The Halls of Stormweather

THE DAUGHTER

"Who are you," asked the lion faced man, above the din of the music.

"I'm not sure myself," giggled his raven-haired dance companion, "and even if I did know, why should I tell you?" With that, she threw back her head and laughed deeply as her partner spun her around the floor. The sound drew a few surprised stares from some of the nearby couples, but most merely smiled indulgently to themselves. Thazienne Uskevren was well known for her exuberance.

Tonight was one of Lliira's celebrations, and the Uskevren had opened the doors of Stormweather to some of the many revelers this evening. The main hall was filled with some of the most renowned members of Selgaunt's elite.

The partygoers wore various degrees of costumes for the event. Some sported only masques with their evening finery, while others had gone to incredible extremes to look the roles they assumed for the night. Musicians played nonstop and the aroma of richly flavored delicacies drifted throughout the hall.

"May I cut in," a man asked Thazienne's partner, as he gently pulled the pair aside.

"Now just a moment," the lion began to bluster at the tall, cloaked and hooded figure, "the song isn't yet finished."

The hooded man, however, simply passed his hand in front of the lion's face. All protest faded from his voice. Thazienne's partner immediately faced her and sweetly took his leave. At the lion's departure, the hooded man tilted his head questioningly and held out his hand in offer to Thazienne. She, however, miffed at the turn of events calmly drew out a dagger that was more than just decorative. The hooded man did not move. Something in the manner of the stranger's stance was familiar to her, and Thazienne used the point of her weapon to flick the hood back. Gray eyes, hawklike in their intensity, stared down at her. She moved the dagger under his chin. The cloaked man stood still, staring at her as the nearby dancers, too caught up in the music to notice the scene unfolding nearby, rushed past them.

"I would appreciate it greatly," he finally said "if you would kindly point your little needle somewhere else." He lowered his glance meaningfully at her dagger, which was still under his chin.

"Please forgive me," Thazienne replied in a mock apology.

With that, she flipped the dagger around so that it landed point down, on one of her gloved fingers. While balancing the dagger there, she gave a deep bow like a mummer and directed the gentleman to the dance floor. She returned her weapon to its hiding place and accepted his hand.

After a few turns, she sternly admonished the muscular, blond man. "Steorf, I told you never to play those kinds of tricks with me."

"The spell was completely unintentional and unconsciously instinctive," he replied. "I simply did not want to cause a fuss this evening. It appeared the easiest way."

The tenseness melted from her face as she smirked at him. Her deep green eyes lost their harsh glare and she giggled softly.

"To tell the truth," she admitted to him quietly, "I'm a little jealous. Even I can't get rid of men that quickly. Maybe one time you could teach me that trick," she teased.

"You know I don't give away trade secrets, Tazi," he replied, calling her by a nickname only a handful used. "My mother would never forgive me," he added seriously.

Always aware of how somber he could be in public, Tazi picked up the pace of their dance and tried to lighten his mood. "And just what are you supposed to be this evening, all dressed in black," she asked.

"I am simply part of the shadows," was all he would say.

Seeing that she was getting no where, Tazi broke away from his arms and pirouetted in front of him. "What do you think I am, then?"

Steorf escorted Tazi away from the dance floor and then stared at her for a minute. The dress she wore was not a popular style. She had started of late, he had noticed, to wear Cormyrean fashions. The blood-red dress was made from some sumptuous, velvety material and clung to her suggestively. Her flat slippers peeped out from under the loose, full skirt. The tight sleeves accentuated her strong, slim arms and the fitted gold breastpiece accentuated more. Covering her delicate face was an elaborate mask of long, black feathers that blended into her short, equally black locks.

"I would say you are some kind of exotic bird, escaped from the Hulorn's Hunting Garden," he said and then added after a glance, "or you are the bane of your mother's existence." Steorf nodded toward the fuming matriarch of the Uskevren standing some paces distant and watching them closely.

Tazi glanced quickly at her mother and then turned away. "Oh, she's always angry. I can't seem to do anything right in her eyes."

"Is she still furious about your hair?" he asked.

"Well," Tazi began, justifying herself, "this length suites me better, and long hair certainly does not go well with Cormyrean dress." She stepped back and curtsied slightly once more.

"Nor does it go well with some of your other activities," Steorf observed slyly.

She was about to shoot back with an angry retort, but fell silent as her mother approached.

"Good even to you, young mage," the matriarch saluted Steorf politely. "Are you enjoying yourself this celebration night?"

Steorf bowed deeply and replied, "I am, Madame Shamur. Once again the Uskevren have hosted a most successful fete. I am honored to be counted amongst your guests."

"It seems that your mother, Elaine, is not present," the ash blonde noticed sadly after scanning the hall.

"No, milady. My mother asked me to carry her regrets."

"Well," Shamur offered graciously, "I am sure the premier mage of Selgaunt does not always have the luxury of free time." She turned her steel gray eyes toward her daughter at that last remark. "Speaking of free time, Thazienne, have you seen Talbot this evening?"

"I don't think my big 'little' brother has gotten back from his hunting trip yet. What's wrong, Mother? Has he ruined some secret plan of yours? Did you have a bevy of potential wives to parade past him tonight and now he's missing the show?"

Shamur did not rise to the bait.

"I was a touch concerned," she replied quietly. Before Tazi could add anything else, Shamur continued in a more firm voice, "I wouldn't worry your pretty little head about it." She stepped closer to her daughter and ostensibly straightened some part of Tazi's costume. "I don't suppose you worry about much, though. You don't have to." She stepped back in a crinkle of blue and silver satin. "Enjoy yourselves tonight and see that you share your attentions with some of our other guests, dear Thazienne." She began to walk away from the two.

Angry at her mother's jab, Tazi called out, "Oh, Mother? I love your dress. The silver really brings out the warmth in your eyes." Shamur smiled stiffly at her before continuing to walk away.

"Do you have to do that," Steorf asked as soon as Shamur was out of earshot. "I think she was genuinely worried about your brother."

Tazi dismissed his concern. "I'm sure Talbot stretched out his trip just to avoid this evening, the lucky dog. As for my mother, she just brings the worst out of me. That could be me in a few years, you know," she exclaimed after a brief moment. Steorf took a step closer.

"Never in a thousand years could that be you," he whispered. She smiled up into his face, and he took another step closer.

"Is this a private conversation, or can anyone join in," interrupted a richly, almost foppishly dressed red-haired elf. His amethyst-hued velvet doublet was covered with gold embroidery and the sleeves were slashed to reveal tissue thin undersleeves of lavender silk. His leather boots announced their newness with every squeaky step he took. Unlike many of the other guests, he wore no mask at all.

Steorf stiffened at his approach, but Tazi could only snicker.

"It seems," she replied, "that I have precious little privacy from people tonight. Please, join us," Tazi offered solicitously. The elf immediately stepped past Steorf as though he had been cloaked and stood close to Tazi. He reached for her hand and gallantly touched it to his lips.

"Sweet Ebeian, always the gentleman." She curtsied deeply, but noticed Steorf's discomfort. She didn't want to see these two start to bicker tonight, so she tried to defuse the situation. "Steorf, would you mind finding me some wine," she asked innocently. "All the dancing we've done has given me a terrible thirst."

"Yes, dear boy," Ebeian dismissed him. "See if you can scare us up some refreshments." Choosing not to notice Steorf's fuming, Ebeian turned all his attention to Tazi. She looked past his shoulder, smiled at Steorf and mouthed the word "please."

"I'd be more than happy to find a full vat for Ebeian and help him into it headfirst," Steorf mumbled to himself. He almost smiled at that image and went off in search of something to drink.

"How radiant you look in that ankle-length red gown." Ebeian used the comment as an excuse to reach over and capture Tazi's hands in his own jeweled ones. "The tight sleeves emphasize your slender arms and, well, that gold breastpiece…" His voice trailed off suggestively. "Of everyone in the room, I think only your mother does not appreciate your taste for Cormyrean fashion."

"There's much that my mother does not appreciate," Tazi replied, letting her hands rest in Ebeian's. "But I do not dress to please her."

"It's a good thing you don't. You would be a miserable failure," he said, laughing.

Tazi extricated her gloved hands from his. "What brings you out this evening? When we last spoke, you mentioned other plans."

"Plans change, pretty one," he answered. "You know how that works." He leaned forward and discreetly slipped his hand along the gold breastpiece Tazi wore. Instantly, she grabbed his thin hand and bent it back.

"You forget yourself this evening, Ebeian," Tazi warned him.

"Do I?" He looked at her meaningfully.

"You'll pay for your familiarity one day," Tazi threatened lightly.

"Sooner or later," he countered, "we all pay, Thazienne."

Before Tazi could say anything else, Steorf returned, a servant in tow carrying a tray laden with an assortment of drinks and snacks. He did not miss the grip Tazi had had on Ebeian's wrist, but he said nothing. The three selected glasses of wine, and Tazi and Steorf waited while Ebeian picked through the food until he discovered a satisfactory morsel to nibble on.

"I'm surprised," Ebian began, after dabbing a silken scarf at the corner of his mouth, "to see that you are still here this evening, Thazienne. Normally you do not grace these events for very long."

"Observant of you, Ebeian. I'm actually searching for someone."

"It's not me," Ebeian asked in mock horror, clutching at his heart. "I'm shattered." The ploy worked. Tazi broke up into chuckles and lightly slapped his arm.

"Do you recall the small party my family hosted a few nights back," she asked.

"How could I forget?" Ebeian began to extol the virtues of the beautiful gown Tazi had worn that night. She interrupted him before his commentary became too long. The heavy-handed way he always complimented her was beginning to strain her nerves.

"That's not what I meant. Did you notice the man my mother was throwing at me all evening?"

"Tall, brooding chap, much like our hawk over here." He pointed a delicate finger at Steorf. "Unusual tattoo on his neck, as I recall." For all his pompousness, Ebeian had a keen eye, and very little escaped his notice.

"That's the one. As always, to humor my mother, I flirted with him a bit."

"A bit," grumbled Steorf.

"As the evening wore on," Tazi continued, trying to ignore Steorf's remark, "I gave him a little something to remember me by. He was dashing, all things considered. Normally, my mother's picks aren't nearly so easy on the eyes. That mark he bore made him seem exotic."

Ebeian reached over and rubbed her gloved hands, though the purpose was more than mere flirtation. "You didn't give away that emerald ring you always wear," he noted astutely. "I can still feel it on your finger. Don't you ever take it off?"

"That always stays with me. It was a gift from a mage a long time ago."

Ebeian gave a high titter of a laugh. "At twenty-one years, there isn't much that was 'a long time ago' for you."

"As I was saying," Tazi continued a bit peevishly, yanking her hands free, "I gave him a token of my affection." She paused and moved a thick lock away from her left ear to reveal a diamond stud. "He has the other one," she explained, "and I plan to liberate it from his dwelling this evening. At some later occasion, I'll demand that he show it to me, to prove how much I mean to him. When he can't produce it, I can denounce him as not being true to me, and then I'm free once more!" Her eyes crinkled in amusement.

"How do you know he won't be home? Or if he is out, that he won't have the earring on him," Steorf asked. "He might be a dedicated suitor, you know."

"Oh ye of little faith, questioning me like that. Have I ever led you wrong? Don't answer that," Tazi quickly added.

"What will you do if you get caught," Steorf asked her.

"You, of all people, should know what I'm capable of. Remind me, Ebeian, to tell you the time I pulled his fat out of the fire." She hooked a thumb in Steorf's direction. "Almost seven years ago to the day, and he still follows me around out of gratitude." She laughed deeply.

"After she does that, Ebeian, allow me to tell you the real story," Steorf returned, as close to bantering as he ever got. The wine had mellowed him.

"He won't be there," she continued confidently. "Everyone who is anyone will be here tonight. And," she added, "I gathered from our conversation the other evening that Ciredor is very eager to see and be seen. He won't be home. Though," she paused to scan the costumed gathering, "I have to admit I haven't yet been able to pick him out in this crowd."

"I hope you're right about him being here," Steorf replied seriously.

"And I hope you don't get caught like when you tried to rob me," Ebeian offered graciously.

With her mask in place, it was next to impossible for either man tell if Tazi blushed at that remark. Underneath it, a frown did cross her face at the memory of a night not too long past. After being introduced to him by her mother, Tazi had attempted to remove some of Ebeian's belongings from his room at the Lady's Thighs Inn. Her timing had been off slightly, and Ebeian had returned before Tazi had made her exit. A struggle had resulted, and Ebeian had discovered quite a bit about Tazi that night.

He sensed her discomfort and winked at her.

She didn't even need to look over to know Steorf was ready to explode after that. She knew how he hated the familiar way Ebeian spoke of their encounters. The last thing she wanted tonight was to cause a scene or alienate Steorf. She valued him too much to allow that to transpire.

Just the touch of her hand on his forearm caused his bunched muscles to relax. His black look, however, continued to fester. Ignoring the exchange, Ebeian blithely carried on.

"We must try that again sometime, my dear," the elf chimed, "when you feel you're ready for a rematch."

"You're right," Tazi bantered back. "We can see if you are still up for a battle with me. But there will be time enough for that later."

Ever since Ebeian discovered in such a pleasant way Tazi's many charms, they often traded exchanges like that in the company of others. He was cautious never to reveal too much; he had his own subterfuges to guard, and Tazi never betrayed those, either. However, they danced awfully close to the truth at times.

"What are you two talking about," Steorf demanded, no longer able to contain his anger.

"You really haven't been around the city all that much, have you," Ebeian said, laughing.

"Enough, you two," Tazi hissed at them as she pushed them apart. "I'd like to be able to slip out quietly, and you two starting a brawl would wreck my plans."

Steorf reined in his temper. "Being one of the few women wearing red this evening, I think you might have a hard time going unnoticed." He nodded in the direction of Shamur.

Tazi thought for a moment before she announced, "Then I will obviously have to be noticed by many. Gentlemen." She curtsied a last time to the men and strode off to select a new partner. Steorf said nothing but left an amused Ebeian standing alone.

Tazi chose a domino-masked man from a pool of nearby suitors and let him lead her to the dance floor. She smiled at his banal conversation and laughed at the appropriate moments. When the tempo changed, she allowed another man to cut in. The rush of changing partners allowed Tazi to put the two men out of her mind. She had other plans for the evening and needed her wits about her.

When the time seemed right, Tazi thanked her most recent partner and discreetly slipped out of the ballroom. From opposite sides of the hall, two pairs of eyes spied her departure.

Tazi couldn't wait to get out of the dress she wore. While the style was chosen specifically to infuriate her mother, Tazi liked it only marginally more than her Sembian attire. All dresses, to her, simply slowed the wearer down and announced her presence to the world. She had yet to discover a discreet one.

As she made her way to her rooms, Tazi noticed Larajin, one of her family's servants, lingering near the end of the hallway. An idea blossomed in her fertile mind.

"Larajin," she called out to the startled maid, "I need your help." She entered her chambers, a bewildered Larajin in her wake.

Tazi walked over to her wardrobe and flung open the doors. She deftly removed a small bundle that was nestled in the furthest recesses of the closet and tossed it onto a nearby settee. Then she turned to face her maid.

"Strip, please," Tazi ordered. "I need you to play a part for me tonight." At her maid's puzzled expression, she burst into giggles.

"I thought you needed some assistance with your gown," Larajin stammered. She slightly emphasized the word "your."

"You couldn't be more right," Tazi confirmed, controlling her laughter as she began to peel the red dress from her body, "I do need help with this thing. And you're just the one to assist me." She brushed Larajin's helping hands aside and pulled her own arms free from the tight-fitted sleeves.

"You might as well start undressing," Tazi said, almost tearing some of her buttons in her haste, "because I don't have all night. I've already wasted enough time here this evening." Larajin began to remove her white-and-gold servant's uniform, still not sure what her mistress had planned but secretly glad to be rid of her own costume.

Tazi slipped off her dancing shoes and stepped out of the pool of red velvet at her feet. Without missing a stride, she padded unselfconsciously over to the settee and began to undo the bundle of leather. When she had her change of clothing laid out, Tazi could see realization dawn across her maid's pretty features. It took only a few practiced motions for Tazi to re-outfit herself. Now she turned her attention to her near-nude servant.

"Come on over here." Tazi pointed to the pile of evening clothes. "Let me help you into this." She could see hesitation in every step Larajin took.

"Oh, don't act so," Tazi gently chided her. "It's not like you never did this before." Larajin looked at her with some surprise.

"What do you mean, mistress?" she asked softly.

"I've seen you in here before, trying on some of my-how shall I put it-less respectable garments. We are, after all, almost exactly the same size." Seeing alarm spread across Larajin's smooth face, Tazi quickly added, "I don't mind. In fact, you can help yourself to any gown you fancy any time. But I need you to do me a favor tonight because you're my size. I need you to be me for the rest of this evening." She nudged Larajin into the center of her discarded evening wear and began to help her dress.

"Mistress Thazienne, this can't work," Larajin implored, holding out her hands beseechingly.

Almost as though she were dressing a child, Tazi caught up her maid's arms and began to slide them into the snug sleeves. "Don't worry about any of this," she soothed. You only have to be me for a few hours."

Tazi walked behind her maid and began to do up the back of the gown. Larajin tried to protest once more, but Tazi cinched up her corset a little roughly, and Larajin's complaints ended in a sharp gasp. Tazi spun her around to face her.

"This will work out just fine," Tazi warned her. Smiling again, Tazi began to tie up Larajin's rust-colored hair into a style that gave the illusion of shorter locks. After a moment, Larajin gathered up her courage to question Tazi again even after that first, painful rebuke.

"Mistress, I only meant that it might be difficult to pass for you because of the difference in our hair and eyes."

Tazi finished Larajin's hair and moved over to where she had carelessly tossed her feathery mask. She placed it on Larajin and took a step back to admire her handiwork.

"No one should look too closely at your yellow eyes with that on, but you are right about the hair," she said after a moment, tapping one gloved finger against her chin. "Yours looks like it was kissed by the sun and mine is like night." She unconsciously twirled an onyx strand and thought for a moment. "Black," she spoke quietly, "like coal… or soot." With a quick laugh, Tazi ran over to the fireplace and plunged her hands into the cold ashes. She then beckoned Larajin closer with a dirty finger.

"I'm sure this will come out fairly easily," Tazi reassured her maid as she powdered the woman's hair with coal dust and soot, "and it does solve the problem of color very nicely." Tazi finished her job and then gave Larajin a pat on the head to have her look up.

"Now," she admonished, "stop biting your lip, stand up straight, and put a smile on your face." Tazi walked around to stand behind her. She placed her hands on Larajin's shoulders and leaned toward her right ear.

"You can do this," she whispered encouragingly. "And you might even have some fun." Stepping around to once again face her, Tazi added a few last instructions. "All you have to do is dance with a half dozen or so of my current suitors. It shouldn't take more than a few hours. Don't look them in the eye too much," she continued her list as she paced around the unmoving Larajin like a drill instructor, "and don't answer any of their questions. I never do. My mother is now too angry to speak to me for the rest of the evening, and Father will be engrossed in business. He won't have time to trade words with you. I mean me," she smiled. "You should be all set."

Some of Larajin's unease had faded at the mention of the word "fun." Tazi could see she was warming up to the challenge of a prank. There might yet be hope for the girl, Tazi thought. Even if things should go awry and Larajin was found out, Tazi wasn't too concerned. She had noticed that since Larajin had been in the service of the Uskevren, she never received many punishments, unlike the other maids. There must be some arrangement between her and my younger brother, Tazi mused to herself. Larajin would be safe enough. "Let's go," Tazi said and pushed the girl toward the door.

Falling into the role of co-conspirator, Larajin cautiously peered down the hallway but saw that Tazi and she were quite alone. The two women, now so differently garbed, stepped into the passageway. Without exchanging a word, they headed as one toward the grand staircase. Tazi stopped just short of it, however, and Larajin turned questioningly toward her.

"What's wrong," the maid demanded in a loud whisper.

"Nothing," Tazi reassured her. "I'm simply not going your way. I'm just going to slip out through the window back at the end of the hallway," she gestured.

Surprising Tazi, Larajin said, "Don't worry. No one will recognize you. I hardly do myself."

Smiling, Tazi explained, "Actually, there are one or two guests who would recognize me, and I don't feel like explaining anything else tonight. Off with you now," she ordered in a motherly tone to the girl two years her senior. "Don't have too much fun. I do have a reputation to maintain." She only managed to maintain her severe expression for a heartbeat before stifling a laugh. Larajin joined her, and the girls wished each other well.

For a few moments, Tazi observed Larajin as the girl, hesitantly at first, made her way down the grand staircase. At the bottom, Tazi saw with wry amusement that her suitors swarmed around Larajin, each one proffering her an arm and imploring her for a dance. She watched as Larajin carefully selected one and the lucky fellow swept her onto the dance floor. Confident in the subterfuge, Tazi turned to make her way out.

The same two pairs of eyes that watched her leave the ballroom earlier now scrutinized "Tazi's" return. They were not so easily fooled.

Once out in the cool night air, Tazi breathed more easily. It was during this time that she felt the most free. Her days were filled with family obligations and watching eyes, but she had made the nights her own, and she savored the hours. Her first stop would be in the Oxblood Quarter, to gather a bit of information and a drink or two. She moved easily down the streets, so pleased with her escape that she did not notice the dark figure trailing a discreet distance behind her. Soon enough, Tazi had another matter to distract her.

Screams, more terrified than those normally heard in the Oxblood Quarter, caught Tazi's attention. She ducked off of the main street, ears pricked, searching for the source of those uncomfortable wails. It took no more than a moment's hunt down a small back street to locate the cause.

In the rear of the alley, Tazi was able to make out three people. Two burly men had backed a woman against a wall. She must have been responsible for the cries.

The men wore the oily slicks typical of people more accustomed to life on the sea. The boatmen had obviously wandered a bit to be so far from Selgaunt Bay, but Tazi was not surprised in what they had found to distract them this evening. Even in the dim light, Tazi could see the woman was a beauty. She could also see the men appreciated her looks. One of them had unsteadily reached up to touch the woman's face with a hand that did not have all of its fingers. He must not be so adept at handling ropes and nets, Tazi thought mirthfully. Fingers's shorter companion hung back a few paces, content to wait his turn and take another drag from the jug the two had obviously been sharing. The woman was not so content to be their plaything, and she lashed out.

It was either this, Tazi mused, or drinks at the Kit. Without another thought, she charged into the fray.

The woman, her clothes tattered and dirtied, had managed to slash Fingers, more by luck than any real skill. He hissed and pulled back his arm. The sight of his own blood enraged him, and Tazi could see rage burn through his drunken haze. He faced the woman with a hard look. The game was no longer entertaining for him.

"Now you're going to pay," he snarled and balled up his fist.

As he cocked his arm back, Tazi came up from behind and ran her rapier efficiently through the meat of his upper arm. Pain and surprise caused him to fall to his knees. Tazi shot the woman a quick grin, but she didn't respond.

Probably afraid I'm going to be more trouble than these two, Tazi thought to herself. Dressed in black leathers and carrying a sword, she did not give an appearance of respectability.

Tazi placed her foot on Fingers's shoulder blades and levered her sword free. Shorty, slightly less drunk than his friend, stood mouth agape for a moment before throwing the jug aside and coming to his cohort's aid. He had forgotten the woman they had bullied into the dead end, now realizing that everything was turning sour very quickly.

Tazi could see the determined look on his face. She had a hunch Shorty didn't like to lose. She now had his complete attention.

Shorty pushed the woman out of his way, and she tumbled to her knees on the cobbled alleyway. Tazi giggled under her breath as the man nearly tripped over his intended victim. The woman made no attempt to get out of the way. Tazi briefly wondered if she was in shock, or perhaps a little slow in the head.

If our places were swapped, Tazi thought, I'd be gone like a flash of lightning.

There was no time for more musings, though, as the second man drew his knife. He lunged toward Tazi's face, but she easily sidestepped his brutish assault. His momentum carried him right into Fingers, who had been unsteadily trying to rise to his feet.

"Come on," Tazi taunted. "I've seen trolls more graceful than you two."

Shorty freed himself from the tangle of Fingers's limbs and staggered to his feet.

"Don't play with me, boy." A rain of spittle carried the shout toward her.

Tazi smirked at Shorty's threat. Once again her leather vest and pants, short hair, skill with a sword, not to mention the poorly lit alley, had done its job. How easy it was, Tazi disdainfully concluded, to deceive people.

"I'm more than man enough to teach you some manners," Shorty threatened.

Tazi planted her rapier point down on the ground, like a walking stick, and leaned jauntily against it with her left hand. "Just what kind of manners could you teach me, you old lech," she demanded snidely. "And what kind of manners were you trying to teach her?" She nodded toward the woman, still kneeling on the street. "I think you and your friend should go back to the Bay," she suggested. "You two are fish out of water here."

The man said nothing but charged her once more. With only a slight shifting of her weight, Tazi brought her sword straight up in front of her face and easily blocked his thrust. They stood facing each other, as close as two dance partners. She looked him square in the eyes and, with an angelic smile pasted on her lips, brought her right hand up and slashed across his thigh with her dagger. Shorty's face twisted in pain, and he sank to the ground, ineffectually clutching his oozing wound. A quick glance at his partner assured Tazi that Fingers was still nursing his arm and no longer posed any threat to her or any other woman this evening. She stepped past the two toward the woman who had finally stopped trembling and had regained her footing.

"Come on," Tazi ordered roughly. "It's time to leave."

In the darkened alley, it appeared to Tazi as though the woman was in a state of shock. She stared blankly at her rescuer. The two boatmen might regain some of their bravado if the women lingered too long. Tazi grabbed the woman's arm and started to pull her out of the alley. And, because she enjoyed being contrary, she paused long enough to yank a black scarf from her throat and toss it at the man with the leg wound.

"Take it," she said disgustedly, "before you bleed to death all over this alley. It's soiled enough already." And with that, Tazi dragged the woman into a busier thoroughfare.

They traveled a short distance before either spoke. Finally, the woman placed her other hand on Tazi's and tugged a little. Tazi stopped her march and turned to look at the woman whom she had just saved. The torches on the street were not very bright, but Tazi could see the woman was not from Selgaunt. The glow of the feeble light reflected blue off her black hair, and illuminated the dusky tones of her skin. Her clothes also marked her a foreigner. The swirl of silks, torn and dirty though they were, hinted of the desert. But travelers from so far afield were not unique in this city of commerce.

"I wanted to thank you," the foreigner began, in a quiet but rich voice. "I believe I am in your debt, lady."

Tazi was shocked that the woman had seen so easily through her disguise. No one had ever found her out so quickly before.

"How did you know," she blurted out. "Didn't the clothes or my hair fool you a little?" Tazi paused to tug at her short, black locks.

For the first time since she had laid eyes on the dark-haired woman, Tazi saw her smile.

"It would be impossible for those things to fool me," she replied in a soft, melodic voice, "as I am quite blind."

Tazi was dumbfounded. She pulled the woman closer to the light and tilted her face upward. By the gentle radiance of the torch, Tazi was able to see the woman's eyes were icy white. There was no recognition in them.

"That explains why you're such a terrible fighter," Tazi said, chuckling. "You really couldn't see them coming."

"While that may be true, I certainly was able to smell them." The woman grinned back.

Tazi's face broke into a genuine smile. She liked this woman. The daughter of Thamalon Uskevren felt herself a good judge of character and acted on her instincts.

"Well, if we are to be traveling together, even such a short distance as this street, it would help to know your name," Tazi remarked.

"I am called Fannah il'Qun," the woman said, with a slight flourish.

"And I," Tazi said with slightly more bravado, "am called Tazi. When I'm out in this quarter, dressed as I am now," she added, "that is the only name I go by."

"Then I will have to 'see' what you are wearing," Fannah told her.

Tazi was perplexed as to what the woman meant by "seeing," considering her condition. She had never before come across someone who was sightless. Curiosity won her over. Tazi rounded the corner, away from prying eyes, and told Fannah to go ahead and "see," whatever that meant.

The foreigner gently raised her hands and reached for Tazi's thick hair. Delicately, she let her sensitive fingers trail through its thickness and moved her hands over her rescuer's features. She could feel Tazi's smooth skin, high cheekbones and delicate mouth. There was the trace of face powder, and a whiff of perfume that hinted at a pampered life. What her fingertips could not reveal was the sea green of Tazi's eyes. She could tell, however, that Tazi was slightly taller than she was. As her hands traveled down Tazi's slender but muscular arms, Fannah could "see" that Tazi was wearing atypical fashion for a lady. In fact, Fannah realized Tazi was not wearing the clothes of a lady at all. Her trained fingers recognized the texture of leather and silk. The cut of Tazi's clothing lent itself more to the style of covert activities, most often carried out by men. Fannah's mouth turned up in a smile.

"I take it that you see now," Tazi asked.

"Yes," Fannah answered in her rich voice. "I think I begin to understand. You're not quite what you seem."

"Well, I am and I'm not. That all remains to be seen," Tazi added, suddenly not wishing this stranger to know so much. "Enough of this! All this playing about has given me a terrible thirst. Would care to join me for a drink?"

Fannah was momentarily at a loss for words. Her confusion was apparent,

"Well, I've obviously ruined your evening plans by bloodying your companions. The least I can do," Tazi offered grandly, "is make my services available in their place."

The raven-haired stranger took only a moment to make up her mind. Life had long ago taught her to accept what was given to her. She graciously offered her arm. Tazi noticed a strange design on it, but she made no mention of it. She gathered Fannah up as a proper escort should, and the two made their way onto Larawkan Lane. Tazi raised her free hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to suppress the giggles spilling out of her. By the time she swung open the battered door to the Shattered Kit Fox, both women were laughing uncontrollably. As the Kit was not the most respectable of places, none of the patrons batted an eye at the scene the "young man" and his lady friend were creating.

Tazi and Fannah seated themselves at a table in a discrete corner of the taproom. A plump serving girl lit the gutted candle sealed to the table by all the melted wax and took their orders. She was new and did not recognize Tazi. That suited the disguised Uskevren just fine. It seemed to Tazi far too many people recognized her tonight. The only one to acknowledge Tazi when she and her companion entered the smoke-filled room was Alall Ulol, one of the inn's owners. Of course he should recognize her, for he was the one she made her monthly payments to. The family's estate, Stormweather Towers, was a grand enough home, but Tazi felt the need to keep quarters that were wholly her own, with no attachment to her more "respectable" life. The Kit suited her completely.

Not certain whom Tazi was with, Alall stiffened behind the bar. His jowls, prominent by their covering of thick, gray sideburns, tightened and Tazi knew he was ready to lend aid if she needed it. She gave a quick nod of assurance, and he relaxed. After three years, he took more than a passing interest in her welfare. She in turn had come to trust Alall and his wife, Kalakalan. Kalli knew more about Tazi than anyone else.

When their drinks arrived, Tazi began to prod Fannah about her predicament. While she herself rarely talked about personal matters, save to Kalli and occasionally to the family butler, Erevis Cale, Tazi made a point of discovering as much as she could about those around her. Cale had taught her that knowledge was a valuable commodity. Plus, a blind woman wandering around unaccompanied in an unfamiliar part of the city must be an interesting tale. Before Fannah could tell her very much, however, Tazi felt a presence behind her. Fannah sensed someone as well and fell silent.

Tazi discreetly leaned forward, as though tipsy, and pulled her dagger from her right boot. The moment the person tapped her on the shoulder, she whirled, dagger drawn. The ragged beggar flinched but held his ground.

"Sorry." Tazi smirked as she recognized the old man. She had a network of informants, and he was one of her most reliable. "Do you have what I want?"

"I wouldn't be here otherwise," he wheezed. He pulled out a small scrap of paper with a few spidery lines on it. "A certain residence you were searching for," he offered.

Tazi sheathed her weapon and snatched up the paper, squinting at it briefly while Fannah calmly sipped her drink. When Tazi was certain she could read the old man's scrawls, she handed him her untouched tankard and discreetly slipped him a coin. Judging from his expression, she wasn't certain which item pleased him more.

Tazi threw her dagger into a timber near the bar to catch Alall's eye. Ignoring his fuming look, she smiled sweetly and motioned for another round.

"I guess I still don't understand." Tazi continued her conversation with Fannah as though there had been no interruption. "What you're saying is that your mother sold you because you were blind?"

Tazi forced herself to stare into Fannah's ice-white eyes. She slowly realized she found them disquieting. She had a difficult time believing Fannah couldn't see her with them. She also had trouble reconciling the life Fannah had lived with the now-composed woman seated before her. Fannah's nonexistent relationship with her mother gave Tazi pause. While she and her own mother, Shamur, bickered bitterly at times, Tazi knew in her heart that her mother could never even think of something so cruel.

Fannah tilted her head, birdlike, and brushed a strand of her blue-black hair from her face. "She wanted to kill me at birth," she replied calmly, "but her religion prevented that. I was fortunate she was so pious, not to mention that she was a beauty. Men paid a great deal of money for the company of Ibina il'Qun. Because of that, a local festhall in the city of Calimport paid well for me. They were sure I would grow to be as beautiful as my mother and perhaps follow in her footsteps."

At this remark, Tazi clicked her tongue as if to say "That's obvious!"

"But what could a young, blind girl offer a festhall?" she asked aloud.

"It did not take me long to learn the layout of the Desert's End," Fannah explained. "Once I was comfortable with it I was as competent as any serving girl. There were patrons who would pay extra to keep their identities secret. A blind girl seemed an obvious choice to accommodate them. What most people forget is that it is not just their faces that name them, but their voices and even"-she crinkled her nose in mock disgust-"their smells."

"Did you ever have to take up your mother's profession?" Tazi asked quietly.

"I was fortunate," Fannah answered without hesitation. "That was something I did not have to sell to anyone. When my time was up with the End, someone else bought my contract. He never told me his name, not once during the long journey here. The only demand he made of me was to place a mark on my arm." Fannah stretched out her right forearm for Tazi's inspection.

It was the tattoo Tazi had noticed in the street. She tried to place the familiar design. Tazi knew she had seen one like it recently. In a flash of memory, she recalled the exotic mark Ciredor bore on his neck.

"Once we arrived," Fannah continued, unaware of Tazi's revelation, "he promptly abandoned me without explanation."

"How long ago was that," Tazi interrupted excitedly.

"A few days ago, as best I can tell," the blind woman replied. "He said he would find me when he needed me. It was not long after that I fortuitously ran into you, 'Lord' Tazi."

Tazi's curiosity was raging now. What connection did Ciredor have with this girl? If he had one secret, she reasoned, he probably had more. Anxious to be on her way, she used the pause to take her cue.

"As enlightening as this is, I have some other plans for this evening," she informed Fannah. "I'll be right back."

While Alall finished serving a patron, Tazi freed her small dagger from the timber support near the bar. She leaned against the rail nonchalantly and inspected the point of her blade. Seeing that it had been dulled a little, she pulled a stone from a pocket in her vest and began to sharpen it.

"Dark and empty, I swear you are going to be the death of me, child," Alall scolded her, his apple-round cheeks growing red in indignation. "One of these days, your aim's bound to be off, and I'll be the one left to pay for it!"

Tazi leaned across the bar and lightly planted a kiss on one of those crimson jowls. "Now, now," she soothed, "you know I never miss. And if the impossible ever did happen"-she grinned-"your spirit could rest comfortably knowing that wife of yours would beat me properly. After all, she served in the army of the kingdom of Sembia for more than ten years."

"Why doesn't that make me feel any better," Alall sighed, rolling his eyes at the low ceiling above. But the kiss had already worked its magic. His grim expression softened as it always did around her.

Tazi reached into a concealed pocket and withdrew several coins. She handed him a few and, after some consideration, slid several more in his direction.

"Here's for the drinks. The extra is for you to have another key made for my room."

"Don't tell me you've gone and lost yours, poppet," Alall whispered to her.

"No. You see that black-haired woman at my table?" she said, lowering her voice and motioning discretely at Fannah. Alall nodded. "She's going to be staying in my room for a bit, and I want her to be able to come and go as she pleases."

Alall managed to hide most of his surprise. Tazi had kept a room at his inn for several years now and he could only think of two others who had ever been in the room after Tazi began renting it. They'd never been allowed to stay long enough to warrant a key.

"It'll be done," he promised. "And I'll let Kalli know about your guest, so she won't think the girl a lovelorn suitor and toss her down the stairs out of reflex."

Tazi grinned at the memory. Not too long ago, she had received a little too much attention from one of the Kit's patrons who had become smitten by the "boy" she seemed to be. Tazi tried to make a discreet retreat to her quarters, but the gentleman had other, friendly ideas. Kalli, however, made sure she was left alone. The man found himself picked up bodily by Alall's six-foot wife and tossed ignominiously down the bowed and rickety stairs. Tazi realized she had found a safe haven and another set of parents at the Kit.

As she turned to leave, Alall gave a few coppers back to her. Tazi smiled briefly at his superstition. There weren't many merchants in Selgaunt who still believed that you gave a little back to the client so that they could barter with you again someday. Alall did.

Returning to the table, she said to Fannah, "I'm afraid I'll have to go elsewhere this evening."

Fannah smiled and nodded, but Tazi could see concern cross her features. Not missing a beat, Tazi continued, "Why don't you take your drink and I'll walk you up to my room. Maybe we can even talk Kalli into fixing you something a bit more substantial to eat?" She went around to Fannah's chair and helped her get her bearings.

With her disturbing eyes fixed on Tazi, Fannah asked with a perplexed tone, "What do you mean by 'your room'?" It appeared that people could still surprise Fannah.

As she steered Fannah toward the stairs along the left side of the bar, Tazi remarked smoothly, "As I said before, I know I ruined your evening's plans. I would like to make up for it."

Fannah stopped before the stairs and resolutely stood her ground. She gripped Tazi's arm with both of her hands and stared hard at her with her sightless eyes.

"You don't know me, nor do you owe me anything. I will find a way to manage on my own," she said with a steel resolve. Now it was Tazi's turn to tilt her head at Fannah.

"I know you can," she reassured her, "but why not take me up on my offer? You don't have a place to go tonight, and I'm not asking anything of you. Why not say yes?"

After a moment of silence, Fannah whispered, "Why are you doing this for me?"

Tazi patted Fannah's clenched hands with her free one. "I like you. It's that simple. I just feel like doing this. Can't you accept that?"

Fannah's only response was to squeeze Tazi's hand and turn her face toward the stairs. Cautiously, the two made their way up to Tazi's room. It was simple enough, with a bed, a wooden table, and some chairs. There were a few locked chests under the bed, but Tazi seemed unconcerned about Fannah's presence in her room of secrets. When she opened, as much as she ever did, the doors into her life, she did so unreservedly.

"Let me light this oil lantern," Tazi began before she foolishly realized the light would not matter to Fannah. This time it was Fannah who smoothed over the awkwardness as she thanked Tazi.

"Leave it. I try to stay in practice and live as much as a sighted person as possible," she explained. "It tends to make people less uncomfortable around me." She flashed a warm smile at Tazi.

"Well, I think you're set for now. I'll see about sending up some food. Don't worry about paying for it."

As Tazi moved to the door, Fannah stopped her once more. Fearing some deluge of gratitude, Tazi raised her hands in protest. But Fannah's next words caught her by surprise.

"Beware tonight. Not everything you see is as it seems."

With those odd words resounding in her head, Tazi returned downstairs. She gave another nod to Alall and stepped out into the night. There, away from the nosy eyes of the Kit's clientele, she pulled out the scrap of parchment the old man had given her and verified the address once more. According to his sources, whatever or whoever they might be, the old man had discovered Ciredor's apartments. They weren't far.

Everything is going exactly the way I want, Tazi said to herself as she confidently made her way down Larawkan Lane. First, I'll relieve Ciredor of the trinket I gave him and, in doing so, relieve myself of his company. Then, I'll find out just what his connection is with Fannah. I don't want him to have any more to do with her. She discovered a protective feeling for her new acquaintance. Serious thoughts, however, never clung to Tazi for long, and soon she found herself envisioning Shamur's search for a new suitor for her. The picture of her exasperated mother caused a wave of giggles to well up in Tazi. As usual, they passed quickly.

Without warning, a group of gaudily costumed partygoers burst from around a corner. Tazi automatically reached for her dagger, but when she saw they offered no threat, she composed herself and gave a quick nod to the merrymakers. The encounter further reinforced her belief that everyone of note would be out tonight at one celebration or another.

Tazi walked more and more quietly as she left the concealing seediness of the Oxblood Quarter. To the few people still milling about on the cobblestone roadway, she looked for all the world like a young man out on a lark. Tazi was well practiced at effacing herself and becoming part of the backdrop around her. But she was not the only one this night with such skills, and the shadow that had followed her from Stormweather Towers was still near.

It was not too long a walk, but it was long enough, and Tazi used the time to prepare herself. The tang of salt in the air meant Selgaunt Bay was close again. Though she would be loath to admit it, her mouth always dried out at the beginning of her excursions. Her heart beat just a little faster, too. It was the end of her "wildings," though, that were sweetest. Words could not describe the surprise and pleasure she felt when they were over and she was triumphant once again. She had to admit to herself that she was secretly pleased she had discovered someone to share a few of these outings with, someone who enjoyed them as much as she did. But even though Steorf made a wonderful companion on nights like this, Tazi ultimately found the wildings on her own to be the best of all.

The accomplished thief made her way down Larawkan Lane, lost in her own thoughts. A few shops were still open. This was Selgaunt after all, and business was business, no matter the hour. The few lingering patrons were lost in their own trades and paid little attention to the darkly clad youth traveling quickly down the road. Soon Habrith's Bakery came into view.

Tazi nodded to herself at the sight of the landmark and turned right at the bakery, a business closed now but one that would be bustling with the coming of dawn. Down a few paces on Sarn Street nestled a small garden. There was a scattering of such islands of greenery in Selgaunt, the largest being the Hunting Gardens. The one before Tazi was much, much smaller, but Ciredor's temporary lodgings were said to be adjacent to the corner of the wooded lot. Tazi made her way through the grove to her intended target.

She moved silently through the sparse brush adjacent to Ciredor's walled-off garden, glad she had oiled her leathers earlier in the evening, for there wasn't the slightest creak from them. She was not as fortunate as her absent companion Steorf, who had learned to cast wards to ensure his own silence, regardless of what he wore or carried. Tazi had to admit when they were together his skill impressed her. He was becoming as formidable as his mother. He would make a worthy successor to Elaine one day, Tazi thought, assuming he could give up this kind of mischief for a respectable life.

She discreetly approached the garden wall, which had a limited view of the back of Ciredor's rented tallhouse. Most of the buildings nearby were tallhouses, stone edifices hard to distinguish from one another. Tazi hoped her information was correct, that she had got what she paid for. If not, she would probably help herself to a few sundry items from whoever's residence this was. Later she could throttle the old man back at the Kit.

The garden wall, still in fairly good repair, was about twice her height. The garden beyond was dense with trees and little else. Through their leaves, Tazi observed a little of the household. Two of the upper rooms had small balconies jutting out over the greenery. Several others appeared to be dimly lit, probably by some kind of continuous light spell. Tazi watched those rooms for several long moments. When she saw no shadows cross them, she deduced the house was empty of its master. At this time of night, the few servants she knew Ciredor had retained would most likely be in the kitchen or pantry, drinking ale. Tazi knew from experience that her own family's butler, Erevis Cale, kept a small supply of brandy in his own pantry, a brandy she had warmed herself with in his company more times than she could remember.

Tazi wasted no more time lost in memories. Deftly and soundlessly she scrambled up the side of the wall. She had picked a spot covered by tree branches and, when she arrived at the top, crouched there motionless for a time. With her dark hair and clothing, she was another thin shadow. The garden appeared to be empty, but it paid to be cautious. Some of these houseowners kept great, lumbering hounds and Tazi had learned quickly that dogs were not creatures she wanted to tangle with. Her right wrist still bore the scars of her first encounter with just such a beast. This garden, though, contained only trees. Across the lane, the dark figure watched Tazi and waited.

Unaware of being observed, Tazi swung herself down and slipped through the garden. She caught some movement in one of the rooms on the first floor, toward the west end of the house. The servants, no doubt, in the pantry, she thought. Tazi made her way stealthily to a set of double doors to the east, doors that opened onto what was probably a sitting room. She reached into the sleeve of her shirt to the slim wire tools tied to her forearm. Tazi had carried such lock picks with her since she was fifteen. A quick twist of the wrist and she heard the gratifying click of the lock disengaging. She smiled to herself and added another number to her mental tally of successes.

As the tallhouse was in such good condition, the door inched opened smoothly without a hint of sound. Now the sands were running. Tazi started her search of the house.

She moved easily from the first floor with its receiving rooms, actively avoiding the kitchen and pantries, and slipped up the stairs to the next floor. They were austerely furnished, and it looked as though Ciredor had not traveled with many of his own possessions. That added to the puzzle. The merchants Tazi knew never traveled so lightly. There were few wall decorations, save for the rich drapes that hung at the windows, and no ornamentation or personal trinkets anywhere else.

Tazi slid skillfully from one room to another, looking for a strongbox or jewel casket. She'd burgled the tallhouse of rich merchants before, and knew all the tricks: the secret alcoves, false stones that moved aside, hollow doors, and the obligatory traps. But each of the spots in which she expected to find such things was empty. Frustrated, she kept searching.

While searching in the bedroom Tazi was startled by something. The room was littered with many small, obscene carvings and pagan statues. "Interesting," she thought, with not a little distaste. A cursory glance revealed nothing of any monetary value, but Tazi began to wonder about the kind of man Ciredor was.

Her sharp eyes caught the glint of silver on his bed-table. Tazi slipped the shiny object out from under one of the shameful carvings. It was a badge with silver swans against a backdrop of green. Tazi knew this coat of arms all too well.

"The Soargyls," she whispered harshly. "What does Ciredor have to do with them?"

Knowing that the longer she dallied, the greater her chance of discovery, Tazi left the bedroom, frustrated by her lack of progress. Her mind raced. He must have a study somewhere, since there was no office attached to the tallhouse. Perhaps there she could discover what kind of connection existed between Ciredor and her family's most hated enemies-enemies whose motto was "Always even in the end." Ciredor would regret any association between himself and that loathsome brood, of that Tazi would make certain. No one threatened her family and walked away.

The only place she hadn't searched was the cellar. Tazi hated cellars; they were dead ends and, therefore, traps. Reaching the cellar would also mean sneaking through the occupied pantry, but she would be damned if she was going to leave empty handed.

She wound her way more quickly now back down the stairs and moved close to the kitchen. The room was dark. She could see pots and skillets hanging near the windows. Obviously the servants had cleaned up and were enjoying the emptiness of the household. As she passed the window, Tazi gave a quick squint to see if she could anything or anyone outside. As far as she could tell, Tazi thought she only had to worry about the men in the other room. In the blackness, she did not make out the figure crouched on the garden wall. But he saw her.

As she neared the pantry, Tazi plastered herself against the wall. She could hear the low voices of a few men coming from the room. At the edge of the doorway, Tazi glanced inside. A single, ancient oil lantern cast a dim light in the room. Evidently Ciredor's manservants didn't rate the same light spells as the rest of the house. There were three of them huddled around a table in the far corner of the room, lost in whispered conversation. There was something furtive, almost secretive in the manner in which they were speaking. Perhaps, Tazi thought cheerily, they were planning to rob their temporary master. Wouldn't that be terribly ironic, she wondered delightedly?

The lighting and the location of the table made her next move much easier than she'd anticipated. Most of the pantry was in shadows, and Tazi slid slowly along the wall. She had done this before, but the nearness of the men and the possibility of discovery made her heart pound harder. She felt as if it might burst through her fitted vest at any moment.

Four steps and she was at the stairs. Part of her still felt uneasy at searching the cellar, but now she was committed. She had her family to protect. Carefully avoiding the well-worn center of each step, Tazi made her way down with almost no sound. Pleased with her skill, she took a few steps and was suddenly hard pressed not to gag. The room was filled with a powerful stench of mold and decay. She could almost taste the dampness. The room reeked of it. The odor was so overpowering, she almost changed her mind. The challenge was irresistible to her, though. Resolutely she pressed on, one hand clamped over her nose and mouth.

Tazi noticed many footprints in the grime on the flagstones of the floor. Too many, she thought, for just the normal traffic of servants fetching liquor. Ciredor hadn't been in town that long, and hadn't hosted any large gatherings, as far as Tazi knew, to warrant such a substantial supply of spirits. Something else must have drawn him here. She began a careful search of the room.

Along a back wall, Tazi found what she had been looking for: a secret door near some ale casks. She knew from experience not to blunder through. To the right of the door, were stacked several crates. She climbed on top of them, her head practically pressed into the low ceiling. From this angle she was better able to check for traps or wards along the door. Strangely enough, there weren't any.

"Is he that arrogant," Tazi whispered incredulously, "to think no one would get this far? My, my, he's got a lot to learn about life."

The lock was a simple matter, and the door soon swung open to reveal a clean, dry room. Spells tripped by the door's movement banished the darkness but revealed something so foul it made the bile rise again in Tazi's throat. She had seen a lot in her years in the Oxblood Quarter and even darker locales, but she had never seen a thing like this atrocity.

The room was an antechamber, with two other doors at either side, near the entrance. At the back, against a wall, was an overstuffed divan with a mountainous pile of pillows. Right beside that was a desk covered with scrolls and a strongbox resting on the corner. The floor was comprised of two different colors of flagstones, one darker and one lighter. The dark flagstones formed a huge circle, its diameter slightly larger than the height of an average person. But it was what rested in it that caused Tazi's world to reel.

In the circle's center was what must have been a teenage boy. The tattered remains of his clothes marked him as a boat person, one of the many souls living in communities of ships lashed together in Selgaunt Bay. One of the faceless hordes whom only a handful might notice missing and none would dare report gone. Just like a newly arrived foreigner, she thought. The boy lay with limbs outstretched, with no sign of restraint. Bonds were pointless.

He was split from stem to stern. The skin of his torso had been carefully spread open like the pages of a book. Each of his larger internal organs was placed neatly near his body. Through horrified eyes, Tazi could see that blood vessels and connective tissue still bound those organs to his body. Muscles were pulled out and stretched taut from his bones. Almost against her will, she was drawn closer to him. The coppery smell of blood was everywhere.

As she neared, Tazi could see that huge lengths of his intestines had been yanked out and arranged in strange patterns. They appeared to form sigils, spelling messages that meant nothing to the sickened thief except for one sign that she had seen earlier this evening: the tattoo on Fannah's arm. A mark that both the foreigner and Ciredor bore. Was this what he had planned for Fannah, she wondered. But what Tazi had to force her mind to accept at that moment was the fact that the lad was still breathing! Some wicked magic kept his lungs working and his heart pumping. His lips were quietly moving, and the eyeless sockets in his head seeped with bloody tears. She knew with a heart-wrenching despair that he was beyond help and must be put out of his misery. There was no way she could bring him to a healer in time. He was beyond that. How? her mind demanded. How could she kill him? Tazi slowly moved toward his prostrate form.

A cold hand gripped her shoulder, and a scream tore from her throat. Tazi whirled around, instinctively drawing her blade. Standing there, a slow smile spreading across his face, was Ciredor. He was still arrayed in his costume from the fete; he looked like a malevolent salamander. His mask hung about his shoulders. More than a head taller than Tazi, his slim build made him look even taller. He had a thick head of dark hair, which he kept closely shorn. And his mustache and goatee emphasized his hollow cheeks. But after what she had seen tonight, Tazi no longer thought him to be so dashing.

"What a lovely surprise to find you here, Thazienne Uskevren. I was disappointed by your shoddy replacement at the party and thought I wouldn't get the chance to see you this evening," he said knowingly, slowly walking around her. "I would have brought you here soon enough, but it looks as though you couldn't wait."

With horror, she saw her diamond stud winking in the dimming light from his left ear.

The door slammed shut behind her. Tazi jumped and raised her sword higher. Ciredor paid no heed to her weapon. He moved past her to the far wall where his desk was situated. Casually, he began to sort through some of the many scrolls that lay there, all but oblivious to her presence. Tazi's heart was hammering in her chest, and there was no moisture left in her mouth.

"What are you," she managed to croak out, "that you could do this?" She pointed at the boy with a trembling hand.

Ciredor barely glanced up from his papers. "Oh, come now, Thazienne. You're a bright girl. Why ask such foolish questions?" He put down a scroll and advanced on her. "I'm a mage, of course, and some magic demands a high cost. This"-he nodded at the boy-"is nothing, really. I have many such as him who carry my sign, scattered throughout the lands. As one fades, there is always another to fill the void." With an easy wave of Ciredor's hand, Tazi's sword flew from her grip and spun across the room. It landed with a hollow clang on the flagstones. He put out one index finger and tipped her ashen face up to meet his gaze. "Everything demands a price, pretty Thazienne."

She slapped his hand away and stumbled back a bit. "What business do you have with the Soargyls?" she asked, buying time, giving her mind a chance to find an escape. She knew, with a kind of quiet dread, that death or worse was close at hand. There had to be a way out.

Ciredor answered, "I have been retained by, how shall I put it, those 'acquaintances' of your family to accomplish certain tasks. They do not ask for all that much, really, considering what they pay." He moved closer to her. "They ask for you, among other things," he whispered silkily, walking around her unyielding form. "But you might be able to outbid them. They have, after all, only procured my temporary loyalty."

The wooden entrance to the room fairly blew off its hinges. Both Tazi and Ciredor lost their footing as the foundation shook and debris flew everywhere. Steorf stormed in, eyes blazing, like some avenging spirit, no longer a mere shadow. Blinking dust from her eyes, Tazi was certain she had never seen him like this. Without a moment's hesitation, Steorf grabbed the lighter Ciredor by his shoulders and slammed him into the nearest wall, treating the mage to the same kind of punishment his three servants had received upstairs. Steorf should have finished the fight then, but he paused to glance at Tazi as she staggered to her feet, concern etched on his face. That hesitation was his undoing.

Ciredor brought up his arms between Steorf's grip. At the barest touch of his hands, fine, green sparks engulfed Steorf and blasted him the length of the room. Steorf's thickly muscled back absorbed the worst of the blow and barely saved him. The force of the explosion, however, stunned him and he slumped to the floor.

Tazi, in the meantime, had used the distraction in an attempt to retrieve her sword. She did not get far. Ciredor whispered a few words, and Tazi found herself slammed to the ground, her sword only a tantalizing few inches from her reach. Pain exploded inside her. She curled into a ball. Her mouth was thick with the taste of blood and fear.

"Dear, dear Thazienne, it doesn't look like you are ever going to grow up," Ciredor chuckled. "You've spent far too much time playing in your short life." As he spoke, he began to circle her crumpled body. "Just look at you," he continued, savoring the moment, "still playing dress up like some silly child. Don't you think it is high time you grew up?" He made another gesture. Tazi noticed the lights in the room dimmed, before a white, hot pain blurred her vision.

Somehow she managed to roll to her knees, her forehead against the cool flagstones. She was certain her brains were burning. A thousand daggers sliced into her scalp. Blood oozed from the pores atop her head as her hair began to grow at an unbelievable rate. She balled her hands into tight fists against the agony. Even through the suffering, she could feel her emerald ring bite into her finger. The words spoken to her years ago by a mage she had met as a child echoed dimly in her fevered mind.

"That's better," Ciredor cooed. "Now you look more like the slightly outdated portrait the Soargyls sent to me. That short style never suited your looks. I might even keep you for a while longer."

Tazi blindly reached for her sword. Ciredor deftly kicked the blade away.

"I can't believe that you have managed to survive this long, little girl," Ciredor hissed. "You are so obviously ill equipped for life."

"You might be surprised by what I'm capable of," Tazi spat back, forcing herself to stare at him through blood and her once again waist-length hair. Steorf had also risen unsteadily and moved up to stand behind her.

Suppressing a snicker, Ciredor nodded toward Steorf and remarked, "Even your hired help won't be able to pull you from this fire."

"He's not my 'hired help,'" Tazi, still in pain, moaned.

"Oh, excuse me," Ciredor replied with a mocking bow. "I meant to say your father's hired help."

Those words sliced through the agony her body was feeling. Forgetting her immediate danger, Tazi demanded, "Just what do you mean by that?"

Ciredor smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. A cat could not take more pleasure in playing with a mouse. Tazi could sense that to him the game was sweet and the pain emanating from the room was exquisite and addicting.

"Do you mean to tell me, Thazienne Uskevren, that you are completely ignorant of your father's machinations? Have you truly been unaware of the fact that for these past seven years yonder fledging mage," he paused to gesture at Steorf, "has been in the service of your father? He only stays by your side because he's been paid to do so!"

Tazi, oblivious to the deadly mage in front of her, staggered to her feet and slowly turned to Steorf. Her emotions rolled down her face like the wax of a tavern candle. A dark rage fixed itself there. For the first time in her life, Tazi was a fearsome sight to behold. Steorf took a step back from her.

"What is he talking about?" she hissed.

"It isn't what it seems," Steorf was quick to offer.

"Then this serpent is simply dripping venom to poison me against you. Is that what you're telling me?" she growled. There was no forgiveness in her voice.

"I'm your friend," Steorf said. "I always have been."

Tazi didn't give him a finger's length. "Do you accept money from my father?"

Steorf lowered his head, unable to meet Tazi's burning glare.

"I'm afraid," she continued through gritted teeth, "that I'm having trouble hearing you."

Ciredor leaned against the far wall grinning at the scene unfolding before him. Evidently he intended to let it play out for a few more moments.

"Yes, I do," whispered Steorf.

Tazi's world crumbled. She squeezed her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill forth. Her rage welled up within her, and she let her right hand curl into a fist. She cocked back her arm to swing at him.

Ciredor could no longer contain himself. He clapped delightedly at the pathetic tableau they presented. Before Tazi could strike her would-be rescuer, the mage whispered a word, and a green light shot from his outstretched hands. The light split into four glowing balls, and each found its way to Steorf's ankles and wrists. He was lifted and bound to the wall as efficiently as if iron manacles had been used. He struggled, but there was nothing in his mystical arsenal that could counter Ciredor's own arcane strength. In the growing gloom, Ciredor turned to face Tazi once more.

Blood ran down her face and throat. Her newly grown hair was matted in several places. Her leathers hung in tatters. She could barely maintain her footing. But a small, grim smile was planted on her lips.

"Enough, child. Time for us to leave," Ciredor stated. He clasped his hands together, and a sharp, green light burst from them.

"This ring is not something to be taken lightly." The warnings of Durlan, a moon elf, resounded through Tazi's mind. "There is a price to this magic," he had warned her a lifetime ago. "You will feel a great pain, more severe than anything you can imagine, and it will leave you spent, but the ring will keep you safe from any evil magic."

As the deadly bolt flew toward her, Tazi stretched out her left hand in a gesture of defiance and spoke an ancient word. The pain from Ciredor's earlier torture was nothing compared to the hot knives that stabbed her body. A pale, gray shield formed in front of her and deflected Ciredor's attack.

The mage stood amazed. His magic had never failed him before.

Tazi seized his hesitation. Nearly blinded by the pain, she still managed to slide her right hand into her boot and grab her small dagger. No playful, practice throws at the Kit any longer; her life depended on her skill now. She flung her arm out.

The dagger caught Ciredor below his heart. His face a mixture of surprise and shock, he doubled over and sank to his knees. Tazi didn't waste the opportunity. She had noticed the lights flickering and dimming during their battle and suspected the fight was draining Ciredor, though he still had a reserve. The only possibility was the boy. Somehow, his waning life was feeding Ciredor.

As the mage struggled to pull out her dagger, Tazi ran across the room to the divan. She grabbed a large pillow and stumbled over to where the boy lay. There was only one thing to do. Tazi dropped to her knees, no longer feeling any pain, and leaned over the eyeless boy.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, the tears barely in check. "You never had a chance." With that, she lowered the pillow over his face and leaned against it with all her weight.

The child did not last long. It only took a brief moment for Tazi to take her first life.

The room grew very dim. The shackles binding Steorf began to flicker. Ciredor, who had managed to remove the dagger, tried desperately to staunch the flow of blood with part of his costume. Things were not going as he planned. Wounded and with little energy left, he gave way.

"I'm not nearly through with you, Thazienne Uskevren," he warned darkly. "We are bound, you and I, and the end has not yet been written." With that, he tossed her dagger aside, and summoned the last bit of his remaining magic. A bright glow filled the dark room. When it finally faded and the dancing stars had left Tazi's eyes, Ciredor was no where to be seen. Tazi was alone with Steorf and a crumbled pile of dust that had been the boy's body.

For a time, there was no sound in the room. Tazi simply knelt over the dead boy's ashes and gently rocked back and forth, hands on her knees. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

She knocked it away and leaped to her feet. "Don't you touch me," she warned Steorf through gritted teeth. He looked shocked and weary at the same time. "You don't have the right to, and I'm sure"-she added a bitter laugh-"my father isn't paying for that."

"Tazi-" he began feebly, but she didn't give him the chance.

"Just how much is he paying you?" she demanded. "How much to ensure your loyalty?"

Steorf looked torn. Despite herself, Tazi could see that what he said next cut him to the bone.

"Please don't make it sound so horrible, Tazi. Everyone has a price. You should know that. This is a city for buying and selling. Don't act so shocked. Even you have one." After a moment, he added, "I have always been loyal."

"And how many 'suns' would it take for you to be loyal to someone else?" Tazi turned sharply from him. She would not let him see her like this. It would be the bitterest of defeats, and she refused to lose anything else tonight. Looking down at what was left of the boy, she abruptly changed the subject. "This must be taken care of."

Seizing the chance to help, Steorf hastily said, "Don't worry, I'll see to it that the remains are put to rest." He moved a step closer to Tazi, but she would have none of it.

"Well, that's what you're paid for, isn't it? To take care of things, and clean up after me?" Not waiting for a response, she absently collected her dagger and stuffed most of the scrolls that seemed so important to Ciredor into her vest. Dimly, she knew she would need whatever information she could gather about him in the days to come. She strode to the door.

"Wait," Steorf shouted after her. "Let me accompany you home."

"Don't bother," she snarled, without turning around. "The only thing you'd need to protect me from now is my rage against you." With that, she left.

Once out in the street, Tazi leaned against a wall, raising her hand to her mouth. The tears were so close, as were a collage of memories: times she and Steorf had spent together, near captures, jaunts, and larks. All of it seemed far away now, as if they were someone else's memories. Everything she had held true was thrown back in her face. She was more alone than ever now.

Somehow she managed to stumble the short way down Sarn Street to Stormweather Towers without being seen by anyone. It would have been hard, if not impossible, to explain her appearance now, looking both like a noblewoman and thief. She moved automatically. When she entered her family home, the party finished long hours past, she dropped into the first chair she found in the darkened parlor on the main floor. It was while she was in this near comatose state that Cale, still cleaning up after the departed guests, discovered her. The sight she presented shocked him mightily.

"Thazienne," he blurted out, "what has happened to you?" The sight she presented-torn and bloody, her hair restored to its former length-shocked him into calling her by her first name.

Tazi turned glazed eyes up to his pale visage. "Oh, Erevis," she choked out. His pale, gaunt face had never seemed so dear as it did now. But a seed of doubt had taken root, as well. She caught herself before she said anything, and after a moment, she asked, "Do you have a price, Cale? Aside from what my father pays you for your loyalty and your service, do you have a price?"

Cale was silent. Something had changed the normally laughing girl into something else tonight. He was unsure of how to proceed.

"Never mind, Cale," Thazienne continued wearily. "I know you are loyal to us. But I suppose, I must be careful. You could also be loyal to someone else one day."

She turned from the stunned Cale to carefully climb the grand staircase to her rooms above. Her whole body and soul ached tonight. She wouldn't have cared if anyone had discovered her as she was this evening, but no one did. It was too late in the evening for the rest of the family and servants. She arrived at her rooms unrevealed.

Once inside, she walked to her dressing table and sank onto the cushioned chair beside it. Some part of her mind knew she would have to clean herself up, rid herself of the blood and soil, cut the long tresses that hung in her way. But she was exhausted. She found herself staring at her face in the mirror and not recognizing the woman who stared back at her. The change was more than just the blood and hair; it ran deeper than that. She found herself remembering the boy and how she had ended his life.

Moving slowly, as if underwater, she reached out with her bloody hand to touch the face in the mirror. At what cost, she asked herself quietly, is this life of mine?

The woman in the mirror remained silent.