Lies of Light

35

2 MiHul, the Yearofthe Staff (1366 DR) The Nagaflow Keep

Will he wake soon?” Hrothgar asked.

Surero shrugged in response, and the dwarf fought down the urge to punch the alchemist in the face. Instead, he sighed and looked down at Devorast. He lay in a narrow soldier’s bed in a room near the very top of the imposing fortress. The room was cool, the spring air coming through the pair of arrow loops was fresh, and the sickroom stench that he’d been hit with when he’d first rushed to Devorast’s bedside was gone.

“Or am I just used to it?” he muttered to himself.

“Pardon?” Surero asked, and Hrothgar shrugged him off.

The alchemist sat at a desk cluttered with glassware and iron pots. A little oil lamp burned under a glass bowl in which a strange yellow liquid boiled, sending orange steam into the air that smelled of deep eartha welcoming sensation for the dwarf.

“Will he live?” Hrothgar asked.

“A tenday will tell,” Surero answered, and Hrothgar could tell he was no more satisfied with that answer than the dwarf was.

“But it’s been longer than that already.”

“Twelve days since the naga brought him here,” Surero replied. “And he’s still alive, which is fortunate for him. This thing that bit himthe naga called it a banelardid more than just poison him. Its venom had an acidic quality to it that burned him, and burned him badlydeep inside his blood vessels. It introduced a foul humor to his essential fluids.”

“Everybody wants the son of a cow dead,” Hrothgar said. “And all he wants is to dig a hole.”

“Dig a hole and fill it with water,” Surero replied. “And change the way trade moves across the Realms for centuries to come. A lot of people have killed a lot of other people for a lot less.”

The dwarf could only stand there, looking at his friend who appeared already more dead than alive, and shake his head. Of course, Surero was right. The alchemist had also kept Devorast alive, his potions and ointments attacked the venom, neutralized the acid, and slowly started putting the man back together again from the inside out.

The door opened without a soundDevorast had designed the hinges himself, years beforeand Hrothgar turned to see Phyrea step into the room. She was pale. She didn’t look well. When she saw Devorast laying on his back, the bedclothes pulled up to his chin, and the sickly bluish cast to his skin, a tear rolled from her eye, and she took a deep breath.

“There has been no change,” Surero told her.

She nodded in response and moved to stand next to Hrothgar. The dwarf looked up at her, and she met his gaze and nodded, forcing a smile that Hrothgar was reluctant to return. Surero stood and joined them. For the longest time the three of them stood there, staring at their friend.

“I wasn’t able…” Phyrea said at last. She shook her head, unable to finish.

“It’s all right,” Surero said. “I know someone in Saelmur.”

Phyrea untied a small leather pouch from her belt and handed it to Surero. Hrothgar watched as the alchemist opened it, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and unfolded it to reveal two shining gold rings and a brooch of ebony and gold. One ring had a blue gemstone expertly cut in the shape of a ram’s head. Hrothgar had marveled at the workmanship the first time he’d seen it. It was masterful, even for the finest dwarf gemcutters. The brooch bore the mark of the Zhentarim, and the mere thought of it made the dwarf grimace, though he wasn’t surprised that they’d made that particular enemy.

The naga had left the items, saying they belonged to Devorast, though Hrothgar had never seen him wear any sort of jewelry. They all assumed they were worn by the would-be assassin. That they were imbued with magic was no question, but Surero had asked Phyrea to take them back to Innarlith to find out what, if anything, they could do, and how they were used. Also as they’d expected, her efforts had been hindered by not wanting to bring them to the attention of Marek Rymiit.

“He’ll never wear them anyway,” Hrothgar said.

“No, he won’t, will he?” Phyrea replied. “He won’t defend himself. He won’t arm himself. He won’t even recognize that there are people who want him dead. He does”

She stopped herself, and Hrothgar was relieved. He didn’t feel up to slapping her face.

“He fights when he has to,” the dwarf said. “The rest of the time, he works.”