Lies of Light

43

9 Alturiak, the Yearof the Shield (1367DR) Second Quarter, Innarlith

You may want to shield your eyes,” Pristoleph said.

He looked up at Wenefir with a relaxed smile, and his friend turned away, a hand over his eyes. Looking back at the fire, Pristoleph smiled wider and sighed. He concentrated on the flames that danced in the big round brazier. The copper bowl was ten feet around and dominated his private chamber. The room was warmer than most humans would find comfortable. Surrounding it was a collection of cushions made from different fabrics imported from all over Toril, from Shou silk to Zakharan wool to something called “cotton” from distant Maztica. Each of the pillows cost more than his mother had made in a year of selling her body. Every one of them was a symbol of how far he’d come. The room, sealed away with just him, and his most trusted companion, and the fire, was a symbol too.

He let his mind go blank, banishing all worries of politics and ambition, and let his thoughts surround the orange tongues of flame. He could feel the heat not only on his face, but in his mind as well.

“Yes,” he whispered, then opened his eyes.

The flames burst into a brilliant white flare that would have temporarily blinded a human. Pristoleph’s eyes drank the brilliance in with a greed all their own.

He let the flame burn brighter for a moment longer than normal, until he noticed that Wenefir had begun to sink to the floor. He cut his connection with the flames, and the light returned to its normal dull, warm orange glow.

Wenefir shook his head and rubbed his eyes, and said,

“How can you stand that, let alone enjoy it?”

Pristoleph shrugged and replied, “My mother always told me I had my father’s eyes.”

The only other living soul who knew what he meant nodded, smiled, and said, “Well, now that you’ve gotten it out of your system, there are things we should discuss.”

Pristoleph nodded back and gestured to one of the floor cushions. Wenefir took a long time to lower himself to the floor, but soon found a comfortable position on a lamb’s wool cushion from Aglarond.

“First tell me,” Pristoleph asked, “how fare the coffers?”

“You know full well that coin is pouring in from the docks,” Wenefir replied.

“The Guild of Stevedores…” the genasi said with a grin. “And all because of that Thayan pig’s ridiculous speeches.”

“He may be a pig, but I hope he never hears you call him that.” Pristoleph shrugged and Wenefir continued, “He’s been a good ally.”

“He had his own reasons for shutting down the harbor, I’m sure,” said Pristoleph. “Someday I hope to know precisely what they were. But in the meantime, I’ll enjoy the gold that his rabble rousing has made for me.”

“For all intents and purposes you control the flow of trade in and out of the city,” Wenefir said. “That’s quite a gift from someone not necessarily known for his selfless generosity.”

“No one is truly selfless,” Pristoleph reminded his friend.

“That’s what I mean. I don’t trust him.”

“And why would you?” Pristoleph replied. “I don’t either, but then I don’t trust anyone, do I? At any rate, as long as he can be counted a friend, we avoid a powerful enemy.”

“It’s not like you to avoid enemies.”

The two men exchanged smiles.

“You did not contribute to the hearing regarding the canal,” Wenefir said. “Why not?”

“Did you expect me to?”

Wenefir wiped sweat from his brow. He wasn’t nervous-he had nothing to be nervous aboutthe room was hot.

“The canal will surely increase shipping traffic, which will increase my income from the docks,” said Pristoleph. “I’m inclined to think that’s a good idea, but at the same time I understand why Marek Rymiit is opposed to it. It made sense to simply stand mute.”

“I wonder, though,” Wenefir said, a thoughtful cast to his features. “Which is the most damaging addition to the city-state of Innarlith? Ivar Devorast’s canal, or Marek Rymiit’s enclave?”

Pristoleph thought it over for a moment then said, “Both, or neither. The Thayan thinks he can pull coin into Innarlith by sending people and goods to the Vilhon Reach by means of the Weave. The Cormyrean’s going to do the same with a big hole in the ground. As long as those goods move through our docks, well…”

“And in order to send them by magical means, does Rymiit even need our docks?”

“Point taken,” Pristoleph said, the thought sticking in his head like a bur.

“The Thayan Enclave draws coin for Thay,” Wenefir went on. “It fills their coffers, not ours, and puts a foreigner in a position of inestimable power.”

“A cogent argument against it,” Pristoleph replied, “but…?”

“But,” Wenefir said with a mischievous smile, “he’s already driven out every other mage, or made a partner of them, and we need magic too from time to time. Not everything is worthy of the spells necessary to disappear it from place to place.”

“There will still be ships,” Pristoleph said, picking up the train of thought, “and if they go through a portal to the Vilhon or a canal, either way they load and unload here.”

“And there are other sources of magic besides the

Thayan,” Wenefir said. He had that look in his eye that Pristoleph had been seeing more and more, and liking less and less.

“You know how I feel about that,” said Pristoleph.

“Cyric’s network is growing stronger and stronger by the month,” Wenefir said. “I have made strong ties with many of the most powerful priests in the region. Show them that you’re open to their help, and they could make you ransar.”

“Like the Red Wizard made Salatis ransar?” Pristoleph asked. “Is that what it takes? A source of dark magic?”

“Apparently, yes,” Wenefir said. His voice had grown thinner and higher, betraying his unfortunate deformity. “In any event, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“I am sure about Cyric,” said Wenefir.

“It’s not the god that worries me,” Pristoleph replied, “but his servants in Faerun. Still, a new ally is always better than a new enemy.”

“Then I’ll leave it at that for now.”

Pristoleph smiled and tossed a flask of warm water to his sweating friend.

“Thank you,” Wenefir said, and he drank all that was left in the flask but still appeared thirsty.

“This canal,” Pristoleph said, changing the subject in as unsubtle a way possible, “will cause chaos, though. Either wayif they build it or abandon itthere will be confusion for some time. The city-statethe whole region from Calimshan up through the Vilhon Reachwill be off balance. If they eventually decide again on the former, it will be very off balance, and for a very long time.”

“And you’re wondering how you might benefit from the chaos?” asked Wenefir.

“If you can find a way to benefit from it,” Pristoleph told him, “it isn’t chaos.”