Two more of the invaders fell to hisborrowed blade before an alarm went up. One of the humans shouted acurse and pointed at Nimbolk with a bloody sword. The man sheathedhis blade and reached over his shoulder for a bow. Two other menjoined him, stringing their bows and thrusting handfuls of arrowsinto the snow. Moving as one, the men drew and released.
Honor's staff twisted and danced asshe turned the first three arrows aside. More fighters flanked themwith raised blades; those she left to Asteria's otherdefender.
Nimbolk understood. Some dark magickept Honor from attacking her captors, but the fool who held her inthrall had apparently neglected to specify that she couldnot
It was something, but he would havebeen glad of her sword. When they were not fighting each other,they made a formidable team. In years past, the two of them,standing back to back, could hold off a dozen of the Mistheim'sbest warriors.
At least he had Asteria's help.Starsong magic hummed through him, speeding his sword arm, slowingthe blood flowing from his wounds, dulling the pain.
One of the humans barked a command.The swordsmen scrambled out of the way as a swarm of arrows spedtoward the elfin trio.
A black-shafted arrow piercedHonor's sword arm. She hardly seemed to notice. But Nimbolk feltthe arrow that grazed his shoulder, the arrow that drove deep intohis thigh, the arrow that thrust a fiery lance of pain into hisside. And the next arrow, and the next.
He did not remember falling, but hemust have done so, for why else would he be lying in thesnow?
Honor kicked him aside and took hisplace. One of the men lunged at her, slashing at the knee she'dbeen favoring. Nimbolk heard the sword's impact, the chillingscrape of metal against bone.
She swayed but did not fall. 'Go,Asteria. Go
Nimbolk could read the reluctance onthe queen's face despite the mist that gathered on the edges of hisvision. In a voice weighted by duty and dull with sorrow, Asteriaspoke words that molded starsong into a softly glowingportal.
A dull thud sounded behind her.Asteria slumped to the ground. In the light from the fading portal,blood bloomed against the shining snowfall of her hair.
The humans closed in, wolvessurrounding a fallen doe.
Even now, Honor did not attack them,but twin fires of rage and frustration burned in hereyes.
The man she'd tripped bent down toreclaim the sword Nimbolk had wielded. 'Bring the queen and thedagger,' he commanded. A cruel light slid into his pale blue eyes.'Better yet, bring her corpse.'
Honor's shoulders sagged in defeat,and if not for her staff she probably would have fallen into thesnow beside her sister. She pushed away from the staff and startedto reach for Asteria, stopping as she noticed the arrow impalingher forearm. She grasped it just below the barbed point and yankedit free, not even flinching as shaft and fletching slid through thewound.
Honor dragged the queen to her feetand scooped her limp body into her arms. 'Minue take you!' shesnarled as she hurled her twin-born sister at the massivefir.
To the humans, the words would soundlike a curse, an invocation to some dark god or demon. They wouldsee only an elf forced into treachery, cursing them as she dashedher queen's head against an ancient pine.
But Nimbolk's elfin eyes had seenthe bark of the tree turn to mist, as insubstantial as arainbow.
The queen disappeared.
Minue, the tree's guardian dryad,had taken her.
Honor pushed herself away from thesolid trunk. Her leggings had been torn from thigh to calf,exposing her wounded knee. For a fleeting moment Nimbolk could havesworn that metal, not bone, gleamed through the blood.
She ran one hand over a new circleof runes on the bark and then turned to face the invaders, triumphwritten on her face.
'You lose, Volgo.'
'There's a first time foreverything.' The bearded man reached down into the bloody snow andcame up with the Thorn in his hand. 'Unfortunately for you, thisisn't it.'
He made a sharp gesture with thedagger. Behind Honor, the man who'd clubbed Asteria raised hisweapon high.
Nimbolk tried to shout a warning,but no breath remained to him. Even if he could warn her, even ifhe had starsong left to send her, she could not move quickly enoughto avoid her fate.
In helpless silence, he steeledhimself to witness the death of the elf he loved nearly as much ashe hated.
Honor surged to her feet, gasping asshe felt anew the impact of the club-the moment of bright, sharplight, the sound of her own shattering skull and the sense ofcrystal shards slicing deep into mind and memory.
The pain faded quickly, leaving onlythe burning agony in her sword arm. The memory of battle remained,vivid as a fairy's illusion. It felt familiar, like opening a bookand reading a well-known tale.
She pulled up the skirts of the gownRhendish had given her and propped one foot against the wall so shecould study her knee. Yes, there were faint silver lines round theknee, and when she twisted her leg she found deeper scars in thecrease behind.
More metal, moregears.
She took a moment to absorb this. Inthe depths of her heart, despair thundered like winter surf. Sheacknowledged it, but she did not let the waves overwhelmher.
Instead, she unwrapped the bandageon her sword arm and regarded the neat row of new stitches whereRhendish had removed a few broken gears. Tomorrow, he would replaceone of the metal rods with crystal grown from her own shatteredbones. The next day, he would do more. And the next. She would bearit for as long as the task required.
And when it was done, she owedRhendish the strength of her sword arm for a year and a day. Thatwas the pledge she'd made, the price of the Thorn'ssafety.
'It is decided,' she said, turningher mind to other things.
She walked over to her chamberwindow and gazed out over Rhendish's courtyard as she pondered themeaning of this vision.
Though she welcomed the return ofmemory, even one so painful as this, she could not understand whythis memory had come to her through Nimbolk's eyes.
The connection among elfin warriorsran along deep and complex paths, but it seldom included a sharingof memories, and it did not transcend death.
That could only mean Nimbolk wasalive. And unless the warrior had become a priest or mystic in thelast decade-a notion too incongruous for her to entertain for evena moment-a connection strong enough for shared memory meant that nogreat distance or open seas separated them.
Nimbolk had come to the islands ofSevrin. Knowing Nimbolk, she had no doubt that he'd come for theThorn, and she knew all too well how he'd deal with anyone whostood between him and his duty.
Honor reached under her mattress anddrew out several battered items of clothing. The shadow- coloredgarments she'd worn during the battle in Muldonny's fortress hadnot been improved by her long fall into the sea, but where she wasgoing, they'd be less conspicuous than Rhendish's silk andgems.
She had to warn Fox, whether or nothe wanted to listen to her.
Chapter 3: Kronhus
Sailing from Heartstone to Kronhusrequired a boat, a brisk wind, and a long night. Thanks to Vishni,acquiring a boat presented no problem. The little fishing vesselotherwise would have spent a day or two bobbing alongside itsmooring post while its owners recovered from her latest prank. Andin late summer, winds from the south blew
