Voronica Whitney-Robinson - Sands of the Soul

For a moment, Ciredor could again taste the bitter hurt Tazi had felt those years past when he revealed to her that her close confidant had been simply a hired hand. There was an undeniable sweetness to the pain she had emanated that night. Tazi had possessed a certain innocence then, despite the lifestyle she had chosen, and he had been the man to claim that innocence. More than once since then, Ciredor had found himself savoring that memory despite the hatred he harbored at losing to such a child. Finding he couldn't contain himself any longer, he began to pace around the chamber.

"Through clues and signs, I led your would-be-mage to that tableau I carefully staged just for you, dear Thazienne. I even hoped you might recognize my signature on this without any magical assistance, but you proved yourself unworthy again. I suppose I shouldn't be too disappointed in you. After all, in the end, I will get everything I need."

Absently, he stroked his goatee.

"It was rather entertaining to watch that old man you hired strain and groan and sweat as he struggled to animate poor, dead Ebeian," Ciredor said. "And, finally, that corpse told you just enough to whet your appetite and send you to me, bearing gifts, no less."

One side of his mouth turned up into a smirk.

"And still, you don't see."

Ciredor moved swiftly across the chamber to the gem, caught up in his own discourse.

"I was the one who allowed Ebeian to speak, as it were. It was only the words of my choosing that passed through his battered mouth. Will you miss those tender lips, little Tazi?" he wondered.

He kneeled before the dais where the amethyst lay. Stretching one arm across the platform, he allowed his head to rest against it and stared at the jewel as if he was watching a lover sleep.

"Once more, I pull your strings, sweet puppet," he continued softly, "and you dance for me most obediently. I'm waiting here with open arms to welcome you to my home. When you arrive, we will settle the debts between us, Uskevren. When I'm done with you and those you hold dear," his voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "you will wish I'd killed you that first night."

He sat up and tugged at his black tunic, as though he were readying himself for an evening out, brushing at various imagined stains and dust.

"I really can't be bothered by worrisome details right now, though. So," he said, directing his speech back to the gem, "pack your bags quickly and bring yourself and that Calishite beauty here."

He rose in a dignified manner and clasped his hands behind his back.

"I appreciate the aid your butler has given you, so that I am not kept waiting too long," he acknowledged as he began to walk around the stone like a schoolmaster delivering a lesson. "And I appreciate that the gate is all Cale has given you. I would not want him to give you more. In fact," Ciredor grudgingly admitted, "I would not want to have to deal with him to get to you. There is something about him…" he trailed away thoughtfully, "something I can't read."

Snapping himself from his trance, Ciredor studied the room and the figures beyond. Like a drill instructor inspecting his troops, he marched past each one. As if they were pieces of a puzzle, he made sure once again that each fit his needs. When he was satisfied with what he saw, the mage returned to the gem.

"Bring the crown for my queen here, little Tazi," he ordered. "Bring the last piece to my gift. Once it is here, I need only wait until the new moon. A tenday from now and everything changes. And, of course, you are mine."

"Will this rain never cease?" Tazi hissed.

She, Steorf, and Fannah stood before a brick tallhouse on Morrow Street in the Edis quarter. It was well past night's heart, and most of the residences that lined the street were dark. A fine drizzle misted the air.

"It doesn't really matter whether it stops or not," Steorf snapped. "It's not as though you're suffering for it."

Tazi gave him a sharp look before turning to pace a little along the street as she ostensibly looked for guards. Steorf was correct, though. As well as having chosen the black leathers that she had spent the previous day oiling, Tazi also sported a travel cloak, as did Steorf and Fannah. From her head to her ankles, she was protected from the rain by the spell that was woven into the fabric. The precipitation rolled off her. She wasn't going to end up drenched like the other night, but Tazi felt the need to say something, and complaining about the weather was the most obvious and mundane topic of choice.

"I'm going to climb the wall and see if there are any guards we need to know about," she offered.

"I thought your manservant," Steorf stressed that particular title, "guaranteed that this building would be virtually empty for the night."

"There are no guarantees that you can trust," Tazi reminded him. "You should know that by now."

"There are a few, Thazienne," he answered quietly.

Not having a quick retort, she moved past him and crossed the street toward the low wall that surrounded the tallhouse. In one fluid motion, Tazi swung herself onto the top of the wall and crouched low. It felt good to be in motion, even this little bit. She felt ready to jump out of her skin and had a bad taste in her mouth. Tazi knew she couldn't afford to make any mistakes for Fannah's sake, if no one else's.

Glancing back at her two companions, Tazi studied their differences. Steorf, tall and muscular, dressed head to toe in black, looked most formidable, and, Tazi sensed, he was wound tight as a spring. Fannah, on the other hand, stood there as though she were waiting for some visitor to come calling. While she was also dressed in dark tones, with her thick hair tied back in a single, waist-length braid, Tazi noticed there was nothing furtive about her mannerisms. Fannah just seemed to be waiting.

Nothing disturbs her, thought Tazi.

In fact, the only time Tazi ever recalled seeing Fannah shaken was on the night of their first meeting. Tazi, dressed in her leathers, was on her way to the Kit to plan what turned out to be the terrifying rendezvous with Ciredor when she heard shrill screams. She ducked into the alley from which the sounds originated to see that two sailors from Selgaunt Bay were accosting a beautiful foreigner. On a whim, Tazi decided to break things up when she saw how badly the foreigner was defending herself.

In the midst of the altercation, the woman had ample time to take advantage of the "young man's" rescue attempt and slip away, but Fannah had stayed behind. Tazi's first thought had been that the woman was in shock or fearful that her rescuer might be more formidable to deal with than the two drunk fish from the bay and was afraid to move. After some brief swordplay, Tazi left the men bloodied but alive and turned her attention to the object of their drunken desires to see why she still lingered behind.

The raven-haired woman's clothes had been torn, but other than that, she herself was free from injury. On closer scrutiny, Tazi saw that the Calishite woman had ice-white eyes, and she correctly deduced that the stranger was completely blind. Tazi had assumed at the time that Fannah had stayed in the alley while she drove off the attackers because she was sightless. She suspected that Fannah wouldn't have known where to flee. Over time, however, Tazi had been forced to reconsider that theory.

While it was true that Fannah was blind, she was more than capable of accurate vision. It had only taken a moment for her to "see" through Tazi's disguise that night. While so many of the sighted people around her thought Tazi was a young man, a disguise she was very proud of, Fannah knew differently through smell and touch. She had been able to leave the alley at any time during the fight. However, Fannah had chosen to remain. She had given her trust and safety to Tazi's abilities.