Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [37]
Demascus cleared his throat and tried again. He said, “I apologize, mage. I need to find something out. For instance … do you know who I am?” He held his breath.
Chevesh’s blond eyebrows rose slightly as he gave Demascus a closer look. Then he said, “No. Should I? Are you the new deliveryman from the prison?”
Demascus said, “The—”
“We are the new deliverymen from the prison,” interrupted Chant from the doorway. “But it looks like we’ve caught you at a bad time. We’ll come back in the morning, when it’s full light out. How’s that sound?”
Chevesh regarded the pawnbroker for a moment, then said, “Neither of you wear the prison insignia, and if you’d come from there, you’d know to leave the inmates in the cells I’ve prepared on the third floor.”
“We’re new,” persisted the pawnbroker.
The wizard said, “Chant Morven, isn’t it? I haven’t taken so much haepthum that I don’t recognize one of Airspur’s up-and-comers. You pull the strings of snitches, sniffers, and gossip-mongers who infest Airspur’s dingier neighborhoods. At least, when you’re not selling people’s castoffs.”
“Ah. I’m delighted my reputation precedes me,” said the pawnbroker—in tones that implied the opposite.
Chevesh descended until his feet, tucked into boots the color of blood, touched the floor. He returned his regard to Demascus and said, “But I don’t know you. Yet you asked me as if I should. So tell me; who are you? I don’t even recognize your race. You’re no genasi, nor human either.”
The wizard didn’t think him human? Demascus pushed the feeling of surprise to the back of his mind to deal with later. He said, “I don’t know who I am. I was hoping you might.”
“Lost your faculties, eh? How fascinating. But why would I know? I’m no mind reader or fortune-teller. However … there is a way to learn more about you. How would you like to volunteer for a little test?”
“Could your test restore my memory?”
“I doubt it.” Chevesh shrugged. He walked to the iron chair with the straps. “But, if you’ll just sit yourself down right here—”
“Does your research have anything to do with demons?” interjected Chant, who still retained his position just outside the room.
Chevesh said, “Demons? Please. Nothing lies down that path but degraded bloodlines and disturbing dreams. Believe me, I’ve tried. Decades ago. It was a blind alley for my purposes. Look around; see any demons? Any Abyssal alphabets? Can you smell the stink of fiendish ichor or hear the screams of sacrificial victims? No.”
“Then what is your research?”
“I am on the trail of primordial blood. To begin with, I aim to instill the blood of firesoul genasi into one not born with that heritage.”
“Why?” said Demascus.
“Because I want it!” the wizard screamed suddenly. He cleared his throat and returned to his original calm tones, “Once I perfect the technique, I’ll apply it to myself. Imagine how extraordinary that will be.”
The wizard’s eyes gave off twin streams of smoke. The man had apparently already made some steps toward his goal.
Chevesh continued, “Now, enough with the all the questions.” The wizard patted the seat and raised his eyebrows to Demascus in invitation.
“Hold on,” said Demascus, taking a step back. “You’re telling me you don’t know anything about a demon summoning ritual gone wrong west of Airspur?”
Chevesh gave an exasperated sigh. “You seem awfully interested in demons. Is that what I sense is different about you? Does the blood of fiends runs in your veins?”
“No,” said Demascus, “At least, I don’t think so …”
“Sit down, and we’ll find out.” said Chevesh.
“Demascus, I think it’s time for us to leave this nice gentleman,” said Chant. “We have an appointment to keep.”
The wizard frowned. As thoughtlessly as if swatting a fly, Chevesh flicked his wand in Chant’s direction. A bead of flame snapped from the end. The pawnbroker dived out of the door as the bead detonated into a ball of swirling incandescence. The boom and shockwave swept back across the laboratory, shoving scrolls off workbenches, fluttering Chevesh’s robes, and enveloping Demascus in a rush of