The Floodgate

by Elaine Cunningham

  This bit of scandal completely engaged Themo’s attention, and some of the ruddy color returned to his face. “Have you gone moon-mad? A wizard’s apprentice? Though I suppose she’s pretty enough,” he reminisced, “especially if you’re partial to big dark eyes.”

  Matteo was no longer listening. He walked up to one of the mounds and placed a hand upon it. “Feel this.”

  The other jordaini gingerly followed suit. The conical hills hummed with energy—even the magic-resistant jordaini could feel it! The moss-covered rock felt insubstantial, not quite solid.

  “The veils are thin here,” Iago said in a troubled voice as he scrubbed his hand on one thigh, as if to remove the disturbing tingle. “That’s why we hear the Unseelie song.”

  “Could the fairies come through?” Themo demanded.

  “They are said to do so, from time to time, but only one or two manage to emerge. Apparently the passage is difficult, possible only at certain times and places.”

  “So there’s no chance of an army of them pouring out of these things?” Themo persisted, nodding toward conical hills.

  “Not unless they are summoned,” Matteo soothed him, “and there is little fear of that. Who would do such a thing? Who could?”

  Iago’s eyes settled on something, and widened. “Don’t we have a proverb about not asking questions unless you truly want an answer?”

  Matteo followed the line of his gaze. Tzigone stood at entrance to the pass. Her blue robe was travel-grimed and kilted up into her belt for ease of movement. Her dark eyes were enormous in a pale and furious face.

  “Behind you!” she shouted, pointing.

  He turned and was not surprised to see the shadows at the far side of the clearing stir and take shape. The form they took turned his blood to ice.

  Thin as wraiths and dark as drow, the dark fairies regarded the intruders with eyes of a strangely glowing black. They were no taller than children. They moved with ethereal grace, darting between the hollow hills so swiftly the eye could not follow them.

  Matteo swallowed hard and drew his weapons. As he did so, the creatures disappeared. He heard a faint sound like that of wind, but the impression was gone so quickly that Matteo did not understand the truth of it until he saw the glowing eyes emerge from behind a closer hillock. The Unseelie folk did not move through magic—at least, not as he understood it. They were just that quick.

  “Don’t let them out,” Tzigone yelled. “Hold them here in the valley!”

  Matteo shot an incredulous look back at her. “Anything else?”

  She was already off and running. “Make it up as you go along. I’ll be back as soon as I kill a certain rat-bastard wizard!”

  Tzigone’s voice faded, as did the clatter of her boots against the rough stone. The fairies likewise vanished, and in an eyeblink their feral eyes peered out from the edges of a different, closer mound. The Unseelie song began, a chilling, unearthly melody that bounded from mound to mound, everywhere and nowhere.

  “Mother of Mystra,” Themo swore softly, the battle light flickering uncertainly in his dark eyes. “How in hell can we fight this?”

  Matteo drew his sword and strode toward the nearest hillock. “As best we can.”

  Tzigone raced down the passage and launched herself at Dhamari like a human arrow. They went down together, rolling painfully over the rocky ground. He was too surprised to offer much resistance, and she quickly pinned him.

  “You tricked me,” she hissed, fisting her hands in his tunic and giving him a furious shake. The movement spilled a length of silver chain from its hiding place beneath his tunic. From it hung a medallion—her mother’s talisman!

  Tzigone lunged for it. Her fingers tingled as a familiar magic spilled from the token, the watchful guardian magic she remembered from her earliest days. With a vicious tug, she broke the chain and thrust the talisman—the real talisman—into the cuff of her boot

  For the first time she noticed the cold, malicious light in the wizard’s eyes. “You tricked me,” she said again, this time in wonder as she began to comprehend the scope of Dhamari’s betrayal. “You told me I was casting a spell of warding and banishment, but it was really a summoning! I called those things!”

  “An accident,” the wizard protested. “As I told you, this magic is beyond me.”

  “So you gave it to a green apprentice!”

  A contrite expression washed over his face. “Let me up, and I will give you the scroll for the reversal spell.”

  “Well, that was easy,” she said sarcastically, “and probably worth the effort it took.” She gave the wizard another shake. “I know you can cast metal transmutation—I’ve seen you studying the scroll! Change my dagger to iron. Do it!” she shouted when Dhamari hesitated.

  The wizard’s lips formed a grim line, but he nodded agreement Tzigone let him up and showed him the silver knife that Basel had bought for her.

  “Iron,” she reminded him. “And by wind and word, you’d better be right behind me to do the same for the jordaini’s weapons.”

  Dhamari glanced over his shoulder. His guards—those who had not already fled back down the pass—formed a solid wall behind him. “You heard her,” the captain said gruffly.

  The wizard took the knife and cast the spell. When the task was done, he gazed with dismay at the dull, heavy weapon. “Consider,” he pleaded, “you cannot win against such creatures.”

  Tzigone snatched the iron knife from him and raced to Matteo’s aid. As she burst into the clearing, a little cry of dismay escaped her. Her friend was not faring well.

  The Unseelie warriors were swift and silent, taxing the jordaini with their speed, toying with them with their wicked little knives. All three men bled from many tiny wounds, but they could not lay a blade on their darting foes. Iron weapons would help, but Tzigone couldn’t hold them off alone. She glanced back over her shoulder. Dhamari Exchelsor swayed uncertainly at the edge of the clearing.

  “Metal transmutation!” she shouted. The wizard caught her eye and quickly went into the second casting. When the spell was cast, his eyes rolled back and he slumped to the ground—to Tzigone’s eye, just a little too gracefully.

  “Idiot,” Tzigone muttered. Dhamari’s cowardly ploy might excuse him from fighting, but it also kept him from defending himself.

  “Get him out of here,” she told the men who’d followed Dhamari to the clearing. Their faces proclaimed that they’d be happy to watch the wizard die where he fell. Tzigone’s gaze swept over them. “Move him, or deal with me.”

  She didn’t have time to wonder at the fear that crossed their faces, then the shame. “As you say, lady,” murmured the leader.

  Tzigone was already running. She moved directly into the path of one of the dark folk—the largest one she’d seen among them. The creature stopped before her, no more than a breath away, repelled and weakened by the iron she carried.

  Tzigone lifted the knife in a gesture of menace, then brought her knee up hard. The fairie’s black eyes blazed with what she hoped was pain.

  “Lady,” she repeated derisively. “I don’t think so.”

  Her iron knife swept in.

  She yanked it free and whirled to take stock of the battlefield. Matteo had tossed aside his now-iron sword—too heavy, she guessed—but he fought with daggers alongside his two friends. They stood in a triangle formation, back to back to back, moving in concert as they faced their peculiar foe. The Unseelie folk were still preternaturally fast, but the iron weapons seemed to sap their strength as surely as the laraken drained magic.

  Just as Tzigone began to hope the battle had turned, the big jordain stumbled and fell. The Unseelie song swelled in triumph as the dark fairies rushed in.

  She darted forward to take the fallen man’s place. A fairy knife leaped from nowhere to nick her thigh. She kicked at her attacker and met nothing but air. Seeing the futility of solitary battle, she fell into position with Matteo and Iago and dropped into the rhythm of battle.

&n
bsp; “Get back, Tzigone,” Matteo panted out as he deflected one darting attack after another. “You’re not trained for this.”

  “Who is?”

  He darted her a quick, exasperated look. “Just go!”

  “I called them,” she responded grimly.

  Matteo could not have argued even if he’d wanted to. As the iron weapons slowed the dark fairies’ movements, their numbers became more apparent Dhamari’s spell of summoning had let more than a score of the fey monsters slip through the veil.

  Suddenly the weird music stopped, and the Unseelie attackers drew back. They milled uncertainly about. Tzigone’s heart leaped with sudden hope, but Mateo let out a heartfelt, barnyard epithet

  Her head whipped toward him. “What?”

  Matteo backhanded a streak of blood off his forehead. “I’ve seen this formation,” he said, “but not in battle.”

  Even as he spoke, the dark fairies began to circle. Their song erupted in a keening, triumphant frenzy. Like small, fey wolves, they closed in for the kill.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A brilliant light poured into the clearing, sending the dark fairies whisking off into sudden, eye-searing flight. Matteo shielded his eyes with one hand and glanced toward the source. His shoulders rose and fell in relief as he recognized Basel Indoulur’s ship. The battle over, he dropped to both knees at Themo’s side.

  At first glance it appeared that the big jordain’s wounds were not so bad—spiteful, superficial cuts such as he himself had sustained. The dull, haunted look in his friend’s eyes suggested otherwise.

  Crimson silk rustled as Basel dropped to one knee beside him. “How can I help?”

  “The Unseelie folk can mark a mortal like a vampire,” Matteo said. “Themo needs to be healed and cleansed, or he may never be more than you see him now. Have you a priest with you?”

  The wizard shook his head. “Well take him to the nearest temple.” As he spoke, his gaze shifted to the edge of the clearing, when Tzigone stood with her chin tilted stubbornly high, nearly toe to toe with a very irate Iago. The jordain appeared to be railing at Tzigone, blaming her for what happened. For once the girl held her tongue. Matteo, knowing her quirky sense of honor, understood that she already felt the weight of her miscast spell.

  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 ki
ng.”

  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.