[TomBrady12]

Marsillion stood in the corner of the small room, with his eyes fixed on the newcomer. The man stood near the door, his large blue eyes darting side to side like wolf on the hunt.

He looked nervous, standing like that, gnawing on a misshapen bottom lip, but he had an air of arrogance surrounding him that Marsillion found disconcerting. That lip, Marsillion thought to himself. I have seen this man before. But where?

Marsillion had a great deal of trust and respect for Inzillomi, but he would not stand by while this potentially dangerous stranger stood unexplained in his family's home. He stepped forward into the light, in full view of the stranger for the first time. He stood as tall and wide as he could, intentionally showing his muscular frame to the slightly smaller man. In this moment Marsillion first noticed the youth written across this face. This man is no older than I, he thought, yet he is scarred as if from battle. What weapons might he be carrying now, I wonder. Marsillion felt the reassuring feel of cold metal on his lower calf. He could pull his ivory handled dagger from his boot in an instant, if need required it.

The stranger stared at Marsillion. The two pairs of improbably blue eyes locked. Marsillion thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in those eyes. Aye! We have met before, Marsillion assessed stepping forward. But this man is not a friend.

Having made the impression he had hoped for, Marsillion deemed it time for questions. “Stranger,” he spoke as deeply as he could, “what brings you here in this most perilous time?” Marsillion regretted those last words. I have given to much away already! I must be more careful.

“That is not the formal greeting I might have expected,” the stranger said in a flat, unconcerned tone. “I am Abarzadan, of the house of Batanzira. Perhaps you have heard of it?”

“I have,” Marsillion stated, trying his best to sound unimpressed. “There were many of that house in the east at one time,” said Marsillion, in an attempt to demonstrate that he was well schooled, as well as well built.

“There were,” Abarzadan restated. Marsillion caught the faint hint of nostalgia in his voice, the first hint of emotion he had given. “As for what brings me here, as I have already told the lady of the house, I came to investigate rumors that reached my ears these past days. Rumors telling of the capture of an old business partner, Abârpânarú Karíbzîr .”

Marsillion was not satisfied with the answer. “You say you know my uncle through business, do you,” his eyes again locked with those of the young man. Marsillion had a gift for reading eyes. He had developed it durring his time in Middle Earth. He had read the eyes of wizened old kings, he could certainly read Abarzadan's.

“I do indeed,” Abarzadan spoke abruptly. His face remained impassive, but as he spoke his eyes darted quickly from side to side. Too quickly. He is lying, or giving a half truth. “You dealt in horses with my uncle then,” Marsillion spoke softly, feigning understanding.

Abarzadan appeared to relax slighlty, “I did,” was his reply.

“Repeatedly I assume,” Marsillion said flatly, nailing Abarzadan down.

“More than once, yes.”

“Then I am sure you would recognize Abarpanaru's stable master, for he accompanies my uncle on all his business ventures,” Marsillion stated with growing volume. He wanted to make sure all in the room could hear him. “The man I speak of stands in this room now. Please identify him if you would.”

Marsillion's trap was set, but the outcome was still in question. Marsillion judge Abarzadan to be arrogant, and proud. If correct he had no doubt the man would overlook Tiru, and choose Captain Azarmano. Marsillion waited briefly while Abarzadan surveyed the two men.


Himaran's Post

"Please identify him if you would."

A cleverly laid trap. But I have not fallen into it just yet. Abarzadan smiled casually, and glanced around the room; trying his best not to show the inward fear circumventing his heart. Slow down! If he were to get out of this one, it would have to be by sheer luck - Abarzadan had never seen any of these people, let alone Abârpânarú himself. He decided to stall for time. "It was quite a few years back since the last trade we made - and people change over the years. Now let me see..." He kept looking, judging each guest individually.

There were several men and women standing or sitting around the room, carrying on personal coversations but secretly listening since Marsillion's loud outburst. Abarzadan used this to his advantage; as the words "stable master" left the accuser's lips, one man in the room shifted and turned his head. He was small, quite small, and of a wirey frame. Surely one such as Abârpânarú would not have had this undersized and unattractive man as his stable master; that position would require one of greater social stature. A field hand, maybe, but not one with authority. Perhaps, though, that was what Marsillion wanted him to think. The man was clever indeed.

Abarzadan's gaze then shifted to another man. This one, in comparision to the other, was tall and strong; with fair features. Surely this one would be more fitting for the role of a stable master than any in this room. He opened his mouth to give an answer in this effect and then stopped - what was he doing? Going against his first insticts, and using the belief system of his father to judge others (that only those of the right physical attributes could ever lead), would not win this battle of wits. The one that moved had to be the one discussed; it was that simple. Why can't you accept that?

Putting on the best face he could, Abarzadan chuckled openly, having made his decision. "A strange request, Marsillion, a strange one indeed. However, why keep you in suspense? The man you refer to is that one there, although his name escapes me. Perhaps now I can give you a riddle, just to keep things fair..." He waited for Marsillion's reaction. The man seemed to grimace, and than caught himself.

"That is he, Abarzadan - his name is Tiru. Come, we must now discuss this matter with the others, for time is short." As he moved off, however, Abarzadan caught a glimpse of lingering distrust in his eye. You're in deep now; and there is no going back...