The jordain was not the only one to note this resemblance. Basel winked again. "Let this be a lesson to you. See what can happen when you stop your daily weapons training? For good measure, I'd suggest you stay away from aged cheeses, red wines, and sugared figs."
Matteo tugged experimentally at the thick tangle of flowering vines. "If this venture fails, shall I include that advice in your eulogy?"
Basel snorted. "Since when was sarcasm included in a jordain's rhetorical studies?"
The young man shrugged and began to climb. Wizards' towers were protected by magical wards, but as Matteo had learned from Tzigone, mundane methods often proved more effective than counter spells. Even so, the method of entry into Keturah's former tower grated on his conscience. There was little about his friendship with Tzigone that did not.
By Halruaan law, Tzigone was a wizard's bastard, an unwitting crime that brought disgrace or even death. She was also a thief and a rogue, yet Matteo, who was sworn to uphold Halruaa's laws, shielded her at every turn.
Women, it would seem, tended to complicate life on a rather grand scale.
Basel hauled himself through an open third-floor window and dusted off his hands. "No sense climbing any higher. The place is deserted."
"Dhamari's servants don't seem particularly loyal," Matteo observed.
Basel's artificially young face turned grim. "With very good reason. Come."
He led the way up tower stairs to Dhamari's study. Matteo entered and scanned the vast chamber. It was like most other wizards' workrooms, but for an enormous cork-board stretched along one wall-a butterfly collection, from the looks of it. He went closer, and as he studied the creatures pinned to the wall, his distaste deepened to horror.
Dhamari had not drawn the line at butterflies. Tiny chameleon bats were neatly displayed alongside a desiccated fairy dragon and a tiny, mummified sprite. Several empty pins were thrust into the cork. Matteo pulled one and studied the fleck of translucent, papery blue that clung to it.
He showed it to Basel. "This looks like a scale from a starsnake's discarded skin."
The wizard muttered an oath. "I would give ten years off my life to know when and how Dhamari got that skin."
Matteo nodded, understanding the wizard's point. Twenty years ago, Keturah had been condemned as a murderer for her ability to summon these dangerous creatures. It was a rare ability, and after she fled, no one had thought to look for guilt elsewhere.
"How could both Tzigone and I have misjudged him so thoroughly?"
Basel reached into a small bag at his belt and took from it the talisman Dhamari had given Tzigone. "I've done a number of magical tests, and discovered that this is not Keturah's talisman but a copy-a very good copy, but one entirely lacking magic. At first, I thought the magic had faded after Keturah's death."
A logical assumption, except Keturah was not dead. Noting the bleak expression in the wizard's eyes, Matteo heartily wished he were free to tell Basel all.
"The original holds a permanent spell, very powerful, which protected the wearer from a particular person and all those who worked in his behalf," the wizard concluded.
"In Keturah's case, that would be Dhamari," Matteo mused. "Is it possible Dhamari kept the original talisman, using it as protection against himself?"
Basel whistled softly. "I wouldn't have thought the little weasel capable of such cunning, but that would explain how he concealed his real character and motivations."
"Why?"
"Ambition," Basel said shortly. "Shortly after Keturah took on Dhamari as an apprentice, she overheard him boasting that he would become both an Elder and an arch-mage. She told me this because she found it rather odd and quite out of character. Dhamari was a man of modest talent, and he seemed to understand and accept this. But enough talk. Let's find out how he got as far as he did."
They fell to work, searching the workshop and libraries for anything that might shed light on the spell Dhamari had given Tzigone-the spell that had hurled them both into the Unseelie Court.
Matteo quickly discarded scrolls describing poisons and transforming potion, lingering instead over anything that dealt with elven magic. This seemed prudent, as Kiva had played a part in Dhamari's goals, or perhaps vice versa. Finally, in the very bottom of a deep chest, he unearthed a moldering tome embossed with slashing, angular runes.
His heart danced wildly as he realized the significance of those runes. He strode over to Basel, carrying the spell-book with the same care and repugnance he would show a deadly viper.
"Ilythiiri," he said, handing the book to the wizard. "I have read legends of Halruaa's dark elves, but I never imagined that artifacts, even spellbooks, might have survived so long."
Basel placed the fragile tome on a reading table and began to page through it. After a few minutes, he drew a small parchment roll from his tunic and began to copy the dark elven spells.
"Is that wise?"
The wizard glanced up. "Is it wise to drink snake venom in hope of curing another snake's bite? If the ancestors of drow elves and Crinti bandits can help me counteract what Dhamari has done, I'll hand my entire fortune over to their accursed descendants!"
Matteo thought of Andris, imprisoned for aiding the treasonous Kiva. "Can any good come of evil?"
Basel sniffed and kept copying. "I could stick my head in the sand and pretend evil doesn't exist, but all that would do is present my arse as a convenient target."
"But-"
The wizard glanced up, his eyes sharp. "Do you want to help Tzigone, or don't you?"
As Matteo held the challenging gaze, his own stern conscience mocked him. "I'm coming to realize moral choices are often difficult and seldom clear-cut," he said at last.
Basel grunted. "I’ll take that as a yes. Why don't you keep looking while I copy these spells."
Matteo held his ground, determined to tell the wizard what little he could. "Queen Beatrix will stand trial at the new moon. Did you know King Zalathorm has charged me with her defense?"
The wizard's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I heard. Why do you mention this now?"
"Since we are working together to free Tzigone, it seemed reasonable to ask your advice in this other matter."
"I don't envy you your task," Basel said bluntly. "Some of the artisans who built the clockwork creatures came forward to identify the ruins. Magical inquiry determined that all of these artisans worked for the queen and no one else."
"Yes." This was one of many disturbing facts Matteo's search had turned up.
"Perhaps you can prove Queen Beatrix intended no harm, no treason."
"I'm not sure 'intent' is relevant here. In recent years, the queen has not shown herself capable of logical thought. Also, any defense of this sort will be countered with stories of madmen and their acts of destruction. Halruaan history has its share of such tales. None of these insane villains escaped justice, nor will Beatrix if this argument is presented as her only defense."
"Perhaps you can prove her work was misused. Under Halruaan law, if a wizard creates a spell and a destructive spell variation is created and cast by a second wizard, the first wizard is held blameless. Beatrix made the clockwork creatures, but Kiva took them away and used them as warriors. If Beatrix had no understanding of Kiva's intentions-and it is likely she did not-perhaps she is protected by this law."
"If Kiva were available for magical questioning, this might be a reasonable defense."
Basel thought for a moment. "Have you considered the possibility that Beatrix's state of mind is the result of an enchantment?"
Matteo remembered the look on King Zalathorm's face when Beatrix said that she'd been enchanted-not by a who, but a what.
"This will be difficult to prove," he murmured, thinking of the oaths that bound Zalathorm to silence.
"Has the queen been examined by magehounds? By diviners?"
"She has. They can find nothing either to condemn or exonerate her. There seems to be a magical veil over the queen blocking any sort of inq
uiry."
A veil the king could not dispel, he added silently. He wondered once again why Zalathorm would put so important a task of divination upon the shoulders of a magic-dead counselor.
"You look troubled," Basel observed.
Matteo shook off his introspection. "It is a perplexing matter, but I thank you for your council. You have a solid grasp of Halruaan law, as I would expect from any former jordaini master-"
He broke off abruptly, but Basel's wide, startled eyes announced that the cat was already in the creamery. The wizard quickly composed his face and settled back in his chair.
"Apparently you have a good many things on your mind! Is there any particular reason for inquiring into my past employment, or are you inclined to fits of random curiosity?"
For a moment Matteo debated whether to follow this path. The need to know won out over propriety. "Yesterday, after the king named me counselor, you said we had matters to discuss." His heart pounded as he waited for the wizard to admit what Tzigone had hinted and Matteo suspected: Basel was his natural father.
The older man's expression remained puzzled. "I was speaking of Tzigone's rescue."
Matteo felt an unreasonable surge of disappointment. Not yet ready to let the subject drop, he asked the wizard what he had taught.
"Defense against battle wizards. Why?"
"That is a particular interest of mine. In the future, perhaps we could discuss it? That is, if you remember much from your years at the Jordaini College."
The perpetual twinkle in Basel's eyes dimmed. "Isn't there a jordaini proverb about memory being a curse as well as a blessing?"
"I don't think so."
The wizard's smile was brief and bleak. "There should be."
* * * * *
Basel's words followed Matteo into the palace dungeons. Just days before, he had delivered a prisoner to this place-a fellow jordain, and his oldest friend. The memory of that felt very much like a curse.
The corridors were uncommonly quiet and dark, and the light of Matteo's torch seemed to push uncertainly at the darkness. He rounded a corner and almost stumbled over a large, huddled form. He stooped over a particularly burly guard and touched his neck. Life pulsed beneath his fingers, faint but steady. Only a very skilled fighter could drop an armed man without harming him. That meant Matteo's quarry had passed this way.
The jordain stood and walked cautiously toward the archway leading into the next corridor. He dug a handful of flour from his bag and tossed a bit of it at the arch. No telltale streaks of light appeared amid the brief flurry of powder.
The jordain frowned. As queen's counselor, he'd made a point of learning palace defenses. This door should have been warded with a powerful web of magic.
He bent down and ran his hands over the smooth stone floor. There was a faint, gritty residue on the stone, a crystalline powder mingling with the flour. Matteo sniffed at the crystals clinging to his fingers and caught a faint, sharp scent.
"Mineral salts," he muttered. He rose and headed toward the eastern dungeon at a run.
Andris's cell was far below a mineral spring that served the palace bathhouse. Over the years, water had seeped through dirt and stone and left almost imperceptible deposits on the walls. Mineral salts were simple and common but powerful in knowledgeable hands. Certain witches used salt to contain magic within boundaries or to ward off magical attacks. Wizards used crystals to focus and amplify magical energy. Crystals could also scatter such energy. Mineral salts, hundreds of tiny crystals scattered in just the right place and at precise times, could disrupt certain spells. Andris possessed such knowledge.
After the battle of the Nath, Andris had yielded himself up to Matteo willingly, almost remorsefully. Why was he trying to escape now?
Matteo sprinted to the cell. As he'd anticipated, the door was ajar. A large key drooped from the lock, and two senseless guards sat propped up against the bars. He picked up a water pitcher from a large trestle table and dashed the contents into the guards' faces. The two men came awake sputtering.
He seized one of the guards by the shoulder and gave him a brisk shake. "Your prisoner has escaped. Tell me, how was he brought in?"
"The gargoyle maze," the guard muttered, massaging his temples with both hands.
"Sound an alarm, and send guards down the main gargoyle corridor. Tell them to extinguish the torches behind them as they go. They are to veer off into the moat passages and allow themselves to be heard doing so."
The guard struggled to take this in. "That leaves the long corridor unguarded."
"Leave that to me," Matteo said.
He got the men on their way. The trestle table was cluttered with gaming dice and empty mugs. He swept these aside and picked up the unattached table top. He balanced it on his head and walked quietly toward the end of the main gargoyle corridor-which, not incidentally, came close to the grated sewer tunnels, and the dungeon's best hope of escape.
The corridor was dark, and the faint smoky scent of extinguished torches lingered. Matteo kicked the heavy oak door at the end of the hall, closing it and throwing the hall into impenetrable blackness. He moved forward several paces until he found a crack in the stone paving, then eased the table down and wedged it into the crack. Letting the table lean toward him, he put his shoulder to it and waited.
His keen ears caught the sound of a light-footed man running barefoot. He braced himself just before someone hit the tabletop at a dead run.
Immediately Matteo threw the table forward and hurled himself with it. Despite the double impact, the table jounced as a man pinned beneath struggled to free himself. Matteo's seeking hands found the man's throat
"Be still, Andris. Don't make this worse than it already is." There was a moment's silence, then a raspy voice inquired, "Matteo?"
"Who else would guess that you'd be counting off paces in the dark?"
A moment of silence passed, and Andris let out a muted chuckle. Matteo released his grip and rolled off the table. He tossed it aside and helped the winded prisoner to his feet. "Eighty-seven paces," Andris said. "Another five, and I would have slowed down for the door. You couldn't have backed up just a little, I suppose."
"The thought crossed my mind. Briefly." Matteo threw open the door, and faint light filtered in. Andris's translucent form was nearly invisible in the gloom, and he looked more ghostly than ever. His face, always angular, was gaunt and drawn.
He's slipping away, Matteo realized. The grief and dismay this realization brought surprised him. By now, he thought he'd be inured to the pain of losing his friend. He swallowed his dismay and leveled a stern look at the former jordain.
"Why were you attempting escape?"
"It's not what it seems. Though this might be difficult to believe, I was looking for you."
Matteo folded his arms. "Here I am. Here I would be, had you merely asked the guards to summon me."
"Do you think I didn't try?" Andris retorted. "They insisted the king's counselor has better things to do than listen to a traitor's prattle."
Matteo could see the logic in that. "I should have left instructions with the guards."
Andris shrugged. "You're here now. By the way, congratulations on your new office. I can think of no man more worthy of the honor."
"Please, keep repeating that thought," Matteo said dryly. "If words truly have power, they might turn that sentiment into reality. Now, what did you want to tell me?"
"I heard the guards speak of the battle against the Mulhorandi invaders," Andris began. "Was it true, what they said about the necromantic spells?"
"They could hardly have exaggerated."
"Who cast them?"
Matteo's brow furrowed. "To the best of my knowledge, the king did."
"Has he said so?"
The jordain considered this. "He hasn't denied it."
Andris gripped Matteo's arm. "What I'm about to say might be difficult to believe, but hear me out. Before I left the Jordaini College to rejoin Kiva, someone sent a blink
bird to alert me to books hidden in my chamber. One of these books dealt with jordaini ancestry. I learned the name of my elven forebear. A name you know well."
"Kiva," Matteo said slowly. "She could be hundreds of years old, a living ancestor. That was why you cast in with her!"
"It was one of the reasons, yes, but that is a tale for another time. The other book was a grimoire, the spellbook of Akhlaur. Akhlaur the necromancer."
"Gods above! Are you saying that spell was in the book? That it was a spell of Akhlaur's creation?"
"That and more. Matteo, Akhlaur is alive. He is back."
Matteo stared at him in silence. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know, but it's the only logical explanation. Kiva had the spellbook for a while, but she was gone before the spell was cast. Any Halruaan wizard would be quick to claim such a feat. Zalathorm has neither claimed nor denied it. I suspect he has come to the same conclusion I have. He's allowing people to think what they will as he prepares for the inevitable confrontation."
Matteo's head whirled as he tried to assimilate his friend's grim logic. He didn't wish to believe it but neither could he refute Andris's words. He blew out a long breath, then drew one of his daggers and took a bit of flint from his bag. A single deft movement produced a spark and set a wall torch alight. That accomplished, he turned to his friend.
"I think you'd better tell me everything you know."
Andris nodded. "Years ago, before Akhlaur began his rise to power, three young wizards, friends from boyhood, created a powerful artifact. This artifact was a symbol of their friendship. It joined them, lending the strength of all to each. This they did in response to dangerous times, for all three were active in Halruaa's defense. In youthful arrogance they called themselves the Heart of Halruaa. The artifact would protect them and their descendants, creating a legacy of guardianship."
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