Mistshore (13 page)

Alone on the raft, Icelin at last found a spell. Calmly, she waited for the wraith to circle again. She watched it come, a ghastly glowing arrow running parallel to the water. Ruen’s fish knife protruded from its chest, but the light had faded from the blade. As the creature glided closer, Icelin saw the blade and handle crumble, sprinkling ashes over the water.

This time the wraith would not be distracted from its prey. Ruen was either drowned or too far down in the water to help her.

Trembling, Icelin extended both hands out from her body. Pressing her thumbs together, she chanted the dusty words and prayed that she would not be burned alive.

“Begone!” she screamed.

Nothing happened. The cone of flame that should have spread from her hands manifested as a feeble yellow sparking at her fingertips. The palms of her hands grew faintly warm, but the heat soon died.

“Get down!” Ruen shouted from somewhere to her left. Icelin was too shocked to react. She saw the wraith bearing down on her, but she couldn’t think or move. There came a rush of air, and the creature enveloped her.

Light blinded Icelin. She closed her eyes, but it was all around her. Cold. A bitter, biting freeze crawled over her skin like wet snakes, immobilizing her limbs. She tried to take a step. Her boots scraped the raft. She opened her eyes, desperately seeking escape.

Hollow eye sockets stared back at her. Ghostly flesh clung to

the wraith’s lipless mouth. It was nothing more than a parody of a human face, but the body was smothering her, freezing her to death. In the faint gray light between consciousness and oblivion, her teacher’s words came to her, propelled from her memories with a life all their own.

“If, gods forbid, you ever have to fight a monster in the wilds, remember that it does you no good to think like a human woman. Each being responds differently to magic, and some can resist even the most potent spells.”

“How will I be able to survive,” Icelin remembered asking, “if I’m too weak to fight?”

“By being smart before you are powerful,” her teacher said. “Certain creatures owe their existence to magical perversions. They are drawn to the Art, and can.be distracted by it. Remember that.”

Sucking in a ragged, painful breath, Icelin choked out the simplest spell she knew, one that always worked and never caused her pain. Long ago, she’d used it to mend tears in her clothing.

An invisible pulse of energy engulfed her hands as she finished the casting. Every successful spell she’d ever cast brought the sensation. Her teacher explained it away as one of the physical effects of magic on the body. Since the Spellplague, arcane energy was in a constant state of flux, manifesting in different forms for different wizards. This was hers.

According to Ruen, the wraith was a slave to the spellplague. Her distorted spell energies, however slight, might be enough to get its attention. Icelin prayed her simple spell would be enough.

Arcane energy sparked inside the wraith’s incorporeal form. Whether from surprise or some other effect, the creature recoiled, forcing her out of its body.

Icelin stumbled back, but she was too weak to steady herself. She managed one feeble breath before she fell into the water.

After her brush with the wraith, the harbor actually felt warm. Icelin tried to swim, but her arms were still clutched into

tight claws at her sides. She couldn’t get her limbs to function.

Black spots popped in front of Icelin’s vision. A part of her mind urged that drowning would be a better option than returning to the surface to face the wraith. Her lungs disagreed. She expelled her breath in a rush of bubbles. Above her, she could see the wraith’s darting light. It was back in the watet again, disoriented, searching for the arcane energy it craved. But the creature and its light were growing smaller the farther she sank.

At first she didn’t feel the arm that encircled her chest. The burning was too painful for her to notice anything. It jerked her upright, and Icelin felt herself smashed against a hard wall. The wall moved, drawing her to the surface. Whenever Icelin thought she would slip, the arm would pull her back from the abyss.

She broke the sutface gasping, choking foul water when she tried to suck in air. Her muscles were on fire. But she was alive.

Ruen was treading water directly behind her, holding het afloat with his right arm. The wall she’d been crushed against was his chest. “The light spell on her arm still functioned. She could see the wraith making mad, swooping circles all around Ruen’s raft.

“What did you do to it?” he demanded. “Its senses are blinded.”

“I’m not sure.” Icelin coughed and spat water. “We have to get away from here.”

She felt Ruen shake his head. “Won’t get far without a boat,” he said. “Drive it away. Use your magic.”

The wraith burst into the air, spraying them with water. Its attention refocused on the swimming pair. A high-pitched scream rent the air, and the creature dived at them again.

Ruen dragged her underwater, and they barely dodged the attack. When they came back up, the wraith had circled around for another pass.

“Cast your spell,” Ruen ordered her. “Make it a good one. You won’t get another before it kills us.”

“You don’t understand. I have no magic.” Icelin tried to swim away from him, but he pinned her against his chest.

“Your glowing arm suggests otherwise,” he said.

“It’s also bleeding. Let me go!”

“Listen to me.” He raised his left hand in front of her face. Icelin remembered the silver band. It rested on his finger, its light dull. “Everything this ring touches grows in strength, including magic. As long as our bodies touch, your spell should work.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond. He put his glove back on and folded her left hand under his.

Icelin felt a tingle of electricity coming from the ring. She searched her memory again. The fire spell was gone, but there was another….

“When I cast this, I will likely lose consciousness,” Icelin said. She fought to keep her voice steady.

Ruen tightened his grip. “You won’t drown—you haven’t paid me my fee yet. I’ll hold you up, only work your spell!”

Icelin blocked out his voice, the icy water, the wraith’s screams. She waited for the creature to glide close to the water again. When it was in her line of sight, she muttered the spell.

Burning pain erupted behind her eyes, a side effect Icelin only vaguely remembered from her early lessons. She had not cast spells of this magnitude for years. Her body was not ready for the shock.

Fighting oblivion, Icelin thrust her free hand above her head. The arcane pulse came again, strong and sustained. This time, the spell was going to work.

A stream of white vapor unfurled on the air like a sheet. It snapped and coalesced into a savage-looking spear, which shot across the water, trailing ice shards in its wake.

The magic impaled the wraith through its eyeless head. Unholy screams shattered the air. Ice flew in all directions. The

force of the magic drove the creature back a full ten feet, and the light in its body flickered and died. The wraith collapsed in on itself, disappearing into the water without creating a wake.

For a long time, there was no sound except Icelin and Ruen’s breathing. Icelin saw her breath in the wake of the cold spell. A fine layer of ice rimed the water in a straight line to where the creature had been. She watched the shards flake off like so much paint.

“That’s i-impossible,” Icelin said. Her head swam. “Never should have been so much, so big.”

“It was my ring,” Ruen said. “I told you it would strengthen the spell.”

“Oh, well.” Icelin felt unconsciousness looming. She was more than ready for it. “That’s nice, isn’t it?”

Ruen retrieved his hat and swam to his raft, dragging the senseless girl behind him.

“You live up to your name,” he said, grunting as he lifted her onto the deck. The ice had melted, but he could still feel the brittle chill in the air, a chill that had nothing to do with the wraith’s presence.

Ruen put a hand on Icelin’s chest to make sure she lived. She breathed deeply—the sleep of exhaustion. Her light spell flickered and died, leaving him only moonlight for navigation.

He knew magic taxed a wizard’s strength, but he’d never seen a spell affect anyone the way the ice spear had wracked Icelin’s body. He’d felt her trembling in pain.

He held his ring up close to his face but found no answers from the plain silver band. It no longer glowed with power.

“Did I push too hard,” he murmured, gazing down at Icelin. “Or are you more than what they told me?”

He reached into the pouch strapped beneath his right arm. Inside he kept only two items: the ring, when he wanted it hidden from prying eyes, and a black sava piece—a pawn. He drew out the piece and palmed it. It took several breaths for the pawn to warm to his flesh and attune to his identity.

“Tesleena,” he spoke aloud, and the pawn’s answering flicker told him the magic connection was functioning. “I have the girl.”

“Is she unharmed?” The tiny voice issued from the pawn as if across a vast distance.

“She’s well enough, but unconscious,” Ruen said. “We fought a sea wraith in the harbor. You owe me a new boat.”

“You what?” Tesleena’s voice shot up an octave. “Your instructions were—”

“Not well received by the undead,” Ruen said. “I wouldn’t be worried. Your little girl killed the thing with one spell.”

“She used magic to fight?”

There was something in Tesleena’s voice Ruen didn’t like. “We can talk about it when I hand the girl over,” he said. There was a long pause. “Very well. Where can we meet?” Ruen glanced at the shore. “I’ll contact you.” “Wait.”

Ruen severed the connection by dropping the pawn back in his pouch. Let the Warden’s pet curse him. He needed to get back to shore. Then he would find a safe location to drop the girl. The Watch would find her easily enough from his instructions. He had no intention of meeting them face to face.

He gazed down at the sleeping girl. She was a hardy thing. Already her color was coming back.

Better she remain unconscious. He didn’t want her kicking up a fuss when he left her. Betrayal was much easier with the eyes closed.

“Did you see that?”

Shenan’s fine eyes were just visible above her scarf. The watching elves stood in the shadow of Whalebone Court, near the water’s edge.

Cerest followed the elf woman’s gaze out to the harbor in time to see the spell erupt. It was nothing more than light from this distance, but Cerest felt a thrill of excitement.

“It’s her,” he said.

Shenan looked at him. Torchlight reflected off her burnished skin. “How can you be certain?”

“You heard the people whispering. No one goes out in that direction. It’s Ferryman’s Waltz.”

Shenan looked around. People were hurrying across the planked pathways. They cast nervous glances out into the harbor, as if they expected the light to notice and follow them.

“It’s possible,” Shenan admitted. She turned and made a subtle gesture against her chest.

A pair of men standing twenty feet behind them on the pathway slowed. One of the men signaled back, and both turned around and headed for shore.

“We’ll intercept them when they come back to land,” Shenan said.

Cerest nodded, but he didn’t move. He watched the light until it went out.

His big hands buried in his sleeves, Sull pulled the cooking pan off the fire and placed it with a regal flourish in front of Fannie.

“My lady,” he drawled, “your mystery fish is prepared.”

Fannie clapped her hands once and proceeded to scrape the hot meat off the pan. Juggling the steaming hunks of fish, she popped them in her mouth one at a time, pausing only long enough to spit the bones onto the sand.

Sull watched her gulp down the food and hastily put Icelin’s fish, which he’d already cooked, on the other side of his body. He wanted to make sure Icelin ate some proper food before they moved on, and Fannie looked too ravenous to be trusted.

He’d cooked the blind, horned fish to a blackened crisp to boil away as many of the toxins as possible. Afterward he’d tasted the fish—crunchy, but edible enough. Not his best work, but Fannie didn’t seem to mind.

They heard it at the same time, the sound of a raft scraping over sand. Sull jumped up, Fannie right behind him.

A man stumbled up the shore. He carried a bundle draped over his shoulder. Sull didn’t recognize it for a person until the

man strode into Fannie’s camp.

“Lass!” he roared, and to the unknown man, “Put her down.”

“Gladly.” The man dumped Icelin unceremoniously into Sull’s arms and kept on walking.

The butcher lowered Icelin gently to the sand and looked her over for wounds. When he saw her arm, his face turned an ugly crimson. “Who are you? What’d you do to her?” he demanded. He lowered a hand to the closest cleaver on his sash.

“Hello, boy,” Fannie said when the man approached her fire. “You in trouble again, Ruen, eh?” She grinned, but Ruen didn’t return her smile.

“Get her awake,” he told Sull. “We need to move. Half of Mistshore probably saw the battle in the water, and the rest saw me coming in to shore. We’ll have eyes on us, and worse, if we don’t get moving.”

Icelin stirred. Sull put a hand under her head to support her as she sat up. She looked groggy, as if she’d been asleep for days, but otherwise Sull couldn’t see anything wrong.

“Lass?” he said, turning her chin toward him. “Are you all right?”

She blinked. “I think so. It was the spell.” She looked around. “Where’s Ruen?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Sull said darkly. “We’re leavin’ just as soon as I see to your arm.”

“But—”

“Hsst!” Fannie scuttled around her tent, cocking an ear to listen. “Someone comes.”

Ruen kicked sand onto the fire, dousing it instantly. “Friendly or not?” he hissed to Fannie.

“What’s friendly here?” The woman snorted. “You go now.”

With Sull’s aid, Icelin got to her feet. “Where are we going?” Icelin asked.

“Just be quiet and follow me,” Ruen said. With a nod to