs, you might want to give some thought to how they
died.”

She pushed herself to her feet and headed off down
the tunnel. Delgar heard the sound of dwarven voices raised in
greeting. Four days ago, the dwarves working the night shift might
have passed Honor with a grunt of disapproval. Now, if they knew
she could lead them to a treasure trove of carmite, Delgar wasn’t
sure he could stop them from following.

The sooner the elf and her damned dagger were back on
the mainland and deep in the forest, the happier he’d be.

* * *

Two days later, the dwarves broke through into the
shaft leading to Muldonny’s workroom. Honor tried not to dwell
overmuch upon the jumble of human and mechanical remains they found
at the base.

Climbing the shaft proved surprisingly easy. The
circular pit had been fashioned of rough-cut stones, so handholds
were plentiful and secure.

She and Fox made the first climb. In their packs were
four sets of ropes and pulleys that Avidan had made to Honor’s
design. Forest elves used such devices to drop quickly from the
treetops, and Honor figured they would also aid a quick descent
into 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 climbed
the shaft and rappelled down over and over, until Delgar declared
that he’d rather jump into the pit without the damned rope than
climb one more time.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait.

Two more days passed before Vishni intercepted an
invitation 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 then
adding some script of his own. He moved the meeting a day ahead and
added a postscript that instructed Shavin to come directly to
Muldonny’s workroom.

Fox picked up the invitation and let out a whistle of
admiration. “I need to start thinking of things we can
counterfeit.”

Vishni tucked her arm through his and beamed up at
him. “It’s good to hear you talking about your own work.” She sent
a pointed sidelong glance toward Honor. “I don’t like being left
behind.”

“Actually, I think you should come.”

Silence, Honor noted with wry amusement, had a
thousand difference voices. Vishni’s silence sang with
astonishment.

“We don’t know where the dagger is being kept,” she
said, although she was fairly certain where it must be. Rhendish
had spoken of Muldonny’s interest in elves, and Fox confirmed the
adept’s fascination. If the adept knew anything at all about elven
customs, he would keep elven treasures in the highest place
available to him.

“Fox’s description of Muldonny’s manor suggests
several possible locations. If it’s in one of the towers, Vishni
could fly up, get the dagger, and bring it to Delgar.”

Vishni pursed her lips and regarded Honor with wary
interest. “I suppose I could do that.”