Authors: Elaine Cunningham
Basel quickly placed himself between the angry jordain and his apprentice. “Board Avariel, Tzigone,” he said calmly. “Get the others.”
Iago spat. “I will not travel the same ship as that witch!”
“You’re not invited to,” Basel said coolly. “Take the mercenaries and ride to the nearest town. Or stay here and face those creatures again, as you prefer.”
The jordain stalked off and held quick, angry speech with Dhamari’s men. After a moment the mercenary captain came over to Basel, dragging Dhamari by the collar of his tunic. “Can you take one more? He can’t ride in this condition, and every man here would rather kill him than tend him.”
Basel gave a curt nod. Two of the men carried the wizard ungently up the long plank that led to the deck of the hovering ship.
Matteo hoisted Themo over one shoulder and carried him up the plank, unsure whether to stay or rejoin the other fighters. The skyship began to rise before he had time to disembark, settling the matter. He settled down beside Themo’s cot. One of Basel’s men brought him water and linen, and he busied himself cleaning and bandaging the jordain’s many small wounds.
After a few minutes, Tzigone peered around the corner of the small cabin. She took in Themo, who by now was swathed nearly as thoroughly as a Mulhorandi mummy. Distress and guilt filled her expressive eyes.
“Don’t take this on yourself,” Matteo said, gesturing to Themo. “It is not your doing.”
“That skinny jordain doesn’t agree.” She passed a hand over her face, leaving streaks of dirt and blood. “Neither do I.”
Matteo beckoned her over. She sank down on the edge of the cot and submitted to his ministrations. When all her cuts had been tended, he sat down beside her and drew her into his arms.
Tzigone leaned her head against his shoulder. Words poured from her, tumbling over each other. Matteo listened without interruption as she told him about her meeting with Dhamari and her decision to travel into the countryside with him and learn what spells she could. “He said the summoning was accidental,” she concluded.
“Do you believe him?”
She rose from the cot and began to pace. “I don’t know. Did you find Kiva?”
“I found one of her companions.”
She glanced at his bleak face. “Your turn.”
Matteo told her about his encounters with Andris and the Crinti. He told her about the jordaini purification rite but did not pass along Iago’s speculations about Kiva’s motives. He mentioned that Ferris Grail owned the icehouse where Tzigone had been taken.
“Andris’s treachery breaks my heart, but this sets me utterly adrift. Can I trust the jordaini order, the guardians of Halruaa?”
“Maybe they think that opposing you is part of keeping Halruaa safe.”
Matteo considered this, especially in light of King Zalathorm’s explanation of the mysterious power that protected the “heart of Halruaa.” Perhaps this “heart” was the jordaini order. Perhaps in deviating from its strict rule, in exploring its secrets, he was doing harm where he meant only good.
He sent a helpless look at his friend. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
She sat down beside him. “You know, I’m starting to see some sense in the jordain’s creed. You’re the only person I know who tells the truth. In a way, that’s really stupid, but it’s also why you’re the only person I really trust. You have a healthy respect for magic but you’ve learned how to do without it. I’ve seen wizards who can’t hit a chamber pot without casting a spell. Well, I haven’t literally seen that, but you get my point. You really are a guardian of Halruaa. That’s worth doing. I’ve traveled. Halruaa isn’t perfect, but it’s the best place I’ve been.”
Matteo took her hand. “When did you become so wise?”
She grinned and batted her eyes in a parody of flirtation. “I’ve always been wise. It’s just that I’m so gorgeous, men don’t seem to notice my other gifts.”
They shared a muted chuckle. “So, what’s next?” she asked.
“If the queen is to be believed, war is next,” Matteo said quietly.
Tzigone looked dubious. “From all I’ve heard, the queen is as crazy as a moon moth.”
“Yet there may be some significance in the fact that it was Kiva who brought Beatrix to Halarahh.”
“So you think the queen and Kiva are allies?”
“It seems unlikely. Zalathorm is a powerful diviner. He has foreseen every major threat to the land for over three-quarters of a century.”
She thought this over. “Let’s find out if the queen really does know something. Since she’s got so many devices around, no one would think much of another one.”
“I don’t think much of that, myself,” Matteo said. “Planting a scrying device means using a magical item, which is forbidden to the jordain.”
“It’s not forbidden for a wizard’s apprentice,” she argued.
“Having someone use magic on your behalf is the same thing,” Matteo countered.
“On your behalf? Listen to the man! Whose idea was this, anyway?”
“It’s foolhardy, illegal, and very likely suicidal,” he said heatedly, counting off these points on his fingers. “So obviously the idea was yours.”
For some reason, this amused Tzigone. “So where do you go next?”
He glanced at the sleeping jordain. “I’ll see Themo to the temple for healing, then I should report to the palace.”
“But?” she demanded, picking up the hesitation in his voice.
“Perhaps I should bring news of this attack to Procopio Septus.”
“Old Snow Hawk? Why?”
“He has spent a considerable amount of time studying the Crinti. He will wish to advise the king.”
Tzigone agreed, not so much because she approved of Matteo’s plan but because it suited her purpose. If Matteo wasn’t at the palace, he wasn’t likely to catch her there.
Experience had taught her to be wary of anything or anyone whose life Kiva touched. It was time to get a look at Queen Beatrix for herself.
Dhamari Exchelsor groaned and lifted one hand to his aching temples. He remembered the twice-cast spell, but that simple overexertion couldn’t account for his throbbing head, or for the egg-sized lump he felt just under his hairline. Then he remembered-his own men had carried him aboard Basel Indoulur’s skyship and thrown him into this wooden bunk. His own men!
His eyes focused and set upon Basel Indoulur’s face. The wizard leaned against the closed door of the small cabin, his arms folded and his black eyes mild. “So you’re awake. How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling very unimpressed by your hospitality,” the wizard grunted, delicately probing his throbbing head with his fingertips.
His “host” spread his pudgy hands in a “what can I do?” gesture. “Your men are a spirited lot. Pity I couldn’t have brought them aboard my skyship.” Basel smiled at the relieved expression this brought to Dhamari’s face, but it was not a pleasant smile. “If you wish, I will happily return you to their tender care.”
“Without bothering to land the skyship, no doubt,” Dhamari retorted.
The conjurer lifted one eyebrow. “I had not thought of that, but I’m most grateful for the suggestion.” He abruptly pushed himself off the door and all vestiges of civility disappeared from his face. “Know this: If you ever approach Tzigone again, if you so much as speak to her, I’ll take you up on that suggestion!” He slammed out of the room.
Dhamari made a rude gesture at the closed door, then took a small moonstone globe from a hidden pocket inside his robe. He turned his back to the door and hunched over the globe, muttering the spells that would summon his elf partner.
The globe swirled with copper and green lights, which quickly settled down to form Kiva’s beautiful but aging visage. Dhamari painted a look of contrition on his face. “As we agreed, I taught Keturah’s girl the summoning spell. She … she can cast it.”
Molten fury crept into the elf’s eyes as she read the truth in his hesitation. “Did she?”
“I’m afraid so. I told her it was a spell of banishment in order to trick her into learning it. But no harm was done! There was a battle, and the dark fairies fled back into their hills.”
“There was a battle,” Kiva repeated with dangerous calm. “Between whom?”
“Three men in jordaini garb-but it was the wizard with his skyship who frightened the fey folk off.”
Kiva let out a long, wavering breath. Dhamari had seen less furious exhalations emanating from a red dragon. He suppressed a smile.
“You idiot!” she raged. “It’s too soon! You may have ruined all! At least tell me that the ship belonged to Procopio Septus.”
Dhamari ducked his head as if to dodge a blow. “Basel Indoulur.”
The elf woman shrieked, long and shrill. “He will carry this news back to the king’s city! Lord Procopio will believe I betrayed him!”
The wizard tucked that information away for future use. “What can I do to amend?”
Kiva regarded him with loathing. “You can die slowly and painfully.”
“You need me!” he wailed.
“I needed your spell. Tzigone can cast it.”
“We made an alliance. I swore to you by wizard-word oath!”
“So you will keep silent, or die!” Kiva raged. “I swore no such oath, but those I did speak, I repudiate. I repudiate you! You are nothing but a hindrance to me. There is nothing between us. Do you understand?”
Dhamari understood full well. There was nothing between them. He had hindered Kiva’s cause. When he was questioned by magehounds-and he would be-they would confirm this. He had what he wanted, and now he would dance without paying the piper.
A false tear slipped down his cheek. “You loved me, once.”
The elf’s face fell slack with astonishment, then her laughter rang out, harsh and derisive. She made a sharp gesture with both hands and slammed them together before her face. The moonstone globe shattered in Dhamari’s hands.
The light from the magic sphere died abruptly. Shards of moonstone spilled from the wizard’s hands and rained over his lap. He turned his hands palm up and inspected them. As he anticipated, they were unharmed.
After all, the shattered moonstone was his own doing-he had coaxed Kiva’s fury from her. That was a foolish thing to do, but he was well and thoroughly protected from himself.
Dhamari lifted a heavy medallion from a hidden compartment in his sleeve. The magic in the talisman still hummed strong and true, but the medallion itself had been turned to iron. It was much heavier now-so heavy that it had fallen out of the cuff of Tzigone’s boot to land, unnoticed, on the rough stone passage.
Tzigone had slipped into the queen’s palace once before, but the sight of the vast workroom was just as overwhelming the second time around. The light of a gibbous moon floated in through a high window. Creatures of metal and leather and canvas stood waiting, their mooncast shadows entwined as if in furtive conversation.
A chill wind washed over Tzigone’s skin. Recognizing the touch of powerful magic, she dived for cover under a workbench.
The moonlight seemed to intensify, broadening into a whirling cone of white light. This set down like a summer wind tunnel. A slim, green figure stepped from the light. Tzigone bit her lip to keep from crying out when she recognized Kiva.
One of the clockwork figures turned toward the intruder. It was not a machine, but a woman. The silvery dress and white-and-silver wig had lent her a metallic, unreal aspect, and she’d stood so still that Tzigone hadn’t realized she was a living being.
Kiva dipped into an ironic bow. “Greetings, Beatrix.”
So this was the queen. Tzigone quietly reached for the magical device-a bottle carved into the likeness of a bearded sage with a smoking pipe and a mischievous, mildly salacious grin. She thumbed off the cork so that the next words spoken might be captured within.
Kiva’s gaze swept the workroom. “You made many more creatures than this. Where are the others?”
“Gone,” said Beatrix vaguely.
“Were they taken from you?”
“Yes. By the mists.”
The elf frowned, then nodded. “Actually, that’s all the better! It saves me the trouble of taking them away. I never thought you could make this many.”
Beatrix turned away, apparently not interested in the elf’s opinion. Tzigone watched as Kiva went through the words and gestures of a spell. The rest of the clockwork creatures faded away, and Kiva followed them in a whirl of white light.
Tzigone stuffed the cork back into place. She stayed beneath the table and waited for the queen to leave, but the woman seemed content to stare at the window, long after the moon had risen out of view. When Beatrix finally drifted away, Tzigone scooted through the palace to Matteo’s room.
He was asleep. She pounced on him, seizing the pillow on either side of his head and giving it a good shake.
The world suddenly turned upside down. Tzigone hit the floor hard, face down. A knee pressed into her back. A strong hand fisted in her hair and turned her head so that one cheek was pressed into the carpet. Another hand pressed a knife to the vein in her throat.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Matteo’s face shift from grim, ambushed warrior to its familiar, brotherly exasperation.
“And I thought dwarves woke up grouchy,” she commented. “I’ve found that the best thing to do with dwarves is tire them out and leave while they’re still sleeping. Want to hear the details?”
Matteo sighed and let her up. “This had better be important.”
She took the cork from her magic mouth bottle and let the damning words spill out.
“What will you do with this?” she asked.
“The only thing I can do,” he said heavily. “The truth must be told, and we must trust in Mystra that it will work to the good of Halruaa.”
Matteo went to Zalathorm’s council chamber first thing that morning. Many of Halruaa’s elders were already in attendance, including Basel Indoulur and Procopio Septus. When the king’s gaze fell on Matteo, he motioned him forward. The wizard-lords parted to let him pass.
“I have received your report, and spoken with Lord Basel,” Zalathorm said in a voice that carried throughout the hall. “You have something more to add?”
“Several things, your majesty. I believe that the elf woman Kiva is raising an army against Halruaa.”
The king’s lips took a dubious twist. “An army of what? Unseelie folk?”