Willem tried to take a deep breath, but hiccupped instead.
“And now,” Salatis went on, “here we are, months on, and not only our gold is being used to dig this hole, but Arrabarran gold, gold from Cormyr, gold from Aglarond, from Sembia even, and points all up and down the Sword Coast from Athkatla north to faraway Luskan. An army of men dig and saw and toil, and how many of them are Innarlan? How many are Cormyrean? How many Arrabarran? And if Mask’s wisdom has taught us anything, it’s that all you are is what you hold in your hand, and when Arrabarran hands hold our soil, our soil becomes Arrabarran soil.”
Willem’s vision blurred a little, and he started to blink so that the scene in front of him flickeredbut what was it he was looking at? The new ransar babbling about something.
“But then what can we expect from this man, this foreign man, Ivar Devorast?”
That’s right, Salatis was babbling about Ivar Devorast.
“He comes from Cormyr with his strange accent and high-handed manners. As arrogant as his king, he spits in the face of every member of this esteemed body, and every man, woman, and child who calls Innarlith home.”
No matter where Willem went, how high he rose, or how many concessions he made to his patrons in the senate, the conversation always went to Devorast.
“This Ivar Devorast builds nothing for the city-state of Innarlith. So who does he build for? Azoun? The Simbul? Not me. Has he even come here? Has he even passed through our gates in months? He hides in my keep on the Nagaflow when his enemies strike at himand he has attracted enemies, take my word for thatand he spends the lives of my soldiers to keep himself safe, but has he even once come before this body? We all know that he has not. Has he even once come to the Palace of Many Spires or the Chamber of Law and Civilityh, even just to report to his patrons on his progress? I can assure you, he has not.”
Everyone always wanted to talk about Ivar godsbed-amned Devorast.
“So, who does Ivar Devorast work for?”
“Himself,” Willem whispered, so softly even he could barely hear it.
“Does he work for King Azoun? I know I don’t. And I know you don’t.”
Willem sighed and hiccupped again. He needed a drink.
“Senators,” Salatis pronounced, his voice heavy with false drama, “I have come to you tonight to inform you that I have decided to call an immediate halt to all work on the canal. I have ordered the forces of the city-state, led by my own black firedrakes, to peacefully repatriate all foreign workers, and to seize all outstanding foreign gold, and I have ordered them to do this immediately.”
Willem shook his head and almost laughed at that.
“When I am certain that things are well in handwell in Innarlan handsI will allow work to recommence. Until that time, the Cormyrean Ivar Devorast will no longer be welcome here.”
Willem cringed. He closed his eyes and quivered as his face pinched up and his fingers curled into fists.
“Senators, I thank you for your time. Good night, and may the Lord of Shadows bless this body and the people of the great city-state of Innarlith. Praise be to Mask.”
A deafening round of applause made Willem cover his ears with his hands, until he realized that Meykhati was clapping, so he clapped too. And he continued to clap as Salatis made his way slowly from the podium, clasping hands with a select group of senatorsincluding Meykhati and Nylaalong the way.
Fools, he thought. He’s not just going to go away.
Willem could never be that lucky.
39
4 Uktar, the Yearof the Staff (1366 DR) The Canal Site
Tell him who you are, the old man demanded.
Anger flared through her, and through clenched teeth she said, “I am the daughter of Senator Inthelph, the Master Builder of Innarlith, and if you don’t take two steps back from me this instant, there will be consequences.”
Nicely done, girl, the old man murmured. Well said.
The man who stood before her with the wicked longaxe held in front of his chest seemed to stare right through her with his too-black eyes, but he did step back. With her best world-weary sigh, she stepped around him to the door of Devorast’s little cabin. Before she could reach for the handle the door opened, and Surero stepped out. He looked surprised to see her, but smiled anyway. “Is he here?” she asked.
Surero nodded and glanced back into the dim interior. Devorast appeared in the doorway and nodded in greeting.
Phyrea had expected him to be angry, or at least annoyed, and certainly offended that the ransarone of the least visionary men she’d ever methad shut him down entirely with a single proclamation.
Tell him, said the little boy. Phyrea could see him, one arm ending in a handless stump, at the edge of her vision. Tell him you’re happy it’s over and that he’s being sent away. Call him a bad name and tell him to go to a bad place.
She shook her head and said, “It’s wrong what’s happening.”
No, said the ghost of the burned old woman, it’s about time.
“We knew it would happen eventually, though, didn’t we?” Surero asked. His eyes darted from one to the other of the three black-haired guards with their longaxes and blank, emotionless expressions. “Maybe not like this, though.”
“Have they hurt anyone?” Phyrea asked.
They should, said the man with the scar on his face. She could see him standing inside the cabin, next to Devorast.
Surero shook his head and stepped out of the doorway. “We should speak inside.”
Phyrea stepped in, nodding, her eyes glued to the shimmering violet form of the man and the z-shaped scar that marred his otherwise handsome face. She felt her breathing grow faster and more shallow and did her best to control it. Her palms went slick with sweat. She’d never seen the ghosts and Devorast in the same place, had she? He used toshe thoughtdrive them away.
“Damn it all to the bottomless Abyss, Ivar,” she said, a keen edge of near-panic in her voice. “I told you this would happen. I knew this would happen. I dreaded this day so much I did my best to make it happen sooner just to be through with it once and for all, but now that it’s”
The look on Surero’s face made her stop. She couldn’t look at the alchemist. Instead her eyes settled on the spirit-form of the man with the scar on his face.
It’s over for him now, the ghost said without moving his lips. Leave him behind you. He was destroying you anyway. He never loved you. Go back to Berrywilde.
You belong with us, back at Berrywilde, the little girl whined. She stood, an inch off the wood floor, in the corner next to Devorast’s little cot.
When she realized that Surero was trying to figure out what she was looking at, she closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Oh, gods of the Outer Planes, it is over,” she said, and pressed her hands to her face.
“It looks that way,” said the alchemist, “for now.”
Devorast said nothing. Instead, he slid big sheets of parchment into a leather portfolio with his usual calm, slow demeanor.
Take us home, the little girl begged.
The door opened, and Phyrea jumped, startled by the noise and the light.
By the sound of his boots on the wood floor Phyrea would have guessed a stone giant had stepped in, but she knew before turning around that it was just Hrothgar.
“Say the word, Ivar,” the dwarf grumbled, “and we’ll fight ‘em.”
“Hrothgar” Phyrea started.
“No,” Devorast said.
The three of them waited for him to say more but he didn’t.
“This is why…” Phyrea said.