Master of Crows
Cumbria frowned and kicked the stool out of his path. "Well," he snapped. "Get on with it, man. I won't linger at your master's pleasure. Fetch him!"
The servant shrugged before disappearing into a corridor dimly lit by tallow candles in bent sconces. Their flames flickered as he passed.
Cumbria's voice resonated with loathing. "An insolent servant to an insolent carrion mage. See what happens when you elevate street filth?"
He touched her arm. "Guard your words and remain silent unless he addresses you, Martise. Silhara is fond of entrapment. He possesses a sharp tongue and has eviscerated more than one hapless opponent in a conversation. You'd be no match."
Martise lowered her head and hid her smile. Cumbria had chosen her for this endeavor because of her abilities, among them the talents for staying silent and unnoticed. His warning amused her and revealed a hint of his unease in the upcoming meeting. How interesting that a man didn't always admire his own traits in another.
The mute servant reappeared, followed by a slender shadow silhouetted against the hallway's weak light. Cumbria stood rigid next to her as their host emerged from the shadows. Martise sucked in a sharp breath, enthralled by her first sight of the Master of Crows.
A living flame in the begrimed room, he burned with a cold, still fire. Long scarlet robes swirled around his ankles like bloodied smoke. Taller than most men and lean, he wore his black hair in a tight braid that fell over his shoulder. The severe style accentuated a sun-burnished face neither handsome nor kind but carved from the same rock strewn across the courtyard. His black eyes and aquiline nose reminded her of those Kurman nomads she'd sometimes seen in the markets, selling their rugs and weaponry. Her belly tightened in dread as he gazed at her and Cumbria with sloe-eyed malevolence.
"I see you didn't get lost. A pity."