The Floodgate (14 page)

That was not something she liked to contemplate. Kiva used Cassia to lure Tzigone to Akhlaur’s Swamp. Tzigone lived with this as best she could. Was there more to this? Did Cassia know some secret that prompted Kiva to kill her?

Basel shook off his introspection first. “Keturah simply disappeared one day. No one learned with certainty what became of her. Since no Halruaan likes to speak of his failures, your quest will be considered an enormous breach of protocol, and a challenge to those wizards who tried and failed. You must understand that any question you ask will be answered with a hundred more. Forgive me, child, but can your past bear such scrutiny?”

This was no casual question in a land where traveling entertainers were viewed as frauds and pickpockets, and thievery was punished by dismemberment. “So there’s nothing I can do,” she said in a dull tone.

Basel studied her for a moment. “If you are determined to pursue this, perhaps Dhamari Exchelsor can help you. He was married to the lady in question.”

This knocked Tzigone back on her heels. Sudden, vivid memories assailed her of long-ago nights when she was dragged from sleep to flee “her mother’s husband.” So great was her antipathy toward the man that she never once thought of seeking him out or even learning his name. It was a simple solution, a straight, short path. Yet the thought of facing down this man touched ancient depths of fear and anger and loss. Tzigone bore down hard, pushing the memories back into place.

“So I should just stop by this wizard’s tower for a chat?”

Basel spread his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. “Dhamari Exchelsor is a very private person. He is not a member of the Council of Elders, and he keeps to himself. I can tell you little about his thinking on this matter. After Keturah left, he petitioned the Council for a legal divorce. Even so, he sent a number of wizards and mercenaries in search of her. I stopped hearing reports of these activities after five years or so. Perhaps he accepted that Keturah was gone for good.”

This tallied with Tzigone’s memories. “Why did she leave?”

“That, I cannot tell you,” Basel said with a shrug. “Dhamari Exchelsor might. Or even better, send someone else to talk to him, someone who can present a plausible reason for asking these questions.”

Matteo could go. Any wizard would open his door to the queen’s jordain. The battle of Akhlaur’s Swamp would come into conversation-it always seemed to. Kiva had been behind that battle, and Kiva had also been one of the agents sent to find Keturah. Matteo could surely find a way to move the conversation from Kiva to the runaway wizard.

“That seems reasonable,” she said at last.

“Which no doubt means that you will do the opposite.”

This droll observation surprised a grin from her, and then a frown. “Being contrary is almost like being predictable, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but only if you’re consistently contrary. Do what is right from time to time,” he advised. “It will astonish most people and mystify the rest.”

Her laugh rang out, rich and delighted. “Good advice. I may even take it.”

Basel smiled and bid her goodbye with a wave of his hand. He held his smile until the door shut behind her, then he buried his face in his hands. He thanked Lady Mystra, and then he cursed her, for the bittersweet memories the girl evoked.

“Keturah,” he murmured in a voice filled with a longing that neither faded nor forgot. “I never thought to hear your name again, much less your song! But by wind and word, it echoes through your daughter’s laughter!”

Tzigone shut the door to Basel Indoulur’s study and leaned wearily against it. She lifted her hands, palms up. “Procopio Septus,” she muttered, lowering her left hand as if she’d just placed a heavy weight in it. She spoke the name of her mother’s husband, and her right hand dropped even lower. For a moment, she stood with her hands see-sawing back and forth like an indecisive scale.

Suddenly she pushed herself off the wall and hurried to Basel’s scrying chamber, employing the gliding, silent gait she’d perfected in a hundred forbidden corridors. It never hurt to keep all of her skills honed to a fighting edge.

The chamber was an odd bit of whimsy. The room was round, and the domed ceiling and mirrored floor made it appear spherical. A mural covered the walls with an under-seascape depicting waving seaweed, fantastic coral buildings, and schools of bright fish. A pair of painted mermaids were fiercely entwined, frozen in an undignified but entertaining catfight. Light filled the room with a deep blue, softly undulating haze. Scrying globes bobbed gently through the air like oversized bubbles. Tzigone seized a passing globe and settled down on a mock coral settee.

Basel had tutored her in the basics of magical communication, but Tzigone had picked up some interesting skills on her own. Contacting Sinestra Belajoon was a simple matter-she attuned the globe using the ring she’d taken from the woman’s hand last time they’d met.

Clouds roiled within the crystal sphere, parting to reveal Sinestra’s lovely face. The wizard looked curious but composed, an appropriate reaction when answering an unknown summons. But when Tzigone held the ring up, Sinestra threw back her head in a decidedly unladylike whoop of laughter.

“Keep the ring,” Sinestra offered, still grinning broadly. “Consider it advance payment for teaching me that trick!”

“First things first,” Tzigone advised. “Learn to walk in my shadows, and then I’ll teach you how to make your own.”

Excitement lit the wizard’s face. “When? Where?”

“You know Procopio Septus?”

Sinestra’s jaw dropped. “Know him? He’s one of the most powerful diviners in all the land! His is the villa you’ve chosen to raid?”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” The wizard threw up her hands. “Where should I start? Have you gone completely moon-mad?”

“I’ve gotten in before. It’s not as difficult as you might think.”

“Since I think it’s impossible, you’re probably right. Lord and Lady, girl! Don’t you have a better plan?”

“I have other options. None of them are good. This is the best and easiest way to get the treasure I have in mind.”

Speculation crept into Sinestra’s eyes. “What might that be?”

“You’re a diviner. What sort of treasure do you go after?”

The wizard’s hand went instinctively to the fortune in black pearls at her throat, but her eyes lit up in understanding. “Information can be more precious than rubies, and more difficult to trace than stolen gems. Let’s do it!”

Tzigone had been expecting a longer argument. “You’re putting a lot of faith in a thief you hardly know. This could be risky.”

“Not really. I wear a ring of teleportation, and you can count on me deserting you on the first sign of danger. My dear Lord Belajoon gave it to me, so I could appear at his side whenever he bellows.”

“Nice gift.”

“A last resort, I assure you.”

Tzigone instinctively traced a gesture of warding over her heart-a habit she’d picked up from the superstitious street performers she’d traveled with for years. In their world, there was no such thing as a “last resort.” There were many possibilities, and the hope a better one around the corner. That was the reasoning that guided her now. Going to Dhamari Exchelsor sounded too much like a last resort. First she needed to explore the link between Sinestra’s magic and her own memories of her mother. Of course, if the improbable proved true, and it turned out that Sinestra and Keturah were one, Tzigone wouldn’t have to bother with Dhamari at all.

“Lesson one,” Tzigone said firmly. “If you’re serious about becoming a thief, you should never call anything a ‘last resort.’ It’s like daring the gods to prove you wrong. No matter how bad things get, they can generally manage to come up with something worse.”

Sinestra’s face turned both sympathetic and speculative. “How can you possibly be so cynical when you’ve never been married? Someday, I would like to hear your story.”

Tzigone suppressed a wince and managed a wink. “Someday, so would I.”

A band of elves crept through the forested pass leading from the Mhair Jungle through the mountains of Halruaa’s western wall. The trees ended abruptly, giving way to a swath of open field as suddenly as a cliff might drop into the sea. The elves stopped and looked to the ghostly human who had led them here.

Andris crouched low and surveyed the borderland. Several days’ rain had allowed the grasses to grow knee high. Heavy mist shrouded the night sky, and the only illumination came from a monument at the end of the field-the likeness of a man’s left hand, index finger pointing upward. Arcane fire surrounded the stone hand in a dancing nimbus, sending a soft glow through the surrounding mist.

“The symbol of Azuth.” Andris spoke softly because this was a holy place, not for fear of being overheard. A distant cacophony of laughter and music drifted toward them, a bacchanal strangely at odds with this serene setting. “Be alert for manifestations of the Lord or Lady.”

Kiva pointed to the sleek gray dogs that paced the edge of the temple complex in apparent agitation. Azuth’s favor was often signified by the appearance of gray animals. “What of those?”

A tiny elf woman wearing the elaborately beaded braids of a shaman crept to Andris’s side. She took a handful of polished black stones from her bag. Clenching her fist, she gazed at, and far past, the agitated dogs.

“The pattern of the Weave lies smooth around those beasts,” the shaman announced. “They are troubled-puzzled by their masters’ behavior perhaps, or by the wild magic, but they are natural creatures.”

Kiva nodded with satisfaction and gestured to four archers who crouched behind her. They fitted darts into small crossbows, letting fly in two quick volleys. Startled dogs leaped, pawing wildly at the air. In moments they sagged to the ground in deep, herb-induced slumber.

Andris began to crawl through the tall, sodden grass. He sensed, rather than heard, the elves moving behind him. A thick grove of trees surrounded the temple, giving promise of shadows and shelter ahead.

The wild celebration grew steadily louder. As they moved past the monument, Kiva pointed to the Azuthan creed carved into the base. “Calm and caution,” she murmured derisively.

“They love magic for its own sake,” Andris pointed out. “From time to time they unleash wild magic and dance amid the chaos, just to experience it.”

The battle leader Nadage crept to Andris’s side. “How did you know the wild dance would be this night?”

“There is no pattern, no set time.” Andris glanced at the elves that crept near to listen. “When I was at Azuth’s Temple, I overheard two priests speak of a new Magistrati-a special sort of priest. Many gathered here have also been elevated in rank. They wish to celebrate before the moon is full, on a night when there is no rain, but a thick veil of mist.”

“They wish to veil their foolishness with darkness,” reasoned Nadage.

“They wish to use their magical devices and light spells to best effect,” Andris corrected. “The light within the circle will be dazzling. All the better for us, for it will blind them to our approach.”

Cibrone, the shaman, squinted into the grove that lay between them and the revelers. “I hope you are right, karasanzor. We are breaking treaty to enter these lands, and risking the wrath of Halruaa’s wizards. Many of us bear scars from their last war against the People.”

Andris put a translucent hand on the elf woman’s shoulder and was grateful that she didn’t flinch. “Your spells are ready?”

The shaman patted the bag at her belt and looked to Nadage for the signal to proceed.

“We go,” the leader said simply.

The elves rose and glided toward the trees. Nimble as lemurs, they climbed into the branches and disappeared. Andris stayed on the ground, trusting his translucent form to provide cover. He crept in, alert for signs of Azuth’s displeasure. He paused near the edge of the grove and studied the scene in the clearing beyond.

A glowing circle had been drawn in the soft moss, a large circle that enclosed the Lady’s Mirror and most of the clearing surrounding the pool. An enormous, translucent dome enclosed the whole. Within its confines, wild magic raged. Magical sparks leaped and flashed, lending ever-shifting color to swirling mists. Fleet, fanciful illusions darted through the air and reflected on the surface of the pond. The sounds of surf and storm and song rolled like waves over the people who frolicked within the circle. All were dressed in the gray vestments of Azuth and wore the god’s symbol over their hearts. Colored fire danced around each embroidered hand, marking the rank of the celebrants. The Azuthans whirled like giddy children or wandered about dazedly, letting the brilliant mists sift through their outstretched hands. Their songs and laughter rose with the maelstrom, magnified and distorted by the wards that contained it.

Nadage padded quietly to Andris’s side. “Calm and cautious,” he repeated in a derisive murmur.

A few people stood outside the magical circle. Andris pointed to two women who carried swords and wore practical gray tunics and trews. Red flames danced around their Azuthan symbols. That color denotes experience and strength. “Those women are not clergy, but fighters, possibly battle wizards. Subdue them first. Next deal with those bearing yellow auras.”

“And the white?” The elf pointed to a tall man whose holy symbol flamed like a small star.

“The new Magistrati,” Kiva said as she came toward the two males. “Remember what to expect from him.”

Nadage glanced up into the trees and let out a soft call, like that of a drowsy, contentedly nesting bird. In response an arrow rustled through the foliage and rose high into the sky. It slowed as it traced a downward arch, then picked up speed as it dived into the midst of the revelers. It hit the dome and exploded. Sheets of light flowed over the clearing like a protective shield.

As Andris suspected, the arrow triggered a spell that would keep attackers out until the revelers could shake off the effects of the wild magic. Just as effectively, it kept them safely in.

Caught up in the wild magic, the revelers were slow to take note of his latest burst of magical light. All the watchers went on instant alert. One of the warrior women pulled a slender pipe from her belt and blew lustily into it. Andris heard nothing, but the elves cringed.