Philip Athans - Scream of Stone

“Senator Nyla,” Willem said, holding out his hand. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

Nyla looked down at his hand and leaned back just a little. “Forgive me,” she said, “but I’ve been sneezing all day, and….”

“Quite all right,” Willem said, just so the uncomfortable moment would pass.

“Is it true, what they say?” she asked.

“I’m sorry?”

She squirmed a little in her own skin just then, and Willem almost gasped at the sight of it.

She cleared her throat and said, “You’ve been gone too long.”

He nodded, hoping she would say more, but instead she scanned the room as if looking for an escape route.

“What do they say, Senator?” Willem pressed, but at that moment wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Think nothing of it,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forgive me?”

“I’m certain there’s nothing to forgive,” he said, “but-”

“We should take our seats,” she interrupted, then walked away from him a little too quickly.

“She’s right,” Meykhati said. Willem wasn’t quite startled, but he hadn’t been aware of the senator’s approach. “You know which way the vote is to go, then?”

“Yes,” Willem said, once again trying to engage Meykhati in eye contact but failing. “I mean, I think so. What are we debating?”

Willem knew full well what the session had been called to vote on, but he found himself compelled to make further conversation with the man who’d been his sponsor for so long, but who couldn’t or wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“We’re here to vote for the purchase of wands that will allow the gate guards to detect the presence of magical radiations and dweomers,” Meykhati said, his eyes lazily scanning the room, but steadfastly not looking at Willem. “Once those are in place we can begin to assign a tax on any magical items brought into the city by non-citizens.”

“Why?” Willem asked.

“Why the tax?” Meykhati responded. When Willem nodded he said, “To help defer the cost of the wands.”

“And we are for this?” Willem clarified.

“Yes,” Meykhati replied. “Please, take your seat.”

Willem nodded and watched Meykhati pass other senators who tried to stop him to chat. The senior senator found his chair and all but fell into it. He put his face in his hands and breathed hard, wiping sweat from his brow and upper lip. He took a deep breath, held it, then seemed to sense that Willem was still looking at him. He turned, still holding the breath, and when their eyes finally met, Willem’s skin went cold and his own breath caught in his throat.

He’s terrified of me, Willem thought.

He turned his head so Meykhati wouldn’t have to look him in the eye anymore, then Willem took his seat and prepared to vote for another purposeless tax.

28 Hammer, the Year of Rogue Dragons (1373 DR)

PRISTAL TOWERS, INNARLITH

Marek Rymut took a deep breath and held it. He’d just been told by the ransar something he already knew: Ivar Devorast had once again taken charge of the canal. Marek scanned the room, taking a mental inventory of all the expensive gewgaws and whatnots that crowded the space. He stopped counting when he reached ten thousand gold pieces and had examined barely a tenth of the room’s contents.

Behind him stood Insithryllax, in his human form, with his arms crossed over his chest. Marek thought his old friend looked more tense that usual, but the black dragon had refused to tell him what was wrong, though Marek had asked repeatedly in the coach from the Second Quarter.

“And if I were to advise you against that course of action?” the Red Wizard asked the ransar.

Pristoleph cracked a smile in return and said, “It’s already done. Ivar Devorast has my full confidence.”

“He will be master builder, then?” the dragon asked, and Marek could hear the irritation in his voice.

“Insithryllax, please,” Marek cautioned. “I apologize, Ransar, but my companion has asked an interesting question, and one that begs an answer. The city-state has been without a master builder since the unfortunate murder of Senator Horemkensi.”

“You know,” Pristoleph replied, his tone artificially conversational, “I asked him about that. I offered him the position, in fact, with a rather generous stipend-more than was given to Inthelph, even-and he accepted on the spot with rather gracious thanks.”

Marek pursed his lips and let a breath hiss out through his nose. He heard a similar sound escape Insithryllax.

“I had a quill in my hand to sign the proclamation, not a heartbeat later,” Pristoleph went on, “and he grabbed it off my desk and tore it in half. He shouted at me, actually. It’s the only time I’ve ever heard him shout. People have told me they’ve known him for years and never heard him raise his voice. He told me he didn’t want a title and didn’t want any part of running the city-state. He didn’t want to work for me or for anyone, and certainly not for what he called a ‘meaningless collective.’ I’m still puzzling over what he meant by that, precisely.”

Marek said, “You will excuse my ignorance, Ransar, but I don’t think I understand. He refused the appointment?”

“In no uncertain terms.”

“And yet still he commands the army of workers that continue to build this canal of his?” the Red Wizard said.

“Yes … well,” the ransar hesitated, “not all of the workers.”

Marek raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the soft leather cushion behind him. The chair was comfortable, but still the Thayan felt ill at ease. He could feel the black dragon standing behind him as though Insithryllax loomed in his true, draconic form. With the genasi in front of him, Marek felt trapped. He began to sweat.

“He will need you to give him control of the zombies,” Pristoleph said.

“No,” the dragon in human form said. “Don’t help him, for-”

“It will be costly,” Marek said, cutting the dragon off.

Pristoleph shrugged and Marek was left to ponder how much he’d grown to hate that gesture, though only a few scant months ago, he’d loved it more than anything. The genasi’s seemingly bottomless purse was responsible for nearly four out of every ten gold pieces the enclave brought in. Marek knew there wasn’t another suitable candidate for ransar that would even begin to make up for that.

“What’s a few zombies here and there between friends?” Marek said with a smile he knew would look as false as it was.

“I have a list,” Pristoleph said. “He requires other items.”

Marek swallowed again and said, “If I have it or if it can be made, I will be delighted to arrange it for you.”

“Not for me,” Pristoleph said with a smile Marek longed to wipe from his face with a fireball-no, not a fireball against a fire genasi, but an ice storm.

Yes, the Red Wizard thought, a blast of tiny daggers of glasslike ice-or acid.

“I beg your pardon, Ransar?” Marek said through stiff jaws.

“The items are not for me,” the ransar clarified, “but for Ivar Devorast.”

Insithryllax stormed around the sofa and stood over Pristoleph. The ransar didn’t move, but Marek could feel him growing hotter.

“Insithryllax!” the Thayan barked.

Insithryllax didn’t turn, but growled at the ransar, “I cannot be compelled to help this man. You are not my master.”

Marek scuffled to his feet and though he knew it wasn’t allowed, he barked out the words to a spell when he saw that Insithryllax was beginning to transform. It was likely that Pristoleph was unable to detect any change in the dark-skinned, black-clad man who everyone thought was simply Marek Rymut’s bodyguard, but Marek had known Insithryllax too long, and he could tell.