Ruen looked over her shoulder. The elf's face had been perfectly restored. His eyes were open and staring glassily at something invisible in the distance. The expression on his face was both peaceful and sad.
Icelin put her hand against the elf s cheek. It was ice cold. "He's dead," she said.
"So is this one," Ruen said, checking the man draped across the raft. He put his hand against the man's chest to find a heartbeat, but they both saw the burns on the man's face and torso. His skin was blackened, and his hair was gone. His clothes had been burned to brittle strips that turned to ash when Ruen touched them. His chain vest had melted into his skin.
Ruen met her gaze. Icelin knew they were both thinking the same thing.
"Maybe Aldren's magic protected them," Ruen said.
Icelin shone her light around the wreckage. The entrance to Aldren's chamber was now underwater. The channel they'd used to get the raft into the wreckage was filled in with debris.
"We'll have to swim out," Icelin said. Her gaze strayed involuntarily back to Cerest's face, perfect now in its death pose. "Why did it happen?" she asked. "Why were we spared?"
"I don't know," Ruen said. "We're already scarred. Maybe we're immune to the plague now."
"Cerest was scarred," Icelin said, "in body, if not magically. Why would the plague restore him and then kill him?"
Maybe it hadn't been the plague. She remembered Cerest's anguished screams inside the tower. "He saw my mind," she said. "In that breath we were joined, he saw everything he'd done, for the first time. He was inside the tower with me, watching my parents die."
"A perfect memory," Ruen said. "Maybe Cerest's mind couldn't survive that kind of clarity. To have all the defects of your own psyche laid out for you in a ring of fire-not many people could face it and live."
"So this," Icelin said, touching the elf's smooth face, "this is memory. His last memory." She felt an overwhelming wave of sadness-for her parents, Elgreth, and for Brant. So many lives destroyed.
"We should get out of here," Ruen said. "There's no telling how long the structure will hold."
"The Ferryman's Waltz is over," Icelin said quietly. She turned away, leaving Cerest on the raft, staring peacefully up at the sky.
They swam out of the wreckage together, Icelin's bobbing light leading the way. Gray mist clung to the harbor's surface. In the distance she could smell the Hearth fire burning. The orange glow gave the impression of a false dawn.
Out of the darkness, Icelin saw the line of boats coming toward them. Lantern light swayed at each prow. Icelin could see there were at least two men in each boat.
"Think you can take ten of them?" she asked Ruen, who was treading water next to her. "Leaves eight for me."
"Only ten?" Ruen said. His face twisted with a gallows humor smile. "Bring me a true challenge, lady."
The lead boats drifted to a stop practically on top of them. Icelin squinted up into the face of a woman in robes. She wore a tense frown, but she seemed more interested in the wreckage than in the two figures in the water.
A tall man leaned down to Icelin. This man she recognized immediately, though she'd never expected the Watch Warden to come for her himself.
"Warden Tallmantle," she said. "I understand you've been looking for me."
"Well met, Icelin Team," Tallmantle said, inclining his head gravely. "Would you care to come aboard?"
"I would, and if you've a spare blanket or two, I'd be weep-ingly grateful for those as well. But I've a problem. Three of my friends are trapped in the wteckage. We can't get to them."
" 'Ware!" shouted one of the men at the back of the group. "We need more light over here."
Tesleena spoke a word, and the surrounding harbor lit as if a miniature sun had risen.
A single small boat drifted toward the group. Her oarsman was hunched over, forcing the craft through the water.
The Watch officer nearest raised his crossbow. The oarsman lifted his head, and Icelin shouted, "Stop! He's a friend."
The crossbow stayed aimed at the deformed man. His tentacles undulated across his shoulders. He continued to row toward them, undaunted by the stares.
When Darvont got close enough to Tallmantle's boat, Ruen grabbed an oar and hauled the boat in the rest of the way. There were two figures lying side by side in the bottom of the boat. Icelin recognized Bellaril and Aldren, but she couldn't see if they yet breathed.
The deformed man slumped against the side of the boat, exhausted by whatever toil had brought them out of the wteckage. Tears streaked his face. Icelin could see him stroking Aldren's robes. Her heart lurched painfully.
She swam to the boat, but Tallmantle was closer. He bent over the prone figures. "The old man is dead," he said. "The dwarf lives."
"The Art is around her," Tesleena said. She put a hand on the dwarf s shoulder and rolled her onto her back. Clutched between her two hands was Aldren's staff. It pulsed with pale, crimson radiance, but it was clear at Icelin's touch that the item had been drained. It was nowhere near as powerful as it once had been.
"Is he truly dead?" Icelin asked. She saw Tallmantle nod, but she was looking to the deformed man. He met her gaze and seemed to understand what she was asking. He nodded. The sorrow in his eyes pierced her.
"It was what he wanted," Ruen said.
"He protected Bellaril," Icelin said. The Art requires a focus, Aldren had told her. She lifted the staff from the sleeping Bellaril's arms and cradled it in her own. "Thank you," she murmured. "In Mystra's memory, thank you."
"In Mystra's memory," Tesleena whispered. The words echoed down the line of boats.
EPILOGUE
Icelin sat outside the Watch Warden's private office, awaiting her audience and her fate. It was strange, to be alone in the small chamber, not to hear the constant flow of the harbor and the people on the twisted walkways. She felt, in some ways, that she'd lived her whole life in Mistshore, and was only now venturing out into the sun-washed world.
She ran her hands over the bodice of her dress, marveling at the softness of a fabric that was not stiff with salt water and grime. All trace of the harbor stink was gone from her body, though her hair had been a struggle. She'd ended up cutting most of the muck out of it. The strands barely brushed her shoulders now, and the shorter locks at her temples were stark white. She ran her fingers through the strands self-consciously.
The forced haircut had yielded another secret of her past. Tesleena had seen it first: a faint, almost indiscernible blue light appeared at the back of her neck when she drew deeply on her memory. Tesleena said the spellscar was a circle broken in two places, the lines so thin she would never have seen them unless she'd known to look.
It was one of many things she was going to have to grow accustomed to in her new life. Another was the staff resting beside her on the bench. The red light had fallen dormant, but she could recall it again with a word of power. She had divined no further secrets from the item, but she was satisfied with her small progress. For now, she used it mainly as a walking stick.
It had been five days since her confrontation with Cerest and her second exposure to the spellplague. Since that night, exhaustion overtook her easily. She found herself leaning on the staff often to maintain her equilibrium.
Her strength was slowly returning. Tesleena had assured her it would, though they both knew she would never again be as spry as a normal twenty-year-old girl.
Tesleena had also told her if she stopped now, she would likely live another twenty years or more. Icelin hadn't asked what the last several days had cost her in longevity. She didn't want to know. She would change very little of what she'd done in defense of herself and her friends. Whatever time she had left was the gods' gift. She didn't intend to waste it on regret.