Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [28]
“Oh, I suppose that makes sense. Listen, I’m sorry I got you into this. You can walk away and forget it, and I won’t think any less of you. Based on what Leheren said about the fire wizard, we might end up hurt or worse if we beard him in his den.”
“Are you kidding? We’ve stumbled into a font of covert information. And we’re getting paid on top of it. I’ve risked more for less coin.” The pawnbroker made a face at something only he could see, as if he’d just taken a bite of a bad piece of fish.
Good, thought Demascus, I need an ally. He didn’t see that he had a choice in visiting the mad wizard. If Chevesh was behind the demon incursion, he probably also held the keys to Demascus’s missing memory. Plus, the idea of facing off against a wizard in his tower sent a shiver of anticipation through him. He should be afraid, especially since every time he tried to draw his sword, he dropped it, tripped, or otherwise embarrassed himself. But he was going to learn exactly nothing if he turned away.
They retraced their route back to Chant’s shop. Demascus yawned. His legs were like lead weights. He couldn’t ever remember being so tired—
Demascus stopped that line of thought dead in its tracks. He couldn’t remember a lot.
“Nice thinking, telling them how you stumbled on the shrine,” said Chant. “But did you also make up that bit about the ‘Elemental Eye’? Because it sure got Jett’s attention.”
“I didn’t make it up. And yes, I noticed Jett’s reaction. It was a hit. He knows something about it.”
“Maybe. But Jett was full of bluster and threat. People who act that way do so because they’re secretly cowards, or are afraid you’ll find out something they’re trying to keep secret. I couldn’t tell whether he was concealing something or if he was actually scared. Or both!”
Demascus made a noncommittal noise. He wondered if he had once been familiar with the phrase “Elemental Eye?” He was becoming sick of all his self-questions. He concentrated on trudging back to the shop. Because if he considered his situation overlong, he’d be forced to admit he was less afraid of being killed by an annoyed wizard or hungry demon than finding out he wasn’t the hero he hoped for.
What kind of person strangles priests?
CHAPTER SEVEN
AIRSPUR LABYRINTHS
THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
RILTANA FELT LIKE A GARMENT THAT HAD BEEN HIT REPEATEDLY and enthusiastically by a drying cane to knock out laundry water. Yet she was still soaking wet.
With an arm trembling from exhaustion, she pulled herself another foot through sucking mud. She found purchase with her boots on a protrusion. She pushed, extending her legs to their full length, trying to ignore the mud’s cold embrace, and edged forward several more inches. Dirty water dripped into her eyes. But her hands were even more muddy, and wiping at her face, she’d already learned, wouldn’t help.
Blinking furiously, she pulled herself forward another foot. How far along this tunnel had she come? She’d lost track. Riltana knew she was making progress, but to what ultimate end? Light streamed from the sunrod clenched in her teeth. Her jaws were getting tired, and she made an effort not to bite down so hard.
When that piss-drinking bastard flooded the cavern, she’d figured she was dead. The swirling water had knocked her around and flushed her down a drain that dropped almost vertically into the earth. She’d managed a few breaths, but not all had been of air. Her lungs still burned from the coughing jag that had consumed her after the rough water slide spit her out.
Riltana’s head had eventually stopped whirling. So she’d shaken her sunrod from glovespace and taken stock. She had discovered she’d washed up, or down more accurately, into a tunnel hardly wider than a gopher hole. Calling it a tunnel was generous; it was composed of nearly as much mud as air. She couldn’t recall the specific series of loops, slides, and plunges that had deposited her there; she’d been too busy flailing and trying not to drown.
So she began crawling. How long ago was that? Hours?