Honor Bound

'All but one: Hronolf stood tosword-greet what the wolves fled.'

Vishi sank into the tale with a sighof pure bliss. After Hronolf met his destiny, she clapped until herhands tingled.

A stocky man dropped into the emptychair. He put two cups of mead on the table. 'Rindor Finn orShenmist?'

'You named the cups?'

He chuckled and tipped his headtoward the group of storyspinners sitting at a table near the bar.'Guess you didn't hear the talk. They say Rhendish has thenorthland's greatest bard as a guest. I've heard lots of namestossed around, but those folk say it's got to be one of those two.Rindor Finn or Shenmist.'

Well now, this was interesting. Vishni hadimproved enough tales in her time to know when someone was buildinga new one from the ground up. When that happened, the real storywas not in the what, but the why.

'Rindor Finn,' she said.

The man nodded. 'That's what mostpeople say. It's odd, don't you think, that Rhendish isn't givingout the man's name?'

'Not really. I don't suppose theadept is obliged to provide the island with a guestlist.'

'Ha! True enough. But word is he'sthinking of holding a storyspinning festival in the man's honor.Maybe he's thinking the mystery of it will be more of adraw.'

'It might,' said Vishni. 'But morelikely?'

The man leaned in, his face alightwith interest.

'If there's any truth to the rumors,broadsheets will be posted in all the taverns and the bard will benamed. By morning we'll know if I'm right.'

He grinned. 'Care to place awager?'

Vishni reached into her pocket for acoin and came up empty. Odd. She'd left a coin in the boat they'dborrowed for the trip to Kronhus. Usually humans spent gold asquick as they got it. And since fairy gold did notstay spent, the coinshould have returned to her by now.

Oh, wait! She had some silverpennies in the bag Fox insisted she carry. She dipped into the bagand put three coins on the table.

The man added three coins and pushedthe pile toward Vishni. 'You hold it. If there is a festival, wecan settle up then.'

'I'll be there.'

He raised his mead cup and theydrank to seal the bargain. As he rose to leave, Vishni caught hiswrist. She beckoned for him to lean down.

'If it's Rindor Finn, I hopeTessalyn comes,' she whispered.

'Another bard?'

She beamed and nodded. 'Rindor'sformer wife. They still sing together sometimes, but things usuallyget ugly. It's very entertaining.'

'We can hope,' he said, and strodeoff chuckling.

Vishni hid her smirk behind the meadcup. Rindor Finn, to the best of her knowledge, had never wed. Ifhe ever did choose a wife, her name would not be Tessalyn. That wasa fairy name, and humans simply could not use fairy names. If comemorning broadbills advertising Rindor Finn and Tessalyn showed upon the walls of storyspinning taverns, Vishni could know beyondquestion that Rhendish was spinning a trap.

It was a good plan, except for thewaiting part. Vishni had never been good at waiting.

She could slip into Rhendish Manortonight. Delgar hadn't told Fox about the tunnel his minors hadstarting building the day Honor returned to the adept's house. Thedwarf hadn't told her, either, but Vishni knew. Delgar wouldn'tlike her going on her own, but if she didn't tell him he couldn'tfuss.

An hour later, or maybe a littlelonger, she swung open the wooden door at the new tunnel's end. Arow of books blocked her path. She shifted one aside and peeredinto the room beyond.

The bookshelf stood in a grand hall,a room even larger and more stuffed with oddities than the publicmuseum Rhendish maintained. This, then, must be his personalcollection.

Excitement coursed through the fairyas she moved aside books and wriggled through the opening. Wherethere were curiosities, there would be magic.

She hurried past a row of portraits,giving the painting of Avidan a little wave as she skipped by. Moreinteresting was the display of elven boots, the leather as soft assilk and tooled with thousands of runes that interlocked in curvingpatterns.

Vishni found a pair that fit her andslipped them on. She picked the lock on a glass-fronted case andrummaged through the jewelry until she found a ruby bracelet thathummed with magic. That went onto her wrist. A pretty belt ofsilvery links and crystal beads draped nicely around herhips

She found several knifes that fitinto her boots and belt and pockets, several handfuls of tinybottles that still held drops of potion and echoes of powerfulmagic. Giddy now, she took a handful of roc feathers and fashioneda long, sweeping tail.

So much magic! This must be whathumans felt when they drank too much mead. No! This must be what aphoenix felt just before it burst into flame.

In some part of her mind, Vishniknew she should flee, but 'should' had never been a concept thatheld much resonance for her.

So she kicked off her boots and,barefoot, sang and whirled and danced until she fetched up,laughing and breathless, against a metal gate.

An iron gate.

Vishni jolted back, as close tosober as any magic-drunk fairy could be. Angry red lines ran thelength of her arm and down the palm of one hand.

A sense of deep foreboding shiftedsomewhere under the euphoria. She turned her gaze slowly to whatthe iron bars contains.

Three imps, as dry as parchment,hung suspended from wires. They'd been posed, with their tatteredbats wings stretched in a mockery of flight.

Vishni stared in horror at the deadthings. Before she could flee, her wings popped out of their ownvolition. Their color shifted, not to suit her will or her mood,but quickly, randomly, like a thousand sunrises squeezed into ahandful of moments.

One of the imps turned its headtoward her. Red light kindled in the empty place where eyes hadbeen. It hissed at her, the sound dryer than dust.

A bony hand darted between the ironbars and its claws dug deep into Vishni's shoulder.

Frantic, she tried to peel it offwith both hands. Her wings beat the air, but instead of the airyflutter of fairy wings she heard the leathery sound of sailssnapping in a changing wind.

Her wings were bat wings!Imp wings, scarlet asmolten brimstone!

A clump of short brown curls fell tothe floor. Vishni reached for it with one bare foot and wept to seegrey skin and talons sprouting from her elongating toes.

The imp was changing, too. Life andcolor flowed back into the creature along with Vishni's stolenmagic. Golden ringlets spilled over bare pink shoulders. Madnessshone from eyes the color of new leaves.

A new horror struck Vishni.She knew thiscreature! Long ago, they'd flown together. Together they'd chasedfireflies, sung songs, plotted mischief. Too much mischief, andthen exile.

Not every exiled fairy returned.Vishni knew that. She even knew what became of fairies who dranktoo deeply of a sorcerer's magic. But those were stories, nothingmore.

For the first time in her long, longlife, Vishni could think of no horror to add to thistale.

As flesh returned to the exile'shands, the talons in Vishni's bleeding shoulder withdrew. Shewrenched herself away and ran, her bat wings hissing behind herlike malicious whispers.

Mendor, the newest member ofSevrin's Council of Adepts, regarded his new work shop with amixture of pride and dismay.