“I shouldn’t have been away so long,” Devorast said, but the disappointment in his eyes was plain.
The dwarf blushed and that stonelike visage slipped the slightest bit.
“We’ve been gone a few months,” Pristoleph said. “Does he have to be here every day? Does he have to hold your hands? Does he have to cut every stone, and dig every hole?”
Devorast shook his head and the anger came back to the dwarf’s face.
“A few months, eh?” Hrothgar grumbled. “A few months?”
“A few months!” the ransar shouted.
The dwarf stepped forward with clenched fists and so did the two black firedrakes at Pristoleph’s sides.
“You’ve had ‘im away for five an’ a half months,” Hrothgar said. “Five an’ a half months.”
“I will be away or I will be here for as long as I wish, dwarf,” the ransar said. “And in the meantime, my orders will be carried out, and they will be carried out without question.”
“And what were your orders, Ransar?” Surero asked. He looked up from where he sat on the wet, matted grass, and held a shaking hand a few inches from his neck.
“My orders?” Pristoleph replied. “My orders came to you through Ivar Devorast.”
Surero glanced at Devorast but obviously saw nothing there in which he could find solace. He looked back down at the ground and grimaced.
“These senators of yours,” Hrothgar said. “The moment you were gone, they started comin’ outta the stonework. I’m happy to tell them where to get off, but the crew, they see a senator and it gets ‘em all tense an’ twitchy.”
“But Aikiko?” Pristoleph shot back. “What in the name of Azuth’s flaming manhood could she possibly have to contribute to this?”
“Nothing,” said the dwarf. “She’s a mouth-breather if ever one walked under this godsbedamned sun o’ yers. But that Kurtssonthe wizardI think he ensorcelled enough o’ the men that the others went along just to make it easy on ‘em.”
“We did our best, Ivar,” Surero almost sobbed from where he sat on the ground. “We couldn’t stop them.”
Something in the sound of the alchemist’s voice cooled Pristoleph. He took a deep breath and the ground under his feet no longer boiled.
“Kurtsson,” Pristoleph said. “I know him.”
“He works for the Thayan,” Surero said.
Pristoleph resisted the urge to look back at the black firedrakes that still flanked him. He couldn’t explain why, but the guards made him uneasy just then. “Rymiit,” Pristoleph said.
The Thayan had always been opposed to the canalhe’d always argued against it. His enclave, which had taken complete control of the trade in magic in every corner of Innarlith, would have profited from the continued practice of moving ships and goods to the Vilhon Reach by magical meanseven after the Everwind disaster. But Rymiit had been an ally of Pristoleph’shad been instrumental in his seizing the mantle of ransar.
He turned to Devorast, who still stared at the arch, and said, “These two were loyal to you, at least.” He paused to sigh. “Loyal…”
“We were gone too long,” Devorast said. “Hrothgar and Surero are right.”
Pristoleph shook his head and wanted to argue, but he couldn’t.
“I still don’t understand…” the ransar said. “Aikiko? What did she do? Did she climb into a carriage, make the trip all the way up here, step out, and just seize control? That simpleton?”
Surero shook his head and looked at Devorast then the ground. It was obvious he was reluctant to speak.
“Hells,” the dwarf grumbled, “if she’d done that, I’d’ve knocked ‘er out myself.”
Pristoleph stared at he dwarf, waiting for more, but the stonecutter looked at Devorast as though waiting for permission to continue.
“Don’t tell me Rymiit himself” the ransar started.
“No,” Devorast interrupted. “It wasn’t Marek Rymiit.”
Pristoleph turned and was confronted by Devorast’s back. Devorast stared at the gate, and the ransar waited while the man turned to look back down the length of the canal, which was so long it disappeared over the southern horizon. The blue sky hung dense and humid, quiet save for the distant sounds of work gangs.
Ivar Devorast took a deep breath and said, “It was Willem.”
50
16 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) The Canal Site
Willem hadn’t moved the tent, as had become customary, to the end of the great trench. He couldn’t see the portal arch from the tent, and the sound of the bursting smokepowder was subdued enough by the distance that he didn’t jump out of his skin every time one went off. And he was far away from the men who looked at him with accusatory glares and grumbled behind his back.
He sat at the drawing table and stared down at one of Ivar Devorast’s drawings, a plan for a section of the canal that would never be built. Overwhelmed by a draining melancholy, all he could do was stare at it. He was thirsty but couldn’t face the complex and draining task of pouring a glass of water from a pitcher that was just out of reach on another table. When the tent flap rustled and someone stepped in, Willem didn’t turn around.
“You had to know I was coming back,” Ivar Devorast said.
Willem’s shoulders sagged and a pressure pushed on his chest so that he could barely force his lungs to take in air. The tip of his tongue cracked, his mouth was so dry, and he tasted blood. The incessant pain of his teeth flared and he closed his eyes to fight back a tear.
“Willem,” Devorast said.
Willem opened his mouthbut not to speak. He couldn’t breathe.
“I should have given you some way to contact me,” Devorast said, stepping closer.
Willem managed to say, “I would have… used it.” “Why, Willem?” Devorast asked.
Willem shook his head and gasped in a breath that seemed to lodge in his throat. A stabbing pain struck his knee and his shoulders pressed down even farther. He felt as though he were being crushed into the damp ground.
“I couldn’t stop them,” Willem said. His voice was so low, so weak, he could hardly hear it himself. “He compelled”
Willem’s throat closed and he gagged. He wanted to tell Devorast everything. He wanted to tell him that Marek Rymiit had in some way magically compelled him to accept Aikiko and Kurtsson’s “help” in finishing the canal. He wanted to tell Devorast he had no choice, that he was just a pawn, as always, of more powerful men, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t force the words from his mouth.
“Did you come here to kill me?” Willem whispered.
Devorast stepped closer and Willem tensed, certain he would feel a blade pierce the flesh of his quivering back and still his heart. He couldn’t decide if that would be such a bad thing at all. His heart beat too fast, and a dull pain spread through his chest like water spilled from a barrel.
“It was my fault,” Devorast said.
Willem shook his head.
“It was,” Devorast. went on. “I was gone too long.” “You…” Willem choked out, “should not have… trusted me.”
“I shouldn’t have trusted anyone. I should have understood that I have too many enemies to leave for five months or more.”
Willem nodded, and though he couldn’t remember breathing in, he managed to rasp, “You should have been able to trust me.”
Willem waited for Devorast to answer, but there was only silence in the tent behind him. A sharp pain in his head made him close his eyes.
“Ivar?” Willem whispered. “You can’t forgive me.”
Willem’s jaw clenched of its own accord and the agony of his teeth grinding together made him tilt off the stool to sprawl on the floor. He was dimly aware of Devorast stepping forward to help him, then stepping away when he spun into a crouch, his hands in front of him, his fingers bent to claw at the air.
“Willem,” Devorast said. “You’re not well.”
Willem’s head exploded in a shower of liquid agony and the skin on his face tightened, stretching his dry lips into a cracking, painful grimace.