Jugar glowered back at the human in silence for a time, then his features softened slightly. “Wait! Hold still for a moment.”
Drakis turned toward the dwarf. “What is it?”
“Turn back around. . a little more,” the dwarf murmured, his eyes fixed intently on Drakis. “Now lean forward just a little. . there.”
“What are you up to, dwarf?”
“Hold still, please.”
The sound of the water murmured across the silence.
“May I finish now?” Drakis ask impatiently.
“Yes,” the dwarf responded thoughtfully. Several heartbeats passed before he spoke again. “Those scars on your back. . how did you get those?”
Drakis poured another ladle of water over his head, brushing the remaining grains of pumice from his skin as he spoke. “Which scars?”
“Those rather nasty looking scars on your back,” Jugar replied. “Who gave those to you?”
“I’m an Impress Warrior, dwarf,” Drakis scoffed. “We all have scars.”
“So I have observed,” Jugar continued. “But these are particularly nasty looking. I would venture to say that such scars would be most memorable indeed. So, when did you get them?”
Drakis absently reached his right hand around his side, running his fingers along the ridges of his skin. “Why, I. . isn’t that something? I don’t remember.”
“Have you ever seen them?” Jugar said through his still chattering teeth.
“Seen them? Now how would I see them? They’re on my back.”
“You don’t know your own past, Drakis, my friend.” Jugar’s eyes squinted as he considered them. “So perhaps you’ll believe me if I tell you something about your future. Your beloved Lord Timuran has not called you back to gratefully accept your bountiful conquest but to take out his rage on you.”
Drakis set the ladle down slowly, the features of his face hidden in shadows. “That is no prophecy, dwarf. I could have told you that. I will be shamed before him.”
“You will be more than shamed, Drakis,” the dwarf continued, his gruff voice firm and sure. “He will strike you, lay open your flesh to agonizing pain and all your tears, and protest, and pleadings of your love for him will be soundless in his ears. He will not stop.”
Drakis stalked over toward Jugar, the silhouette of his muscular frame looming over where the dwarf crouched. “The foolish curse of a dwarven fool! My master has never so much as touched me in anger!”
The dwarf looked up, the softened look of his eyes framed in the square of light from above.
“He would kill you if he could, Drakis, this very afternoon. But someone will intervene on your behalf-and will save your life, though in doing so you will wish that you had died.”
“Only gods can know the future,” Drakis said flatly.