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?”
“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. Dharmari 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 joine
d 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.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
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 Floodgate Page 27