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

Uskevren. When I’m done with you and those you hold dear,” his voice dropped to a deadly whisper, “you will wish I’d killed you that first night.”
    He sat up and tugged at his black tunic, as though he were readying himself for an evening out, brushing at various imagined stains and dust.
    “I really can’t be bothered by worrisome details right now, though. So,” he said, directing his speech back to the gem, “pack your bags quickly and bring yourself and that Calishite beauty here.”
    He rose in a dignified manner and clasped his hands behind his back.
    “I appreciate the aid your butler has given you, so that I am not kept waiting too long,” he acknowledged as he began to walk around the stone like a schoolmaster delivering a lesson. “And I appreciate that the gate is all Cale has given you. I would not want him to give you more. In fact,” Ciredor grudgingly admitted, “I would not want to have to deal with him to get to you. There is something about him…” he trailed away thoughtfully, “something I can’t read.”
    Snapping himself from his trance, Ciredor studied the room and the figures beyond. Like a drill instructor inspecting his troops, he marched past each one. As if they were pieces of a puzzle, he made sure once again that each fit his needs. When he was satisfied with what he saw, the mage returned to the gem.
    “Bring the crown for my queen here, little Tazi,” he ordered. “Bring the last piece to my gift. Once it is here, I need only wait until the new moon. A tenday from now and everything changes. And, of course, you are mine.”

CHAPTER
PASSAGES
    this rain never cease?” Tazi hissed.
    She, Steorf, and Fannah stood before a brick tail-house on Morrow Street in the Edis quarter. It was well past night’s heart, and most of the residences that lined the street were dark. A fine drizzle misted the air.
    “It doesn’t really matter whether it stops or not,” Steorf snapped. “It’s not as though you’re suffering for it.”
    Tazi gave him a sharp look before turning to pace a little along the street as she ostensibly looked for guards. Steorf was correct, though. As well as having chosen the black leathers that she had spent the previous day oiling, Tazi also sported a travel cloak, as did Steorf and Fannah. From her head to her ankles, she was protected from the rain by the
    spell that was woven into the fabric. The precipitation rolled off her. She wasn’t going to end up drenched like the other night, but Tazi felt the need to say something, and complaining about the weather was the most obvious and mundane topic of choice.
    “I’m going to climb the wall and see if there are any guards we need to know about,” she offered.
    “I thought your manservant,” Steorf stressed that particular title, “guaranteed that this building would be virtually empty for the night.”
    “There are no guarantees that you can trust,” Tazi reminded him. “You should know that by now.”
    “There are a few, Thazienne,” he answered quietly.
    Not having a quick retort, she moved past him and crossed the street toward the low wall that surrounded the tallhouse. In one fluid motion, Tazi swung herself onto the top of the wall and crouched low. It felt good to be in motion, even this little bit. She felt ready to jump out of her skin and had a bad taste in her mouth. Tazi knew she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes for Fannah’s sake, if no one else’s.
    Glancing back at her two companions, Tazi studied their differences. Steorf, tall and muscular, dressed head to toe in black, looked most formidable, and, Tazi sensed, he was wound tight as a spring. Fannah, on the other hand, stood , there as though she were waiting for some visitor to come calling. While she was also dressed in dark tones, with her thick hair tied back in a single, waist-length braid, Tazi noticed there was nothing furtive about her mannerisms. Fannah just seemed to be waiting.
    Nothing disturbs her,