Philip Athans - Whisper of Waves

Though Devorast had done an admirable job of holding them at bay, by the time Fharaud returned to Innarlith, carried on a stretcher from the seemingly endless, agonizing carriage ride south from Arrabar, he had simply been picked clean, and people he thought were his friends seemed to have forgotten his name.

He was the man who lost the Cormyrean king’s gold, the fool who launched a ship and sank it the same day, who had built a ship too big for the portal, or so they said, because he wanted to impress a foreign king.

All he was left with was the little room that had been his office but into which Devorast had moved a bed and a scattering of his possessions-enough barely to live on. Alone and an invalid he had lost even …

The Following Parts of his Body:

His right leg, right arm, right eye, and right ear.

Fharaud felt like half a man, and in almost literal terms, he was. The priests in Arrabar had healed him enough to keep him alive, but to do more they wanted gold. Even that soon after the loss of Everwind , the priests-all savvy entrepreneurs in their own right-started to realize that Fharaud had no gold, certainly not enough for that sort of clerical attention.

They wrapped him up and put him on a carriage, and by the time he got back to Innarlith, there was nothing to pay for healing there either, and there he was left.

Every day was a long stretch of agonizing torment. The constant pain was so all-consuming there were times when he could feel his mind slipping away and would come back to his senses only hours, even days later, drooling, panting, screaming, tied to his bed and watched over by the one person who hadn’t abandoned him.

“I don’t deserve this,” he said to Ivar Devorast on the two hundred and fortieth day after the loss of Everwind .

Devorast looked him in the eye and shrugged.

Though it made his head virtually explode with agony to do so, Fharaud laughed. He didn’t understand what Devorast meant by that shrug any more than he understood his own words.

He didn’t deserve what?

To be ruined, to be maimed, or to be alive?

Maybe he didn’t deserve any of those things.

28 Alturiak, the Year of Maidens (1361 DR)

SECOND QUARTER, INNARLITH

Willem could tell his mother didn’t like the house. Still, she knew enough not to embarrass him in front of the master builder. The look on her face when she first stepped into the confines of the dark, narrow townhouse on the eastern edge of the Second Quarter was one of polite disappointment.

“I know you must be proud of your son, Lady Korvan,” Inthelph said.

Thurene looked at Willem, who cleared his throat and said, “It’s not … in Cormyr, you see …”

With a smile Inthelph said, “She will always be Lady Korvan to me, Willem, whether or not the Royal Court of Cormyr recognizes the title.”

It was Willem’s turn to blush, but it was Thurene who answered, “The Master Builder is most charming. Thank you.”

“Please, call me Inthelph.”

There were smiles and nods all around, and a silence stretched past the point of being bearable.

“We should sit,” Willem said, his mind moving in a sluggish, unsure manner. Looking between his mother, whom he hadn’t seen in years, and the master builder who seemed so much a part of his new life in Innarlith, he thought the two of them couldn’t possibly coexist in the same room at the same time. “This way, please.”

“Perhaps I should go,” Inthelph said, glancing down at the trunks that had been stacked in the tiny foyer. “I can only imagine you must be tired after so long a journey, madam.”

“Oh, no, no,” Thurene replied. “I couldn’t possibly run you off.”

“But if you are tired, Mother….” Willem said. He felt tired himself.

“My son looks after me,” Thurene said to Inthelph, “but I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

A strange look came over Inthelph’s face, then one that made Willem uncomfortable.

“You have a daughter,” Willem offered, cringing at what felt like a presumption but was a simple enough statement of fact.

“Do you indeed?” Thurene asked, beaming just enough to be polite.

Inthelph all but squirmed, then said, “My daughter and I are often … at odds with one another.”

Thurene tipped her head and smiled in a sweet and genuine way Willem could tell was anything but.

“They all go through those times,” she said. “Never fear. It doesn’t last. Look at my boy here. All grown up, a responsible young man who’s found so accomplished and impressive a mentor.” A conspiratorial look came over Thurene then and she added, “Perhaps if the two of them were introduced, my Willem could be a good influence-”

She stopped short when Inthelph turned to leave and Willem practically jumped to open the door for him. The hot, humid night air blew into the tight space bringing with it a hint of sulfur. Thurene put a dainty hand to her nose.

Inthelph smiled and said, “One does get used to it.” Thurene’s smile was gracious but unconvinced. “Good night, Master Builder.”

“Good night, sir,” Willem said.

With a shallow bow, the master builder went off into the night.

“You haven’t met his daughter yet?” Thurene asked once the door was closed.

“No, Mother,” Willem answered, just getting the words out felt like a titanic struggle. “I had held out some hope that …”

“If she’s such an embarrassment to him,” Thurene offered, “perhaps it’s just as well. Still, a man your age….”

“You must be tired,” he said, glancing at the narrow staircase that would take his mother to the room he’d prepared for her.

With a sigh, she said, “Good night, my dear. In the morning perhaps you’ll show me this city of yours.”

“I will, of course,” Willem replied. “Good night, Mother. It’s good to have you here finally.”

She touched his cheek with cool, dry fingers, smiled, and went upstairs to bed.

Once he was certain she was asleep, Willem crept out of the house as quietly as he could, met Halina at a tavern they often slipped away to on nights her uncle was at home, and because his mother wouldn’t want him to, he asked her to marry him.

30 Alturiak, the Year of Maidens (1361 DR)

FOURTH QUARTER, INNARLITH

Standing under a scaffold at the top of the wall, Willem Korvan managed to stay at least somewhat dry, but the damp air still chilled him to the bone. While he stood there shivering, he watched the rain drench the city of Innarlith. The rooftops steamed in the dull gray light.

Footsteps drew his attention and he turned to see Ivar Devorast, soaked to the skin, his ill-fitting clothing not only drenched but surely not substantial enough to have kept out the cold anyway. Willem’s first attempt to speak to his old friend failed on his tongue, he was so startled by the man’s appearance. Devorast had never taken any care with his personal grooming, but standing there on the wall, he looked … poor.

Devorast stood in the rain staring at Willem, waiting. Willem took a step to the side and nodded Devorast into the small space in the shelter of the scaffold. When Devorast stepped out of the rain, Willem detected a subtle reluctance and couldn’t be sure if it meant Devorast didn’t want to come in out of the rain or that he didn’t want to stand so close to his former landlady’s son.

“It’s ridiculous …” Willem said, then realized he was speaking aloud. The rest of the thought he finished to himself alone: … that I should be made to feel uncomfortable when I’m the one doing you a favor.