standing to the rear of him. They wore stricken looks similar to their senior priest and were trying to hide behind his flowing purple robes.
'Get in here,' Ciredor growled.
I'm too close now to waste time on these games, he thought.
The Mysterious Lurker generously stepped aside and offered some mumbled, parting words before disappearing into the shadows of the antechamber. The two followers trudged in and hung their heads.
'What has happened?' he demanded. Then he added icily, 'My ire only grows the longer I'm kept waiting.'
The two novices exchanged a look between each other before one stepped forward.
'My Lord,' he started in a rich, baritone voice that didn't match his thin frame, 'we are sorry to bring you unhappy word regarding the foreigners.'
He fell silent, closely studying his sandals for imagined imperfections, and Ciredor idly regarded his nails before continuing sweetly, 'It seems that I didn't make myself clear.'
He flung his hand toward the novice like he would swat an insect. A bolt of green light tore from his hand and struck the young man in the throat. The Child of Ibrandul was thrown up against the rock wall and held by the green energy. Like a manacle on his neck, the spell held him a few feet above the ground. His legs kicked uselessly in the air, and he scrambled with his hands to hold himself up and relieve the pressure on his throat. Ciredor strode over to where he was pinned.
'What happened?' he demanded.
The Child of Ibrandul sputtered and coughed but couldn't choke out any audible answers.
'Fine,' Ciredor replied and turned his attention to the beardless novice, leaving his partner to dangle.
The other Child of Ibrandul had tried his best to melt into the bookcase but there was no hiding from the furious mage. Another green bolt blew the bookcase across the chamber, turning it into kindling and exposing the young novice. Ciredor crossed the room in two angry strides.
'Your turn. What happened?' Ciredor hissed into the face of the frightened Child of Ibrandul.
He shot a look at his companion before he answered in a small voice, 'We weren't able to kill them.'
'What do you mean?' the mage asked, not unkindly.
His courage bolstered by Ciredor's sudden calmness, the novice continued, 'We led them down the tunnel to the aranea, and they walked right into the trap, but the other Child of Ibrandul with us turned traitor and ran to help them.'
'What occurred?' Ciredor prompted.
The novice's eyes wandered over to his fellow novice, whose face was going from shades of red to purple. His sputtering was becoming more sporadic. Ciredor made a disapproving sound at his lack of attention, and the Child of Ibrandul turned to face him again.
'Asraf joined the two in battle and even helped free the black-haired woman from sure death in an aranea web… but he was killed soon after. Obviously,' the student priest surmised, 'Ibrandul was able to make him pay for his act of betrayal.'
'And the foreigners?' Ciredor tried calmly to keep him on track.
The novice licked his lips nervously and said, 'They survived.'
'Surprisingly enough, I deduced as much. Anything else?'
The Child of Ibrandul grew white.
'Yes, Lord,' he whispered, and stole a glance at his hanging comrade.
The manacled Child of Ibrandul was finally silent, but some of his limbs occasionally twitched. Ciredor placed an icy hand on the beardless novice's face and twisted him so that Ciredor could stare into his hazel eyes.
'I won't ask you again,' Ciredor warned him in a deadly tone. 'What happened to the woman?'
'A Gray Caller came for her to escort her to the Dark Bazaar.'
Ciredor screamed in rage and in one motion used his powers to fling the Child of Ibrandul into the Linker's ornately carved desk, face first. The novice's skull shattered with the force of the impact, and gray brain matter speckled the writing tablet set on the desk. Ciredor stormed out of the chamber into the tunnel.
Just outside the study, the Mysterious Lurker waited, griping his robes tightly.
'My Lord, where are you going?' he asked timidly.
Ciredor whirled around and nearly struck him dead, but he decided the priest's death wouldn't serve his purposes, so he swallowed back his burning rage.
'I am leaving,' he told the Lurker.
Ciredor could see that the priest was in despair, fearful of his rage and also fearful of losing the lost words of Ibrandul.
'Will you be back?' the Lurker asked.
'As soon as I conduct a little business,' Ciredor replied, having nearly regained his icy composure.
'Are you going to the Dark Bazaar?' the Lurker inquired shyly.
'Since your Children failed so completely, I don't really have any choice, now do I?'
'But,' the Lurker told him, 'everyone believes that market is controlled by the Temple of Old Night. They worship Shar, you realize. Are you sure it is worth the risk, considering your allegiance to the Lord of the Dry Depths?'
For the first time since hearing of the Children of Ibrandul's failure, Ciredor's sly smile returned.
'There is no risk when your faith is strong,' he informed the priest.
The Lurker gazed at him in frightened adoration.
'You truly would risk everything for your god,' he said in quiet awe.
'Most certainly,' the necromancer replied easily. 'Oh, before I go,' he added almost as an afterthought, 'you might want to get someone to tidy up your study.'
Before the priest could comment, Ciredor faded from view and reappeared only a few feet from Tazi.
'If this will save Fannah, then it's worth it,' Tazi murmured.
'Who did you say?' the elderly woman asked.
Tazi didn't realize the other woman had heard her.
'Nothing of importance,' Tazi dismissed the subject, suddenly distracted herself. She felt an odd chill pass over her. 'What I do, I do for a friend.'
The older Calishite appeared suddenly distressed and wouldn't let the matter pass.
'Did you say 'Fannah'?' she asked in a scratchy whisper.
'Yes,' Tazi answered and was suddenly suspicious that her friend's name should mean something to the withered woman in front of her. 'What does it matter?'
Tazi didn't believe it was possible, but even more creases formed on the woman's brow.
'It's just that-' the woman began, but stopped when a Gray Caller slowly moved past them.
The hooded figure swung its head in the Calishite's direction, and she snapped her mouth shut.
'What's wrong?' Tazi asked.
'Nothing,' the old woman replied. 'We've struck our price. Now, what was it again that you wanted to know?'
Tazi took a deep breath and asked, 'What is Ciredor planning?'
'Then I shall tell you, treasure given for treasure received.
'Ciredor,' the Calishite answered gravely, 'has been collecting souls as an offering. They are a dark gift for Shar, his goddess.'
'Where is he keeping them?' she asked quickly.
Tazi wasn't sure but she thought the old woman looked sad.
'The deal is done,' the woman replied. 'One item bought with another. Those are the rules. Now you must leave.'
Even as the words escaped the Calishite's lips, Tazi noticed the ethereal condition of the market beginning to spread and grow. Everything became murkier, and all the sound damped as the fog encompassed the cavern. A cold breeze passed over Tazi, and she shuddered. Her hand rose up to her throat instinctively, and she was suddenly
