(1366 DR) The Chamber of Law and

Civility

"Be seated, honored colleagues," Salatis said from the podium.

Willem sat with the rest of the senators, keeping his eyes on the blank page.

"I thank you all for allowing me to humble myself before you," the ransar went on, the greeting the same every time.

With a shaking hand Willem took the quill from its stand and dipped it into his ink well. He could tell from both the sound and the feel of it that the ink was dry.

"I will not take up too much of your precious time this evening," said Salatis, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Before I begin, I offer a prayer to Mask, the Lord of Shadows."

While the senate chamber echoed with the murmurs of the outraged or surprised members, Willem lifted the dry quill out and dragged it across the parchment anyway. Only the faintest smudge of gray-black marred the smooth surface.

"It is you, Lord of Shadows, that tells us the truth of what is most real: that which we can hold in our hands, lock in our coffers, or rule with the strength of our hands and hearts. We expect nothing from you, Honored Lord, but the truth of your words of warning. You have given us all you should and all you ever will, and for that we thank you."

The senators grumbled in response. Willem pressed harder and tore a small hole in the parchment sheet. "The city-state of Innarlith is in possession… no, I apologize… I should say that the city-state of Innarlith was in possession of a canal that will revolutionize trade in all Faerun. Promises were made by my predecessor and his agent, but were those promises kept?"

Then Willem pressed harder still and scratched the surface of his desktop.

"This once promising endeavor became a drain on our precious but limited resources, but still we believed. Still we sent our gold and our workers out to the monster-haunted frontier and all of our gold and some of our workers didn't come back."

Hand still shaking-maybe shaking even worse- Willem replaced the quill and laid a hand flat on the sheet of parchment. Even there it trembled.

"But at least it was ours. At least it belonged to the city-state of Innarlith. But in the past months, even that has changed. But has it only been over the past few months? Or was it the intention all along, of the late Ransar Osorkon, to sell this city piece by piece to our neighbors? When we were told that others would share in our fortunes, that was fine. We hold the canal, but not the Vilhon Reach, not the Sword Coast-but we hold the canal!"

Willem tried to take a deep breath, but hiccupped instead.

"And now," Salatis went on, "here we are, months on, and not only our gold is being used to dig this hole, but Arrabarran gold, gold from Cormyr, gold from Aglarond, from Sembia even, and points all up and down the Sword Coast from Athkatla north to faraway Luskan. An army of men dig and saw and toil, and how many of them are Innarlan? How many are Cormyrean? How many Arrabarran? And if Mask's wisdom has taught us anything, it's that all you are is what you hold in your hand, and when Arrabarran hands hold our soil, our soil becomes Arrabarran soil."

Willem's vision blurred a little, and he started to blink so that the scene in front of him flickered-but what was it he was looking at? The new ransar babbling about something.

"But then what can we expect from this man, this foreign man, Ivar Devorast?"

That's right, Salatis was babbling about Ivar Devorast.

"He comes from Cormyr with his strange accent and high-handed manners. As arrogant as his king, he spits in the face of every member of this esteemed body, and every man, woman, and child who calls Innarlith home."

No matter where Willem went, how high he rose, or how many concessions he made to his patrons in the senate, the conversation always went to Devorast.

"This Ivar Devorast builds nothing for the city-state of Innarlith. So who does he build for? Azoun? The Simbul? Not me. Has he even come here? Has he even passed through our gates in months? He hides in my keep on the Nagaflow when his enemies strike at him-and he has attracted enemies, take my word for that-and he spends the lives of my soldiers to keep himself safe, but has he even once come before this body? We all know that he has not. Has he even once come to the Palace of Many Spires or the Chamber of Law and Civilityh, even just to report to his patrons on his progress? I can assure you, he has not."

Everyone always wanted to talk about Ivar godsbed-amned Devorast.

"So, who does Ivar Devorast work for?"

"Himself," Willem whispered, so softly even he could barely hear it.

"Does he work for King Azoun? I know I don't. And I know you don't."

Willem sighed and hiccupped again. He needed a drink.

"Senators," Salatis pronounced, his voice heavy with false drama, "I have come to you tonight to inform you that I have decided to call an immediate halt to all work on the canal. I have ordered the forces of the city-state, led by my own black firedrakes, to peacefully repatriate all foreign workers, and to seize all outstanding foreign gold, and I have ordered them to do this immediately."

Willem shook his head and almost laughed at that.

"When I am certain that things are well in hand-well in Innarlan hands-I will allow work to recommence. Until that time, the Cormyrean Ivar Devorast will no longer be welcome here."

Willem cringed. He closed his eyes and quivered as his face pinched up and his fingers curled into fists.

"Senators, I thank you for your time. Good night, and may the Lord of Shadows bless this body and the people of the great city-state of Innarlith. Praise be to Mask."

A deafening round of applause made Willem cover his ears with his hands, until he realized that Meykhati was clapping, so he clapped too. And he continued to clap as Salatis made his way slowly from the podium, clasping hands with a select group of senators-including Meykhati and Nyla-along the way.

Fools, he thought. He's not just going to go away.

Willem could never be that lucky.