Free Sands of the Soul by Voronica Whitney-Robinson Page A

Ciredor’s cheeks. Behind him, the chamber connected to a passageway that was lined with ten figures of various sizes, all at least as large as an elf. The amethyst’s brilliance played affectionately on those figures, caressing them.
    But it was Ciredor who was enraptured. With an almost loving look, he reached out to the stone again and grazed it with his thin fingers. It blazed more intensely at his touch. He gazed deeply into the stone and began to laugh once again at what he saw within.
    “My dear, dear Thazienne,” he said to the gem, “how can it be that so much time has passed and you are still the same?”
    But there was no one else to answer him. Not that he needed an answer, either. He knew well enough that Tazi had simply survived this long in her life due to luck and her family’s fortune. He wondered just how many times her parents had had to pay to have her resurrected, she seemed to be so careless.
    Obviously, her parents weren’t all that cautious, either. They had, after all, made the mistake of letting him come into their home to “heal” their stricken whelp once. He felt he was soon to find out just how many other mistakes they had made with their daughter.
    “How completely foolish and trusting you are, little girl,” he persisted, staring into the gem. “Didn’t you learn anything from our last encounter? So you think you are going to bring the battle to a … how did you so quaintly put it?” He paused for a moment before continuing, “a time and place of your choosing?”
    He threw back his head and laughed again.
    “Since when has any of this ever been your choosing? Do you think the boy-mage found your elf lover by his skills alone? ” he asked the stone. “Oh, Tazi—” he shook his head— “how I wish you could see me as I see you right now. It would be rather exquisite to enjoy in person the pain that all of this would cause you … but that will come soon enough.”
     
    For a moment, Ciredor could again taste the bitter hurt Tazi had felt those years past when he revealed to her that her close confidant had been simply a hired hand. There was an undeniable sweetness to the pain she had emanated that night. Tazi had possessed a certain innocence then, despite the lifestyle she had chosen, and he had been the man to claim that innocence. More than once since then, Ciredor had found himself savoring that memory despite the hatred he harbored at losing to such a child. Finding he couldn’t contain himself any longer, he began to pace around the chamber.
    “Through clues and signs, I led your would-be-mage to that tableau I carefully staged just for you, dear Thazienne. I even hoped you might recognize my signature on this without any magical assistance, but you proved yourself unworthy again. I suppose I shouldn’t be too disappointed in you. After all, in the end, I will get everything I need.”
    Absently, he stroked his goatee.
    “It was rather entertaining to watch that old man you hired strain and groan and sweat as he struggled to animate poor, dead Ebeian,” Ciredor said. “And, finally, that corpse told you just enough to whet your appetite and send you to me, bearing gifts, no less.”
    One side of his mouth turned up into a smirk.
    “And still, you don’t see.” ,
    Ciredor moved swiftly across the chamber to the gem, caught up in his own discourse.
    “I was the one who allowed Ebeian to speak, as it were. It was only the words of my choosing that passed through his battered mouth. Will you miss those tender lips, little Tazi?” he wondered.
    He kneeled before the dais where the amethyst lay. Stretching one arm across the platform, he allowed his head to rest against it and stared at the jewel as if he was watching a lover sleep.
    “Once more, I pull your strings, sweet puppet,” he continued softly, “and you dance for me most obediently. I’m
     
    waiting here with open arms to welcome you to my home. When you arrive, we will settle the debts between us,