The mage-in-training let it slip out that Tazi nearly died at the hands of that necromancer and wouldn't say more. Ebeian didn't pursue the matter, secretly glad that Steorf was no longer a part of Tazi's life-he detested competition of any sort-but if Ciredor was back, that didn't bode well for Tazi.
'Can I offer you something to drink?' a nervous Lord Rorsin asked his guest.
'It's not what you can offer me that intrigues me this evening,' Ciredor replied smoothly. 'It is what I might be able to offer you.'
A slow smile curved his lips. Ebeian watched as Ciredor motioned Rorsin to sit, as though it were the mage who was master of the house.
And perhaps he is, mused Ebeian.
'I have something for you, something special.'
With that, Ciredor reached into a hidden fold of his dark red doublet, and pulled out a crystal flask. He placed it carefully onto the teak table beside the couch with the slightest hint of a flourish.
Lord Rorsin studied the amethyst-hued flask for a few moments. Ebeian thought he was probably not looking at it so much as trying to work up the nerve to speak to Ciredor again.
'What is it?' the Soargyl finally asked.
'I thought you'd never ask,' came Ciredor's easy reply. Ebeian sensed that the mage was simply toying with the slow lord and enjoying it.
'It is something your father hired me to do, before his untimely demise. His last wish, so to speak.'
Ebeian watched as Lord Rorsin's head dipped slightly at the mention of his father's death and saw how that reaction did not go unnoticed by the dark mage.
The bastard, Ebeian thought.
'Within this crystal is something very unique. One might call it a one-of-a-kind piece.'
The elf could see Ciredor lift the flask off of the table and allow the firelight to play on its many facets.
He is a good showman, I'll give him that, Ebeian grudgingly admitted to himself. He knows how to work the angles. Lord Rorsin is very much out of his league here.
As Ebeian predicted, the blond man could not outwait Ciredor. He didn't grasp the rules to this undeclared game.
'You still haven't told me what it is,' he said, with a touch of petulance.
'I would have thought you would have guessed by now,' Ciredor answered, and as though he couldn't resist the twist of the knife, he added, 'and I would have thought your mother would have taught you better manners when speaking to a guest.'
The elf realized that Ciredor was not someone he wanted to be on the opposite side of. Ebeian could see that he had an unerring ability to find his opponent's weak spot and dig in. He wondered even more what this mage had done to Tazi and what it had taken her to drive him away. He listened even more closely, the pain in his shoulder all but forgotten.
'What I have here is both precious and useful. Mark my words, boy, that combination does not occur in this life very often.' He carefully placed the flask back on the table. 'That'-he pointed at the container with one long finger-'holds part of Thazienne Uskevren's soul.'
It took all of Ebeian's self-control to remain silent at that revelation. How could that be, he wondered. When and how would the mage have been able to take that from her? His fingers practically bit into the doorknob as he, like Lord Rorsin, waited for an explanation. Even as it came, Ebeian realized when Ciredor could have accomplished it.
'I'm sure you recall the night your parents left this mortal coil,' Ciredor began.
When this produced a nod from Rorsin and-Ebeian wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light or not-what appeared to be a tear from his pale, blue eyes, Ciredor continued his narrative.
'On that fateful evening, the Uskevrens,' Ciredor began, and Ebeian noticed the subtle insult to Tazi's family name, 'were hosting a party. As you know, many attendees were slaughtered just like your parents. The shadow creatures seemed to draw the very essence from their victims.'
Ciredor paused for a moment, and Ebeian wondered if it was only for effect or if the necromancer actually appreciated the creatures.
'I am also quite certain you would remember that the Uskevrens nearly lost their only daughter during the attack. Or were you too overcome with grief to assimilate that fact at the time?' he questioned solicitously.
Ebeian could see that Rorsin was becoming flushed. The elf was silently rooting for the Soargyl to actually display a little backbone, but that didn't seem to be in the cards. He could also see that Ciredor recognized he wasn't going to get a bite from the lad this time. He hurried along with his story.
'With Thazienne gravely wounded and the household in disarray after the evening's slaughter, I saw my chance.'
Ebeian watched in fascination as Ciredor continued as though he were alone.
'I had been waiting forever, it seemed, for just the right moment to claim that little bitch. I owed her so much…'
Ciredor absently rubbed his chest for a moment before he realized where he was and regained his composure.
'Word spread quickly among the survivors of the debacle that Thazienne had been gravely wounded and her father had sent for High Songmaster Ammhaddan. It was simple enough for me, disguised as that very priest, to intercept Thamalon Uskevren's servant and be escorted inside. In they led me to poor little Tazi's bedroom, begging me to save her.'
Ebeian's lips twisted in anger at the casual way Ciredor used Thazienne's special nickname.
'Her soul had been partially torn from her body, but still it lingered nearby. It was a difficult decision, whether to simply send that part of her to the Abyss and help the rest to follow or to take what was lost for myself.'
He glanced at Rorsin to see if his audience was still hooked, and he wasn't disappointed.
'And all the while,' the mage continued, pacing back and forth before the fire, 'she lay there, so very… vulnerable.'
Ebeian noticed how Ciredor savored that last word, as a cat might some delectable morsel.
'So I decided to take what was available for myself. I saw the value in it, and now I offer that to you,' Ciredor finished, turning to stare at Rorsin.
Ebeian held his breath as he waited to hear what the Soargyl would say in response. All the while, his mind worked at how he could return Tazi's soul fragment back to her. This is what had been wrong with her all along, he reasoned, and now the elf could save her.
'I-I don't know what to say,' Rorsin stammered, obviously frightened to anger the mage.
'Well, try, dear boy. I don't have all night.'
With that, Ciredor seated himself in a cloud of maroon velvet back onto the couch.
'What I meant to say was that I wouldn't know what to do with something so 'precious,' as you phrased it. I have to wonder why you would be willing to part with it to someone like me.'
Ebeian smiled from his hidden vantage point. Perhaps Rorsin might have a backbone after all.
'Here,' the mage began, 'try to follow along. If you have possession of part of Thazienne Uskevren's soul, you will have the ability to scry through her.'
Both the elf and Ciredor realized Rorsin was confused.
'A window through her eyes,' Ciredor explained. 'You would have the inside view to all her family's dealings. I think even you,' he added derisively, 'can recognize what that could mean for you and your family.'
'I guess I'm not making myself plainly understood,' Rorsin interjected. 'I don't understand why you would ever part with something that special?'
Good question, thought Ebeian. The elf had been wondering that himself. If Ciredor hated Tazi so much for that mysterious, past offense, why sell her so cheaply? Surely the dark mage could come up with a more interesting fate for her than this.
'I have to admit,' Ciredor grudgingly revealed, 'that you pose a good query, boy.' He stood up and his maroon clothing turned black against the firelight. 'I was never able to fulfill my bargain with your father and I find loose ends to be… annoying. As delightful a morsel as the splinter of little Tazi's soul is, I cannot be bothered with fragments right now. They have no worth to me.'
Ebeian saw that Lord Rorsin was curious, and that curiosity emboldened him.
