than before. “All the same, if I can’t have it in Candlekeep, I don’t want it at all.”
“And nothing can change your mind, Pelias?”
He laughed, as though we had been making jokes. “Nothing.”
“Ah, well.” I sighed wearily. “Then would you give me a drink?” On the side of my litter opposite Pelias, I bent my wrist back. “That terrible stench is making me sick.”
“Stench?” Pelias frowned. He picked up the copper water pitcher. “What are you talking about?”
“Your nose is not offended?” Truly, I was amazed. Then you must leave Candlekeep at once-you have been here too long.”
Pelias laughed and brought the water to me. “The only thing that smells here is-well, never mind, my friend.”
“Indeed? You cannot smell it? It is the fetor of the grave, rotting corpses and mold.”
Pelias grimaced. “I think I’d notice.”
I scowled. “And what of the insects? Does their rustling not drive you mad?”
Pelias raised his brow. “Insects? We don’t allow them in Candlekeep, Mukhtar. They damage books. There are magic wards to keep them out”
“Indeed!” I gasped. Then it came to me where I had heard a similar rustling before, and smelled a similar odor the night Gwydion and the woman had arrived with the Cyrinishad “No insects at all?”
“Not enough to rustle, certainly.” Pelias leaned down to hold the pitcher to my mouth. Had my arm been free, I could have plucked my dagger from his belt. “Are you thirsty or not?”
I raised my head and saw that I had enough freedom to do as I planned, and then some. Pelias tipped the pitcher to fill my mouth with water, but I closed my throat and spat it all back at him and made a terrible coughing. At the same time I jerked my left hand from beneath the middle strap, freeing my arm to a point just above the elbow. Pelias placed a hand behind my head to support it, then poured again. “Swallow, Mukhtar!”
This I did. I also reached across my chest and grabbed Pelias by the shoulder. Through his robe, I gathered a knot of chain mail and jerked him down upon my body and when his head came close to my face I seized his ear with my teeth and bit down as hard as a camel. “Mukhtar!” He tried to pull away.
I held fast. Pelias couldn’t free himself without tearing his own ear from his head. I jerked my right hand free of the strap, then reached up and fumbled at his sword belt until I felt the hilt of my dagger.
“Mukhtar, what are you doing?”
But Pelias knew what I was doing; this was obvious by the fear in his voice and the fierceness with which he struggled He ripped half his earlobe off trying to pull free of my teeth and he dented the copper pitcher on my head. Had he but known how this pain fueled my strength! He fought mightily to free himself and grab my dagger, and with only one hand and my jaws to restrain him, it was a difficult thing to hold him near. My blade scraped back and forth across his abdomen finding no weak links in his chain mail. Still, the advantage was mine; he was fighting only to escape death, and I was fighting to escape damnation. Even as his torn ear poured blood over my face, I turned my dagger and drove the point through the jangling armor.
It plunged deep into his stomach. I worked the blade this way and that, twisting and turning, as did the Caliph’s assassins to ensure that their victims grew too weak to give battle. Pelias howled; I pushed him away, and he collapsed to the floor, leaving me drenched in glistening blood.
Thus I repaid the kindest friend I ever had: with treachery and injury and agony. My heart should have been glad, for nothing delights the One like the betrayal of a friend, which is always a veneration of the day he killed Kelemvor. But I felt empty and unclean, a leper inside and out. At that moment I counted myself Faithless, and in my despair, I could not pay Cyric his due.
I cut myself free and went to Pelias’s side. I removed his robe and his armor and bathed his
“And nothing can change your mind, Pelias?”
He laughed, as though we had been making jokes. “Nothing.”
“Ah, well.” I sighed wearily. “Then would you give me a drink?” On the side of my litter opposite Pelias, I bent my wrist back. “That terrible stench is making me sick.”
“Stench?” Pelias frowned. He picked up the copper water pitcher. “What are you talking about?”
“Your nose is not offended?” Truly, I was amazed. Then you must leave Candlekeep at once-you have been here too long.”
Pelias laughed and brought the water to me. “The only thing that smells here is-well, never mind, my friend.”
“Indeed? You cannot smell it? It is the fetor of the grave, rotting corpses and mold.”
Pelias grimaced. “I think I’d notice.”
I scowled. “And what of the insects? Does their rustling not drive you mad?”
Pelias raised his brow. “Insects? We don’t allow them in Candlekeep, Mukhtar. They damage books. There are magic wards to keep them out”
“Indeed!” I gasped. Then it came to me where I had heard a similar rustling before, and smelled a similar odor the night Gwydion and the woman had arrived with the Cyrinishad “No insects at all?”
“Not enough to rustle, certainly.” Pelias leaned down to hold the pitcher to my mouth. Had my arm been free, I could have plucked my dagger from his belt. “Are you thirsty or not?”
I raised my head and saw that I had enough freedom to do as I planned, and then some. Pelias tipped the pitcher to fill my mouth with water, but I closed my throat and spat it all back at him and made a terrible coughing. At the same time I jerked my left hand from beneath the middle strap, freeing my arm to a point just above the elbow. Pelias placed a hand behind my head to support it, then poured again. “Swallow, Mukhtar!”
This I did. I also reached across my chest and grabbed Pelias by the shoulder. Through his robe, I gathered a knot of chain mail and jerked him down upon my body and when his head came close to my face I seized his ear with my teeth and bit down as hard as a camel. “Mukhtar!” He tried to pull away.
I held fast. Pelias couldn’t free himself without tearing his own ear from his head. I jerked my right hand free of the strap, then reached up and fumbled at his sword belt until I felt the hilt of my dagger.
“Mukhtar, what are you doing?”
But Pelias knew what I was doing; this was obvious by the fear in his voice and the fierceness with which he struggled He ripped half his earlobe off trying to pull free of my teeth and he dented the copper pitcher on my head. Had he but known how this pain fueled my strength! He fought mightily to free himself and grab my dagger, and with only one hand and my jaws to restrain him, it was a difficult thing to hold him near. My blade scraped back and forth across his abdomen finding no weak links in his chain mail. Still, the advantage was mine; he was fighting only to escape death, and I was fighting to escape damnation. Even as his torn ear poured blood over my face, I turned my dagger and drove the point through the jangling armor.
It plunged deep into his stomach. I worked the blade this way and that, twisting and turning, as did the Caliph’s assassins to ensure that their victims grew too weak to give battle. Pelias howled; I pushed him away, and he collapsed to the floor, leaving me drenched in glistening blood.
Thus I repaid the kindest friend I ever had: with treachery and injury and agony. My heart should have been glad, for nothing delights the One like the betrayal of a friend, which is always a veneration of the day he killed Kelemvor. But I felt empty and unclean, a leper inside and out. At that moment I counted myself Faithless, and in my despair, I could not pay Cyric his due.
I cut myself free and went to Pelias’s side. I removed his robe and his armor and bathed his
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