Icelin stopped reading. Hatsolm rolled onto his side, bumping against her leg.- He coughed once, deep in his chest, then again. A fit overtook him, and he curled upright into a ball, his body shaken by the hacks and wheezes. Icelin pulled his blanket up over his shoulders. He opened his eyes and looked at her.
"I'll get you some water," she said.
"No need." He wiped the blood from his mouth. "It's over." He pulled the blanket over his head and laid back down, his face turned away from her.
Icelin looked at the letter in her hand. Hatsolm had come to Waterdeep seeking refuge from the world, and he'd found it, in a way, through Kaelin and his ghostly troupe.
Elgreth spoke of being old. The tone of this letter was much different from his earlier messages to her. Perhaps he wasn't sick like Hatsolm, but he seemed in no fit condition to travel in Luskan. Her great-uncle had always said the city was not a city at all, but a damned place where only the desperate sought refuge.
She went back to the letters. They continued in Luskan for a year, all written from the same perch on the rooftop. Elgreth had constructed a rough shelter from abandoned slates of tin and wood, in the ruins of a condemned tavern. The more she read, the more Icelin suspected that her grandfather's adventure would not continue beyond the hellish city.
At the bottom of the pile, Icelin found an especially thick bundle. The seal was cracked; the wax had not been sufficient to hold the folded parchment. Was it a memoir? A deathbed request? It was the last letter. Icelin's fingers shook as she unfolded the sheets.
Dear Granddaughter,
The time has come. You are old enough now to he told the truth. But even ifyouwere not, I have no time left to delay this tale. I pray it never happens, hut if Cerest comes looking fir you, you must he prepared.
CHAPTER 15
Ruen watched Icelin reading her letters. Her attention was completely absorbed by the writing on the page. He sat up quietly, slid into the shadows, and climbed the ladder. When he got to the dock he glanced down to be sure he hadn't been followed. He slipped the illusion cloak from his shoulders and moved through the shadows in his own form.
When he was safely out of earshot of the beggars, he pulled the sava pawn from his pouch and warmed it between his fingers. He felt the connection at once. "What is it, Morleth?"
Tallmantle's voice. "Where's Tesleena?" he asked. "Has she tired of me so soon?"
"She walks — in Mistshore, seeking Icelin," the Warden said. "Know that if Tesleena comes to harm through your delays, none of the squalor in Waterdeep will be able to hide you from me." The Warden's voice was polite, even conversational.
"Your wizard will be fine," Ruen said. "Icelin is another matter."
"What's happened?"
Ruen hesitated before plunging into the tale. He left nothing out-his battle in the Cradle, Icelin's letters, her unique memory, and every instance of her spells going wild. He gave a detailed account of what Arowall had told him about Icelin's gifts. When he'd finished there was a long silence.
"Are you certain?" the Warden asked. "Certain she is dying?"
"I haven't touched her," Ruen said. "Nor will I, so do not waste breath in asking. "But I see the evidence of my eyes. She needs help. Perhaps Tesleena-"
"Are you saying you're willing to bring her in?"
Ruen clenched the pawn in his fist. "Can you aid her, if I do?"
"Tesleena and I will do everything in our power. Tell me where you are, and I'll send a patrol to get you."
She won't forgive me, Ruen thought. But she'll be alive. "Not yet," Ruen said. "It has to be her decision." "Ruen-"
"Thank you, Warden. I'll be in touch. Give my regards to Tesleena." He severed the connection.
In the end, there was no choice. Perhaps, if he let the Watch capture them, the Warden would take pity on him and not reveal his identity to Icelin and the others.
"So it's the coward's way, as always." He shook his head. Soon he would be well and truly hidden. in the Watch's skirts, a tamed dog they used, for their own amusement. Or was he already there, and he just didn't realize it? If that was so, what more could the opinion of one dying woman matter to him?
Tarvin couldn't believe his luck. Ruen Morleth, expelled from the bowels of the beggar ship by the gods' own sweet blessing.
He considered subduing the man, but thought better of it when Ruen spoke into the sava pawn. Tarvin recognized the Watch Warden's voice, though he could make out little of the substance of the conversation.
If Ruen Morleth was here, then Icelin Team was somewhere nearby. Tarvin looked down into the ship, but he could see nothing except rag-cloaked bodies.
Odds were she was hiding among the sick. It was brilliant, in a twisted way. The wench must be truly desperate.
There was no chance in the Nine Hells he was going down there to search for her. He could go back to the Court and warn the others. They would come in force and root the beggars out, but in the meantime Icelin might leave her hiding place for a safer one. If she did that, he would lose his chance to capture her.
Tarvin sank low in the shadows, hiding himself again behind the crates-abandoned food cartons, by the smell and the buzz of flies. For now, he would wait.
He watched Ruen Morleth clench his fist and slide the pawn away in his pouch. He looked angry, perhaps at something the Warden had said. Was he upset that he was about to lose his wild little plaything?
Go on and sulk, dog. The Warden will have you both. Tarvin smiled at the thought.
Cerest watched Ristlara and Shenan work their magic. Arcane radiance lit up the ship's cabin.
Ristlara had Arowall's hands pinned to his desk with two gold-hilted daggers. Magic pulsed down the blades into the man's skin. The pale blue light ran sickly up his arms, creating new veins while pushing others out of the way.
The man's face twisted in agony. A steady stream of blood and spittle ran down his chin. His eyes were fixed on some unknown distance. He would not look at either of the females while the magic sapped his life energies.
"I don't understand,'' Shenan said. She sounded like a parent disappointed in the performance of a beloved child. "We never have this trouble with the daggers."
"He's strong-willed," Cerest said, but Ristlara shook her gold tresses impatiently.
"He's human. He should have broken by now."
At her words, Arowall spat blood and a piece of what looked like his own tongue. He collapsed facedown on the desktop, his head between the glowing blades. Ristlara moved hastily out of the way.
"Pull the blades out," Shenan told her. When the magic faded from his skin, she rolled the man over and laid her head against his heart. "Dead," she said.
"Your daggers aren't as effective as you thought, Shenan." Cerest slammed his fist against the ship's hull. A waste of time, all of it. He was no closer to finding Icelin than he was a day ago.
"She's obviously here. Half the crowd saw her, but strangely, none of them know where she went," Ristlara said sardonically.
"They fear Arowall," Shenan said. She ran her fingers through the dead man's thin hair. "He's not so terrifying. Perhaps Mistshore has its own sense of loyalty. Incredible thought, isn't it?"
"Search the ships," Cerest said. "The ones circling the Cradle must belong to Arowall. If she's still here, we'll find her."
The Locks exchanged glances. Ristlara nodded at her sister and went above. Cerest could hear her gathering her men.