Sands of the Soul s-5

by Voronica Whitney-Robinson

  "I think it's my only hope," Tazi replied honestly.

  "Then you do have one item to barter with," the older woman told her.

  She tapped Tazi's left hand.

  "My ring?" Tazi whispered.

  "That is all I will accept," the other woman said. "It is the only material item of value you possess that I truly desire."

  Tazi looked down at the emerald ring on her hand. Durlan, a moon elf, had given her the ring of protection when she was a small child growing up on the streets of Selgaunt. She had used it once successfully against Ciredor. The pain the ring caused her had been nearly unbearable, but she was certain the band was the only thing that had stopped the dark mage two years past.

  How will I stop him now? she thought plaintively.

  "Tick tock, tick tock, goes the clock. Time is running out," the white-haired woman reminded her. "This night is only so long."

  Tazi clenched and unclenched her left hand a few times. Finally, with a quick movement, she pulled the ring off her finger and laid it on the table, but she kept her fingers on it.

  "Well, little girl, are you going to strike a bargain here or not?"

  Tazi chewed her lip and said finally, "I have never parted with this ring but if it's all you'll take, then take it."

  Tazi removed her fingers from the gem.

  With a speed that contradicted her advanced years, the elderly woman snatched out with her clawlike hand and pocketed the ring. Tazi already regretted her actions, but it was too late. The older woman looked Tazi directly in the eye and tilted her head like a bird. Tazi was once again bothered by the familiarity of the action but dismissed the thought for later.

  "Do we have a deal?" Tazi asked her.

  "We most certainly do," she answered.

  *****

  Ciredor idly thumbed through one of the Lurker's tomes. The man had generously donated his inner sanctum to the necromancer for his private meditation, and Ciredor secretly suspected that the senior priest was a tiny bit terrified of him and had given him the space because he wanted to escape the mage's company. Whatever the reason, the solitude suited Ciredor perfectly. He used the time to savor his situation.

  "It is almost time," he whispered and idly rubbed a medallion he normally wore under his clothing but had now exposed. The black disc gleamed amethyst at its rim.

  There was suddenly a hesitant tap on the door and Ciredor slid the pendant against his skin, enjoying the feel of the cool metal next to his body.

  "Enter," he commanded.

  The Mysterious Lurker opened the door slightly and looked at Ciredor.

  "Yes?" the mage asked after he realized the priest was going to continue to stare at him indefinitely.

  "I have some news for you, Lord," the Lurker began tentatively.

  Ciredor smirked at the title, but was secretly pleased by the priest's submissive behavior.

  "And it would be?" he led the conversation helpfully, waving his hand in a circular fashion.

  "Two of the Children of Ibrandul are back," he said with some hesitation, "and I think they should speak with you."

  "Send them to me now," Ciredor ordered, starting to frown.

  The fact that the Lurker did not want to deliver the information indicated immediately to Ciredor that it wasn't good news.

  The Lurker pushed open the study door fully, and Ciredor was able to see that two followers of Ibrandul were standing to the rear of him. They wore stricken looks similar to their senior priest and were trying to hide behind his flowing purple robes.

  "Get in here," Ciredor growled.

  I'm too close now to waste time on these games, he thought.

  The Mysterious Lurker generously stepped aside and offered some mumbled, parting words before disappearing into the shadows of the antechamber. The two followers trudged in and hung their heads.

  "What has happened?" he demanded. Then he added icily, "My ire only grows the longer I'm kept waiting."

  The two novices exchanged a look between each other before one stepped forward.

  "My Lord," he started in a rich, baritone voice that didn't match his thin frame, "we are sorry to bring you unhappy word regarding the foreigners."

  He fell silent, closely studying his sandals for imagined imperfections, and Ciredor idly regarded his nails before continuing sweetly, "It seems that I didn't make myself clear."

  He flung his hand toward the novice like he would swat an insect. A bolt of green light tore from his hand and struck the young man in the throat. The Child of Ibrandul was thrown up against the rock wall and held by the green energy. Like a manacle on his neck, the spell held him a few feet above the ground. His legs kicked uselessly in the air, and he scrambled with his hands to hold himself up and relieve the pressure on his throat. Ciredor strode over to where he was pinned.

  "What happened?" he demanded.

  The Child of Ibrandul sputtered and coughed but couldn't choke out any audible answers.

  "Fine," Ciredor replied and turned his attention to the beardless novice, leaving his partner to dangle.

  The other Child of Ibrandul had tried his best to melt into the bookcase but there was no hiding from the furious mage. Another green bolt blew the bookcase across the chamber, turning it into kindling and exposing the young novice. Ciredor crossed the room in two angry strides.

  "Your turn. What happened?" Ciredor hissed into the face of the frightened Child of Ibrandul.

  He shot a look at his companion before he answered in a small voice, "We weren't able to kill them."

  "What do you mean?" the mage asked, not unkindly.

  His courage bolstered by Ciredor's sudden calmness, the novice continued, "We led them down the tunnel to the aranea, and they walked right into the trap, but the other Child of Ibrandul with us turned traitor and ran to help them."

  "What occurred?" Ciredor prompted.

  The novice's eyes wandered over to his fellow novice, whose face was going from shades of red to purple. His sputtering was becoming more sporadic. Ciredor made a disapproving sound at his lack of attention, and the Child of Ibrandul turned to face him again.

  "Asraf joined the two in battle and even helped free the black-haired woman from sure death in an aranea web… but he was killed soon after. Obviously," the student priest surmised, "Ibrandul was able to make him pay for his act of betrayal."

  "And the foreigners?" Ciredor tried calmly to keep him on track.

  The novice licked his lips nervously and said, "They survived."

  "Surprisingly enough, I deduced as much. Anything else?"

  The Child of Ibrandul grew white.

  "Yes, Lord," he whispered, and stole a glance at his hanging comrade.

  The manacled Child of Ibrandul was finally silent, but some of his limbs occasionally twitched. Ciredor placed an icy hand on the beardless novice's face and twisted him so that Ciredor could stare into his hazel eyes.

  "I won't ask you again," Ciredor warned him in a deadly tone. "What happened to the woman?"

  "A Gray Caller came for her to escort her to the Dark Bazaar."

  Ciredor screamed in rage and in one motion used his powers to fling the Child of Ibrandul into the Linker's ornately carved desk, face first. The novice's skull shattered with the force of the impact, and gray brain matter speckled the writing tablet set on the desk. Ciredor stormed out of the chamber into the tunnel.

  Just outside the study, the Mysterious Lurker waited, griping his robes tightly.

  "My Lord, where are you going?" he asked timidly.

  Ciredor whirled around and nearly struck him dead, but he decided the priest's death wouldn't serve his purposes, so he swallowed back his burning rage.

  "I am leaving," he told the Lurker.

  Ciredor could see that the priest was in despair, fearful of his rage and also fearful of losing the lost words of Ibrandul.

  "Will you be back?" the Lurker asked.

  "As soon as I conduct a little business," Ciredor replied, having nearly regained hi
s icy composure.

  "Are you going to the Dark Bazaar?" the Lurker inquired shyly.

  "Since your Children failed so completely, I don't really have any choice, now do I?"

  "But," the Lurker told him, "everyone believes that market is controlled by the Temple of Old Night. They worship Shar, you realize. Are you sure it is worth the risk, considering your allegiance to the Lord of the Dry Depths?"

  For the first time since hearing of the Children of Ibrandul's failure, Ciredor's sly smile returned.

  "There is no risk when your faith is strong," he informed the priest.

  The Lurker gazed at him in frightened adoration.

  "You truly would risk everything for your god," he said in quiet awe.

  "Most certainly," the necromancer replied easily. "Oh, before I go," he added almost as an afterthought, "you might want to get someone to tidy up your study."

  Before the priest could comment, Ciredor faded from view and reappeared only a few feet from Tazi.

  *****

  "If this will save Fannah, then it's worth it," Tazi murmured.

  "Who did you say?" the elderly woman asked.

  Tazi didn't realize the other woman had heard her.

  "Nothing of importance," Tazi dismissed the subject, suddenly distracted herself. She felt an odd chill pass over her. "What I do, I do for a friend."

  The older Calishite appeared suddenly distressed and wouldn't let the matter pass.

  "Did you say 'Fannah'?" she asked in a scratchy whisper.

  "Yes," Tazi answered and was suddenly suspicious that her friend's name should mean something to the withered woman in front of her. "What does it matter?"

  Tazi didn't believe it was possible, but even more creases formed on the woman's brow.

  "It's just that-" the woman began, but stopped when a Gray Caller slowly moved past them.

  The hooded figure swung its head in the Calishite's direction, and she snapped her mouth shut.

  "What's wrong?" Tazi asked.

  "Nothing," the old woman replied. "We've struck our price. Now, what was it again that you wanted to know?"

  Tazi took a deep breath and asked, "What is Ciredor planning?"

  "Then I shall tell you, treasure given for treasure received.

  "Ciredor," the Calishite answered gravely, "has been collecting souls as an offering. They are a dark gift for Shar, his goddess."

  "Where is he keeping them?" she asked quickly.

  Tazi wasn't sure but she thought the old woman looked sad.

  "The deal is done," the woman replied. "One item bought with another. Those are the rules. Now you must leave."

  Even as the words escaped the Calishite's lips, Tazi noticed the ethereal condition of the market beginning to spread and grow. Everything became murkier, and all the sound damped as the fog encompassed the cavern. A cold breeze passed over Tazi, and she shuddered. Her hand rose up to her throat instinctively, and she was suddenly filled with dread. Even the old woman looked momentarily startled. Still, Tazi tried to talk to her.

  "Please," she pleaded, "tell me what you can. I'll give anything to save Fannah."

  The Calishite was barely distinguishable from the miasma that occluded the whole market. She raised a hand toward Tazi and called out to her.

  The sound was all but swallowed up by the mist, but two words made it through: "Fannah," and, "… daughter."

  Tazi finally placed where she had seen such birdlike gestures before. Fannah made them as well.

  "Ibina il'Qun!" Tazi shouted against the vapors, but Fannah's mother, along with the Dark Bazaar itself, had vanished.

  Tazi found herself staring at a rock wall.

  *****

  Ciredor had expertly transported himself to the tunnel his scrying had revealed as the precise location of the Dark Bazaar and Thazienne Uskevren.

  "How easy this all is, little Tazi. You can't hide from me in my mistress's domain," he said confidently.

  Ciredor was deep in the Muzad, in the same chamber as the Dark Bazaar. The mist was thick and whispered to the dark mage. He moved through it and thought he heard Tazi just a little ahead of him, but with every step he took the fog swirled more and more forcefully. He could see vague outlines and hear the low murmur of conversation, but nothing was clear to him.

  As he approached what from a few feet away looked like a congregation of people, Ciredor found that he had merely passed through a collection of shadows. He knew they were near, but everything was just out of his reach. The necromancer started to grow impatient.

  "Why won't you illuminate the way?" he beseeched the ether.

  Almost on cue, a light glowed dimly off to his left. His confidence returned, and he licked his lips in expectation. He knew with unerring certainty that that was the direction he was supposed to go.

  "Thank you, Shar," he whispered reverently.

  Ciredor nearly flew toward the light, but as soon as he reached it the glow winked out only to reappear to his right, just a few steps away.

  It must be my excitement, he told himself. It has me dizzy.

  He adjusted his course and went to the glow's new location, but just as before the fickle light disappeared only to be found behind him. He whirled around, his fury growing.

  "What trickery is this?" he demanded.

  He attempted to scry the light, but every effort he made failed.

  Finally, the radiance glowed softly within a tiny pocket of the chamber and he followed it grudgingly. The closer he got to it, the more the contents of the grotto were illuminated. From a short distance away, he thought he saw Tazi talking to another woman but the scene was blurry, as though Ciredor were watching something transpire underwater.

  He could barely discern the two shadowy figures, though he knew something had changed hands between them. He wasted no time. Ciredor stormed into the middle of the tableau and made a lunge for Tazi, but his hands passed clean through the woman, and that image flashed out of existence just like the will 'o the wisp that had led him on the fruitless chase.

  Ciredor pounded his fist into the wall behind the trading stall and shouted in fury. The whispering grew louder, and as he stepped from the grotto into the center of the foggy maelstrom, the sounds were all around him, tantalizingly close, but he could see no one.

  Ciredor spun around the chamber and howled in rage. The scream echoed on and on.

  CHAPTER 10

  RETURN TO THE TUNNELS

  "There you are," Steorf called to Tazi in a relieved tone.

  "What?" she asked, completely disorientated.

  Tazi turned from the rock wall and saw Steorf standing beside her. There was no trace of the entrance to the Night Market anywhere. Steorf laid his hand on her arm with some concern.

  "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he inquired.

  Tazi stared at him with no comprehension on her face.

  "What are you talking about?" she asked.

  Steorf looked at her closely and explained, "I want to come with you. I don't want you to do this with only that thing as your guide."

  He motioned to the space behind Tazi and the realization dawned on Steorf that the Gray Caller was gone.

  "Where did he go?" Steorf demanded, adding, "I knew there was something wrong."

  "How long have I been gone?" she inquired.

  "Gone?" Steorf repeated in a perplexed tone. "You turned away from me just a moment ago."

  "I've been there already," she told him, finally understanding his confusion. "I must have wandered for hours in the Dark Bazaar."

  "Are you sure you were really there?" Steorf wondered with a touch of skepticism.

  "Yes, and I know what Ciredor is planning," she told him single-mindedly. "I still don't know exactly where he is, but I have a fairly good idea. We need to go… now."

  Tazi could see that he was still a little confused.

  Remember, she told herself, he's still recovering from that battle and hasn't caught up with me. I've had time to rest.

&n
bsp; "We need to return to the Temple of Ibrandul immediately and free Fannah," she told him.

  "You know what Ciredor wants?" he challenged.

  "Like Eb told us, he's taking souls. Now we know why: He's taking them to give as a gift to Shar."

  "The spiders… the aranea…" Steorf murmured.

  "What about them?" Tazi inquired, curious but clearly anxious to be on the move.

  "I noticed they all bore the same symbol. I knew I should have recognized it then. The black disc rimmed in purple is Shar's holy symbol," he explained, then grew quiet.

  "I know you're tired, but we need to get back as soon as we can," she prompted him.

  "What should we do about Asraf?" Steorf asked, pointing to the dead novice's body.

  Tazi was ashamed to acknowledge to herself that she had forgotten Asraf's noble sacrifice. She glanced down at his young face and was momentarily saddened. When she looked at Steorf, she knew exactly what he was thinking and what he was willing to try, regardless of the cost to himself. She touched his face fleetingly.

  "No," she told him, shaking her head, "we can't do anything for him other than respect his wishes. He felt this was what his god wanted and demanded of him and we have to honor it."

  With that, she knelt and carefully wrapped Asraf's jellaba over his body.

  As soon as she stood up, Steorf made a pass with his hand and ignited the Child of Ibrandul's body. Unlike the spider he'd burned earlier, this fire left no odor. Both Tazi and Steorf maintained a solemn silence as the flames lit the chamber. Finally, Steorf broke the stillness.

  "That's another one Ciredor owes us," he vowed.

  "Let's stop him before there can be any others," Tazi replied.

  Tazi and Steorf made a thorough check of the cavern and retrieved all their weapons. When they were sure they had everything, they started back the way they had come. Nevertheless, they both noticed rapidly that without the Children of Ibrandul to aid them the journey back was more tricky.

  "I hate to admit it," Tazi said, "but it was a little easier with those Children and their Dark Path spells."