Honor Bound (3 page)

She had to warn Fox, whether or not
he wanted to listen to her.

Sailing from Heartstone to Kronhus
required a boat, a brisk wind, and a long night. Thanks to Vishni,
acquiring a boat presented no problem. The little fishing vessel
otherwise would have spent a day or two bobbing alongside its
mooring post while its owners recovered from her latest prank. And
in late summer, winds from the south blew warm and strong. A
current ran along the western sea, speeding their course as they
skimmed past one island after another.

Even so, it seemed to Fox Winterborn
that no boat had ever moved so slowly, and no night had ever lasted
so long. Knowing that this would be the shortest and easiest part
of the journey did little to set his mind at ease.

When morning came, he would have to
find smugglers willing to take him and his three companions out to
sea, to the floating markets where business was done on
mainlanders' ships, far from the watching eyes of Sevrin's ruling
adepts. To complicate matters, one of Fox's companions was a fairy,
one was a dwarf, and the third was a man from a distant land and
another time.

Fox was not certain which of the
three would present the biggest problem. Probably not Delgar. The
young dwarf stood taller than most of his kind, near the midpoint
of five feet and six, and although his natural coloring was an
unrelieved shade of gray, he could change the hue of his skin and
hair at will. His frame carried more muscle than most men could
boast, but his face was clean-shaven and handsome. He could pass
for human.

So could slim, winsome Vishni, as
long as no one looked too closely at her eyes. She had pretty
eyes—big, dark eyes that sparkled with childlike delight—but what
shone through them was not even remotely human.

Oddly enough, it was Avidan, the
human alchemist, who stood out. In a land where most men were tall
and broad and blond, his dark southern skin, black hair, and hawk's
nose proclaimed him a stranger. And Avidan was very, very strange.
He was brilliant—Fox never doubted that for a moment—but not
entirely sane.

Even the longest night must
eventually end. The moon was sinking into the western sea when Fox
caught sight of Nightsails, the nearest and largest of the island's
ports. As befitted its name, the little seaport bustled with
activity. Torchlight glimmered against narrow wharfs. More torches
bobbed along the stairs leading down the cliff as people hurried
toward the docks. A bank of fire blazed along the shore, coaxing
long shadows from the piles of boxes waiting to be loaded aboard
the boats or raised cliff-top by ropes and pulleys. "Kronhus" came
from an old word for "time," and the islanders seemed determined to
make good use of every minute.

It was not quite sunrise, but
already smoke rose from the city's forges. The main business of
Kronhus was glass and the things that could be made from it. For
reasons no sage or storyspinner could explain, Kronhus and the
islets surrounding it were rich in quartz ideal for glass-making
and further blessed by an abundance of sea coal for fuel. Many of
the islanders made a livelihood from gathering the glittering black
nuggets that strewed the coasts after each tide and every
storm.

Vishni perched on the bow, her arms
spread wide and her face lifted to the spray. Silhouetted against
the torchlight, she looked like a bowsprit, or perhaps a sea nymph
with sails for wings.

"Best get down," Fox called. "We're
almost there."

The fairy scrambled into the boat
and gave his hair a tug. "Best tuck this fox tail under your cap.
Things could get awkward if you were recognized, what with you
being dead and all."

Delgar snorted and reached for the
line securing the jib. He coaxed the knot free with deft fingers
and let some of the wind out of the sails. Another tug released the
mainsail's starboard line. He shifted over to the wooden bench on
the port side. The little vessel came around, slowing as it changed
direction. Delgar secured the rope with a few twists as he reached
with his other hand for the crank that raised the keel. There were
no deepwater ports on Kronhus, and even the small vessel they'd
"borrowed" from the fishermen who'd caught Vishni's attention could
easily run aground.

The fairy watched Delgar with
interest. "None of the stories about dwarves describe you as
sea-going folk. When we're out to sea and the smugglers take over
the work of sailing, you can tell me where you learned to do all
this."

"No."

"Are there ballads about it? I
wouldn't mind hearing a new ballad. You should sing more. I've only
ever heard you sing when you're stoneshifting. Why is that? Who
doesn't like singing ballads?"

"Me."

"Sea chanteys would also be good,"
she mused, "but they usually don't tell much of a story. Of course,
I suppose you don't really have to sing. You could just tell me the
story with plain words. I can add improvements after."

Delgar turned to Avidan, who sat on
the rear bench, one narrow brown hand resting on the tiller. "How
many languages do you speak?"

"Seven with fluency," he said,
"though I can read several more reasonably well."

"Do any of them have a word for 'no'
that a fairy will understand?"

The alchemist gave this question far
more deliberation than it deserved. "Not as such." Fox paid scant
attention to his friends' talk. His gaze searched the dock, the
shore, the cliffs, looking for anything that might complicate their
escape from Sevrin.

Beyond the dock, torchlight
glimmered on purple sand. Fox glanced at the sack of amethysts that
lay at Avidan's feet. They'd been collecting the purple rocks for
nearly four years now, on the alchemist's advice. Before Avidan
came to them, Fox hadn't known the name "amethyst" or dreamed that
in some lands the colored quartz might be considered a gemstone. On
Kronhus, it was used for making bottles. Cheap bottles.

But Delgar had agreed with Avidan,
and he assured Fox that a sack of amethysts would buy them passage
on a smugglers' ship.

It was Vishni who'd suggested that
they leave from Kronhus, reasoning that smugglers tended to mind
their own affairs. Sailing from Stormwatch would have made more
sense under most circumstances, but that had been Muldonny's
island. And since Muldonny's death was being widely attributed to
the City Fox, the young thief found it prudent to avoid that
island's ports.

The adept's death weighed heavily on
Fox. He owed his life to Honor, and when she'd asked him to
infiltrate Sevrin's greatest stronghold to retrieve the Thorn, he'd
agreed without hesitation. The fact that Muldonny was known to
surround himself with clockwork constructs rather than human guards
made the decision easier. Fox had no qualms about destroying
machinery, but he didn't enter the stronghold with intention to
kill.

Nor had he imagined Muldonny's death
might be the spark that kindled the rebellion he had long dreamed
of leading.

A sharp jab from Delgar's elbow
brought Fox's attention back to the moment. "Look at the people
getting off that boat," the dwarf said in a low voice. "See
anything familiar about them?"

The torchlight suddenly seemed a
pale thing compared to so many heads dyed bright, fiery red. As the
men swaggered down the wharf, dock hands and fisherfolk stopped to
watch them with narrowed eyes.

Vishni beamed and pointed. "Look at
that! A whole flock of foxes, here on Kronhus! My City Fox stories
are spreading like warm honey."

Fox caught the fairy's hand and
dragged it down. "Don't draw attention."

"And strictly speaking," Avidan said
with equal sternness, "a group of foxes is called a troop or a
skulk."

"They're not doing much skulking,"
Vishni said as she jerked her hand out of Fox's grasp. "And come to
think of it, I don't recognize any of them. Not that I know all the
foxes and vixens, but there's at least twenty men there. You'd
think I'd recognize at least one of them."

"This couldn't be good." Fox turned
to the dwarf. "Turn this thing around. Move fast. Don't make it
look like we're running."

"Pick any two," grumbled Delgar, but
he set to work bringing the boat about.

Fox pointed northward. "There's a
smaller wharf by the observatory. We should be able to find a boat
there."

"Why don't we just take this one
out?" Vishni asked.

"It's a big ocean," Delgar said.
"You think it's easy to find a ship in the open sea?"

"From the air?" she retorted. "I
could do it."

"Without getting distracted by
seagulls?"

Fox sent a warning scowl in Delgar's
direction. "Thanks for the offer, Vishni, but it wouldn't work.
Smugglers from the mainland are used to dealing with certain ships,
certain captains. They'd have no reason to trust us."

"Nor we them," Avidan said. "Were we
to approach one of these ships, what would keep them from taking
the amethysts and sailing on? No, their desire to maintain an
ongoing arrangement with Kronhus smugglers will purchase our
passage more securely than any gemstone."

"That's sound thinking," Delgar said
without a hint of his usual sarcasm.

"Your approval fills me with joy,"
the alchemist said without a hint of anything resembling
emotion.

Delgar snorted and turned his
attention back to the sails.

The fairy sidled closer to Fox. "You
don't think the foxes will attack Kronhus's adept?" she
whispered.

"I don't think the islanders would
stand for it."

She nodded. "That's good. There are
lots of stories about that one."

Fox had heard a few. Tymion was the
most flamboyant member of the Council of Adepts. He was renowned
for his table and his hospitality, but apparently he approached
feasting and fighting with equal enthusiasm. In his youth he'd
fought more than a few duels. He'd lost one ear to an opponent's
sword and had replaced it with a wardrobe of metallic ears: copper
for every day, silver for star-gazing, gold and gemstone for
festive wear. Rumor suggested that the adept never slept but spent
every night in an observatory filled with strange devices that
enabled him to wrest secrets from the stars. He wrote and performed
in plays that, so he claimed, gave portents of things to come.
Opinion was divided on whether Tymion made this claim in earnest or
in jest, but the people of Kronhus took pride in his
eccentricities. The exploits of "Father Tyme," as he was
affectionately called, provided them with a constant source of
entertainment.

Fairies, Fox mused, were not the
only people who valued stories.

Only a wisp or two of sunrise pink
colored the sky when they reached the cliff surrounding the Kronhus
observatory. The massive stone keep, a remnant from ancient times,
brooded above the cliff, looking dour and glum despite the glass
dome that gleamed in the morning light.

Vishni stood up suddenly. Fox pulled
her down, but not before he saw what had caught her
attention.

Three men, all of them red-haired,
were pulling a skiff onto the purple sand. The tallest of them
slung a thick coil of rope over his shoulder and began to climb the
steep rocky cliff.

"What are they up to?" Fox
murmured.

Delgar glanced at the climbers and
shrugged. "Why do you care?"

"Whatever they're doing, they're
doing in my name." Fox took a deep breath as he weighed duty
against inclination. "Let's find out what's going on."

"Have you forgotten the Thorn?"
Delgar demanded. "The need to get it away from Sevrin as soon as
possible?"

Vishni put a hand on the dwarf's
arm. "Let him go. He wants to control his own story. Everyone
does."

"As far as Sevrin is concerned, Fox
is dead. He doesn't
have
a story anymore. He has a legend. No one gets to
control his own legend."

The fairy patted Delgar's arm
approvingly. "Now, that's good thinking. Heroes can get in the way
of the story. Legends are much easier to improve."

Delgar turned to Avidan. "Did I just
advise her to kill uncooperative heroes?"

"Not as such, no. It might be
prudent, however, for Fox to humor her with an explosion from time
to time. Mind the keel, now."

The dwarf cranked up the keel
moments before the boat grated to a stop, still several yards from
the shore. Fox leaped over the side and splashed toward the
imposters.

The first man had reached the top.
The other two were climbing the rope he'd tossed down. Fox ran to
the cliff and began to follow them. He heard the dwarf behind him,
grumbling as he picked his way across the rock-strewn
shore.

The lowest man glanced down, jolting
with surprise as he noted Fox. He kicked at some loose stones,
sending a small avalanche toward his pursuer.

Fox shielded his face with one arm
until the clatter of stones died away. When he looked up again, he
faced a small crossbow.

Below him, Delgar slapped both palms
against the cliff and sang three quick, deep notes.