Devastating Hate by Markus Heitz

commission for you.” She went around to the rear of the statue and squatted down to point out where she had emphasized the wound in the älf’s leg, inserting red gold and allowing it to run down to denote trickling blood. “The alloy I have used absorbs heat by day and allows the wound to appear to shimmer by night. No one passing, even at a distance, could fail to notice.”
    Polòtain took a deep breath. “A masterly work of art, Itáni! I shall pay twice what we agreed. No one else in Dsôn could possibly have done better.” He ran his fingers over the black embroidered runes on his grayish yellow robe. Two badges of honor shone at his breast. These were decorations granted him for his past achievements. They were as nothing to him now.
    “I am humbled by your generosity.” The artist stood up and bowed to him. “I know it is what you asked for, but would it not have been appropriate to portray him in a heroic pose?”
    “A hero’s life was not granted to him. He was not granted the chance to join the campaign against Tark Draan and to fall honorably in battle when his time came,” Polòtain replied in a somber tone. “He was betrayed and killed in the most cowardly manner. I want everyone to know! The statue of my great nephew will be a permanent reminder to the guilty until his death is avenged.”
    Itáni summoned a slave by giving a short blast on a whistle she wore around her neck. Refreshments were brought; she partook of fruit wine while Polòtain selected the stronger brandy liqueur. “You realize what this may mean for you?” she asked carefully.
    “It is good of you to want to warn me, Itáni,” he replied with a sad smile.
    “I’m just afraid of losing my best patron and ending my days penniless,” she joked. Then, becoming serious, “Even you cannot risk challenging a nostàroi in this way. He has become very powerful. After the victory in the Gray Mountains he will be able to ask the Inextinguishables for anything he wants. He will go crazy when he hears about Robonor’s statue because he’ll know exactly what it means.”
    Polòtain’s melancholy smile had not faded. “Have I told you where I want it to stand?”
    She narrowed her eyes. “I thought it would be in front of your family house in Avaris.”
    He shook his head, the long blond hair with its gray strands brushing his dark summer coat.
    “That would not have the desired effect.” Polòtain swirled the drink in his cup. “I have purchased a trader’s stand on the marketplace. For one division of unendingness the pitch belongs to me.”
    “But that’s immediately opposite the nostàrois’ plaque of honor,” Itáni exclaimed. She was also aware that one of the main roads crossed that square. Whenever the nostàroi entered Dsôn, he would perforce pass the statue. He would have to walk past this life-sized accusation. “By all that’s infamous! Sinthoras will hate you for that.”
    Polòtain lowered his head, lines of fury crisscrossing his face. “And what do you think I feel for my great nephew’s murderer? Admiration? I am the only älf in Dsôn Faïmon to detest the nostàroi, the greatestgeneral in the history of our peoples, from the bottom of my soul. I detest him to such a degree that I do not even wish him to enter endingness. I want him crushed and humiliated before me in the gutter! Then I shall press his arrogant face into the filth with my foot, so his lungs fill with excrement and he suffocates!” The cup shattered into glass slivers in his hands. “You see how this unimportant, trivial matter upsets me,” he whispered. “Here I am destroying your valuable tableware.”
    Itáni sent for water and a cloth so that he might wash his hands. “I am glad you have not injured yourself.” Slaves appeared and swept up the broken pieces. “I understand how you must feel, my friend.”
    “The worst thing is that nobody else seems to object to how Timanris openly betrayed him,” he said as if he were on