Sandstorm: A Forgotten Realms Novel by Rowe Christopher

Author:Rowe, Christopher [Rowe, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2011-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Ariella’s fellow Akanûlans came to the garden before Corvus returned. Except for the absent ringmaster, Ariella was the only one of the travelers from Argentor free to leave the WeavePasha’s gardens. But she had chosen to spend the night in one of the tents and stayed on after the morning meal.

“They’ll come and find me soon enough,” she’d told Cephas and Tobin, after Mattias and the twins withdrew to their tents. “They can only plot against each other for so long before they realize that plotting requires wits. Much easier to chide me for my many lapses.”

Chief among these, apparently, was that Ariella was not firesouled like the two genasi who were soon after escorted into the gardens. One of the men was barely taller than Corvus, and the other was almost the same height as Cephas, but each was enormously fat, and both had flickering flames dancing from the glowing orange szuldar lines that webbed their ruddy bronze scalps, the fire mimicking hair. They wore fancifully tailored breeches of a dark orange weave, detailed with red gemstones patterned as flames. These were tucked into high, black leather boots that matched the greatcoats spilling down from their rounded shoulders, boots and coats alike also decorated with fiery patterns.

Tobin eyed the men dubiously as they approached. “What is their act?” he asked.

This delighted Ariella, who clapped. “Oh, let’s allow them to demonstrate for themselves, why don’t we?”

The two men strode toward them in a curious, halting gait. After a moment, Cephas realized that they were attempting to walk in lockstep, but the differences in the length of their strides were so great that this was nearly impossible.

“They must have to practice walking like that,” he murmured to himself, but Ariella heard him.

“You have no idea,” she said.

“Ariella Kulmina,” the tall one said, while Cephas happened to be looking at the shorter one. He was speaking simultaneously, more or less, with his taller companion. But they were not speaking in chorus. The shorter man was speaking a different language, one Cephas felt he would recognize if the man would speak louder. “You stretch the bonds of propriety, again.” The taller one waited for a moment for his fellow to catch up. “You flout the rules of diplomacy, again. You abandon your chambers unannounced, again.”

With the repetitions of “you” and “again” and the curious halt-and-go manner the firesouled had of speaking, Cephas was able to hear the shorter one well enough to recognize individual words.

“He’s speaking Alzhedo,” he said. “Like the freedmen. Or almost.” Cephas frowned. “It is something very like it, anyway.”

Both of the firesouled stopped speaking and stared at him, aghast.

“You … what? How dare you suggest—” The short one snapped his chubby lips together briefly on his companion’s outburst, then dutifully took up his simultaneous translation.

“Save the outrage for your letters to your superiors, Lavacre,” Ariella said. “Cephas is not a citizen of Akanûl—or of anywhere else as far as I’ve been able to determine. He has no reason to know about your sect’s linguistic pretences.

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