Philip Athans - Scream of Stone

With a smile, Pristoleph said, “That’s probably the principal reason why he wants to kill you.”

Devorast ignored that and continued his drawing. Pristoleph didn’t try to interpret the wild but controlled lines and shapes.

“He uses people,” Pristoleph said. “I think that’s why we worked together so well. I use people, too.”

“Are you ashamed of that?”

Pristoleph was too surprised by the question to answer it right away. After a long silence, he simply shrugged.

“You can only use people who allow themselves to be used,” Devorast said. “And anyone who would allow that is not worthy of your shame.”

Pristoleph laughed even though Devorast was entirely serious.

“This is a strange idea,” Devorast asked Pristoleph after a while, “these ‘holidays’ of yours. How long do they last?”

3 Ches, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

THE THAYAN ENCLAVE, INNARLITH

Willem stopped in the doorway to the parlor and looked around. He’d been in that same room many times, but it had been a while, and it looked different. He had the feeling that all the objects, both mundane and exotic, were in the same places, that the furniture and the rugs were the same, that the walls were painted the same color, but still it looked different.

Smaller? he asked himself. It was smaller-darker, duller.

And Marek himself looked awful. Willem winced when the Thayan entered the room. He recoiled ever so slightly from the man’s smile. Marek’s teeth were brown in spots and yellow everywhere else. Dark circles under his eyes told of many sleepless nights, and he’d gotten fatter. The smell of some tropical flower Willem didn’t have a name for followed the wizard into the room, but it didn’t mask the old man smell that oozed from the Thayan’s very pores.

“Ah,” Marek said with a smile that turned Willem’s stomach, “there you are, my boy. Come. Sit. You’ve been too long away from the city.”

Willem forced a smile, found a chair, and sat as quickly as he could, deftly avoiding Marek’s embrace.

“So tell me,” said the wizard, “how progresses the canal?”

Willem replied, “Well, Master Rymut.”

He wanted to leave it at that, but Marek made it plain with his pursed lips and wide-open eyes that that wouldn’t be nearly sufficient.

“Construction is progressing according to Ivar’s plans,” Willem said. “It’s amazing, really, Master Rymut.”

“What’s amazing?” the wizard asked, lifting one eyebrow in a look at once bored and quizzical.

“The whole thing,” Willem breathed, certain that answer would never satisfy the Thayan, but it was all Willem could think to say.

Marek chuckled, sat back in his chair, and stared up at the ceiling as though trying to frame his thoughts so that he could express himself in terms simple enough that even a dolt like Willem might understand him.

“Why did you ask me to come here?” Willem said. His voice barely squeaked out of him. His throat had become reluctant to speak, his mind afraid of the words, but his heart longing to know.

“You’re still a sitting member of the Senate of Innarlith,” Marek said. “You have responsibilities. This is beneath you, really, this digging around-rooting in the dirt out there with the snakes and the nagas.”

“I’ve never been-” Willem started to say, but stopped himself. He didn’t want to tell Marek Rymut that he’d never been happier.

But the Thayan knew what he was going to say and his smile was even more mocking that usual.

“I understand,” said the wizard. “Really, I do.”

Willem’s teeth hurt and he rubbed his bottom lip as he said, “Do you need something from me?”

“Tell me about this man Devorast,” Marek said. “Have you brought anything of yourself to this canal? Or do you simply follow the instructions of your former countryman?”

Willem shook his head and said, “We all follow his instructions. To the letter.”

Marek shrugged-he’d heard exactly what he’d expected to hear-and he asked, “Is it true what I’ve heard about Devorast and the ransar?”

“The ransar?”

“Pristoleph has gone off on one of those excursions of his,” the wizard explained, “and this time he’s brought Ivar Devorast with him.”

“And?”

Willem couldn’t help but shrink at the look his one-word question elicited from the Thayan. Willem cleared his throat and looked away.

“Is it true?” asked the wizard.

Willem nodded then made himself shrug.

“Then surely he’s left you in charge,” Marek said.

Willem thought about that for a moment then shook his head. He thought he saw Marek’s lips move, and he did something with his hands as though reaching for something in front of him that wasn’t there. Willem blinked sweat from his eyes and his face tingled. He shuddered through a sudden chill and wrapped his hands around his arms.

“Are you all right, Willem?” the Thayan asked, and his voice sounded strange-different somehow.

Willem nodded, even though he didn’t feel well at all.

“Kurtsson?” Marek called over his shoulder. “Aikiko?”

Willem licked his lips and wondered why his teeth didn’t hurt anymore. He puzzled over that so long he didn’t notice that two people entered the room and sat together on a small sofa between he and Marek.

“You’ve been left alone up there,” Marek said. “You need help, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Willem answered without thinking-without being able to think.

“You know Kurtsson.”

Willem felt himself nodding and he looked up at Kurtsson. The Vaasan’s blue eyes were cold, his smile condescending.

“And this is Aikiko. Have you met Aikiko?”

Willem’s head got stuck between a nod and a shake. He didn’t remember the woman, but for a moment he was distracted by the look of her thin, perpetually squinting eyes and the exotic cast to her skin. Her waist-length hair was as black as a drow’s flesh, and her smile was as condescending as the Vaasan’s.

“The two of them are going to go back with you,” Marek said with a grin.

“We’re to help you,” Kurtsson said.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” said Aikiko.

Willem shook his head, though the movement hurt his neck.

“Surely,” Marek said, his voice taking on a coldness that made Willem’s skin crawl, “you can use the help-with Devorast gone.”

“He-” Willem started.

“He may never come back,” Marek said and Willem couldn’t resist looking the Thayan in the eyes.

“But Ivar …” Willem started again. “Ivar will …”

“We’ll help you,” said the strange-looking woman who might have been a half-elf. “We’re only trying to help.”

“Agree to the arrangement, Willem,” Marek said.

Willem started to nod and tried to stop himself. He caught a glimpse of a self-satisfied grin from Kurtsson that made him say, “I don’t think I can …”

But by the time he got that far he was nodding.

“You’ll let us help you?” Aikiko said.

And Willem nodded.

“Help me,” he whispered.

14 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

THE CANAL SITE

Pristoleph looked at Devorast then at the-whatever it was-then back to Devorast. He didn’t know which sight he found more unsettling.

“What is it?” Devorast said.

Pristoleph had never heard that quality in his voice before-even more clipped, even colder. He looked down at the muddy ground. Bubbles sizzled and popped around the edges of his boots and little tendrils of steam rose into the warm air. The ransar flexed his right hand into a fist and covered it with his left. If he’d touched anyone at that moment the heat from his palm would have raised a blister.