The Floodgate зкик-2

by Элейн Каннингем

  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?"

  Chapter Ten

  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.

  A steep cliff rose along the path. Up ahead, not more than a dozen paces, was a shallow cave. Shadows collected there like rainwater in a ditch, but the shadows breathed, and moved, and came forward to claim substance. The battle-trained jordain's mouth went dry.

  Three warriors, deadly females armed with curved swords and spiked flails, paced steadily toward them. All were tall, beautifully formed, and formidably muscled. Аll wore leather armor, all had wild mops of curly gray hair and large almond-shaped eyes in angular faces the color of smoke.

  "Crinti!" he shouted as he drew his sword. He reached out to slap the flat of it against the flank of Kiva's steed, hoping the horse would run and carry the elf to safety.

  The horse merely snuffled indignantly. Kiva glanced at the shadowy trio, then back at Andris. "So they are. Greetings, Shanair," she called out.

  To Andris's astonishment, all three warriors dropped to one knee before Kiva. The tallest elf balled her right fist and pounded it once against her left shoulder.

  "Shanair reports," she said in a curiously harsh, sibilant voice. "The foothills are ours, the treasure is great."

  "What of the gate?" Kiva said anxiously.

  In response, Shanair removed a leather thong from around her neck and held it up for inspection. A dozen bone-colored objects hung from it, long and curved and as barbed as fishhooks. After a moment Andris realized that they were talons.

  "When the Crinti guard," Shanair said with fierce pride, "nothing passes."

  Kiva slid down from her mount and accepted the gruesome tribute. For a long moment she studied it with an unreadable face. Andris watched as the ghost of a smile touched her lips, and the unmistakable light of battle lit her amber eyes. What that meant, he could not begin to say.

  She gestured for the three Crinti to rise. "Nothing passes," she echoed, then she smiled and added, "Nothing we elves cannot handle."

  The Crinti leader threw back her head and laughed with wild joy. She threw her arms around Kiva, nearly crushing the delicate elf in her strong embrace.

  "Come, elf-sister," she said when they fell apart. "My warriors and I will take you to the floodgate."

  * * * * *

  Throughout that morning, Procopio Septus received supplicants, read reports-many of which brought disturbing news from diverse corners of the land-and presided over meetings. However, his recent conversation with Matteo insistently played through his mind.

  When the sunsleep hours put a halt to city business, Procopio returned to his tower to send a message to Ymani Gold, a priest of Azuth.

  The diviner locked and warded the door of his most private room and settled into a comfortable chair. He began the chant that would put him deep into a wizard's trance and send his sentient image to the priest's study.

  Procopio's vision went black, then slowly brightened into swirling gray mist. The scene took on shape and substance, if not color, and settled into an austere chamber suitable to an Azuthan priest.

  The entire room was a study in gray. Cedar paneled the walls, aged to a silvery sheen. The writing table was carved from somber marble, the chairs padded with smoke-colored silk. Even the carpet was patterned in shades of gray. Procopio noted, however, that it was a fine Calimshan carpet, a work of art that would cost most men a year's wages.

  Ymani Gold sat behind his table, absently decimating a pile of sugared figs as he read a messenger's scroll. His plump hand moved steadily between plate and mouth, and the plodding movements of his jaw brought to Procopio's mind the image of a cud-chewing rothe cow. The priest was not yet in midlife, but his bulbous no
se was a map of broken veins, and deeply shadowed skin sagged in tired crescents beneath his eyes. He wore beautifully embroidered gray silk, cut in flowing layers to conceal his bulk. In short, Ymani Gold was visibly fond of fine things. Procopio knew of other, less readily apparent indulgences. Since a priest's wages could hardly begin to satisfy Ymani's various appetites, Procopio found that Ymani was quite willing to serve the lord mayor of Halarahh-for a price.

  Procopio quickly cast a spell of divination, hoping to 11 the scroll's message from Ymani's mind before the priest discerned his presence. The pilfered news startled an involuntary gasp from him, which he covered by pointedly clearing his throat.

  Ymani Gold leaped to his feet, noisily upending his chair. The befuddlement on his face would have cheered Procopio considerably, had not the stolen information been so grim.

  "Greetings, priest, and peace to this house. I pledge not to work any magic within these walls unbidden." Any further magic, he added silently.

  Ymani gathered his composure and settled back in his chair. "Lord Procopio," he said in a fluting, nasal tenor. "What brings so great an honor to my door?"

  Procopio arranged himself in room's best chair before speaking. "We have a mutual problem. Kiva the magehound has escaped."

  The priest blinked in surprise. A flicker of suspicion crossed his face. "You are well informed. I just learned of this myself."

  Procopio reasoned that the best way to cover one misdeed was to focus upon another. "It is difficult to hide such matters from a diviner, although the church of Azuth has certainly tried."

  "Apparently we have not done well enough, if you learned of it." A sour expression crossed his face. "Don't bother telling me what a powerful diviner you are, how nothing is hidden from you. The truth, now! How did you come by this knowledge?"

  "I had a visit from a jordain who was once in my service, a youth known as Matteo."

  Ymani's eyes took on a malicious gleam. "I have heard that name. His masters call him a shining example of everything his breed purports to be. They claimed that since he was instructed to keep his counsel on this matter, he would never speak of it. It is gratifying to know that such a paragon is capable of indiscretion and that the so-called jordaini masters are as fallible as other men."