The Floodgate (34 page)

“Crinti, among others.”

“Lord Procopio assures me that there are a few raiders, easily dealt with.”

Matteo sent an apologetic nod toward the hawk-faced wizard. “If there were just a few raiders, why would Kiva go to such lengths to provide a means of containing them?” He told them of Dhamari’s spell and the dark fairies Tzigone had inadvertently summoned. “It seems to me that Kiva has prepared one brush fire as a back burn against another. Once the Crinti have served their purpose, summoning the Unseelie folk would drive the shadow amazons back over the mountains. Why else would Kiva place Crinti encampments among the most haunted hills?”

Zalathorm nodded. “Lord Procopio?”

The diviner’s face was livid and tight-lipped. “It is possible, my lord,” he admitted. “It is a reasonable strategy.”

“What say you, Dhamari?”

Matteo caught his breath. Dhamari was here, in the king’s council chamber? He followed the path of many eyes as they turned upon the self-conscious wizard.

“The young jordain’s suspicions are not without foundation,” Dhamari began. “Many years ago, Kiva and I were apprentices together. We joined in a miscast spell that summoned an imp. Matteo knew of this. Naturally, he might wonder if the association between Kiva and me continued. Lord Basel will attest that this is not so, by the word of Azuth’s inquisitors.”

“Basel?” the king asked, turning to the flamboyant conjurer.

The wizard confirmed this with a curt nod. “He was tested.”

“The spell that inadvertently summoned the dark folk was adapted from a banishing,” Dhamari continued. “I haven’t the talent to cast it, so I could not know precisely what it would do, but I will swear by wizard-word oath that the casting of this spell was not intended to aid the traitor Kiva!”

The king listened to this recitation with an inscrutable face. “You defend yourself well,” he said. “Now, Matteo. You said that the Crinti were merely the start of Kiva’s army. Say on.”

“Kiva almost certainly commanded the raid upon the Lady’s Mirror. She also has access to the gate to the Plane of Water. If she commands Crinti and wild elves, who knows what other forces she may have.”

“This is preposterous!” sputtered one of the wizard-lords who awaited the king’s attention. “Throughout King Zalathorm’s reign, he has never failed to predict a threat!”

A murmur of assent went through the chamber, but the king lifted a hand to silence it. “Halruaa remains at peace through the vigilance of all her wizard-lords and their jordaini. If there is a threat, let us work to perceive it.”

The keen focus of the king’s eyes slipped into haze, as if he were studying something far away. After a few moments he shook his head, frowning deeply. “There is a subtle veil over the recent past and the near future, one I cannot pierce and the likes of which I have never encountered. This is a matter for the full council.”

Zalathorm motioned to a courtier, who slipped from the room and returned with a large amber sphere. As soon as Zalathorm’s fingertips brushed the globe, a similar golden light touched the hand of each wizard present. Every member of Halruaa’s Council of Elders wore a golden ring set with a tiny amber globe, so that Zalathorm could communicate with all his wizards at once.

“Lords and ladies, your presence is required immediately in the king’s council chamber,” he said somberly. “Come by the swiftest magic available to you.”

The courtiers in the room hurried for the doors, not wishing to be trampled by wizards who wished to prove themselves swifter than their fellows.

“There is more, Your Majesty,” Matteo said, “best spoken in private.”

“It will wait,” Zalathorm told him. The members of the Council of Elders began to fill the chamber.

When the room was full nearly to bursting, the king described Matteo’s concerns and the strange film he himself felt over the future. At his command, glowing green runes appeared in the air. “This is a spell of divination. We will chant it as one. Perhaps together we can see where one man cannot.”

Matteo’s gaze shifted to Procopio Septus. The glare he threw at Matteo was pure venom.

The rhythm for the casting had begun. Zalathorm took up a staff and marked a steady beat against the floor. The sound resounded through the room, growing steadily louder as the wizards silently read the words of the spell.

Chanting filled the room, and the green-glowing runes grew steadily brighter. The colors shifted into a rainbow, which slowly spread out like a tapestry of light. Woven upon it in threads of magic was the image of a massive force gathering at the foothills of the mountains.

The chanting died away, engulfed by the horrified gasps that swept the room.

“Halruaa is about to be invaded!” one of the wizards blurted.

“Not so.” Matteo stepped forward and pointed to the shimmering tapestry. “This peak is Jhiridial, in the eastern wall. Note the sun: It rises behind the mountains.”

“Lady Mystra,” Zalathorm swore softly, understanding Matteo’s point. “Those troops are not on the far side of the mountain wall! They stand upon Halruaa herself!”

Matteo nodded. “The invasion has already begun.”

Fury washed through Procopio’s blood like molten steel. He stood before the king in what should have been the defining moment of his life. Thanks to that accursed Matteo, all his plans and dreams were slipping through his fingers like water!

Yet he might still salvage something of this. “Your Majesty, I will lead a skyship fleet into the Nath to repel the Crinti, then meet your army at the eastern wall.”

Zalathorm nodded. “Good. If the Crinti are as numerous as Matteo fears, they could move in from behind and pin our forces.”

Procopio shot a look at the troublesome jordain. “I request that Matteo accompany me. While he was in my service, we devised many strategies for just such an invasion.”

It was a subtle way of taking for himself a bit of the credit for Matteo’s early warning. Better still, it hinted that he had divined a threat that Zalathorm had missed. It wasn’t quite what he’d hoped for, but he would work with it.

“You are obviously well prepared,” Zalathorm noted, gazing at Procopio with eyes that saw far too much. “I will lead the attack on the approaching Mulhorandi army. The rest of you, summon whatever forces you command, and follow.”

Good, thought Procopio. Two battles. Zalathorm will win one, and I, the other.

Matteo was not yet finished. “Your Majesty, there is another threat. I hesitate to speak of it in open council.”

“This is no time for delicacy!” snapped Zalathorm. “As you yourself have observed, the safety of Halruaa comes before all other considerations. Speak!”

With obvious reluctance, Matteo told of Kiva’s intrusion into the queen’s chambers, of the many clockwork creatures she took with her. “I fear these creatures are nearby. The magic required to transport such large items any distance is immense. Kiva employed a spell of diffusion, a powerful battle spell that can scatter an army by sending its members to several nearby places.”

Zalathorm’s eyes narrowed. “You heard this spell? How did you happen to be in the queen’s chambers when this occurred?”

“I was not. This device was.”

He showed the king the magic mouth bottle, then pulled the cork. Procopio suppressed a snort of laughter when he recognized the carved visage of one of the northland’s great wizards. It was said that the Old Sage cast a long shadow, but all the way to Halruaa?

The echo of Kiva’s elven soprano filled the room with magic-rich chant, and Procopio forgot everything else. When the spell was complete, Matteo replaced the cork.

The king’s face was grim. “Very well. The city must be fortified and secured. The battle wizard Lhamadas will command the city militia.”

“There is yet another threat,” Matteo said in a heartsick voice. “One within the palace itself.”

He pulled the cork again. The voice of Queen Beatrix answered Kiva’s questions. The entire Council of Elders heard Kiva commending Beatrix for a job well done.

For many moments, profound silence ruled the council chamber. “If I could have spared you this, sire,” Matteo said softly, “I would have done it.”

The king met his gaze. “You did your duty, jordain. I will do mine.”

Procopio stepped forward to seize the moment, and, Mystra willing, the throne itself. “Your Majesty, none can deny that Beatrix is guilty of high treason. By law, the sentence is death, to be carried out immediately.”

For the first time, Matteo saw the weight of long years in Zalathorm’s eyes. His heart ached for the king, and for the strange, sad woman whom Zalathorm loved.

“Every Halruaan is entitled to magical examination,” the wizard-king said coldly. “Surely the queen has the same rights as a fisherwoman!”

Before Procopio could protest, Matteo stepped forward. “The king is caught between two necessities. How can he defend both his queen and his country? Let this matter rest until our borders are secure.”

“Halruaan justice is swift,” Procopio reminded him.

“If it is too swift, it may not be justice at all,” Matteo retorted.

A murmur of agreement moved through the room. “I suggest a compromise,” said a tall, flame-haired woman. “The queen must be imprisoned until the invasion is repelled and this other matter given proper attention.”

Zalathorm nodded slowly. “That is fair. Take her to the palace towers and place around her spells of binding. That is all. Now go-all of you know what must be done. May Mystra grant us strength.”

In a quiet voice, one that barely reached the ears of the jordain at his side, the king whispered, “May Keturah forgive me.”

Matteo started at the familiar name. His gaze leaped to Zalathorm’s face, and read confirmation in the king’s sad brown eyes.

There was no time for questions. He bowed to his king, then turned away to follow Procopio’s quick, staccato retreat.

In the very heart of Akhlaur’s Swamp, the undine lay panting on the edge of the deep pool, her black tresses hanging lank about her too-pale face. Gems lay in bright heaps beside her, treasures from the sunken tower.

These riches were hard won. Strange magic lurked in the waters of Akhlaur’s swamp, power sufficient to raise Andris’s slain comrades into zombie guardians. The undine had apparently run into other guardians. Her arms were a map of angry red welts, and a thin tentacle, still twitching, tangled in her hair.

Andris picked it out carefully, self-consciously. His own fingers were nearly as translucent as this remnant of a jellyfish. “A man-of-war,” he said. “The poison will kill a man. I don’t know how much damage it will deal a creature of water and air.”

“Enough,” Nadage said sternly. “The undine must rest until tomorrow.”

“One more try,” Kiva insisted. She described to the undine the gem that must be retrieved, its possible location within the tower. “This will open the floodgate. I swear it! Find it, and the plunder of Akhlaur’s tower will be complete.”

The elves exchanged glances. “It is for the undine to say.”

The exhausted sprite nodded and dived deep. Time passed, and the shadows of night began to creep over the swamp. Finally one of the elves gasped and pointed.

A limp form floated amid a swath of black lilies. Andris dived in and pulled the undine to shore. The elf shaman bent over the fey creature, then shook her head. “She lives, but not for long.”

Kiva stooped and jerked the bag from the dying creature’s belt. She tugged open the string and spilled the contents onto her open palm. A large, perfect emerald caught the last rays of the dying day. A smile of satisfaction crossed the elf’s face, and her eyes went utterly cold.

Chanting a spell, she dropped to her knees. She placed a tiny vial on the undine’s chest and then fisted both hands in the delicate white feathers that framed the creature’s shoulders. With a quick, vicious tug she wrenched them free.

The undine’s entire body buckled in a spasm of agony, and she was gone. Nothing remained of her but the feathers in Kiva’s hands and the glowing vial on the shore.

The elves stood in shocked horror. Kiva ignored them and tipped the vial to her lips. The glowing liquid disappeared, as wings sprouted from Kiva’s shoulders. Andris had never seen such a spell, but it was not difficult to understand what Kiva had done. She had stolen the undine’s life-force, and, at least for a time, the ability of the creature to live in the water.

Elven steel hissed free, and every blade pointed at Kiva’s heart. She spat out a trigger word, and instantly the weapons flamed red with heat. With startled cries, the elves dropped their blades to sizzle and steam where they fell. They thrust their burned hands into the cooling water.

Kiva turned to Andris. “Kill them.”

Andris shook his head.

“What of the Cabal?” she taunted him. “What price is too large to pay to see it destroyed?”

“This one,” he said softly.

Kiva’s hand came up and spat blue fire. Lighting flared into the water, skittering across the surface to sizzle into the elves’ already burned hands. Before Andris could stop her, before he could speak a single word of protest their companions lay dead.

“No price too large,” she said firmly.

Dhamari Exchelsor sat in his tower window, watching the brightly painted Avariel sail northward in the company of a dozen other skyships. Of course Basel would go northward, despite his long-standing feud with Procopio Septus, for Tzigone would wish to fight at her jordain’s side. If Basel were not so obliging, Dhamari imagined that Tzigone would find another way.

The streets below resounded with the clash of the queen’s clockwork army. Their numbers were most impressive. Mechanical warriors emerged from root cellars and privies, stables and guest chambers and gardens, attacking anyone in their path. According to Dhamari’s spells of inquiry, small skirmishes were everywhere. He watched as two metal gnolls-hideous beastmen with heads resembling desert dingoes-clattered down the street, tossing a shrieking child between them like a toy. Dhamari’s guards took off in pursuit, leaving his tower unprotected.