Scream of Stone

13

8 Eleint, the Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR) First Quarter, Innarlith

How is it possible that you haven’t changed at all?” Surero asked.

Devorast glanced at the alchemist, shrugged, then looked down when a Shou sailor set his canvas bag down on the planks next to him. The young man bowed and scurried back up the gangplank to the deck of the ceramic ship.

“It’s been a mess since you’ve been gone,” Surero went on. “People are saying there’s going to be another in our long line of civil wars.”

“That can’t have anything to do with my having been gone,” Devorast said.

Surero didn’t realize he was joking at first, so rare a thing that was with Devorast. He smiled as Devorast picked up his bag and turned to look back at the ship. Ran Ai Yu stood at the rail and held up a hand. Devorast returned the gesture, turned back, and started to walk. Glancing back a few times at the Shou merchant captain, who continued to stare at Devorast’s receding back, Surero fell into step beside him.

“She isn’t coming?” Surero asked.

“She’s moving on up the Sword Coast to trade.”

As they walked the length of the long pier, Devorast looked at the ships tied up along the way. Surero watched his critical gaze run up the masts and follow the length of their rails. Ahead of them, a gang of stevedores unloaded barrels from a groaning old coaster while the crew hooted at them from the rail. The smell of decayed flesh, intermingled with the sulfurous stench of the Lake of Steam assailed them as they walked, and Devorast slowed. Surero took his arm to keep him moving at pace.

“Zombies,” the alchemist said, “courtesy of the Red Wizards of Thay.”

Devorast didn’t react with the same sort of horrified fascination most people did when they first encountered the new breed of dockhands. Still, it was plain enough in his expression that he didn’t approve.

“It’s worse,” Surero told him. He found it difficult to go on. He didn’t want to say it, but he knew Devorast needed to know. “They’re building the canal, too.”

The sigh that came from Devorast was one of the most frightening sounds Surero had ever heard. He shivered as they passed the zombie work gang. None of the undead creatures paused in their slow, methodical work to notice them. Both men put hands to their faces, covering their noses as they passed.

“They’re still working on it,” Devorast said. “I’m surprised.”

Surero could tell he was disappointed as well.

“Salatis has made speeches about it,” said the alchemist. “He said all the right things then put the whole project in the hands of a fool named Horemkensi. Do you know him?”

Devorast shook his head. They left the zombie longshoremen behind.

“Accidents…” Surero started, then just shook his head. “It’s been a long time.”

“I was told that you were brewing beer,” Devorast said, and Surero was surprised to see him smiling.

“I am,” Surero admitted. “I don’t mind it, actually. I make good beer.” The alchemist sighed and said, “It’s been a long time.”

“Has it?”

“Seven months?”

“Are they following the plans?” Devorast asked. “My drawings?”

“The best they can, I think,” Surero said. “But their best is horrendous. There’s a hope that the new ransar will be more inclined to bring you back. If there is a new ransar, “that is.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the time I’ve been in Innarlith,” Devorast said as they stepped off the wood-plank pier and onto the gravel streets of the First Quarter, “it’s that there will always be another ransar.”

Surero smiled and said, “You haven’t changed.”

“It hasn’t been that long. We have a lot of work to do.”

“What do you intend to do?”

Devorast didn’t miss a step. “I intend to finish itmy way, whoever the ransar is.”