Bruce Cordell: Spinner of Lies

“Well backstab me and call me a rat’s aunt,” said Riltana in a reasonable tone. Demascus shushed her.

“But as I said,” continued Arathane, “arambarium is rarer even than the most exotic spice. We know of only a single deposit in all Faerun-the mine my mother secretly established just off Akanul’s coast. In the decades since we’ve been extracting the mineral, only a few precious pounds have been dug out from tiny, meandering veins. Then, a few months ago, we found the mother lode.”

Demascus lifted an eyebrow.

“The arambarium we’d been mining up to this point is nothing compared to what the miners stumbled upon in a deep cavern. The Stewards were making plans to exploit the new find when … everything went dark.”

“What’s the Tymanther connection?” said Riltana. “What would the dragonborn care, even if they knew about it?”

Demascus interjected, “I doubt any rival nation would be happy learning that its neighbor just found a way to dramatically upgrade its military power.”

“That’s what the Stewards believe, and that Tymanther has taken action,” said Arathane. “For no good reason! It’s all rumor derived from speculation based on zero evidence. We need to confirm whether Tymanther really is our enemy in this matter. If so, attacking our mine … is an act of war.”

“Huh,” said Arathane.

“But if they’re not responsible,” the queen continued, “our misguided response could cause a war where none was needed, while whoever’s really responsible for depriving us of our arambarium supply continues unchecked.”

“You need someone to find out what’s actually going on at the mine,” said Demascus.

The queen nodded, “And report back, which is demonstrably harder than it sounds. We need clear intelligence before we devise a response. A bungled policy could do more damage than no policy at all.”

“You said you’ve already sent peacemakers?” Riltana asked.

“Yes. Not to mention a special team of spies hand-picked by the Steward of Earth. But we’ve heard nothing. The mine is a blind spot. Not knowing what’s going on there is a like a tumor in the underbelly of Akanul.”

“Where’s the mine?” said Demascus. “You said it was off the coast? Give me landmarks to steer by, and I’ll see what’s going on.” Anticipation of finding trouble made his heart beat faster. Or maybe it was just Arathane’s presence. He couldn’t be sure. He also suspected he was being more than a little rash.

“Hold on!” said Riltana. “I’m expert at sneaking into places-you need me along, too. But I don’t work for free. Neither does Demascus, except he’s too polite to remind you.”

“You’ll be compensated,” said Arathane. “And you’ll have my thanks, if you succeed.”

Riltana shook her head. “More coin I don’t need. What I do need …” The woman dropped her head, then looked up again. “All I would like is a small favor. Could you … could you tell Carmenere that I’ve agreed to help you? And that I’m thinking of her? Since she took that diplomatic post in High Imaskar, I’ve lost track of her. And I …”

The queen considered a moment, then said. “I will. In the next diplomatic courier package the Court of Majesty sends east, I’ll include a personal letter and make sure Carmenere sees it.”

Riltana smiled shyly. Demascus blinked. He’d seen the windsoul knocked unconscious by a goblin sneak, nearly ripped in two by a rakshasa assassin, and curse a streak so foul that he was certain the gods themselves blushed. This was the first time he’d ever seen Riltana vulnerable.

Demascus cleared his throat and said, “Anything else you can tell us, Your Highness? Even an insignificant hint could help us prepare. In my business, preparation is usually key.” He was glad she didn’t immediately ask him what his business was. She probably wouldn’t like the idea that he could sometimes call on the half-forgotten skills of a master assassin.

Arathane shook her head, then stopped and raised a hand, “You know, there is something. Not much, but … a peacemaker report a few months ago came to the Steward of Earth’s attention, and he mentioned it to me. I didn’t think anything about it at the time. Something about trouble on the wharf, in one of the warehouses shippers use to store cargo. Warehouse … fourteen? The detail that stands out in my mind is how, despite that shipyard workers reported sounds of a bloody conflict inside, when the peacemakers showed up, there was no evidence of anything amiss.”

“And how’s that connected with the mine?” said Riltana.

The queen shrugged and said, “On the same day, the speaking stone on the island went dead for almost an entire bell before we reestablished communication. We never did find out what caused it. Anyway, the phantom conflict in the warehouse and the speaking stone lapse occurred near the same time. Could be just a coincidence. I haven’t given it a moment’s thought until now.”

Demascus said, “We’ll run by the warehouse when we book passage out to the island. Speaking of which-where exactly is the mine?”

She stood and produced a parchment from her belt pouch. “The coordinates. What’s written here is a state secret.”

“It’s safe with us,” said Demascus. He reached for the parchment, but she took his hand before he pulled away.

She said, “Be careful, Demascus. We never did find time to have our chat. When you return, hopefully with news less dire than a Tymanther aggression on Akanul soil, let’s remedy that.”

“Uh, that … that would be good,” he managed to respond.

“Yes,” said the queen. “I suspect it will be.” She released his hand, nodded to him and the windsoul, and departed his house.

Demascus was off balance too much to open the door for the monarch of Akanul, so he just watched her back recede as she walked across his yard. She cut quite a figure …

He slammed the door as Fable slunk up. “I’m too quick for you, cat,” he said. When he finally turned back to Riltana, he saw she was grinning, all signs of vulnerability gone from her face.

“What?” he asked.

“Could you be any more transparent?”

“What’re you talking about? I-”

She shook her head. “Even a half-wit could see it. Damn, for someone so normally put together, you’re like a starving dog in a butcher shop whenever she’s around.”

Demascus chuckled. “It’s that obvious?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid it is.”

THE CITY OF AIRSPUR, AKANUL

17 LEAFFALL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

Riltana flew among the hovering citymotes. The wind caressed her like a lover’s arms. It bore her up when she asked, but only for a breath, before gently letting go.

She paused on a rusting bridge cable to take in the grandeur of the city.

The streets wound switchback paths up the cliffs, and steep stairs cut nearly vertical ascents between buildings. Suspension bridges arced between earthmotes above and below. Titanic pillars of stone rose from the sea, and gleaming elemental spires hung with crystalline clarity throughout the middle air. But today, the normally sunbaked streets and bright cliffs were dim beneath a shroud of clouds. An approaching storm darkened the iron sky, threatening a downpour of torrential strength. Normally she hated the rain, the dark, the sun-concealing clouds.

But not today.

Today, Airspur smelled sweeter than it had in months. The piling thunderheads looked like fairy castles. She wanted to fly up to them and see who lived inside. She wanted to sing. Maybe do a little jig. The queen was going to write to Carmenere on Riltana’s behalf! All Riltana had to do was help Demascus check out some moist piece of rock off the coast and see what kind of idiocy the miners had got up to. Easy. She imagined a gold-foil envelope, stamped with the queen’s seal in red wax. The envelope would be delivered to Carmenere’s rooms in faraway High Imaskar. She could see Carmenere breaking the seal, then reading her royal aunt’s message that pled for the estranged silverstar to make peace with Riltana …