Chapter One — Caer Corwell
The only natural harbor on the west coast of Gwynneth Island is the long firth that leads up to the ruins of Caer Corwell, once the seat of the House of Kendrick and the prettiest city of the Moonshaes. Elsewhere, in the long channel between Gwynneth and Moray, the granite cliffs tumble to the sea, without a beach or an inlet for more than ninety miles. Or else the poisonous bogs and fens blur the distinction between sea and land. Only in the extreme southwest could any boat hope to find shelter, after beating back and forth against prevailing winds and picking through the shoals and pinnacles that formed the harbor s natural defenses, the only ones it still retained.
A hundred years ago the firth would have been crowded with merchant ships and ships of war. The harbor itself would have been full of barges and chandlers coracles. Any intruder would have had to pass under the towers of the fort, now roofless and abandoned. But on this crisp spring day, as the Sphinx came about inside the breakwater, the only creatures Lukas had seen were gulls and otters, and the dolphins following in his wake. As the crew left the boat and pulled their skiff along the reach, all he could hear was the ringing silence, for the wind had died as they had crossed the bar.
In the clear water he could see the hulks of old ships, sunk at their moorings by the fey and their mercenaries more than a hundred years ago. Now, the skiff crunched ashore. They pulled it up the dry sluice and stowed the oars, then climbed up the great stairs to the first of the stone courts, dotted with statues of ancient heroes. The gnome was first, then the Savage, then Lukas and Marikke, then the shifter and the watersoul genasi, his skin glowing with energy and cold blue-green lines of fire. Last came their leader, the only one of them unarmed as befit his rank a solicitor from Alaron, and a distant cousin of the king.
They should be here to greet us. He frowned. Not yet thirty years old, emaciated and weak chinned, Lord Aldon Kendrick clapped his hands. Hello! he cried out. Hello there!
This is stupid, muttered Lukas, his longbow in his hand. He and Marikke had once tried to defend Kendrick to the other members of the crew, out of a sense of racial solidarity that had worn away in time as his decisions became more and more erratic. That morning, aboard the Sphinx, he had spent an hour below deck, curling his moustache and rehearsing a short speech before the glass, inspiring words of liberation and hope.
Suicidal, agreed Marikke, priest and healer to the rest of them. Red-cheeked and yellow-haired, she smiled cheerfully.
Lord Aldon carried a salutation from the king, a message for the Winterglen Claw, a shadowy and secret corps of human runaways and rebels, Ffolk and Northlander, united in their struggle against the fey. He carried a promise of money and weapons at some future date, in return for an oath of loyalty to the king, as Lukas understood. The idea seemed vague and insubstantial to him, not worth the risk, except for the money he d been promised. But still, to sail into the harbor in the bright afternoon, climb up among the empty civic buildings as if knocking on an enemy s front door all that was insane.
You there, said Lord Aldon, addressing the gnome and the elf Suka and the Savage he hadn t learned their names. You ve been here before. What do you suggest?
They stood in the old Court of the Moon, a stone expanse surrounded by crumbling, yellow-brick buildings and a long balustrade above the port. A dry fountain rose from the center of the square, an alabaster statue of Sel ne, goddess of the moon, her face shrouded in an alabaster veil. One of her outstretched arms was gone, broken off at the shoulder.
You know the fey, Aldon continued. I suppose you are the fey, or were, in some cap
He broke off as the Savage turned on him. The golden elf s handsome face was twisted with contempt. You haven t listened to a word I ve said so far, he protested, his voice soft with anger. This is the date and time and place of your meeting with the Claw. I myself am not convinced these people exist, as I have told you. Yet here we are. What do you think? Is it possible we ve walked into a trap?
The Savage made an imposing figure, the sun bright in his yellow hair, gold rings in his nose and lips, gold tattoos on his dark skin, his greatsword on his back. Still, his sarcasm was lost on Aldon Kendrick, who goggled at him briefly then turned to the gnome and asked, What about you?
Suka laughed. I think we re not important enough. I mean, who would bother? She was a small example of a small race, dressed in a leather jerkin. Her hair stood out in clumps, a curious and unnatural shade of pink.
She s right about that, muttered Lukas.
He turned to Marikke, but she was gone. She had ambled over to the statue, and stood by the dust-choked bowl under the goddess s feet. Water, in the old days, had dripped down from her fingers.
Bright Sel ne, murmured the cleric. As if in answer to her prayer, a single drop of water fell from the goddess s finger into the stone bowl.
Lukas looked up in surprise. Ware, said the genasi in his whistling, eerie voice. He drew his scimitar. Cold fire sputtered along its blade.
The sun was halfway down the horizon. The shadow of the statue protruded almost to Lukas s feet. As the ranger watched, arrow on string, the shadow faded, though there wasn t a cloud in the blue sky. Instead, the sunlight itself had changed and weakened as the sky turned color, tending toward a deeper, colder purple, or as if dusk had suddenly come. At the same time, as if to compensate, the empty iron cressets along the balustrade came flickering to life, first tendrils of black smoke, then a gentle radiance.
In a moment the crew had their weapons out, had assumed their postures of defense, while Lukas ran to the balustrade and looked down over the port, where the Sphinx still rode at anchor. Only Lord Aldon stayed where he was, winking vaguely at the sky.
But all was still. Above them, the light had lost its force, and it grew cold. In the center of the square, the fountain overflowed. Lukas could hear a light, sweet laughter, and looked around for Suka it didn t come from her. The gnome crouched beside an overturned stone urn, crossbow raised. But from the Palace of the Moon on the west side of the square, someone stepped out of the shadows of the long colonnade, a single eladrin, empty hands upraised, her long black hair braided down her back, dressed in a diaphanous gown of red and green that moved around her when she moved. In the square the water and the fire followed her, flowing from the goddess s stone hands and rising up from the broken cressets, until the rest of the city and the world beyond the stone balustrade lost substance, faded into shadow in the middle of the afternoon.
The Savage, the golden elf, stood in front of her, his weight on his back foot, his greatsword in his hands. Only he was undiminished by the lady s brightness, her opposite, perhaps, his yellow hair glowing in the torch fire, his black clothes a source of darkness as she seemed a source of light. She stared at him, spoke a few soft words in Elvish, then lapsed into the Common tongue, Please, my cousin, put up your weapon. I mean no harm. I believe you have a secret you might share with us someday, or else share with yourself, but I won t say anything about that. You also, my little cousin, she continued, pointing her slender forefinger at the gnome. You have nothing to fear. I have not come here for revenge, whatever crimes you have committed. You see in me a simple eladrin maiden, here to greet you on behalf of whom? The Fingernails, is that it? No the Talons. Forgive me for my lack of skill in your language no, the Claws, that s it. The Claws of Winterglen. Such a violent name! You must excuse Captain Rurik he could not come himself. He had an engagement that could not be broken. So he sent me.
She shrugged a little, turned in a half circle, then took a few staggering steps. You must forgive me. I had something to drink while I was waiting. And I ve brought something for you. I thought you might be hungry after a tenday of biscuits and dried sausages.
Behind her in the Palace of the Moon, a new light shone among the columns of the portico and from the stone window frames, a row of empty arches save for the greenish glow. None of the crew had for a moment relaxed their vigilance, unless you could count Lord Aldon Kendrick, besotted by the beauty of the girl in front of him. He wiped his lips, wagged his big head back and forth on his long neck.
Yes, he said, making a motion to the others. You may stand down.
They didn t move until Lukas gave the signal, stepping forward as he replaced the arrow in his quiver. They found themselves moving, he imagined, through a trap made of spider silk rather than steel, and it was not with steel that they could free themselves. And though the air was thick with menace, he felt instinctively it was not meant for them, the members of his crew, and that the trap would tighten only if he resisted.
Aldon Kendrick, though, was already caught. The golden elf sheathed his greatsword on his back and stepped aside. Kendrick replaced him, and as the lady stumbled from feigned drunkenness he took her by the elbow. She thanked him with her smile and drew him forward into the portico, where Lukas could see a table had been spread
