The World is Not Enough

Tirn walked towards Lord Allorian's chambers quickly, focusing on the rhythmic click of his boots against the stone floor. A chilling scream rang through the air, echoing eerily off bare walls. Tirn paused, a shiver running up his spine. He was used to the cold of the keep, it was neccesary, and even comforting at times. Much better than the blistering hear of the desert where he'd once been enslaved.
One fine-boned hand raked though his platinum-blonde bangs, and he forced himself to step forward again. Lord Allorian was usually alone when he summoned Tirn, but then, he ususally interrogated prisoners in the lower levels of the keep and not in his private rooms.
Another more muted scream accompanied Tirn's knock on the door, and he heard the dark music of Lord Allorian's laughter before he recieved a reply, "Yes?".
Tirn pushed the door open with only slight hesitation. He'd seen torture before, and looked death in the face so often he couldn't bring himself to fear it any longer. He forced himself to survey the room he was presented with.
The man strapped down on the table looked as if he must have been strong once, but all his strength was gone now. Thin rows of prick-marks covered his right arm and the left had been cut open from shourder to wrist just beside the primary vein.
Lord Allorian had risen upon Tirn's entrance, and was moving toward him now. The older mans dark hair hung like a soft cloak around him. It showed no sign of the dark blood that stained Allorian's hands and grey silk shirt. A light flush graced Allorian's alabaster-pale cheeks, and his pale grey eyes flashed with some undefinable power. Tirn had to force himself to remember his place.
"You summmoned me, My Lord." He dropped to one knee as he said it, bowing his head and watching the soft black leather of Allorian's boots come to a halt before him.
"I did, and I appreciate your promptness. You may rise." Allorian's accent was still exotic to Tirn's ears, caressing each word and turning it into something dark and beautiful. Tirn raised his eyes and stood.
"What is it you wish of me?" The words were as natural to him now as they had seemed that first day nine months ago.
Allorian smiled, the slight smirk that indicated pleasure rather than disdain. "Only your loyalty, as always."
Tirn noticed again the wild glint in his masters eyes, but could not determine the cause. He did not speak as Allorian crossed the room to a silver basin and washed the blood from his hands, and remained silent as Allorian returned to his desk near the door. At last his master spoke again, "I am developing a plan," he paused, as if about to say more, but his eyes met Tirn's and he stopped. "I can do no more work here. We will depart this place tommorrow." Allorian seated himself gracefully behind his imposing black-oak desk and began to write in a thick tome nearly filled with such notes. He glanced up at Tirn, and his expression was cold. "Take him back down to the dungeons."
Tirn moved to comply. The man on the table was unconcious now, and shivering. Tirn removed the straps from his arms and chest quickly and wove a levitation spell around the man with little effort. As he neared the door, body in tow, Allorian spoke again, "and do speak to Lady Zaella on your way back." Tirn supressed an involuntary shiver at the mention of the woman's name, but Allorian continued, "Tell her that her... suggestion... was most helpful. She has my thanks." Allorian smiled again, dangerous and amused, before turning back to his notations.
Tirn opened the door back out to the hallway, bowed once to his master's bowed head, and left the room. He wasn't about to protest, Lord Allorian had saved his life, and was always a fair master. Still, if carrying messages to the Lady Zaella was his duty for today, he hoped that he could find the longest path to and from the dungeons.