Authors: Elaine Cunningham
“They’re calling the dogs,” Kiva explained through gritted teeth. “Much good may it do them!”
The guard quickly came to the same conclusion. She tossed away the pipe and pulled her sword. Her partner began the gestures of a spell. The crimson flames around the spell casters holy symbol climbed higher with gathering power. Holy fire leaped out and licked down the length of the warrior’s sword.
Andris sucked air in a sharp hiss. At his side, Nadage shot a concerned glance in the jordain’s direction. “Not good?”
“A glowing sword seldom is, unless you happen to be the one wielding it.”
A sharp twang resounded, and suddenly an arrow sprouted from the warrior woman’s throat. Her blood flowed, first mingling with and then quenching the crimson flames of Azuth. She dropped her sword and fell to her knees, both hands clenched around the killing shaft.
“No!” shouted Andris as he whirled on Kiva, who stood calmly, bow in her hands.
The word burst from him before he could consider the consequences. Nadage looked as deeply shocked as Andris felt.
“This was not what we agreed!” Nadage hissed. “We were to subdue the humans, not kill them.” He met Andris’s eyes for the first time. “We must withdraw at once.”
Kiva shook her head and pointed to the Magistrati. “Too late! Drop and hide!”
The new priest had turned toward Andris’s shout. He lifted one hand high, like a child about to throw a ball. A glowing sphere appeared in his hand.
Before the wizard could hurl the magic missile, the elves disappeared into the trees like shadows, and Andris shrank behind a thick cypress. He held very still, hardly daring to breathe.
From the corner of his eye he watched the light speed past him into the trees. It separated as it flew, reforming into five seeking balls of flame. The lights darted here and there among the trees. They faltered, faded, and then flickered out like fireflies at dawn.
Andris let out his breath on a sigh of relief. The ability to hurl this particular spell was granted to all Magistrati, but this man had not wielded the power long enough to remember its limitations: He could not hit a target he could neither see nor name.
He peeked around the tree as an old woman struggled from her chair, her sparse white hair glowing like the moon in the reflected light of her holy symbol. She lifted both hands, beginning the gestures of a spell.
“The old Magistrati,” Andris muttered, shielding his eyes with one hand as he squinted into the brilliant white light that surrounded the aging priestess. He lifted his voice to shout, “Get ready, Cibrone! The wizard is casting a protective spell. A wall.”
The shaman dropped from the trees. She dug both hands into her bag and brought them out full of seeds. “Get me in closer, karasanzor.”
Andris began to run toward the clearing, zigzagging through the trees with the elf woman following closely at his heels. Several Azuthans hurled gouts of magic at the shadowy attackers. A meteor storm of tiny fireballs arced toward them, but all fizzled away just short of Andris-his jordaini resistance to magic repelled such weapons.
Andris searched for the first sign of the wall. He smiled with grim satisfaction as an expanse of stone began to rise out of the ground, just beyond the grove. Azuthans were a devout lot-a wall of fire would have been harder to breach, but their first impulse was to surround themselves with Azuthan gray.
The shaman hurled her seeds at the base of the wall and began a high, ululating chant. Tendrils of green rose from the soil, clinging to the rising wall and matching its soaring growth.
As soon as the wall had grown high enough to obscure their attack, the rest of the elves dropped from the trees and came running. Timing was crucial, for they had to breach the wall before the wild magic died and the celebrants joined in the defense. They seized the vines and hauled themselves up the rapidly growing wall. As they reached the top, Andris seized Kiva’s arm.
“Subdue them,” he reminded her. “Only that.”
The elf woman shook him off. Dropping to one knee, she took her bow from her shoulder, knocked an arrow, and let fly-all in a single, fluid movement.
Her bolt took the new Magistrati through the heart, sending him staggering back several paces. For a moment he stood, staring at the shaft that protruded from his chest.
“Too stupid to know he’s dead,” Kiva said as she reached over her shoulder for another arrow.
Andris seized her wrist. “Stop this!”
‘Too late.” She hurled herself over the edge, bringing Andris with her.
He rolled wildly down the steep incline and hit the ground hard. The sounds of battle thundered in his ears as he got his feet under him and pulled his sword.
The wizard woman he’d noted earlier advanced on one of the elves. Her dead partner’s sword glowed in her hands, and wrath burned on her face. She chanted a spell as she stalked in, and the sword’s light began to pulse with gathering power. Andris threw himself between the wizard and the elf-just in time to catch a lighting flash of crimson energy squarely in the chest.
Waves of power swept over him, sending his hair dancing around his face and making his flesh tingle and twitch. He recovered quickly and snapped into position for a high, slashing attack.
The woman’s eyes widened in shock as she noted her new opponent. Reflexively she swung upward to parry Andris’s descending strike.
Her glowing sword met his translucent blade with a ringing clash. She had not anticipated the ghostly jordain’s strength-Andris knew this from the way her sword dipped under his. Before she could adjust her grip, he twisted his sword in a quick circle, spinning the enjoined weapons and wrenching the sword from her too-slack hand.
The wizard pulled two long daggers from her belt. Andris thrust aside his sword and matched her weapons. They circled each other, slashing and testing. The woman came on quickly in a wild flurry of blows, slashing at him like a caged wildcat. Andris met each blow, and the clattering daggers all but drowned out the fading cacophony of the wild dance, and the sound of a deadly battle.
Suddenly the woman pitched forward. Andris leaped aside as she fell facedown, and stared with astonishment into Kiva’s stony face. An arrow shaft protruded from the warrior’s back. The elf already had another arrow ready.
“She was an honorable warrior,” Andris said with quiet fury. “You will answer for this!”
“Not now, and never to you.” The elf snapped her bow up into firing position, letting fly as she shouted, “Behind you!”
Andris whirled as the arrow whizzed past him, instinctively lifting his daggers into a defensive X. A thick staff slammed into the crux of his weapons. His attacker was a black-bearded man with clerical vestments, a warrior’s fierce scowl, and arms as sinewy as a sailor’s.
With all his strength Andris pushed up, thrusting the captured staff higher. Pivoting on his left foot, Andris kicked out hard with his right. His boot connected hard with the man’s gut. The priest folded with a grunt, and Andris brought the hilt of one dagger down sharply on his neck. The man fell, stunned but alive.
The jordain glanced around. All of the guardians were dead or subdued. Several small fires flickered here and there, remnants of their defensive magic. The dome of light surrounding the Azuthan revelers was fading fast.
One of the elves hurried toward Kiva. A sack stuffed with spellbooks and artifacts hung heavy over his shoulder, and he cradled a pair of small dark spheres in one hand. Kiva seized the spheres and hurled them at the protective dome. Delicate crystal shattered on impact, and a viscous black substance began to slide over the rounded surface. The elf woman nocked another arrow and dipped the head into one of the small fires. The arrow caught and blazed. She swept her bow up high and loosed the flaming missile at the dome.
The arrow struck in an explosion of light and power. Fire flowed down like lava, swiftly engulfing the protective dome with a curving wall of flame.
Rage blazed through Andris, matching the heat from the burning dome. He followed the elves’ retreat, stopping only to hoist a wounded elf over his shoulder. Two of the elves took their wounded comrade from Andris and disappeared into the trees.
Andris sprinted over to Kiva, who stood studying the blaze. “You will kill them all!”
She regarded him with a supercilious smile. “Efficiently and quickly. Your plan was excellent, as far as it went, but I required more.”
“Why?” he demanded, gesturing toward the fiery dome. “We could have subdued the guards, raided the library, and fled before the protective barrier could be dropped. No one needed to die!”
The elf woman did not respond. Andris was not even sure she heard him, so intense was her scrutiny of the dying flames. Reluctantly, he turned to see what had so captured Kiva’s attention.
The fire faded almost as quickly as it had flared. The protective sphere disappeared as well, revealing the carnage within. Revelers lay in twisted, tormented postures, their festive garments blackened and smoking.
Andris walked forward as if in a dream. He crouched beside a fallen priest. A glance was enough to know that nothing more could be done for him.
A soft whimper caught his ear. He rose and whirled toward the pool. On the banks lay a young woman. Light from the scattered fires danced over her pale, naked form, and bedraggled wings hung limply from her shoulders. Her face was twisted with pain and bewilderment Instinctively Andris shrugged off his cloak and moved toward her.
Kiva darted to the girl’s side, speaking soothingly in Elvish, calling for the shaman. The two elf women bent over the confused girl. Kiva poured a potion into her mouth while the shaman chanted a prayer of healing. At last the shaman helped the girl to her feet and led her gently away. Andris seized Kiva before she could follow.
“An undine,” she explained. “The pool was no doubt her home, and hers the face that pilgrims saw in the water. The Azuthans were either fools or charlatans, blessing Mystra for these signs of her ‘great favor!’ “
“You knew!” Andris said with suddenly certainty. “You knew that an undine lived in the Lady’s Mirror. Why else would you set that fire but to draw her out of the heated water and into the air?”
Kiva’s gaze swept pointedly over the grim battlefield. “Scores lie dead-wizards, magehounds, priests of Azuth. By my measure, this was a good night’s work, even without the spellbooks. Which of course I also intend to take. Our friends should have finished emptying the library by now.”
The spellbooks kept at the Lady’s Mirror were beyond price. Andris understood their worth and knew Kiva needed such things to restore her wizardly magic. “Why the undine?”
The elf woman’s gaze turned mocking. “I warned you that this would be no paladin’s quest. You wish to upset the order of Halruaa, to tear the veil away from her ancient secrets. Surely you didn’t think this could be done without fire and blood!”
“I am not quite so naive as that,” Andris retorted. ‘To see the Cabal destroyed, I am willing to fight and to die if needs be. But in honest and honorable battle, Kiva, and not in senseless slaughter.”
For a moment the elf woman looked surprised, and then her laughter rang out over the ravaged clearing like mocking bells. “My dear Andris, I thought you were a student of warfare! Haven’t you learned when all is said and done, the difference between victory and slaughter depends upon who tells the tale?”
After the raid upon the Lady’s Mirror, Andris and Kiva headed north, following rough, barely discernable paths rather than trade routes. They traveled alone, for none of the Mhair’s elves would have anything more to do with Kiva.
One elf had been badly burned and would always bear scars. Several more sustained wounds from sword or spell. None had died, though, and they carried a rich treasure back into the Mhair. Kiva had assured them that this magical treasure would restore her wizardly power and prepare her to defeat Akhlaur.
Even so, the elf leader had bidden them farewell that very night, firmly and in a manner than left no room for argument. Kiva did not seem unduly troubled by this rejection, though she did secure the elves’ promise to care for the wounded and displaced undine. To Andris’s eyes, they were offended that she thought it necessary to ask.
They’d walked until they found a remote farm village. A few coins from the temple’s treasury had purchased them horses and travel supplies. As they rode, Kiva studied the spellbooks constantly and frantically, her lips moving as she practiced one spell after another. Each night when they stopped to rest the horses, she would test small cantrips: summoning lights, igniting small fires-things Halruaan children could do.
Never had Andris seen such fierce, absolute focus. He knew wizards and their ways, but had no idea that magic could be acquired so fast. The effort was costly. Kiva aged swiftly and visibly, as if she were trading her life-force for another sort of magic. Step by hurried step, like an infant determined to compress an entire childhood into a single day, she pressed through the books and scrolls.
For several days they skirted the mountains, moving steadily north and then east. The way became rougher and more dangerous as they went. Each day Andris pressed Kiva for answers about their destination and their purpose. She ignored him until finally his importuning ignited her temper. Raising furious golden eyes from the page, she flung out one hand. Gouts of flame flashed toward him.
Instinctively Andris ducked-not away from the flame, but toward it. He lunged between the flame and the horse’s neck, barely clinging to the saddle as he protected his vulnerable steed.
The arcane missile caught his shoulder and sizzled off, dissipated into smoke. Andris felt the impact but not the heat The jolt knocked him from his uncertain perch. He hit the rock-strewn ground and rolled away from his unnerved horse. Andris rose and glared at the elf. “What was that for?”
“Practice,” she responded with a cool smile.
He captured the horse’s reins, then hauled himself into the saddle. He was reaching into his bag for a salve when a sudden movement caught his eye. He looked up, and reached for his sword instead.