The club wielder was sitting on theground, one hand clamped to his wound. His eyes widened as he tookin Nimbolk's approach and he scuttled backwards like a crab. Thescent of blood and fear rose from him, mingling with the tang ofsalt and sharper mineral odors.
Nimbolk pursued, bloody daggerleading.
'Where is Volgo?'
'Heartstone Island!' the manshrieked. 'Works for the adept Rhendish, he does! They're coming toStormwall tomorrow. I can take you to them.'
He'd be dead long before dawn. Ifnot for the human ability to ignore truths they didn't wish tocontemplate, the man would know this.
Nimbolk toed the fallen club. 'Whereyou there? Was it you that killed the queen's champion?'
'I. . I don't know what you'retalking about.'
Nimbolk reached for his hood andjerked it down. An elf with pale skin and brown hair might pass forhuman, but only if he took care to hide his distinctiveears.
'Dead gods,' the human swore. 'Iknow you. You were with that fancy elf bitch.'
Nimbolk's boot slammed into theman's jaw and knocked him flat onto his back. He hooked one toeunder the club and flipped it up, catching it by the handle. Theworst insult one fighter could offer another was to end him withhis own weapon.
'Stand,' he commanded.
The thug struggled to his feet.'You'd kill an unarmed man?'
'You were armed when I killed you.That's more than you can say for the elves you murdered in theforest grove.'
The man dipped one gloved hand intoa pocket. As the fabric gaped open, the smell of salt and mineralsgrew stronger. Nimbolk waited until the man drew out a fistful ofpowder and started an underhand toss.
Nimbolk swung the club, catching theman's hand and driving it up into his own face. A cloud of greenishmineral salt surrounded him. Crystals melted and sizzled as theymet flesh.
The man fell to his knees, shriekingand clawing at his eyes. Nimbolk poked him in the ribs with theclub in deliberate imitation of his treatment of the fisherman. Hemust have sensed the elf's intent, for he flung both hands over hishead and cringed away from the coming blow.
But Nimbolk hesitated. This man didnot deserve to die the same death as the queen'schampion.
He broke the club over one knee anddrove the jagged edge up under the thug's ribcage.
Behind him, the fisherman gave achoking cough. It occurred to Nimbolk that the man might belaughing.
He turned and knelt beside thefisherman. The grim mirth faded from the man's face as his gazelocked onto Nimbolk's elfin ears. Terror glazed hiseyes.
'I didn't say anything. . aboutyour people. The boat, the fairy girl that took it. I swear it! ButDorn. . he pulled the Fox out of the water. Knows he's alive.They'll find Dorn. He's got no love for the adepts, but he won'tbleed. . to keep the thief's secrets.'
Nimbolk sat back on his heels,surprised by this sudden outpouring. 'You could have saved yourselfa beating if you'd told that to Volgo's men. Why tellme?'
'All Volgo's men can do is killme.'
The fisherman slowly lifted one handand to his heart and with great effort traced a circle-a wardingagainst evil. He tried to say something more, but blood spilledfrom his mouth and ran in crimson streaks down his beard. A tremorran through him and he lay still.
Nimbolk rose, staring at the deadman in puzzlement. Perhaps these humans knew so little of elves andfairies that they thought them the same people?
The fisherman had been right aboutone thing, though. The harsh death he'd suffered at the hands ofVolgo's men was quicker and kinder than a fairy's mercy.
Nimbolk tipped his head back tostudy the cliff. It curved out over the sea, dropping off in asheer rock wall. The fortress overlooked the port-the onlydeepwater harbor on any of Sevrin's islands-but it also sprawledalong the crescent-shaped cliff. Toward the end of that curve stooda round tower, an ancient stone keep that reflected the light ofthe first evening star.
He walked along the base of thecliff until the incoming tide left him nowhere to go but up.According to the gossipy fisherfolk and their speculation about theFox's raid, climbing the rock wall was impossible. By the time themoon rose, Nimbolk was beginning to think they were more right thanwrong.
Hours passed before he rolled ontothe ledge and staggered to the base of the tower, shaking withfatigue.
No guards patrolled this part of thecliff and no lights shone in the windows placed high on the towerwalls. Nimbolk tried the door, but the locks on the iron grate heldfirm. Again, the only possible path was straight up.
From a distance, the tower mightlook perfectly smooth, but hundreds of years of sea wind and saltair had worn away at the thick walls. Finding handholds in therough stone took time, but it was not impossible.
Finally Nimbolk's hand closed on awindow sill. He pulled himself up and edged aside the unlatchedshutter.
His gaze swept the starlit room fordanger. Dozens of weapons hung on the walls or in cases, but noguards stood ready to wield them. After a moment, it struck Nimbolkthat the chamber was more like a shrine than an arsenal.
The stone walls had been plasteredand painted to resemble the trees surrounding a forest glen. Pottedplants added to the illusion, which was crude but clearlyheart-felt.
Nimbolk slipped into the room andmoved from one case to another. Most of the weapons wereelf-crafted, and those that were not were similar enough to foolthose who had no ear for the magic they held.
Another case held jewelry; yetanother, elaborately tooled leather bracers. Books filled a row ofshelves. To Nimbolk's surprise, some of them were filled withElfish runes.
Muldonny had amassed a remarkablecollection. Even more astonishing, it appeared that the adept'sintent was to honor elfin culture rather than plunder it. Placingthe treasure at the keep's highest point showed that the adept hadbeen familiar with elfin custom. Dwarves buried their wealth, whileelves kept things of value atop ancient trees and in the highesttowers of mountaintop keeps.
Nimbolk wondered if the adept hadunderstood why.
Stars sent vibrations into the nightsky. Elf-crafted items resonated with it, captured and magnifiedand stored it to be released later in a burst of speed or power ormagic. Starsong might be as constant as air, but on clear, brightnights an elf could feel it in his blood and bones.
An echoing melody came from the seabeyond. Nimbolk went to the window. In the open sea south of theisland, a whale breached and blew. Its eerie, plaintive songshimmered across the water. As Nimbolk watched, more whales joinedthe singer.
Only elves and whales could hearstarsong. Only whales could sing it back to the sky.
Watching the pod brought Nimbolkalmost as much pain as comfort. They had their shared song, andwhatever rituals they enacted in the ocean depths. He had only thehealing to be found in these stolen relics. It was almost a reliefwhen the whales sank beneath the waves.
He'd been away from his kind for toolong.
The old man huddled in the curtainedalcove in a corner of the adept's workshop, torn between exhaustionand exhilaration. The trip to Khronus had taken more strength thanhe could spare. Still, it had been good to leave Rhendish Manor.He'd haunted this place for so many years that some days he wasn'tentirely certain that he was not, in fact, a ghost.
But the trip had been well worth thestrain. Relying on another man's sorcery had taxed his pride, butwhat else could he do? His own magic was long gone.
The murmur of voices in the workroom grew louder. He leaned closer to listen.
'Are you quite certain you don'tknow the dwarf's whereabouts?'
The adept's voice was deep andpleasant, despite the serrated edge of irritation in hisquestion.
'I have told you that I do not,' theelf said. 'I left Muldonny's workroom moments before it exploded.That was the last I saw or heard from him.'
'What part did he play in theattack?'
