The Halls of Stormweather s-1

by Philip Athans

  She wound her way more quickly now back down the stairs and moved close to the kitchen. The room was dark. She could see pots and skillets hanging near the windows. Obviously the servants had cleaned up and were enjoying the emptiness of the household. As she passed the window, Tazi gave a quick squint to see if she could anything or anyone outside. As far as she could tell, Tazi thought she only had to worry about the men in the other room. In the blackness, she did not make out the figure crouched on the garden wall. But he saw her.

  As she neared the pantry, Tazi plastered herself against the wall. She could hear the low voices of a few men coming from the room. At the edge of the doorway, Tazi glanced inside. A single, ancient oil lantern cast a dim light in the room. Evidently Ciredor's manservants didn't rate the same light spells as the rest of the house. There were three of them huddled around a table in the far corner of the room, lost in whispered conversation. There was something furtive, almost secretive in the manner in which they were speaking. Perhaps, Tazi thought cheerily, they were planning to rob their temporary master. Wouldn't that be terribly ironic, she wondered delightedly?

  The lighting and the location of the table made her next move much easier than she'd anticipated. Most of the pantry was in shadows, and Tazi slid slowly along the wall. She had done this before, but the nearness of the men and the possibility of discovery made her heart pound harder. She felt as if it might burst through her fitted vest at any moment.

  Four steps and she was at the stairs. Part of her still felt uneasy at searching the cellar, but now she was committed. She had her family to protect. Carefully avoiding the well-worn center of each step, Tazi made her way down with almost no sound. Pleased with her skill, she took a few steps and was suddenly hard pressed not to gag. The room was filled with a powerful stench of mold and decay. She could almost taste the dampness. The room reeked of it. The odor was so overpowering, she almost changed her mind. The challenge was irresistible to her, though. Resolutely she pressed on, one hand clamped over her nose and mouth.

  Tazi noticed many footprints in the grime on the flagstones of the floor. Too many, she thought, for just the normal traffic of servants fetching liquor. Ciredor hadn't been in town that long, and hadn't hosted any large gatherings, as far as Tazi knew, to warrant such a substantial supply of spirits. Something else must have drawn him here. She began a careful search of the room.

  Along a back wall, Tazi found what she had been looking for: a secret door near some ale casks. She knew from experience not to blunder through. To the right of the door, were stacked several crates. She climbed on top of them, her head practically pressed into the low ceiling. From this angle she was better able to check for traps or wards along the door. Strangely enough, there weren't any.

  "Is he that arrogant," Tazi whispered incredulously, "to think no one would get this far? My, my, he's got a lot to learn about life."

  The lock was a simple matter, and the door soon swung open to reveal a clean, dry room. Spells tripped by the door's movement banished the darkness but revealed something so foul it made the bile rise again in Tazi's throat. She had seen a lot in her years in the Oxblood Quarter and even darker locales, but she had never seen a thing like this atrocity.

  The room was an antechamber, with two other doors at either side, near the entrance. At the back, against a wall, was an overstuffed divan with a mountainous pile of pillows. Right beside that was a desk covered with scrolls and a strongbox resting on the corner. The floor was comprised of two different colors of flagstones, one darker and one lighter. The dark flagstones formed a huge circle, its diameter slightly larger than the height of an average person. But it was what rested in it that caused Tazi's world to reel.

  In the circle's center was what must have been a teenage boy. The tattered remains of his clothes marked him as a boat person, one of the many souls living in communities of ships lashed together in Selgaunt Bay. One of the faceless hordes whom only a handful might notice missing and none would dare report gone. Just like a newly arrived foreigner, she thought. The boy lay with limbs outstretched, with no sign of restraint. Bonds were pointless.

  He was split from stem to stern. The skin of his torso had been carefully spread open like the pages of a book. Each of his larger internal organs was placed neatly near his body. Through horrified eyes, Tazi could see that blood vessels and connective tissue still bound those organs to his body. Muscles were pulled out and stretched taut from his bones. Almost against her will, she was drawn closer to him. The coppery smell of blood was everywhere.

  As she neared, Tazi could see that huge lengths of his intestines had been yanked out and arranged in strange patterns. They appeared to form sigils, spelling messages that meant nothing to the sickened thief except for one sign that she had seen earlier this evening: the tattoo on Fannah's arm. A mark that both the foreigner and Ciredor bore. Was this what he had planned for Fannah, she wondered. But what Tazi had to force her mind to accept at that moment was the fact that the lad was still breathing! Some wicked magic kept his lungs working and his heart pumping. His lips were quietly moving, and the eyeless sockets in his head seeped with bloody tears. She knew with a heart-wrenching despair that he was beyond help and must be put out of his misery. There was no way she could bring him to a healer in time. He was beyond that. How? her mind demanded. How could she kill him? Tazi slowly moved toward his prostrate form.

  A cold hand gripped her shoulder, and a scream tore from her throat. Tazi whirled around, instinctively drawing her blade. Standing there, a slow smile spreading across his face, was Ciredor. He was still arrayed in his costume from the fete; he looked like a malevolent salamander. His mask hung about his shoulders. More than a head taller than Tazi, his slim build made him look even taller. He had a thick head of dark hair, which he kept closely shorn. And his mustache and goatee emphasized his hollow cheeks. But after what she had seen tonight, Tazi no longer thought him to be so dashing.

  "What a lovely surprise to find you here, Thazienne Uskevren. I was disappointed by your shoddy replacement at the party and thought I wouldn't get the chance to see you this evening," he said knowingly, slowly walking around her. "I would have brought you here soon enough, but it looks as though you couldn't wait."

  With horror, she saw her diamond stud winking in the dimming light from his left ear.

  The door slammed shut behind her. Tazi jumped and raised her sword higher. Ciredor paid no heed to her weapon. He moved past her to the far wall where his desk was situated. Casually, he began to sort through some of the many scrolls that lay there, all but oblivious to her presence. Tazi's heart was hammering in her chest, and there was no moisture left in her mouth.

  "What are you," she managed to croak out, "that you could do this?" She pointed at the boy with a trembling hand.

  Ciredor barely glanced up from his papers. "Oh, come now, Thazienne. You're a bright girl. Why ask such foolish questions?" He put down a scroll and advanced on her. "I'm a mage, of course, and some magic demands a high cost. This"-he nodded at the boy-"is nothing, really. I have many such as him who carry my sign, scattered throughout the lands. As one fades, there is always another to fill the void." With an easy wave of Ciredor's hand, Tazi's sword flew from her grip and spun across the room. It landed with a hollow clang on the flagstones. He put out one index finger and tipped her ashen face up to meet his gaze. "Everything demands a price, pretty Thazienne."

  She slapped his hand away and stumbled back a bit. "What business do you have with the Soargyls?" she asked, buying time, giving her mind a chance to find an escape. She knew, with a kind of quiet dread, that death or worse was close at hand. There had to be a way out.

  Ciredor answered, "I have been retained by, how shall I put it, those 'acquaintances' of your family to accomplish certain tasks. They do not ask for all that much, really, considering what they pay." He moved closer to her. "They ask for you, among other things," he whispered silkily, walking around her unyielding form. "But you might be able t
o outbid them. They have, after all, only procured my temporary loyalty."

  The wooden entrance to the room fairly blew off its hinges. Both Tazi and Ciredor lost their footing as the foundation shook and debris flew everywhere. Steorf stormed in, eyes blazing, like some avenging spirit, no longer a mere shadow. Blinking dust from her eyes, Tazi was certain she had never seen him like this. Without a moment's hesitation, Steorf grabbed the lighter Ciredor by his shoulders and slammed him into the nearest wall, treating the mage to the same kind of punishment his three servants had received upstairs. Steorf should have finished the fight then, but he paused to glance at Tazi as she staggered to her feet, concern etched on his face. That hesitation was his undoing.

  Ciredor brought up his arms between Steorf's grip. At the barest touch of his hands, fine, green sparks engulfed Steorf and blasted him the length of the room. Steorf's thickly muscled back absorbed the worst of the blow and barely saved him. The force of the explosion, however, stunned him and he slumped to the floor.

  Tazi, in the meantime, had used the distraction in an attempt to retrieve her sword. She did not get far. Ciredor whispered a few words, and Tazi found herself slammed to the ground, her sword only a tantalizing few inches from her reach. Pain exploded inside her. She curled into a ball. Her mouth was thick with the taste of blood and fear.

  "Dear, dear Thazienne, it doesn't look like you are ever going to grow up," Ciredor chuckled. "You've spent far too much time playing in your short life." As he spoke, he began to circle her crumpled body. "Just look at you," he continued, savoring the moment, "still playing dress up like some silly child. Don't you think it is high time you grew up?" He made another gesture. Tazi noticed the lights in the room dimmed, before a white, hot pain blurred her vision.

  Somehow she managed to roll to her knees, her forehead against the cool flagstones. She was certain her brains were burning. A thousand daggers sliced into her scalp. Blood oozed from the pores atop her head as her hair began to grow at an unbelievable rate. She balled her hands into tight fists against the agony. Even through the suffering, she could feel her emerald ring bite into her finger. The words spoken to her years ago by a mage she had met as a child echoed dimly in her fevered mind.

  "That's better," Ciredor cooed. "Now you look more like the slightly outdated portrait the Soargyls sent to me. That short style never suited your looks. I might even keep you for a while longer."

  Tazi blindly reached for her sword. Ciredor deftly kicked the blade away.

  "I can't believe that you have managed to survive this long, little girl," Ciredor hissed. "You are so obviously ill equipped for life."

  "You might be surprised by what I'm capable of," Tazi spat back, forcing herself to stare at him through blood and her once again waist-length hair. Steorf had also risen unsteadily and moved up to stand behind her.

  Suppressing a snicker, Ciredor nodded toward Steorf and remarked, "Even your hired help won't be able to pull you from this fire."

  "He's not my 'hired help,'" Tazi, still in pain, moaned.

  "Oh, excuse me," Ciredor replied with a mocking bow. "I meant to say your father's hired help."

  Those words sliced through the agony her body was feeling. Forgetting her immediate danger, Tazi demanded, "Just what do you mean by that?"

  Ciredor smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. A cat could not take more pleasure in playing with a mouse. Tazi could sense that to him the game was sweet and the pain emanating from the room was exquisite and addicting.

  "Do you mean to tell me, Thazienne Uskevren, that you are completely ignorant of your father's machinations? Have you truly been unaware of the fact that for these past seven years yonder fledging mage," he paused to gesture at Steorf, "has been in the service of your father? He only stays by your side because he's been paid to do so!"

  Tazi, oblivious to the deadly mage in front of her, staggered to her feet and slowly turned to Steorf. Her emotions rolled down her face like the wax of a tavern candle. A dark rage fixed itself there. For the first time in her life, Tazi was a fearsome sight to behold. Steorf took a step back from her.

  "What is he talking about?" she hissed.

  "It isn't what it seems," Steorf was quick to offer.

  "Then this serpent is simply dripping venom to poison me against you. Is that what you're telling me?" she growled. There was no forgiveness in her voice.

  "I'm your friend," Steorf said. "I always have been."

  Tazi didn't give him a finger's length. "Do you accept money from my father?"

  Steorf lowered his head, unable to meet Tazi's burning glare.

  "I'm afraid," she continued through gritted teeth, "that I'm having trouble hearing you."

  Ciredor leaned against the far wall grinning at the scene unfolding before him. Evidently he intended to let it play out for a few more moments.

  "Yes, I do," whispered Steorf.

  Tazi's world crumbled. She squeezed her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill forth. Her rage welled up within her, and she let her right hand curl into a fist. She cocked back her arm to swing at him.

  Ciredor could no longer contain himself. He clapped delightedly at the pathetic tableau they presented. Before Tazi could strike her would-be rescuer, the mage whispered a word, and a green light shot from his outstretched hands. The light split into four glowing balls, and each found its way to Steorf's ankles and wrists. He was lifted and bound to the wall as efficiently as if iron manacles had been used. He struggled, but there was nothing in his mystical arsenal that could counter Ciredor's own arcane strength. In the growing gloom, Ciredor turned to face Tazi once more.

  Blood ran down her face and throat. Her newly grown hair was matted in several places. Her leathers hung in tatters. She could barely maintain her footing. But a small, grim smile was planted on her lips.

  "Enough, child. Time for us to leave," Ciredor stated. He clasped his hands together, and a sharp, green light burst from them.

  "This ring is not something to be taken lightly." The warnings of Durlan, a moon elf, resounded through Tazi's mind. "There is a price to this magic," he had warned her a lifetime ago. "You will feel a great pain, more severe than anything you can imagine, and it will leave you spent, but the ring will keep you safe from any evil magic."

  As the deadly bolt flew toward her, Tazi stretched out her left hand in a gesture of defiance and spoke an ancient word. The pain from Ciredor's earlier torture was nothing compared to the hot knives that stabbed her body. A pale, gray shield formed in front of her and deflected Ciredor's attack.

  The mage stood amazed. His magic had never failed him before.

  Tazi seized his hesitation. Nearly blinded by the pain, she still managed to slide her right hand into her boot and grab her small dagger. No playful, practice throws at the Kit any longer; her life depended on her skill now. She flung her arm out.

  The dagger caught Ciredor below his heart. His face a mixture of surprise and shock, he doubled over and sank to his knees. Tazi didn't waste the opportunity. She had noticed the lights flickering and dimming during their battle and suspected the fight was draining Ciredor, though he still had a reserve. The only possibility was the boy. Somehow, his waning life was feeding Ciredor.

  As the mage struggled to pull out her dagger, Tazi ran across the room to the divan. She grabbed a large pillow and stumbled over to where the boy lay. There was only one thing to do. Tazi dropped to her knees, no longer feeling any pain, and leaned over the eyeless boy.

  "I'm so sorry," she whispered, the tears barely in check. "You never had a chance." With that, she lowered the pillow over his face and leaned against it with all her weight.

  The child did not last long. It only took a brief moment for Tazi to take her first life.

  The room grew very dim. The shackles binding Steorf began to flicker. Ciredor, who had managed to remove the dagger, tried desperately to staunch the flow of blood with part of his costume. Things were not going as he planned. Wounded and with little
energy left, he gave way.

  "I'm not nearly through with you, Thazienne Uskevren," he warned darkly. "We are bound, you and I, and the end has not yet been written." With that, he tossed her dagger aside, and summoned the last bit of his remaining magic. A bright glow filled the dark room. When it finally faded and the dancing stars had left Tazi's eyes, Ciredor was no where to be seen. Tazi was alone with Steorf and a crumbled pile of dust that had been the boy's body.

  For a time, there was no sound in the room. Tazi simply knelt over the dead boy's ashes and gently rocked back and forth, hands on her knees. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  She knocked it away and leaped to her feet. "Don't you touch me," she warned Steorf through gritted teeth. He looked shocked and weary at the same time. "You don't have the right to, and I'm sure"-she added a bitter laugh-"my father isn't paying for that."

  "Tazi-" he began feebly, but she didn't give him the chance.

  "Just how much is he paying you?" she demanded. "How much to ensure your loyalty?"

  Steorf looked torn. Despite herself, Tazi could see that what he said next cut him to the bone.

  "Please don't make it sound so horrible, Tazi. Everyone has a price. You should know that. This is a city for buying and selling. Don't act so shocked. Even you have one." After a moment, he added, "I have always been loyal."

  "And how many 'suns' would it take for you to be loyal to someone else?" Tazi turned sharply from him. She would not let him see her like this. It would be the bitterest of defeats, and she refused to lose anything else tonight. Looking down at what was left of the boy, she abruptly changed the subject. "This must be taken care of."

  Seizing the chance to help, Steorf hastily said, "Don't worry, I'll see to it that the remains are put to rest." He moved a step closer to Tazi, but she would have none of it.

  "Well, that's what you're paid for, isn't it? To take care of things, and clean up after me?" Not waiting for a response, she absently collected her dagger and stuffed most of the scrolls that seemed so important to Ciredor into her vest. Dimly, she knew she would need whatever information she could gather about him in the days to come. She strode to the door.