"What are you doin'?" Sull said.
"Checking for signs of life," Ruen explained. He turned his attention to the other man. "We'll need to question this one. The other won't survive. I hit him too hard."
"I didn't see you feelin' for a life beat-"
Sull stopped. The man's eyelids had twitched. A breath later they opened, and the man let out a rough moan. He focused on Ruen and the butcher with the bloody cleaver in his hand. His eyes widened.
"Welcome back," Sull said, smiling cheerfully. He seemed to have forgotten Ruen's odd behavior. "We've a few questions for you."
Icelin knew she was dreaming. The scene was familiar. Barefoot, she walked on green grass, up the side of a wide, rocky hill. Shafts of sunlight shone on her white dress. There were wildflowers blooming, gold and purple, all around her feet.
She stopped at the crest of the hill. A stone tower rose up before her. A single window had been cut into the curve facing her, a dark and unblinking eye. The western side had caved in, leaving a gaping hole into which birds flew and nested. Their cries were the only sounds on the hilltop. But Icelin felt she was not alone.
There were other figures moving up the hill toward the tower, indistinct shadows darting in and out of her field of vision. She tried to grasp them with her eyes, but they had no more substance than the wind brushing her cheeks.
I will follow them, Icelin thought. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to stride across the grass to the gap in the immense tower. She put her hands on the exposed stone. Warm from the sun, bleached with age, and ribboned with thousands of miniscule cracks, the stone held secrets. Someone had told her this.
"All the ancient places of the world hold secrets. Who knows what manner of men walked here, be they beggars or kings-men who now lie in dusty tombs, their memories husks. Will the stones remember who touched them, when you lie beside these somber lords of the earth?"
Icelin remembered the words vividly, but for the first time in her life she could not recall who said them. The thought was vaguely disturbing, but she pushed it to the back of her dreaming mind.
She had entered the tower now. The stones blotted out the sun at her back. The tower's wood floors had long rotted away, leaving the interior open from earth to sky. Crushed grass and the remains of a small human body were strewn on the ground.
Icelin tilted her head as far back as she could, taking in the circle of blue rimmed by blackened stones through a gap in the ceiling. The tower had been damaged by fire; she could see the soot stains streaking the walls. Had this small human been the only person to die here? How had it come to be?
She felt tired now. Icelin sat down in the middle of the tower, still staring up at the sky. The shadow shapes moved around her, but she wasn't afraid of them. She felt that if they would only be still, she would be able to name them. It was the same with the tower-a living presence that, if she knew its name, would open its secrets to her and welcome her inside. Unnamed, it cast an immutable shadow over her dreams, dominating everything. "'Have you found anything?"
The voice, so loud in the peaceful place, made Icelin jump. The shadows flitted closer to her, and Icelin felt their urgency. Something was happening. The stones around her changed color and became bright orange and blue like storm clouds. The sun pouring through the tower roof was too hot, too hot.
She looked down at her skin and found it melting off her bones. She was burning alive.
CHAPTER 9
Icelin awoke to darkness and more shadows moving around her. This time she felt real terror, for she knew where she was. The gag stank in her mouth, and voices floated around her.
Cerest was there, somewhere in the darkness. She heard him say, "We'll wait for gateclose. Bring her, if she's awake. Be careful of her arm."
Icelin looked down and saw the clean bandage tightly wrapped around her injured arm. There was a dull ache where the pain had been.
Two pairs of rough hands grabbed her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. The dark-haired man stood to her right. Her captors guided her over to the center of a large, rectangular room.
Icelin looked up, just as she'd done in her dream. Timber beams crisscrossed above her head. Tin sheets formed parts of the walls. Wooden crates lined the whole building, some stacked as high as the ceiling.
A warehouse, Icelin thought. She felt the floor slope down sharply; the ground the warehouse was built upon had shifted over the years. There was a good chance they were still in Mistshore, near the harbor.
In the center of the room, Cerest and the female elf stood talking. The two men guiding her sat her on a crate before them. The dark-haired man removed her gag.
Cerest faced her, a cloak hood tucked close around his face. He appeared to be keeping his distance from the human men. Did he fear their reaction to his scars? The thought came unbidden to Icelin, and she wondered why the murderous elf would be bothered to care how others saw him. He nodded to one of the men.
"Wait outside," he said. "Greyas, you remain here, but step back so we may talk."
With the men dismissed, Cerest focused his attention solely on Icelin. "Hello again," he said softly. The female elf-Shenan, he'd called her-brought a lantern close and handed it to Cerest. The elf held the flickering flame close to her face so he could see her clearly.
"What do you want?" Icelin asked.
To her surprise, the elf went down on one knee in front of her, so that he was looking up into her face. She supposed he meant to appear non-threatening, but Icelin found the effort he took more unsettling than comforting. He angled his body so that the unscarred portion of his face was most visible.
"I would like," Cerest said, "for you to tell me how much you remember of your childhood."
The question was so bizarrely out of context with the situation that Icelin didn't immediately answer. Cerest, intent on her expression, seemed to take her silence as defiance. He frowned.
"Icelin," he said, at the same time gesturing to the dark-haired man-Greyas, he'd called him. "I know you don't trust me. That's to be expected. You don't remember who I am." He smiled. "But I have known you for a very long time. Gods, I named you. I remember the night you were born-"
Icelin lunged at him. Shenan caught her by the throat and pushed her back, but Icelin's gesture had the desired effect. Cerest stopped speaking and stood back a safe distance. He regarded her with wounded curiosity.
"Why do you behave this way?" he asked. "I've not hurt you, and I don't intend to."
"You killed Brant," Icelin said. Her throat burned. "All your lies, no matter how prettily spoken, won't change that."
"I'm not lying," Cerest said. "Brant cared for you. He was a good man. I know that." When Icelin only stared at him, he went on, "But I think you'll discover Brant had his share of secrets, especially where you were concerned. I'm confident he acted to protect you, but in doing so, he shortened his own life."
"Master." Greyas stepped forward again, dragging a smaller figure. Icelin pulled her gaze away from Cerest's face to see who it was. Her heart dropped.
Fannie stood in front of Greyas, looking like a doll in the man's muscular arms. While Icelin watched, Greyas placed a hand on either side of Fannie's head. Fannie quailed, but he did not exert any pressure on her skull. He didn't have to. Fannie stood utterly still, held in place by the mere threat of what he could do to her with those large hands. She was gagged, as Icelin had been. Her eyes were huge above the scrap of dirty cloth. She looked beseechingly at Icelin.
"We took her at the same time we took you," Cerest said. He motioned for Greyas to bring Fannie into the light. He pushed her, stumbling and barefoot, into the small circle of illumination.