Darkvision - Bruce R. Cordell [74]
Kiril nodded, still suspicious.
Fadheela pulled her along the balcony toward a stairway that spiraled down to the plaza, and whispered as they neared the bottom, "But your presence is unique, and we'd all love to hear something of your journey!"
Kiril muttered, "Blood, I'm sure you would."
Essam met them at the bottom of the stairs.
"How is your stout friend? In Mas'ud's able hands he must be doing better, yes?"
"Much better," Kiril assured him. No need to discuss curses in polite company, she thought.
"How joyous!" her host enthused. "Now come, I've reserved a place of honor for you by the fire. It is always cold down here in Al Qahera, despite the desert above, and you'll be glad to sit close."
Kiril just nodded. She drew most of the eyes in the plaza as Essam and Fadheela led her through the throng. Her neck and cheeks warmed. She did not enjoy being the center of attention.
They made their way to several stools near the fire, as Essam promised. She dropped onto her stool immediately, then saw that everyone else remained standing. She yearned for a pull from her flask. With steely determination, she kept her hands at her sides, but the flush of embarrassment blossomed visibly across her checks.
The Qaherans bowed their heads in a moment of silence. Once concluded, the stillness was shattered by laughter, loud cheers, a cacophony of instruments, and a few songs. Various spirited discussions picked up where they'd left off before the hush. Most everyone sat down at the tables, Kiril was relieved to see.
And so the evening progressed. Portions of burned meat, burned vegetables, and burned fungus were pulled off the spits and sent circulating around the tables. "Burned" was apparently the preferred style of cooking in Al Qahera. Between courses came musical interludes, stories, and acts of skill that included a knife juggler and a puppeteer. Large jugs of water were sent around, cold and fresh, apparently just pulled up from the central well. To Kiril's jaded throat, the water went down like the finest Sildeyuir vintage. It wasn't long before she found herself listening happily to the music, hanging on the words of the storytellers, and laughing uproariously at several extemporaneous acts put on by the desert dwellers.
Essam turned to her and said loudly, "Tell us a story, Kiril!" She stood up, and with uncharacteristic openness, began to relate to the elves of Al Qahera the story of her most recent trip with her employer, Thormud Horn.
Kiril spoke in generalities, without specifying what worried the geomancer so much that he had initiated a trip into the desert. Kiril wasn't even completely clear on what they were chasing. She glossed over certain details, such as Prince Monolith joining them. She didn't want to explain that an earth elemental lord was camped out in front of the dervish community.
When she reached the point in her travelogue where Thormud determined that the true nexus of their quest lay in the Raurin desert, her listeners' interest intensified.
Essam cleared his throat and interrupted Kiril. "Forgive me, but please allow me to ask-what is the nature of this evil that lies out in our desert?"
Kiril shrugged. "I don't know for certain. Thormud called it a 'splinter' that infected the earth. It has something to do with the purple crystal-every threat we've faced has borne a purple crystal."
Exclamations broke out among her audience.
"What is it? What do you know?" demanded Kiril. Essam calmed the Qaherans' outburst and told her, "Perhaps we know something of the thing you seek in the deep desert. It is new, and it is dangerous. We call it the Storm Spike."
CHAPTER TWENTY
The vengeance taker, wizard, and Datharathi fugitive disembarked at Huorm.
Eined scanned the docks for agents hired by her family, but saw nothing suspicious. To hide her identity, she tied her blue sash around her head like a great scarf.
"We'd best keep an eye out, anyway," Eined cautioned, her voice uncertain.
"Datharathi agents aren't as ubiquitous as you'd feared," suggested Ususi.