Honor Bound

Chapter 2: Starsingers Grove

Nimbolk's gaze swept the clearing,looking for anything that might explain his unease.

All seemed to be in order. New snowblanketed the Starsingers Grove, and a jeweled night sky borewitness to the midwinter tribunal. Elves clad in nightfall bluestood about in small groups, talking softly as they awaited thequeen's call to order. Tonight they would learn who had triggeredthe Thorn's alarm and pass judgment on the traitor they'd soughtfor many years.

A slim hand rested on his sword arm.He looked down into the serene white face of the ForestQueen.

"You are as restless as caged cats,"she said. "Are you uneasy without a sword at hand, or are youcontemplating your reunion with my sister?"

"The two feelings are notunrelated," he said in a dry tone.

Asteria, Lady of Mistheim and queenof the forest folk, responded with an inelegant snort. Heramusement soon faded, and with it, her resemblance to the warriorwho was her twin-born sister.

Most elves would say Asteria andZiharah were as alike as two raindrops. Nimbolk, who from hisboyhood had worshipped the future queen and wrestled in the leavesand mud with her sister, saw no resemblance beyond a similar shapeof face and feature.

Asteria dressed all in white andwore her hair long and loose, as befitted a queen. The snow-coloredwaves fell nearly to the ground, more lustrous than the fine whitefur of her cloak. She had delicate hands and the wise, deep gaze ofone who heard the echo of ancient voices in the starsong they allshared.

Grace. Thatwas Asteria's shadow-name, the word that, in all its meanings, bestdescribed her essence. Asteria embodied elegance, beauty, charm,and divine favor.

Her twin possessed a sterner nature.A warrior to her bones, she'd been named Queen's Champion at an agewhen most elves were still learning runes and forest lore. She'dearned the honor. Nimbolk couldn't deny this, even though he'd comeout the loser in this particular competition. And he had to admitthe role suited her, as did her shadow-name:

Honor.

Parchment whispered as Asteria drewa tiny, well-worn scroll from her sleeve. She unrolled it andsmoothed her fingers over the runes with the reverence usuallyafforded ancient treasures and newborn elves.

"The first word I've had from her innearly ten years," she said. "Ten years, Nimbolk!"

"Ten years is a long time for aChampion to leave her queen."

"She traveled at my command,"Asteria reminded him. Her face turned wistful. "Though she mighthave written sooner."

"And less cryptically." He shook hishead. "Longest night, reddestrose. What sort of field report isthat?"

Asteria didn't respond, but then,his question didn't merit discussion. The message was clear enough.Midwinter night was the traditional time for elven tribunals, theappropriate time to bring a traitor to justice. Many elves hadsought this traitor, but the Queen's Champion had won again, andshe was bringing her prize to the Starsingers Grove to be judged bythe Thorn.

The queen drew the crystal daggerfrom a sheath on her belt. The rose within had folded its pedals atdusk to a tightly furled bud.

She glanced up at Nimbolk. "Do youremember when the rose appeared?"

"As if it wereyesterday."

A rose blooming in the heart of acrystal blade-just the sort of whimsical touch expected of elves.Only the old races would read the warning in it, portents of magictwisted into unnatural shapes for treacherous means.

Nimbolk had been among the first tobare his sword arm and demand that the Thorn taste his blood. Everyelf in Mistheim had followed. Not once had the crystal rose bloomedred.

If Ziharah was right-and she hadthat annoying habit-it would bloom tonight.

A murmur rippled through theclearing, and the tribunal members near the western border of thegrove fell back to reveal a new-come elf.

For a moment Nimbolk did notrecognize her, though he knew her face as well as he knew his own.Her warrior's frame had grown thin and frail, and deep shadowsgathered beneath her eyes and in the hollows of her face. Thewinter Fading was slow to come upon her; her eyes had changed fromthe hazel green of summer to winter gray, but small dark streakslingered in the white of her hair so that it resembled the bark ofa birch tree. She walked slowly, and with the aid of a rudelycarved wooden staff. Elfin runes ran the length of the staff, allbut hidden by the rough texture. Nimbolk could only make out oneword: Honor.

The queen's eyes lit up and shestarted forward with a glad cry.

Nimbolk leaped into her path andseized her shoulders. "That isn't Ziharah."

"Of course it is!"

He moved aside. "See how she moves,slow and heavy. Ziharah moved like a cat, like the wind. Look ather eyes. Ziharah doesn't live in them. They are empty.Haunted."

Guilty, headded silently.

"She has been wounded," Asteriasaid, but she sounded less certain.

"Look at her staff," he said."Look at it! She'swarning us that she is no longer what she was. Honor is whatremains when everything else has been stripped away."

"Honor," she murmured. "And more runesbelow…"

The queen's eyes narrowed as shestudied the staff, then widened in alarm. "Ambush. Flee!"

She repeated the warning in high,ringing tones.

The elves whirled toward the trees,poised for flight.

Too late.

The crash and clatter of heavyfootsteps rattled the forest in a sudden, thunderous rush. Armedhumans, far too many of them, burst into the sacredgrove.

Throughout the clearing, elfin handsreached instinctively for the weapons they usually wore.

Crimson rain spattered the snow asthe first elves fell. The humans came on in a wild rush, jostlingeach other in their frenzy to kill.

Nimbolk backed Asteria against agiant fir and placed himself between the queen and the invaders. Helooked to the trees, to the hidden places where archers keptguard.

No arrows answered the attack. Noneof the guards who kept watch in the forest around the grove ran toprotect the queen and the tribunal. The humans could not possiblyhave destroyed them all, unless…

His gaze found Honor. Elves werefalling all around her, but she did not fight. She walked steadilytoward Asteria, every step so heavy she might have been sloggingthrough knee-high mud.

A surge of power swept past him. Hefelt the edge of it, as if he'd been brushed by the fletching of agiant's arrow.

Honor stopped. Her eyes cleared andfilled with anguish.

"Together," Asteria urged. "Join me,sister! We'll fight their magic together."

A tall, bearded human ran pastHonor. Her staff made a quick, subtle arc, and suddenly the man waspitching face-first into the snow. His sword flew from hishand.

She caught it by the hilt, nevertaking her eyes from Asteria's face, and flipped the weapon towardNimbolk.

The sword felt strange in his hand,heavy and graceless, and the notched grip of the aurak-tusk hilthad been carved for a larger hand. But when he tested it against ahuman's throat, he could find no fault with its edge.

Two more of the invaders fell to hisborrowed blade before an alarm went up. One of the humans shouted acurse and pointed at Nimbolk with a bloody sword. The man sheathedhis blade and reached over his shoulder for a bow. Two other menjoined him, stringing their bows and thrusting handfuls of arrowsinto the snow. Moving as one, the men drew and released.

Honor's staff twisted and danced asshe turned the first three arrows aside. More fighters flanked themwith raised blades; those she left to Asteria's otherdefender.

Nimbolk understood. Some dark magickept Honor from attacking her captors, but the fool who held her inthrall had apparently neglected to specify that she couldnot defend.

It was something, but he would havebeen glad of her sword. When they were not fighting each other,they made a formidable team. In years past, the two of them,standing back to back, could hold off a dozen of the Mistheim'sbest warriors.

At least he had Asteria's help.Starsong magic hummed through him, speeding his sword arm, slowingthe blood flowing from his wounds, dulling the pain.

One of the humans barked a command.The swordsmen scrambled out of the way as a swarm of arrows spedtoward the elfin trio.

A black-shafted arrow piercedHonor's sword arm. She hardly seemed to notice. But Nimbolk feltthe arrow that grazed his shoulder, the arrow that drove deep intohis thigh, the arrow that thrust a fiery lance of pain into hisside. And the next arrow, and the next.

He did not remember falling, but hemust have done so, for why else would he be lying in thesnow?

Honor kicked him aside and took hisplace. One of the men lunged at her, slashing at the knee she'dbeen favoring. Nimbolk heard the sword's impact, the chillingscrape of metal against bone.

She swayed but did not fall. "Go,Asteria. Go now."

Nimbolk could read the reluctance onthe queen's face despite the mist that gathered on the edges of hisvision. In a voice weighted by duty and dull with sorrow, Asteriaspoke words that molded starsong into a softly glowingportal.

A dull thud sounded behind her.Asteria slumped to the ground. In the light from the fading portal,blood bloomed against the shining snowfall of her hair.

The humans closed in, wolvessurrounding a fallen doe.

Even now, Honor did not attack them,but twin fires of rage and frustration burned in hereyes.

The man she'd tripped bent down toreclaim the sword Nimbolk had wielded. "Bring the queen and thedagger," he commanded. A cruel light slid into his pale blue eyes."Better yet, bring her corpse."

Honor's shoulders sagged in defeat,and if not for her staff she probably would have fallen into thesnow beside her sister. She pushed away from the staff and startedto reach for Asteria, stopping as she noticed the arrow impalingher forearm. She grasped it just below the barbed point and yankedit free, not even flinching as shaft and fletching slid through thewound.

Honor dragged the queen to her feetand scooped her limp body into her arms. "Minue take you!" shesnarled as she hurled her twin-born sister at the massivefir.

To the humans, the words would soundlike a curse, an invocation to some dark god or demon. They wouldsee only an elf forced into treachery, cursing them as she dashedher queen's head against an ancient pine.

But Nimbolk's elfin eyes had seenthe bark of the tree turn to mist, as insubstantial as arainbow.

The queen disappeared.

Minue, the tree's guardian dryad,had taken her.

Honor pushed herself away from thesolid trunk. Her leggings had been torn from thigh to calf,exposing her wounded knee. For a fleeting moment Nimbolk could havesworn that metal, not bone, gleamed through the blood.

She ran one hand over a new circleof runes on the bark and then turned to face the invaders, triumphwritten on her face.

"You lose, Volgo."

"There's a first time foreverything." The bearded man reached down into the bloody snow andcame up with the Thorn in his hand. "Unfortunately for you, thisisn't it."

He made a sharp gesture with thedagger. Behind Honor, the man who'd clubbed Asteria raised hisweapon high.

Nimbolk tried to shout a warning,but no breath remained to him. Even if he could warn her, even ifhe had starsong left to send her, she could not move quickly enoughto avoid her fate.

In helpless silence, he steeledhimself to witness the death of the elf he loved nearly as much ashe hated.

Honor surged to her feet, gasping asshe felt anew the impact of the club-the moment of bright, sharplight, the sound of her own shattering skull and the sense ofcrystal shards slicing deep into mind and memory.

The pain faded quickly, leaving onlythe burning agony in her sword arm. The memory of battle remained,vivid as a fairy's illusion. It felt familiar, like opening a bookand reading a well-known tale.

She pulled up the skirts of the gownRhendish had given her and propped one foot against the wall so shecould study her knee. Yes, there were faint silver lines round theknee, and when she twisted her leg she found deeper scars in thecrease behind.

More metal, moregears.

Less elf.

She took a moment to absorb this. Inthe depths of her heart, despair thundered like winter surf. Sheacknowledged it, but she did not let the waves overwhelmher.

Instead, she unwrapped the bandageon her sword arm and regarded the neat row of new stitches whereRhendish had removed a few broken gears. Tomorrow, he would replaceone of the metal rods with crystal grown from her own shatteredbones. The next day, he would do more. And the next. She would bearit for as long as the task required.

And when it was done, she owedRhendish the strength of her sword arm for a year and a day. Thatwas the pledge she'd made, the price of the Thorn'ssafety.

"It is decided," she said, turningher mind to other things.

She walked over to her chamberwindow and gazed out over Rhendish's courtyard as she pondered themeaning of this vision.

Though she welcomed the return ofmemory, even one so painful as this, she could not understand whythis memory had come to her through Nimbolk's eyes.

The connection among elfin warriorsran along deep and complex paths, but it seldom included a sharingof memories, and it did not transcend death.

That could only mean Nimbolk wasalive. And unless the warrior had become a priest or mystic in thelast decade-a notion too incongruous for her to entertain for evena moment-a connection strong enough for shared memory meant that nogreat distance or open seas separated them.

Nimbolk had come to the islands ofSevrin. Knowing Nimbolk, she had no doubt that he'd come for theThorn, and she knew all too well how he'd deal with anyone whostood between him and his duty.

Honor reached under her mattress anddrew out several battered items of clothing. The shadow-coloredgarments she'd worn during the battle in Muldonny's fortress hadnot been improved by her long fall into the sea, but where she wasgoing, they'd be less conspicuous than Rhendish's silk andgems.

She had to warn Fox, whether or nothe wanted to listen to her.