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.”
36
8 Marpenoth, the Year of the Staff (1366 DR) The Canal Site
Even during the tendays that Devorast lay writhing in quiet agony, then slowly recovered, construction continued. At first many of the Innarlan diggers, woodcutters, and stonemasons had wandered back and forth from Innarlith, but work had become increasingly difficult to find in the city, so most eventually took up residence at the site. Word spread to neighboring cities, and men came from as far as Arrabar for the ransar’s gold. When those coins diminished over time, increasingly replaced by excuses, Arrabar started to pay the Arrabarrans, Saelmur and Nimpeth supported their own people, and King Azoun sent gold by the trade bar.
They had dug for miles, a trench forty feet deep and three hundred feet wide. Parts of it had already been paved on the bottom and sides with stone blocks. All along the mile after mile the site stretched were scaffolds and rigs of all descriptionstructures Phyrea had never seen before. Many of them no one had ever seen before, all of them drawn from the mind of one man.
When she compared in her mind the parts of the canal that she’d seen near completion and the drawings in the stacks and stacks of parchment in Devorast’s little cabin, they were not merely similar, but perfectly identical.
It would be the greatest monument to one man Faerun had ever known.
Phyrea stumbled on a loose rock, and Devorast took her hand to steady her. His fingers were rough and warm, his grip strong and reassuring. She shuddered at the feeling of his hand in hers, especially when he didn’t let go. She could feel him smiling at her, but she didn’t look at him.
“I can’t come back here anymore,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked, too quick for him.
She wriggled her hand free from his and felt the cold metal of a ring on his finger.
“What is that?” she asked him, then took his hand to examine the ring: a thin gold band traced with a line of engraved runes. “When did you start wearing this?”
Devorast shrugged, and pulled his hand away.
“It’s been almost six months,” she said. “Why would you start to wear that now? If it was anyone but you, I’d think you were wearing it for me.”
He looked at her without speaking, but she knew what he was thinking. He wasn’t wearing it for her.
“Curious?” she asked him. “Is that it?”
He smiled and started walking again. She didn’t follow him.
“If you had died,” she told his back, “I might have killed myself.”
He stopped and turned, the cool autumn breeze pulling his long red hair away from his stern face. “That would have been stupid.”
She shook her head, and tried not to start crying.
“I lived,” he said, and turned around again but didn’t walk away.
“Yes, you did,” Phyrea replied. “You lived, and you went right back to work. And how many times since the spring have they tried to kill you?”
“If they truly wanted me dead,” Devorast said, “they’d have killed me.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I think they have something else in mind for me,” said Devorast. “They think they can frighten me, intimidate me.”
“And when they finally realize they can’t, if they haven’t already, they will kill you,” she said. “And when they do, I won’t kill myself. I can’t kill myself for you.”
“Phyrea, I never asked you to”
“I know,” she cut in. “Of course you never asked that of me. You never asked anything of me. I got you saltpeter from my father’s farm, but you paid me for it. You love me with your body but not with your heartif you even have a heart. You live for this hole in the ground, even if it makes enemies of the whole of Toril, and you don’t even bother fighting them.”
“I fight-“
“For your life,” she shouted. “When they attack you, you defend yourself. I know that. But you don’t fight them, really. You know who it is. You know who’s behind all of it, but will you go back to the city and find him? Will you confront him? Will you have it outbe done with it once and for all? No, you won’t.”
“I have no interest in”
“Damn it, Ivar,” she screamed at him, “they have an interest in you!”
He looked at her and shrugged. The gesture almost made Phyrea drop to her knees and tear her hair out in frustration. Her eyes blurred with tears.
“I know it’s not cowardice,” she told him, getting control of her voice. “But then what is it? I know how beneath you they are, but”
She took a deep breath. She’d said it all before, been trapped by him too many times already. She’d given herself to him, and when she was with him, the ghosts that haunted her fell silent. But then days would passtendays, monthsand she would realize once again that he gave her his body, but too little elsefar, far too little of himself.
“Ivar, I can’t-“
