"You know, Boss, I'm walking here, asking myself that same question. Frightening that I'm starting to think at your level, isn't it?"
Trik always called him "Boss." Borion wasn't any higher rank than anyone else in the band, but he was bigger than all of them, and stronger.
"If you don't know why we're out here, Trik, how do you know where we're going?" Borion asked, not because he was overly curious, but because he didn't want to get lost in Mistshore. He didn't like the place.
He didn't like the city much, either. If they were traveling, he'd be happy. Outside the walls, the air was cleaner, and there weren't so many people. People scared him. They moved too fast, and he had a hard time keeping up with their speech.
It wasn't that way with Trik. Trik had lost part of his leg in a tomb raid, had it chopped off by a portcullis that hadn't stayed up like it was supposed to. So now he walked with a limp. Borion had no trouble keeping pace with Trik.
"We're going to stay close to those whale bones, or whatever they are," Trik said, "maybe go in for some ale. Let the elf rot for a while, I say.";
"Boss won't like that," Borion said, referring this time to their actual boss, Rynin.
Trik stopped again, so suddenly Borion almost ran him over. "Have you got maggots for brains?" Trik said. "Rynin's dead. He got himself killed in that fight with Arowall's guards. We're thin in numbers, my dumb friend, and it's starting to make me anxious."
It took an effort, but finally Borion remembered. That's right. Rynin was dead. So were others of his friends. What if Trik was next?
Trik seemed to know what he was thinking. "Don't you worry, Boss, nothing's going to happen to me. I'm thinking the coin's not enough to find this little girl. I'm thinking we go off, round up the rest of the company what'll come with us, and leave the city tonight. What you think of that?"
Trik seemed confident, and that made Borion feel somewhat better. "Where will we find the others, Trik? We're all split up. Trik?"
But Trik wasn't listening to him. He was looking at something behind Borion. Without a word, he grabbed Borion's arm and pulled him behind a stack of barrels.
"What is it, Trik?" Borion asked, but Trik waved a hand for him to be quiet. He pointed across the harbor. On a walkway that ran paralell to their own, two figures stood. One of them, a woman, had a crossbow pointed at her face.
"That girl look familiar to you, Boss?" Trik asked. He sounded delighted.
Borion squinted at the woman. She was shaking out a bundle of rags. She looked tired and underfed. Pretty, though. He would have liked to have a wife as pretty as her. Then, the larger impact of Trik s question hit him.
"Is that her?" Borion said. "The girl the elf wants?"
"I'd lay any amount of coin it is," Trik said. "Looks like someone got to her first, though."
"He doesn't look nice," Borion said.
The man with the crossbow was talking to the girl; they couldn't hear what was said. The girl cast the rags over herself. Her body shriveled and transformed, assuming a horrifying shape.
Borion clutched Trik's arm. "What'd he do to her?" he said, frantic. "He's cursed her!"
Trik shook him off. "No, he didn't. He's no wizard, not a dark god's priest, either. It's just a disguise, so people won't know who she is. Doesn't matter, though, we've already seen her."
"We should tell the elf," Borion said. The elf would come and get the girl, and they could finally leave Mistshore.
"Still trying to think, are we?" Trik said. "Don't you remember, we're supposed to bring the girl to the elf. Then we get our reward."
"But it's only the two of us," Borion said. "I thought the elf wanted us to tell him so all of us could go after her together."
"The elf hasn't managed to do anything right since we started this chase," Trik said angrily. "We bring the girl to him, we get more coin than the others, and we get out of here sooner. That sounds right to me, Boss. What about you?"
The explanation sounded simple enough, but it still bothered Borion. He tried to put the doubts out of his mind. He could never remember anything properly. Maybe Trik was right, and it would be better to bring the girl directly to the elf. It would save time, and Borion wanted to get out of Mistshore more than anything.
"What's the plan?" Borion asked.
"Well, seeing as that fellow with the crossbow's not one of us, he must be a Watch spawn in disguise. First we take her from him, but we have to make sure he doesn't shoot her, or us. Think you can get the crossbow if I get him?"
"Yes," Borion said. The one thing he was good at was taking things. Lately they were objects from tombs and tuins, but he'd taken people before, for coin or food.
"Let's go, then," Trik said. "There's a lady in distress."
CHAPTER 17
Icelin walked slowly. It was difficult to see out from under the raggedy hood and difficult to think with the tip of a crossbow bolt shoved into her spine. Tarvin wasn't taking any chances. He kept her close, one hand on the crossbow trigger and the other on her arm to steer her in the right direction.
They were headed back to the Dusk and Dawn. It made sense as a meeting spot for the Watch patrols, especially if they were moving around without their official regalia. Would Kersh be among them? Icelin hadn't thought of her friend in days. Her former life seemed nothing more than a distant dream.
They reached an intersection. The pathway to the left ended in collapse, wooden planks floating on the water. The other three paths were intact. Tarvin pointed her to the right. Icelin paused to pick her footing and thought she heard the clicking of boots echoing off the planks behind them.
She tried to turn, but Tarvin twisted her arm painfully. "No going back," he said. "Face front, keep marching." "There's someone behind us," Icelin said. "Can't you hear?" "To get behind us they'd have to swim," Tarvin said. "We're alone out here, and if you stall me again I'll put a limp in your step."
He forced her forward. Stumbling, Icelin went, but she could feel eyes on them. She couldn't hear the footsteps anymore, and that made the sensation worse.
Could it be Ruen? If it was, you'd never have heard him, she told herself. Not that she should expect a rescue from that corner, which meant the eyes behind them were probably unfriendly.
Icelin searched her mind for a spell. There were empty corridors all throughout her mind. She'd spent herself of all but the harshest spells. She couldn't risk her magic going wild now.
"Tarvin, please," she said, "think. What if-"
She angled her head in time to see the board. It was one of the planks from the collapsed walkway. She saw it pass out of her peripheral vision and instinctively dropped to the walkway.
She twisted; Tarvin still gripped her arm. He cried out, but the board silenced him. It smashed him in the side of the head.
Icelin heard a weird, hollow crunch. Tarvin slumped to a half-sitting position on the walkway. She could already see he was dead.
Icelin went for his hands, seeking the crossbow, but it was gone. Two pairs of boots filled her vision, one of the pairs at least two sizes bigger than the other. She looked up to see a man as tall as Sull and twice as round. He held Tarvin's crossbow like it was a toy. He had brown hair and a long shirt that he'd belted clumsily below his gut. His clothes were soaking wet.
His partner was slicker, his dark hair shaved to stubble. He had green eyes above a pointed nose. His clothes were saturated too.
"It's amazing how often, in Waterdeep, the goods change hands," the slick man said. In response, the giant pointed the crossbow at her. "You can take off the cloak, though. We're not so nasty as the Watch."
Icelin slid the cloak off her shoulders. She cast it into the harbor. "So you belong to Cerest?" she said.
The slick man took umbrage at that. "We're treasure hunters. You just happen to be the treasure tonight."