Sands of the Soul (7 page)

Tazi turned and glanced back at his trunk. “What about that lock?” she asked with a quick jerk of her head. Cale led her from the room.

“We’ll save that one for another day. It is far trickier than it appears.”

Tazi walked over to that same trunk so many years later, still smiling from her reverie. A low voice reminded her she was no longer that young girl. ,

“Can I do something for you, mistress?” Cale asked.

Tazi turned to see that Cale had been sitting in the leather chair the whole time. She simply hadn’t seen him until he spoke to her. She was momentarily embarrassed that he had caught her daydreaming. There was a time when it wouldn’t have bothered Tazi if he had found her lost in an unguarded moment, but those days had passed for her. She didn’t want anyone to find her exposed.

She sat down on the trunk, resting her elbows on her knees with her hands laced loosely together.

“I’m sorry to bother you so late,” she began lamely, realizing she hadn’t awakened him as he was still dressed in his

ill-fitting servant’s garb, “but some events have transpired and I need some advice. Ebeian …”

“Ebeian is dead,” Cale finished for her.

He didn’t bother to rise or offer Tazi anything to drink. He sat rigidly in his chair with his fingers steepled under his chin.

“I suppose I should be surprised that you know that,” Tazi replied after a moment, “but you have always been ‘well connected,’ haven’t you?”

Cale merely tipped his head in acknowledgement. Since he first started training her, Tazi recognized that Cale had a network of associates with ties to the less-than-respectable element of Selgaunt. Because he never seemed to use those connections for anything other than for the Uskevren’s benefit, Tazi never mentioned it to her parents. If her family had been in jeopardy, it wouldn’t have mattered to Tazi what dark secrets others he possessed. She would’ve handed him over in an instant. However, he was always true as far as she knew, and she was fully prepared to use him and his connections.

“Then you are probably already aware of the manner of his death,” she continued, not waiting for a reply. “I was doubly surprised myself. First to have Steorf, of all people, drag me away from the Kit, and of course, to then find Ebeian dead.”

A small part of her hoped that she might have wounded Cale at the mention of Steorf’s name.

In the aftermath of her initial encounter with Ciredor, Tazi knew Cale was somewhat pleased that she had broken off her friendship with the mage-in-training. For as long as she had known either one, Tazi was aware of an unpleasant undercurrent between Steorf and Cale and was certain there was no love lost. Cale’s pleasure, however, soon dissipated as Tazi shut him out over time as well. Between that and the long months of recovery since her injuries, a wedge had come between them.

“Steorf and I discovered that it was Ciredor who was responsible for Eb’s death,” Tazi told him. “That bastard plans to take

Fannah next for something I don’t completely understand, but I won’t allow it. I’ve got Steorf keeping guard over her in my rooms at the Kit while I get ready to take this battle to him … in Calimport.”

“You remember your lessons well,” Cale finally answered her.

‘“Always face your enemy at a time and place of your own choosing,’ was what you taught me. Well,” she said, “the place is not quite one of my choosing, but maybe with Fannah’s knowledge of Calimport, I can turn it into one.”

Tazi felt the need to move. She stood up and began to prowl around Cale’s room again. She had often teased him that he chose to live like a cloistered monk. Since the incident with the shadow demons, Tazi thought his room, like his manner around her, had grown even colder. Glancing at the deep shadows in every corner, Tazi noticed the room was more secretive than she ever remembered.

It might just be a facade, she thought, just as my room is. Perhaps this darkness no more represents Cale than the lace doilies and pastel paints reflect who I really am.

“Cale?” she finally asked with her hand outstretched.

His words stopped whatever question she was going to pose, and even Tazi wasn’t sure what that would’ve been.

“I cannot possibly go with you,” he said with closed eyes. “There are certain matters here that demand my attention.”

Tazi turned away, shoulders slumping. Whatever she thought he might have said, a refusal was not something she had expected. Tazi wrapped her arms around herself as though suddenly chilled. She wished she was anywhere but there, unexpectedly feeling abandoned.

Stupid girl, she chided herself, what did you expect him to say?

That didn’t change how she felt. With her back turned, Tazi didn’t see what Cale did next.

He slowly rose from the chair, a suddenly tender look fixed on his severe features. He reached a long, muscular arm

toward Tazi but stopped within an inch of brushing her short locks with his fingertips. Instead, he balled his hand into a fist and lowered his arm to his side. In a militaristic fashion, Cale squared off his shoulders to deliver his next lesson.

“The name Uskevren means ‘too bold to hide,’ as you well know. You should remember the most important example I ever taught you: Finish whatever you begin,” Cale reminded her. “You must finish this with Ciredor.”

Tazi kept her back to Cale but stood up a little straighter at the mention of the necromancer’s name. “I know that,” she replied quietly.

“Though I can’t go with you,” Cale continued and Tazi wasn’t stire but thought he sounded a little sad, “I can help you somewhat. Among the papers on your writing desk, you will find an address. It is a dwelling in one of the more dubious quarters of Selgaunt that houses more than it seems.” He paused, but Tazi didn’t turn. Cale continued, “In this residence, you will discover a gate to Calimport. It will save you many days—even months—of travel, but the gate is not without cost.”

“I know about costs,” she whispered.

Cale nodded at her response but the acknowledgement was lost on Tazi. She kept herself rigid like a wall and refused to face Cale while so many emotions coursed through her. It was the only way she could keep herself in check. She wasn’t going to allow Cale to see her turmoil. Undeterred, he continued his counsel.

“I also think it would be fortuitous to bring the scrolls you took from Ciredor with you. After your grueling encounter with him, I still marvel that you had the presence of mind to take them with you,” he admitted proudly. “I have a feeling that their meaning will become clear on this journey.”

‘“Better to be prepared than caught empty-handed,’” she quoted with a touch of sarcasm.

“Always,” he answered. “The last thing I would advise is that you have both Fannah and Steorf accompany you.”

Tazi tilted her head and almost looked over her shoulder

at him when Cale mentioned Steorf by name. She stopped herself, feeling that it would somehow be a defeat to turn. If he was going to send her off without him, then so be it. She would be on her own.

“Fannah will be much safer under your constant care,” he told her, and Tazi swelled a little at the compliment. “And you might find that in this journey you will need a mage you can trust.”

Cale sighed wearily. Now it was his shoulders that sagged as if under a great weight.

“Steorf,” he nearly whispered, “is a mage you can trust, Thazienne.”

With that admission, Cale turned and walked over to his chair. He stood beside it and lightly rested his hand on its arm, the same hand he had wanted to touch Tazi with earlier.

Once again, Cale had shocked her. Tazi never thought he would’ve recommended Steorf for anything, let alone as a comrade on so deadly an undertaking as this. She swallowed hard and turned to face him only to discover that Cale had moved away and presented his straight back to her.

“If you think that is the course of action to take,” she finally replied, “then I’ll follow it.”

“You have to do what you think is the wisest, Thazienne,” he reminded her. “For in the end, you live only with yourself.”

“Thank you for everything,” she told him quietly.

Cale didn’t turn, only nodded his head slowly in response. Tazi felt torn, wanting to go to him but also fearing to trust him, or herself, completely. When the awkward moment stretched out too long, she finally moved to go. She swung open the heavy door but paused in the doorway, not wanting to leave things between them like this.

Tazi glanced back, half hoping to find him looking at her, but Cale still presented that rigid back to her. She found the sight oddly heartbreaking, the emotions he triggered in her a surprise even to Tazi. As she turned to leave, her eyes caught sight of his pine trunk. Closing the door behind her,

Tazi realized that in all these years she never had found out what he kept in there—or in his heart.

At the sound of Tazi’s departure, Cale turned toward the door.

“Safe journey, dear heart,” he whispered. ŚŠŚ

Shamur Uskevren watched for a moment longer and silently slid the viewing panel shut. Once she was certain it was sealed tight, she re-lit her lamp. She was especially cautious because she knew how observant Cale could be. If neither her daughter, Tazi, nor Cale had been aware that she had been witness to their whole conversation, she was probably safe from discovery.

Though she was barefoot and dressed only in her silk night-clothes, Shamur ignored the chill. Her mind preoccupied with the events she had just observed, she made her way through the passage automatically. As far as Shamur knew only she and her husband, Thamalon, had any knowledge of the intricate, hidden routes that honeycombed Stormweather Towers. The spy portals had come in handy on many occasions when Shamur needed to test the loyalties of the various servants and guards the Uskevren hired from time to time. Tonight, they had revealed much more than loyalty.

Shamur’s feet were so numb with cold by the time she returned that she hardly noticed as she crossed from the stone floor to the luxurious carpeting other private bedroom. But she was not so distracted that she didn’t observe that her fire was dying. She moved over to the ornately carved fireplace and added a log to the smoldering embers. A few moments of fanning and the wood was crackling cheerfully again.

Certain the fire was stoked, Shamur padded around her canopied bed to her wooden armoire. She let her hand slide down the left side of the chest, her delicate fingers searching

the various carved figures. Using a combination known only to her, Shamur pressed several of the indentations in the designs at once. With a tiny click, a panel swung open.

She reached into the shallow compartment and withdrew the only item that was inside. Shamur held the note carefully in her hand, as if it was some precious artifact. The faintest trace of her daughter’s perfume still lingered on the parchment.

She settled herself onto the settee near the fireplace and looked over the note with her keen gray eyes. There were only a few lines scrawled on it, and Shamur had read them so many times, she knew them by heart. Still, she read them aloud once more.

“‘Whatever good is in me exists because of you,’” she quoted. ‘“Ai armiel telere maenen hir. Cale.’”

As she had for so many months, Shamur once again sent up a silent prayer that she had discovered the note before her daughter had.

That night of Thazienne’s grievous wounds, Shamur couldn’t sleep. She had needed to see her daughter’s chest rise and fall one more time to reassure herself that Tazi still lived, regardless of what the priests told her. Only then would she be able to rest. Since she didn’t want to have to explain herself to anyone, let alone the servants, Shamur had quietjy slipped into Thazienne’s bedroom after she saw Cale depart that night.

Walking over to her daughter’s bedside, Shamur was amazed to discover the sudden, romantic confession Cale had left behind, written on her daughter’s personal stationary.

Shamur was slightly in shock from the culmination of events that evening, and the note was too much for her. She slid it into a fold of her robe and, when she returned to her chambers later on, she hid the missive in the hollow panel in her wardrobe. She felt she needed some time to decide what was best for her daughter.

Now, a year later, she saw that some sort of divide existed

between her daughter and Erevis Cale. Obviously, he had never spoken of his feelings for her except in that note.

Perhaps he has grown tired of waiting for a sign from Thazienne, the woman who “holds his heart forever,” she thought, before coming to a decision.

Shamur looked a final time at the Elvish words of love written to her daughter from a family servant and threw the note into the fire. As the flames licked up the paper, Shamur felt certain she had done the right thing.

She loved her daughter fiercely and would do anything to ensure Thazienne’s happiness. She wouldn’t have her daughter trapped in a painful union if it could be avoided. V Being linked to a common servant just wasn’t right for her daughter, though it had taken this sad encounter between Tazi and Cale to cement her decision. Shamur had struggled for months with what was best and took this night as a sign. With the letter destroyed, she felt certain Thazienne’s long-term contentment was ensured.

A soft knock on the door startled Shamur from her concerns.

“Come in,” she said.

Thamalon Uskevren, wearing a maroon and gold robe, walked in.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” he asked.

For the first time that evening, Shamur smiled. With her ash-blonde hair loose about her face, she looked more her daughter’s age. That fact was not lost to her husband’s appreciative gaze.

“Come sit with me,” she invited, patting the cushion next to her.

A year before, Shamur would never have extended an offer that intimate to her husband, but many things had changed over the past months, mostly for the better. She didn’t have to hide behind a mask with him any longer. When all was said and done, there was no one else with whom she would rather share a moment like this.