Sands of the Soul (3 page)

“What have we here?” asked Ciredor, almost gently, the glow from his hands having revealed the thief’s pointed ears.

Ebeian could feel Ciredor’s icy hands on his face. Between the suffocating weight of Ciredor’s magic and the pain from his shoulder he was nearly unconscious, but the elf could tell that Ciredor had raised his head from the floor and was lightly turning it this way and that.

“It is almost too impossible to be true,” came Ciredor’s shocked response. “An elf in this city… and one who bears the mark of Fenmarel Mestarine?”

Ebeian watched as at the wave of Ciredor’s hand the heavy table righted itself. He could see that Rorsin had finally found his feet and was nearly to the door to the outer hallway, clearly out of his element. Ebeian could have laughed at the sight the boy presented. He looked for the entire world like a child waiting for the punishment of a schoolmaster, if he could have made any sound at all.

Ebeian was rapidly losing consciousness. His thoughts

drifted back to Tazi. He could see her green eyes and smiling mouth, and he could hear her joyful giggles.

“You have no idea how special you are,” Ciredor said, “and what is in store for you.”

Ebeian was startled awake from his dazed vision to see black eyes boring into him. Turning his head slightly, he realized he was stretched out on the heavy table. Almost against his will, tears slipped from his eyes to run their course into his pointed ears.

In a low, melodic voice, Ciredor began a heinous chant. Pain exploded both inside and out of the elf s body. Rorsin crouched in the corner, unable to look. Gut-wrenching screams tore frbm Ebeian’s lips. Outside, the sickly fog swallowed all light and sound.

Dark and empty,” Tazi spat out.

Her hair was plastered to her face, and the rain showed no sign of slowing. It was difficult enough trying to keep her balance on the taut rope but the winds added another element she had to compensate for. She couldn’t even afford to wipe her hair away from her eyes. She needed her arms positioned right where they were for balance.

“This seemed like such a good idea a few hours ago,” she shouted over the wind, to no one in particular.

The only thing Thazienne Uskevren was not concerned with was discovery. In such foul weather, no one in their right mind would be out, let alone looking up between the tallhouses of this quarter of Selgaunt. There was nearly no chance she would be seen, let alone heard, balanced as

she was on a thin rope stretched between two of the more reputable buildings in the area.

She inched her way across the slick rope, with her night’s reward clutched tightly in her right hand. It was her first theft in almost a year. The glass figure Tazi had pilfered was meant to be a gift but was quickly turning into useful ballast. With that in one hand, and her sack of tools in the other hand, arm outstretched for counterbalance, she was nearly to the opposite tallhouse and relative safety. Her lips began to curl upward in a slightly demented smile as her “wilding” neared its successful end. If the wind hadn’t been howling so, she probably would have heard the telltale creak that rope makes just before it gives way, but she couldn’t hear anything over the roar of the wind.

With only a few more paces to go, the line snapped near where it was tied off on the first roof. Tazi plummeted toward the ground with no time even to scream. Without thinking, she immediately let go of both her sack and the glass bauble she had so recently liberated. Using a move the family butler, Erevis Cale, had taught her a few years back, Tazi twisted to one side and curled herself into a tight ball. She began to tumble through the air in a more managed fashion and gain some control. She broke out of her somersault when she caught a glimpse of a pole screaming into view. It was fastened to the side of the second tallhouse.

Normally, the tallhouse owner’s colors would have hung there, but the banner had been taken in due to the weather. Tazi grabbed onto the wooden staff and spun around it madly for a few revolutions. The rain, of course, as well as some moss had made the wood slick, and her dismount was uncontrolled, leaving much to be desired. Fortunately for her, the ground was not too far below.

Landing hard on her rump, Tazi lost her breath in one whoosh. Momentarily dazed, she could only blink water from her eyes, a mostly useless exercise in the deluge. Even if she

weren’t dressed as a not-so-respectable young man, part other normal, “evening” clothing when she was on jaunts such as this, anyone who knew her would have had a hard time recognizing her. The only daughter of one of Selgaunt’s wealthiest families had come to rest ignominiously in a puddle of mud in the alleyway between the two tallhouses.

Regaining her composure, Tazi stood and disgustedly tried to wipe her leathers clean with her gloved hands, as she flexed this part other and that to assess any injuries. Realizing there was little chance of cleaning off the bulk of the filth, Tazi allowed a foul expression to fix itself on her face. Acknowledging to herself that it was her pride that was wounded and nothing more, she began looking for her prize.

It only took a few moments of foraging for her to discover her sack, half hung up as it was on one of the lower window casements of the second tallhouse. The broken end of the rope swayed mockingly nearby and Tazi cursed herself for not examining her equipment more closely earlier in the evening. She decided to berate herself later and salvage at least something from this miserable night.

With a quick jump, she reclaimed her sack with slightly more grace than her previous endeavor. The glass figurine did not fair so well. It had smashed into a few large shards. Tazi held one piece up for a moment and examined it absently, then let the piece drop to the street and kicked at the remains viciously, lucky that her boots were tough leather.

“I quit,” she cried aloud and began to make her way out to Rindall’s Way.

As she had rightly suspected, Tazi passed no one on her slow march back to the Oxblood Quarter and the Shattered Kit Fox. With the unusually warm weather passed nearly a tenday ago, the blustery and wild conditions of Marpenoth had returned. Only the most destitute or desperate would have no choice but to brave the inclement weather that night. And, of course, the serious sellers that Selgaunt was famous for. The climate, as it turned out, was a perfect

match for Tazi’s mood: stormy. The cloak she kept in her sack provided little cover and practically no warmth. All she wanted was a warm mug of wine and some dry clothes—and to be left in peace.

Such a simple job, she chided herself, and I still failed. What’s wrong with me? she wondered, but she had no answer.

Soon enough, she was on Larawkan Lane, with the Kit in sight. The tavern had been her home away from home for nearly the past five years. Stormweather Towers, the Uskevren mansion, was spacious enough most of the time, but Tazi had discovered that keeping rooms at the Kit afforded her a certain amount of freedom that she found almost nowhere else. It was a place where, even though she was disguised, Tazi could be herself.

“There is privacy in anonymity,” the family butler had once remarked to her. Like so many of his lessons, Tazi had taken it to heart.

She reached the battered door of the Kit and pushed at it, her anger fueling her. The door slammed open, drawing bemused stares from the few patrons inside. The foul weather had made for a slow night at the normally bustling tavern. At the sound of the clatter, the barkeep shot the newcomer an angry look. Tazi returned his glare for a moment before turning to close the door behind her. As Tazi passed under one of the glow lights fixed near a support timber, Alall, both barkeep and co-owner, was able to get a better glimpse of the sopping wet intruder. Recognition lit across his face, and his gray-grizzled jowls softened as he began to smile.

Ignoring his welcoming look, Tazi made for a table in the northwest corner of the bar. She shook off her wet cloak and slung it on a nearby stool with her sack. Slumping into a chair against the wall, she began to peel off some of her outer garments, but not enough clothes to ruin the illusion that she was a young man. She was always careful about that. As Tazi began to scrub ineffectually at her soaked hair, a dishrag was suddenly thrust under her nose.

“Here you go, poppet,” Alall offered. “I believe you’ve brought in enough water tonight to rival the River Arkhen,” he chuckled good-naturedly.

Tazi quietly accepted the cloth and began to towel dry her short, dark locks.

Not too put off by her silence, the barkeep continued, “What can I offer you to warm yourself? Some hot cider or a mug of mulled wine?”

“Just some hot wine, Alall,” Tazi replied abruptly, not looking him in the eye.

“Right away,” he cheerfully answered, but the cheer was

somewhat forced. t

Alall had a keen, albeit somewhat aged eye, and he knew something was troubling the cleverly disguised woman in front of him. In fact, he suspected something had been bothering her for some months. He decided to try another tactic.

“I’ll see if I can scare up my good-for-nothing wife and get her into the kitchen for you,” Alall said, as he lit the gutted candle on her table.

Tazi looked up sharply until she realized that Alall was teasing with his “good-for-nothing” remark.

“Don’t trouble Kalli on my account,” she said.

“No trouble for you, poppet,” he replied.

He walked away before Tazi could come up with another reason not to eat.

Tazi sighed and leaned back in her chair as she watched Alall bustle off. She shook her head disgustedly. There was just no stopping the innkeeper once he had a notion fixed in his gray head. Normally, she felt comfortable and safe there. Nevertheless, she was antsy and agitated.

“It must be these wet things,” she mumbled and tried to dry herself with Alall’s dishrag.

As she blotted her throat and shoulders, Tazi winced when she ran the cloth over a section of her chest. She dropped the rag and ran her hand along her breastbone. Once more she realized that the wound had long since healed over. There

Sands of the Soul*

was hardly any trace of the scar left after all this time, just the memory of pain. Almost against her will, though, Tazi found her thoughts drifting back to that fateful evening nearly two years past.

It had all started out well enough. The typical family response to a semi-important festival day: over the top and all the most elite of Selgaunt in attendance. Tazi had again favored a Cormyrean-styled gown chosen to drive her mother, Shamur, to distraction. Some details were vague but Tazi smiled slightly as she was sure Shamur had been angry about her clothing selection that evening. Tazi was also certain her mother was angered by the fact that her daughter was once again ignoring the eligible men Shamur carefully positioned before her. Tazi had chosen to give most of her attention to the daughter of a family friend: Meena Foxmantle. Tazi had chosen this course for its aggravation value alone.

Meena was not the most exciting company, being rather a mousy sort of girl. Normally, Tazi would have only spent time with her if she had been forced to, but more than anything she enjoyed being contrary where her mother was concerned. Talking to a girl all evening was not what Shamur expected her daughter to do.

As the evening and Meena’s ceaseless prattle dragged on, Tazi recalled letting her eyes wander. She remembered her elf friend Ebeian had been in attendance, but he was too busy working the room to do more than nod in her direction. Of course, Erevis Cale managed to catch her glance more than once that evening.

Erevis…

“What can I fix up for you?” a warm voice interrupted.

Tazi was startled out of her reverie by the question. She looked up into the hazel eyes of Alall’s wife Kalli. The tall woman loomed over Tazi, who sat hunched in the corner. Almost as old as Alall, Kalli stood a good head taller than her husband. Tazi could tell that Kalli, like Alall, was trying to mask the concern etched on her face with little success.

“Please don’t bother, Kalli,” Tazi said with a half-hearted smile. “I told Alall not to trouble you, but he just doesn’t seem to listen to anyone but you once he gets an idea stuck in his head.”

“He knows well enough to mind me,” she replied jokingly, almost distracted by Tazi’s comment. But too many years in the Sembian army had trained the woman well. She could recognize misdirection when it came her way. “It really is no trouble. You should have something substantial inside you, especially if you’ve been up to no good.” At this, Kalli gave a slight nod to Tazi’s cloak and sack. “Even a bit of stew would do you good.”

Tazi would have bridled if her mother had talked to her like that, even though their infamous quarreling had softened over the past year to something more like gentle fencing. But with Kalli, she had never felt anything other than companionship. Tazi respected and even envied the quiet discipline the older woman possessed. It went beyond her years of military service and training. Tazi recognized that Kalli felt complete in herself and with who she was.

“Maybe just a little stew, if it isn’t too much trouble,” she relented, mostly to please Kalli but also to buy herself some time alone.

The tall woman brushed a strand of her slightly graying blond hair from her eyes, and her strong features relaxed some at Tazi’s acquiescence.

“No trouble where you’re concerned.” With that, she headed off to the kitchen.

Tazi’s gaze drifted to the flickering light of the candle, and she shivered slightly. She could hear the rain pounding outside. It would take some time before her leathers would dry out after the night’s failed escapade. While it would only take a few moments to wander upstairs to her rented room and change, Tazi found that she was suddenly too tired to bother. Her failure weighed her down. Nothing seemed to go her way and hadn’t since that night. Involuntarily, her fingers

trailed lightly across the faint scar on her chest. Once again, Tazi was caught up with memories.