“Sur …” the blond man said. “My name is Surero. The name of your assassin.”
Marek sighed. He couldn’t place the name. The man went limp in the guards’ arms.
“Why was he trying to murder you, Master Rymut?” the lead watchman asked.
Marek shrugged and said, “I couldn’t possibly guess. It’s outrageous, really.”
“Well,” the watchman said with a sneer of contempt for the unconscious assassin, “he’ll swing for sure. Don’t you worry about a thing, now.”
“No,” Marek said, taking all three watchmen and no few bystanders by surprise. “No, he didn’t kill me, after all. There’s no reason to kill him. This man obviously has had some difficult times of late. If he caused that explosion to kill me, who has never done anything but help the good people of my adoptive city, well … lock him up, for his own safety at least, but see that he doesn’t hang.”
Marek sifted through his purse and drew out three platinum pieces. He handed them over to the lead watchman and said, “For you and your men, for the service you provide us all.”
The watchmen all looked as if they could have been knocked over with a feather, but they took Marek’s coin-as much as they’d see in months from their paltry salaries.
“Why did he do it?” the watchman asked as his comrades dragged the man off to the ransar’s dungeon.
Marek could think of a dozen reasons even though he couldn’t remember who the man was, exactly. If the would-be assassin was summarily executed, Marek might never know who he was and why he’d acted so boldly.
The watchman still expected an answer, though, so Marek said, “Difficult times, Constable. Difficult times.”
70
6 Uktar, the Year of the Wave (1364 DR)
SECOND QUARTER, INNARLITH
While the warm autumn rain drenched the city of Innarlith, Marek Rymut finally met Willem Korvan. Marek had heard his name, and even seen him from afar, on a number of occasions. He knew, too, that Willem had been seeing his niece Halina. He knew, in fact, what inns they frequented and when. Marek could call to mind specific details of the young Cormyrean’s career, from the moment he came to Innarlith in the employ of the master builder-an important professional acquaintance of Marek’s-through the rumors of Willem’s having murdered the old senator Khonsu and through to his ascension to the senate in the debt of Meykhati.
“You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?” Marek asked, a sly grin splitting his face.
Willem squirmed in his chair, his eyes darting to Meykhati, who was the only other person at the small table in their private room at the Peacock Resplendent. Marek enjoyed watching the junior senator’s discomfiture almost as much as he enjoyed watching the junior senator himself. The Cormyrean was a beautiful, almost perfect specimen. The structure of his face was worthy of sonnets, his broad shoulders enough to murder for.
“M-Master Rymut,” Willem stammered, his lovely face turning red. “Sir, please forgive me if I’ve given you that impression.”
“Oh, you’re forgiven,” Marek replied with the same sly grin.
Willem’s eyes moved around the room, settling on nothing and doing everything he could to avoid looking at Marek.
“You have been avoiding him, haven’t you, Willem?” Meykhati said, his eyes flicking to meet Marek’s.
Willem sighed and his squirming turned into a sort of agonized writhing.
“Do tell,” Marek teased.
“I, um …” Willem muttered, looking at Meykhati with such desperate, powerless pleading that Marek started squirming too, but for very different reasons.
“Perhaps it’s his chivalrous Cormyrean ways,” Meykhati explained, “but Willem here was concerned that he meet you only after he had achieved a certain position in the city-state.”
Marek smiled and nodded, hoping his expression would help the junior senator relax at least a little. It appeared to help.
“Well, then,” the Red Wizard said, “now you’re a senator, and I can’t imagine you hoped for more than that.”
“No,” Willem answered, the blush fading from his cheeks. “No, sir, I couldn’t possibly.”
“I must be honest with you, Willem,” said Marek. “I’ve been curious as to why our paths haven’t crossed until now. We have so many friends in common, I thought there must be a reason. Now that I have that reason, all is forgiven.”
Willem blushed again, but not as badly, and nodded.
“Was there something you wished to discuss with me?” Marek prompted. He enjoyed the young man’s company but had business to attend to in the Land of One Hundred and Thirteen. “Perhaps you’ve come to ask for my niece’s hand in marriage?”
Marek chuckled at the look of mute shock that exploded from Willem’s face.
“I think that’s lovely,” Marek went on, his heart not allowing him to torment the young man too much. “She’s a terribly lovely, lovely girl and I would imagine your children will be equally lovely, if not even more lovely. We’ll plan a lovely wedding and invite everyone who’s anyone in Innarlith.”
Meykhati struggled not to laugh every time Marek said “lovely,” which was why he said it so much. Willem appeared more and more distressed. Marek had seen condemned men with the same expression as the magistrate described the time and manner of their deaths.
Beshaba preserve us, Marek thought. I’m going to enjoy him!
“Thank you, Master Rymut,” Willem mumbled, eyes glued to the tabletop.
“Oh, no, Willem,” Marek said, putting a gentle hand on the Cormyrean’s strong forearm, “we’re to be family. I insist you call me Marek. Or would you prefer Uncle?”
Willem snatched his arm away, which made Meykhati laugh again.
“I imagine that you’ll be ending things with the master builder’s daughter,” Marek said, only slowly withdrawing his own hand. Willem’s face went from red to white. “A man in your position has to learn where to go for his dalliances. You certainly don’t play up, as it were.”
The look on Willem’s face was priceless. It was plain that he wasn’t sure what Marek meant by “play up,” but he’d get it soon enough. It was Marek’s way of telling Willem that, at least in the Thayan’s mind, Phyrea was Halina’s better, and she was, after all.
“I have every confidence that Willem will do anything to avoid embarrassing either of us or himself,” Meykhati said.
“She’s a charming young thing, though, isn’t she?” Marek prodded. “Phyrea, I mean. Why, in another life, I might have … Well, in another life.”
“Y-you …” Willem stammered. “You know Phyrea?”
Meykhati looked at Willem with disappointment, but the younger man didn’t notice.
“Oh, I’ve known her family for years,” Marek replied. “Even then, well … everyone knows Phyrea, if you know what I mean.”
Willem’s expression was plain. He didn’t know what Marek meant, but he was nervous just the same.
“I haven’t seen her in months,” Willem said. “She left the city. She’s gone to live in the country.”
“Not any more,” Marek was pleased to inform him. “She’s been back for some time. Apparently, the fresh air sufficed to rejuvenate her spirit. Anyway, she seems different somehow. Perhaps she’s simply maturing … growing out of certain things, and so on.”
Willem wore his emotions so plainly on his face Marek would have been embarrassed for him if he hadn’t been having so much fun.
“She’s …?”
They looked up when someone walked into the room, surprised that the privacy they’d paid so dearly for had been interrupted. Marek relaxed when he saw that it was Nyla. He’d almost forgotten that she had been included in the invitation. Apparently, Meykhati was tiring of showing his new boy off to the right people one at a time and was wrapping things up faster.
“Nyla, darling,” Marek said as he stood.
The other two men stood too, as was customary when a lady entered a room, though at least Marek and Meykhati knew
that Nyla was no lady. Marek grinned and they embraced. The woman’s eye patch tickled his face. Meykhati didn’t touch her, but they nodded at each other. She didn’t appear to notice Willem at all at first.
Meykhati made the introductions, and Marek could feel the woman begin to take Willem in. Though she was years his senior, the look in her one eye, the purse of her lips, and the twist of her hips on her chair made it clear that she saw all the things in Willem that Marek had seen.
“So, Senator Nyla,” Marek said, “your trade is well, I hope?”
Nyla grimaced at him. She had taken complete control of prostitution throughout the city years ago and had made herself one of the wealthiest women in Innarlith. Though everyone knew how she made the coin that bought her seat on the senate, and almost every other senator availed himself of her services from time to time, there was an unspoken agreement on the part of all the aristocracy not to address it. Profit from it, live it, but for goodness’s sake, don’t talk about it. Marek adored that sort of genteel hypocrisy.
“Fine,” Nyla answered. She brushed an errant strand of hair off her eye patch. “And you, Master Rymut? It’s been over a month, but you seem no worse off for very nearly being blown back to Bezantur.”
Marek laughed and said, “Oh, no, it wasn’t nearly that bad, my dear. A half-hearted attempt by a poor, lonely, misguided, unfortunate soul. Seems he was miffed with me for having assumed some of his clients some months back. He’s a kind of journeyman alchemist, I’ve been told. Not a good one, but good enough to make loud noises and upset a fine afternoon’s walk. Anyway, I’m from the city of Nethjet.”
They stared at each other for a moment that Marek was sure was uncomfortable for Meykhati and Willem.
“Well,” Nyla said at last, “I’m glad you’re well. I can’t say I remember hearing, though … has the assassin been executed yet? I was told there was some kind of complication?”
“No, the would-be assassin is quite alive,” Marek said. “In fact I’ve recently petitioned the ransar for his release.”
The three senators looked at him with mouths agape. That reaction alone was worth the effort to effect Surero’s parole.
“Really, senators,” he said. “Don’t be bloodthirsty.”
“He tried to kill you, Marek,” Meykhati said.
The Red Wizard shrugged and sat back in his chair.
Meykhati started in on a diatribe about the ingratitude of the masses, but Marek didn’t pay any attention.
71
4 Nightal, the Year of the Wave (1364 DR)
SECOND QUARTER, INNARLITH
Willem stared at the tea in his cup, his head bent down, his shoulders stiff, his back aching. He tried to listen to Halina’s uncle prattle on about the responsibility of the aristocracy and the ascendancy of the masses, but all he wanted was to go home and sleep.
Halina reached out for his hand and he held hers. Her skin was soft and warm, but the touch brought a heaviness to his chest.
“Are you feeling all right, Willem?” she asked. Only then did he realize that Marek had stopped speaking.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I think I’m still exhausted from the move.”
“I’ve heard,” Marek said. “Shepherd’s Stride, isn’t it?”
Willem nodded. Shepherd’s Stride was one of the Second Quarter’s best addresses. The house was magnificent and would indebt him to Meykhati for years more-decades.
“It’s a lovely home,” Halina said.
A strange twinkle passed through Marek’s eyes when she said that, and Halina looked away from her uncle, confused and embarrassed. The heaviness in Willem’s chest grew worse.
They sat in a small parlor in the Thayans’ Second Quarter manor, sipping tea with the pretense of discussing wedding arrangements. Willem had worked harder than he had at anything in his life to change the subject and was both relieved and ashamed at having succeeded.
“I understand you live with your mother,” Marek said.
“She lives with me,” Willem retorted. He stopped and took a shallow breath.
“Of course she does,” the Thayan wizard acquiesced. “That’s generous of you. I assume there’s a brother to look after your holdings in Cormyr?”
Willem didn’t know what to say, so he took a sip of tea. It was a bitter black Thayan blend he practically had to choke down. There was no one left in Cormyr. They had no holdings. All the Korvan family-a family consisting only of he and his mother-owned was a debt to Meykhati, and he couldn’t help but think Marek Rymut knew that.
“An uncle, then,” Marek persisted. “It’s always convenient having a wealthy uncle to look after you, isn’t it? Halina can tell you all about that. Can’t you, dear?”
Halina wouldn’t look at him. She blushed and wrapped herself in her own arms, taking her hand back from Willem. He wanted to embrace her and drag her out of there. He didn’t even understand why, but the urge to rescue her from her uncle’s house was nearly overpowering.
“Halina?” Marek pressed.
“Yes, Uncle,” she said in a voice so small it was barely audible.
“Perhaps there is no uncle or brother left in … where was it?” Marek went on.
“Marsember,” Willem said.
“You do have a reputation of being a self-made man,” the wizard said. “Is that true, Willem? Are you a self-made man?”
“I like to think so, Master Rymut.”
“I told you to call me Marek.”
Willem met his eyes but immediately wilted away.
“Marek, yes,” he said. “I … I apologize.”
Willem looked at Halina, hoping she would say something to transition them out of the uncomfortable silence that followed. She only sat there as if made of slowly melting wax.
“Well, then, I’m sure my niece will benefit greatly from your ambition,” Marek said, “just as she’s benefited from mine.”
Willem nodded and was ashamed for having done so.
“I understand you came to Innarlith with another of your countrymen,” Marek went on. “A shipbuilder, I think, by the name of Devorast?”
Willem’s eyes narrowed. The sound of that name pronounced with a Thayan accent was somehow inappropriate. He hadn’t heard the name in a while.
“Willem?” Marek nudged.
“Oh, yes. Ivar Devorast.”
“Well, he’s making quite the stir. Have you heard?”
Willem shook his head. The last he’d heard Devorast had left Innarlith. Someone told him he’d gone off to the Great Rift to live with the dwarves, but then that never made any sense.
“Well, he’s captured the ear of our unfortunate ransar.”
Willem’s mind reeled. How had Devorast come up from the sad state he’d been in to having somehow won the ear of the ransar?
“Unfortunate?” Willem asked, instantly embarrassed for having latched onto that word.
“If what he’s considering is true, yes. Most unfortunate,” Marek replied. “Your friend Devorast has some odd ideas.”
“He’s not my friend,” Willem said.
“Good,” replied the Thayan with a smile. Halina looked at him and seemed to be trying to smile too, but she couldn’t. “I am your friend, though, aren’t I, Willem? Your friend, at least?”
“At least,” he admitted, looking at Halina to keep from wanting to run away.
“You know the services I provide?” the Thayan wizard asked.
“Magic items, yes,” said Willem. “Spells and suchlike?”
“And suchlike, yes. This … well, not friend, but former countryman of yours has an idea that should it come to pass will be most inconvenient for me. It would have an unfortunate impact on one particular part of those services-a big part.”
Willem nodded, hoping that he gave off the appearance of having any idea what the Thayan was talking about.
“Meykhati tells me that when the time comes, I will be able to depend on you,” Marek said.
Willem nodded and said, “If Senator
Meykhati requires my help, he will get it, and if it harms Ivar Devorast in the process, well, then all the better.”
I thought I was done with him, he thought.
“Good,” Marek said, nodding and grinning. “Very, very good, Senator. I hope you will continue to take great care in choosing your friends.”
Marek stood and looked down at Halina. Willem was startled by the expression of open contempt on the wizard’s face. He looked at his niece as if she’d just crawled out from under a rock. Then he heaved a weary, disappointed sigh and returned his attention to Willem.
“Well, then, I must take my leave of you both. Perhaps next time we meet we’ll discuss the wedding, should that still be of interest to you.”
Willem stood and nodded a slight bow to the wizard, who looked at him so strangely he had trouble sorting it out.
Only after the door had closed behind Marek did Halina seem to relax even a little.
He doesn’t want me to marry her, Willem thought, but not because he thinks she’s too good for me.
Willem looked at his betrothed, who stared at him with damp, dull eyes. Her face always made him feel better, her touch always relaxed him, the warmth of her always made him feel safer.
But then, if Marek Rymut thought she wasn’t good enough for him….
“Willem?” she asked, her face all needy, almost pleading. “What are you thinking?”
He shook his head and sat in silence for a long time trying to think of a lie. She waited patiently while he thought and seemed entirely satisfied with what he finally came up with.
72
7 Nightal, the Year of the Wave (1364 DR)
ON THE SHORE OF THE LAKE OF STEAM
Osorkon came aboard the second ship. They’d run the small, flat-bottomed cogs right up on the rocky beach. The captains, maybe anxious to impress the ransar, barked orders at their men, who moved double-time to begin unloading crate after crate onto the lakeshore.
One of the sailors unfurled a rope ladder that dropped onto the beach. He bowed to Osorkon. The ransar nodded to the young man, swung a leg over the rail, and struggled with the rope ladder. Self-conscious, he didn’t want the sailors to see him fall. When his foot hit the smooth, round rocks he’d never been more relieved.
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