"Aw, shame, that," the butcher said, looking crestfallen. "This is prime meat, you know. Here now, maybe you'd like this cut instead."
The red-haired giant turned, yanked the meat hook from the deer carcass, and swung it in a downward arc. The hook sank into the countertop, the curved metal trapping Melias's delicate wrist against the wood.
Screams of elf fury filled the shop.
"Told you to watch your hand," Sull admonished. He threw his handful of salt at the elf by the door, grabbed Melias's head in his other hand, and slammed the elf's skull against the countertop.
Blood poured down Melias's face. He fell back over the counter, his hand still pinned awkwardly under the hook.
The elf by the door took the salt in the eyes. Crying out, he drew his sword and scraped a hand across his face.
Stunned by the violence, Icelin almost didn't react in time. Reaching into her neck purse, she chanted the first simple spell that came to mind. The elf at the door brought his blade up, but Icelin got to her focus first and hurled a handful of colored sand into the air.
A flare of light consumed the sand and shot at the elPs face. Luminous colors filled the small shop; Icelin covered her eyes against the brilliance.
She heard the elf fumble his sword, but he didn't drop it. Instinctively, she ducked. Wood splintered from the wall.
"Run, lass!" The butcher yelled at her.
Icelin broke for the door, stumbling over her dress. The noise betrayed her. The elf dived at her from the side and caught an arm around her waist. They went down together, arms and legs tangling.
Pain lanced along Icelin's flank. The elf's weight pinned her to the floor. She kicked out viciously, trying to find a vulnerable spot. He forced her arms against her sides and put his boot on the back of her head. When she tried to move, he pressed down, hard. Icelin thought her skull would crack from the pressure.
She heard him groping for his sword. He dragged the blade over to them and brandished the pommel. He was going to knock her out, Icelin realized. The fight had come down to kicking and scteaming after all, but she was still going to lose.
The elf s head snapped to the side. Steel clattered on wood, and he pitched forward, sprawling heavily on top of her.
Her arms free, Icelin heaved the elf off and kicked his sword across the room. She raked the hair out of her eyes and felt moisture on her back. She could smell the blood.
"It's not yours." The butcher stood over her, clutching a mallet in his hand. "For tenderizin'," he explained.
"I think you killed him," Icelin said. She rolled the elf onto his back and put her hands over his heart. "There's no beat. What about the other?"
"He's breathin,' " Sull assured her.
Icelin had to see for herself. The butcher had strewn Melias across the counter next to the dead deer. Blood and bruises darkened his temple. His chest rose and fell intermittently. He would need healing soon, or he would join his friend.
"Why did you kill him?" Icelin demanded. Fear shook her voice. How had everything gotten so out of control? This could no longer be a private matter. The Watch would have to be called, if someone hadn't already heard the commotion and summoned them. She would be questioned; Gods, she would have to go through all that again…
"Lass." The butcher was speaking to her. She'd almost forgotten he was in the room. "I had to, lass. Beggin' your pardon, but I was eavesdroppin' just now. These two, or whomever they serve, meant you harm. No man sends his own men-men he knows might be traced-after a person unless he plans for that body never to come home. After they'd trussed you up and made you gentle, they would have killed me for witnessin'. I'd be just another abandoned shop."
Icelin felt light-headed. "I have to go home," she mumbled.
"Best to wait for the Watch."
"The Watch be damned!" She lowered her voice. "Forgive me, but my great-uncle-he must know about this. I'll bring him back here-"
"Wait! What if there are more of them out thete?"
More? She couldn't comprehend it. She was one small woman squirreled away in a shop, in a city full of folk much larger and darker. Why would someone want her so badly?
Cerest's scarred face appeared in her mind-the puckered red skin, the ruined ear.
"He wants revenge," Icelin said. "There's no other explanation." She glanced at Sull. The butcher looked extremely uncomfortable. "You know who I am," she said. It wasn't a question.
Sull cleared his throat. "Aye, I know. I recognized your face when you came in the shop. Someone's after you because of that business?" He shook his head. "It was years ago."
"He has burn scars all over his face," Icelin said flatly. "He recognized me too."
Sull sighed and nodded. "Go then, to your great-uncle. I'll speak to the Watch. But you'd best be runnin'."
Full dark pressed down on the city by the time Icelin reached her great-uncle's shop. The place was closed up, and there were no lamps burning in the second-level rooms. Brant always left a lantern in her bedroom when she was gone after dark.
Icelin fumbled her key in the lock at the back door. Sometimes her gteat-uncle lingered downstairs after closing to review his accounts. Meticulous in his records and his housekeeping, Brant never let anything stray out of order. That patience and painstaking attention to everything-including his great-niece- made her love him all the more.
Icelin stepped into the dark shop, leaving the door ajar for Selune to light the entryway. The shadow of a tall wooden plant stand caught her eye as she groped for a lamp. The piece of furniture had been moved slightly away from the wall, and the vase of lilies that had been displayed on it lay overturned on the floor. Water funneled through cracks in the floorboards.
Water, not blood. And no othet earthly thing was out of place in the room.
But Icelin screamed anyway, screamed and dropped to the floor, clutching her hair and sobbing. In the dark, she crawled across the floor of the shop, feeling her way, fighting the dread bubbling up inside her.
Someone had already been here, seeking her. But how had they known? How?
"Great-Uncle," she whispered. Her fingers found a rack of boots, then a stand of belts. Long, leathery softness caressed her fingers. She crawled on, her skirts collecting dirt and dust that her great-uncle should have swept outside at the end of the business day. She found the broom in the next corner; the worn bristles reminded her of insect legs.
She reached the front of the shop. Clear glass jars lined the counter, each filled with a different herb or spice.
"Salt, mint, comfrey, basil." She named each one out of habit, stopping before she reached the wall. Selune's glow poured in a window and over her shoulder. She put her hand tentatively into the beam of light and followed it down to the floor. At the edge of the light, her hand found her great-uncle's chest.
Brant lay on his side, tucked against the back of the counter. There was very little blood; he'd clutched most of it in and made gouge marks in the wood with his other hand where he had held on. The sword thrust had been quick and precise, slipping right between his ribs.
When she touched him, his eyes fluttered open. Icelin could see he was already going. She had no time, no breath to explain that he'd been killed because of her, no time to say anything of meaning.
"Great-Uncle," she choked.
His eyes widened when he recognized her. He let go of the wood and gtabbed for her, catching hair and dress and skin all together. He pulled her close.
"Get out of here," he said, his voice a terrible rasp.
"I'm not going anywhere," Icelin said. "I'm not leaving you."
"Get… the… box." The words came out broken by gasps and blood dribbling from his lips. "The floorboards, by the bookcase. Take it with you. Should have… been yours… before."