Lies of Light

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.

She held her breath, trying to think. She felt as though her brain was sunk in heavy, clinging mud.

Don’t bother, the old woman, who she couldn’t see, told her. Just go, child.

“This is why I’ve said the things I’ve said about you,” she said. Hrothgar stepped closer to her, but she kept her back to him and her eyes on Devorast. “This is what I’ve been telling you all this time would happen. I told you they would try to kill you, and if they couldn’t kill you that they’d find some way, some excuse to take this away from you.”

“Wait a moment, there,” Surero said.

“They can chase us off today, girl,” said the dwarf, “but not forever.”

“Hrothgar’s right,” the alchemist concurred. “There’s enough support in”

“Oh, shut up, Surero,” Phyrea snapped. “There’s enough support to send gold, men, and goodwill, but not enough to go to war over. Who’s going to send footmen here to fight the ransar for a strip of land that is Innarlith’s whether you like it or not? Azoun? Will he go to war for your canal, Ivar?”

Devorast didn’t look at her. He went about his packing.

“I told you they’d take it away and they have,” Phyrea said. “But I hope you don’t think the worst is over.”

“That’s about enough, girl,” said the dwarf.

No, the man made of light said, get it off your chest, then take us all back to Berrywilde with you.

“No,” Phyrea went on, “the worst is when they send someone here to finish it for you. And it’ll be either my father or Willem Korvan, or both, and what will become of all this then? What mess will they make of it in the name of their two-copper ransar?”

Devorast looked at her, and the look on her face made goosef lesh ripple across the undersides of her arms.

He hates you now, the little girl said.

Yeah, said the little boy, and that means it’s all right to hate him back.

He’s almost destroyed you, the old woman said. Phyrea could see her sitting on Devorast’s cot. You’re getting away just in time. He’s wanted to destroy you all alongand not kill you, but destroy youand there’s a difference, believe me.

Phyrea shook her head, turned, brushed past the dwarf who stared daggers at her, and burst out the door into sunlight that made her eyes close all on their own. She had to squint and stumble her way back to her horse.

Berrywilde, the old woman whispered in her ear.

She shook her head and whispered back, “No, I want to go back to Innarlith first.”