Darkvision - Bruce R. Cordell [25]
Warian searched his memory, but came up blank.
"I'm sorry, I've been gone from Vaelan for most of the last five years. When I left, I was the only one who had such a… um, crystal prosthesis."
"Hmph," the driver snorted, and turned down a high but narrow alley. "You're in good company now, eh? Datharathi's got the goods. They'll make you 'stronger, faster, smarter- better!' if you got the gold."
Warian shook his head and said, "But this prosthesis is worse than a real arm. It's slow, weak, and I can't feel a thing through it! I have this arm because I lost my real one in an accident. Who'd want that?" But, indeed, what of the flash of potency, the reason he'd returned to Vaelan in the first place?
"Well," the driver responded, chuckling. "You got a bad deal. The plangents I've seen are none of that-you put a plangent against me in a pulling contest, and even though I've pulled this rickshaw every day for thirteen years, a plangent'd beat me every time, if he had a brand new overhaul."
"What's this word you keep saying-plangent? Anyone who gets a prosthesis is a plangent?"
"Well, yeah, that's what we call 'em. But from what I heard, you can't just replace an arm, a leg, or an eye. They replace stuff on the inside, too, stuff we can't see. The plangents-they're supposed to live longer-they're their own thing now. A new thing. A plangent." The driver snorted, then yelled at another porter who edged in front of him at an intersection.
Warian sat back. Uncle Xaemar and Grandfather Shaddon had been busy. Warian was confident that the crystal of his arm stopped at his shoulder. Since he'd been given his fake arm, they must have refined and expanded the technique. And improved it-no one would give up the limb they were born with for something worse, like Warian's. Well, it was usually worse. Did all the plangents enjoy the strength and speed he'd accidentally discovered? A scary thought! He didn't know enough, clearly.
All the more reason to seek out Eined first and get an unadulterated account from her before being propagandized by his elders.
* * * * *
Eined Datharathi lived in a quiet tenement in the upscale West Gardens district. Those who lived in West Gardens paid into a fund that employed spellcasting and sword-bearing sentries to make certain that things stayed quiet and safe. Thus, Warian was doubly surprised when he arrived to find Eined's door open, and her abode in the process of being robbed.
The awful crash of breaking glass and the gruff sound of men's voices echoed from within, confounding Warian for only a moment. He dashed through the entry passage yelling, "Eined!"
The entry parlor contained a single intruder, who whirled as Warian came upon him. The intruder, dressed all in gray and sporting greasy hair, held a metal prying bar clutched in one hand. All around the man, evidence of ransacking littered the room. Mirrors that once graced the walls were shattered on the floor. Carpets were pulled up, drapes were torn down, and chairs lay broken.
"Where is Eined?"
"She ain't here, and if you know what's good for you, you'll shove off, too," said the man with the metal rod.
Warian didn't know what was good for him. He willed his prosthesis, "Go!" but it remained as dull as ever. So he punched the intruder with his flesh-and-blood hand. The man's head rocked back.
"Who are you? Where's my sister?" demanded Warian.
The man shook his head, rubbing the back of his hand across the cut on his lip. He said, "That was a mistake. Now I got to feed you this!"
The intruder smacked the iron bar into his open palm, leering at Warian. But he didn't attack. Instead, he glanced down the hallway to the sitting room and yelled, "Hey! Get your butts up front! We got a visitor."
A voice called from farther in the house-a man's voice, not Eined's. "What you talkin' about, Revi?"
The man facing Warian, apparently named Revi, yelled back. "Just get your ugly mugs out here, will ya? We got trouble-a plangent."
"I'm