The Magehound cakt-1

by Элейн Каннингем

  "I swear it," Procopio grumbled. "The ship is yours to command."

  Matteo nodded and turned his attention to the rapidly approaching skyship. He could see it now in more detail. Upon the sail had been painted elaborate runes and symbols, and the polished plates of the sea turtles that armored its hull had been gilded with electrum in similarly ornate patterns. But it was on the sails that Matteo concentrated. The winds were strong, and they filled the sails of both ships. If even one of the Avariel's sails rippled and went slack, he would know that Basel Indoulur had lost his nerve. But if the approaching ship held course, then Matteo would evade it and leave Procopio to deal with his bruised pride and lightened purse.

  Yes, there it was, a soft fluttering of the foresail. The Avariel was taking evasive action. One uncertainty remained: Which way would Lord Basel turn?

  "How will he evade us?" Matteo demanded. "Will he turn toward port or starboard? Which sails will he drop, and which will he tack?"

  "He will not turn aside," Procopio asserted. He gave Matteo a sour look. "Until today, I would have named Basel Indoulur the most stubborn and arrogant whore son in all Halruaa. Now he stands close behind you for that honor. He will not turn aside."

  "Is this your opinion, or the word of a diviner?" Matteo's words were a potent challenge. If Procopio were wrong, he would lose not only his ship, but his reputation as a wizard who could foresee what was to come.

  The wizard locked stares with his young counselor, then hissed and turned aside. "I will do the divination."

  "Quickly," Matteo urged.

  The wizard swept a hand over the globe and stared intently at something Matteo could not see. In a moment he looked up, and a wry smile touched his lips. "I'll be a necromancer's apprentice! You were right: Basel will turn aside. He will drop jib and foresail, tack hard to starboard with the aft sails, and use the lake winds to turn him hard out to sea." Even as he spoke, the sails on the approaching starship began to flutter and shift. Matteo marked the arc of the starship's turn and concentrated on the winds that whipped at his hair and cloak. Suddenly he felt a shift in the airflow, the outer edges of a small circular maelstrom, a storm in miniature.

  Matteo touched the helmsman's arm. 'Turn toward the Avariel ten degrees, on my mark. One-"

  "This is folly!" sputtered Procopio. "The ships will surely collide."

  "Two," Matteo said coolly.

  The wizard braced himself against the rail for the coming impact and glared at his young counselor. "Consider yourself discharged, jordain."

  "Now!"

  The helmsman gave the wheel a violent twist, and the Starsnake nosed about into the turning path of the rapidly approaching skyship.

  Just then the full impact of the expected wind seized them. The ship hurtled forward, leaping through the sky like a breaching dolphin. There was a soft hiss as the wooden rails of the two ships kissed gently in passing.

  The sudden squall died as quickly as it came, and the Starsnake slowed to a more sedate pace. Procopio turned an incredulous gaze upon his young counselor.

  "What was that?"

  Matteo permitted himself a smile. "About three and thirty knots, I daresay."

  "Four and thirty," the helmsman corrected in an awed tone.

  The wizard waved this victory aside. "But the wind… how did you know it was going to pick up just then?"

  Matteo pointed to a long, low building that lay below on the shores of that lake. "That is the city icehouse. See the large blocks being loaded onto those wagons?"

  "What of it?"

  "When water is magically changed to ice, much heat is given off. Some of that energy is channeled into magical power, but much of it is wasted. It rises swiftly, creating a strong updraft."

  "Heat from ice," the wizard muttered. "Never would I have thought of it quite that way."

  "The effect upon the winds does not stop there. The chill given off by such large quantities of ice creates a strong pull for the warmer air, which in turn creates a strong circular wind. That is what caught us and brought us forward in a sudden surge. Had we not turned precisely when we did, we would not have caught the full power of the wind and would have collided despite Lord Basel's evasion."

  The wizard regarded him with interest, the near miss apparently forgotten. "Heat from ice. What battle applications might that have?"

  Matteo thought this over. "The ice works with the winds to create a small storm. If the clouds from this storm are low, a starship could rise above and seed them. A sprinkling of fine sand would be enough to engender a strong hailstorm. With or without magical amplification, such a storm could provide a diversion, at the very least, and quite possibly a devastating attack."

  "Ice below draws ice from above. Under certain circumstances, that might prove useful. Ah, we hear at last from the intrepid Avariel," Procopio said snidely as he turned to the softly humming globe.

  Basel Indoulur's face appeared, ashen but smiling. "Well done, my friend! Half my crew are wishing for a clean pair of breeches and the feel of solid land beneath their feet You've earned your two thousand skie. Or should I say, your new jordain has earned them for you," he added slyly.

  A velvet bag appeared from the empty air and fell at Matteo's feet with a weighty chink.

  "What say, lad?" continued Basel. "I could use an adviser with your nerve. Mine cluck and flap about like a passel of brooding hens."

  Matteo noted the wary expression on Procopio's face. The wizard had discharged him, he was free to take any employment offered him. But Matteo sensed that yielding anything, much less the services of a valuable counselor, would mean a loss of face to the wizard.

  "I am honored by your words, Lord Basel, but I have just recently entered the employ of your friend Procopio. I have no wish to leave."

  It might not be the whole truth, but judging from the relief in the diviner's eyes, it was the right answer.

  "Nor would I willingly let him go, Basel, and shame to you for trying to steal him out from under me!"

  The conjurer shrugged. "Ah, well. A man must have his sport. We will meet soon, I trust."

  Basel's image faded from the globe. "Too soon, most likely," the diviner grumbled.

  When he turned back to Matteo, he was smiling. "That was well done all around. You displayed knowledge, judgment, confidence, and, not least important, loyalty. I am well pleased," he said in a patronizing tone.

  Matteo inclined his head in a bow, less out of courtesy than to hide the flash of anger that he couldn't fully suppress. He had hoped to prove himself, but through true service and not in foolish games.

  "Thank you, Lord Procopio, but I had thought that you found me unsuitably arrogant."

  The wizard tossed back his head and laughed. "That's no failing as long as it is justified. Arrogance is only intolerable in the inept."

  "I shall keep that in mind," Matteo said dryly.

  They spoke of other things, and the skyship came to port without further incident Matteo suspected, however, that his time of testing had just begun.

  His suspicions were confirmed when he was taken to the jordaini quarters. His two escorts were not the only counselors in Procopio's employ. Matteo was the youngest of eight. That night at dinner, six attended, and all of them seemed devoted to taking Matteo's measure and ensuring that he understood his lowly status among them. It was not a pleasant meal, and Matteo was not sorry to see it come to an end.

  That night the oldest of the jordaini came to his chambers. To Matteo's surprise, the jordain was a full-blooded elf and very old indeed.

  The counselor thrust out a slender hand, much wrinkled but still strong enough to offer a firm grasp. "I am Zephyr. If you have any questions, ask freely." The elf smiled briefly. "Then when you are finished, I will supply answers to those questions you were too tactful to ask."

  This introduction brought a smile to Matteo's face. "Procopio finds himself in need of much advice, it would appear. Eight jordaini to one wizard?"

  The elf shrugged.
"It is a matter of status. Procopio Septus collects counselors as some men collect horses, and I might add, he regards us in much the same light. Surely the starship flight convinced you of that."

  "You heard of it?" Matteo asked, somewhat chagrined.

  "From one of Lord Basel's counselors," the elf confirmed.

  "Your boldness surprised and pleased both wizards, but rest assured that Procopio stood ready to magically transport his ship to safety had you failed."

  The enormity of such a casting stole Matteo's breath. "If he doesn't have need of me, why am I here?"

  "You have a name as a good fighter with a head for strategy. Procopio wishes to strengthen his understanding of military tactics. You can expect him to stage other games to test your wits and nerves."

  That made little sense to Matteo. "Procopio is mayor of the city, but it is the king who directs the defenses."

  The elf stabbed a finger at him as if to award a point. "Precisely. And Procopio intends to be king after Zalathorm."

  There was something almost treasonous in that notion. Zalathorm had been king all of Matteo's life, not to mention the lives of his unknown parents and grandparents. Life under another ruler was almost as unfathomable to him as the idea of moving to a strange land.

  "You must become accustomed to this notion," Zephyr said dryly. "Our task is to aid Procopio in reaching this goal."

  "Our task is to serve truth," Matteo pointed out.

  The elf gave him a level stare. "And I'm telling you what our particular truth is. Measure all others against that, and you will do well here."

  They chatted for a few moments more, then the elf jordain tired and excused himself to rest.

  For a long time, Matteo lay abed and considered what the elf had said. He had long understood that Halruaa was a society controlled by many rules and customs. For the first time, he considered the complexity of political maneuvering beneath the mannered and orderly surface.

  It was hard for him to find a place for himself amid this. A jordain's stated role was to see and speak truth, cloaked perhaps in satire or other rhetorical garb, but truth untainted by either magic or personal ambition. The honor and veracity of the jordain was proverbial. Things were true or they were not. It was that simple.

  But what of Andris? Was it possible that truth was a changeable thing, that the inviolate judgment of the magehounds, perhaps even the Disputation Table, could be bought with subtle coin?

  These were disturbing thoughts, and they followed him into his dreams when at last he fell asleep.

  The following days proved no better than the first Matteo learned that although the king had no heirs, Procopio was abundantly blessed with them. The jordaini in Procopio's service were entrusted with the education of these would-be princes and princesses-nine of them, by Matteo's best count.

  His charge was Penelope, a girl of about eight, with long, fat black ringlets and a permanently petulant expression. Matteo got out a finely carved game of Castles and began to instruct her in the strategy.

  The tiny buildings held her interest for a few moments, but her attention soon wandered. Matteo quickly surrounded her fledgling structure with his pieces.

  "You are encircled, child. Next time keep a closer eye on the board and think with each move of what might come next."

  Penelope's lip thrust out, and her small hand flashed forward. Pieces of carved sandalwood and ivory scattered across the marble floor.

  "You cheated," she said heatedly.

  Matteo blinked, not sure how to respond to such an absurd accusation. "Not so, lady. You simply lost the game."

  She folded her arms and glared at him. "I don't lose. I've never lost any game, ever."

  Matteo began to understand the situation. "Why don't you play in the courtyard gardens, and we will try again after midday meal."

  The child shrugged ungraciously and left the room. Matteo made his way directly to his patron's study. He told the wizard in a few words about the child's response.

  "Next time let her win," the wizard decreed.

  "That is dishonest, and a disservice to the child, "Matteo protested. "Strategy games are designed to develop the reason and intellect, but learning to win and to lose with grace is a skill as important as any other."

  "A lesson she will learn in time," the wizard said. "Ease her into it."

  "With all respect, I cannot teach in that manner."

  Procopio shrugged. "Fine. Tell Dranklish to take over the girl's tutoring. You can deliver a diplomatic message for me. That is, if your scruples don't prevent you?"

  He ignored the wizard's sarcasm. "I would be honored."

  For several days to come, Matteo served largely as messenger, memorizing a sentence or a speech and repeating the messages, faithful to the word and nuance and inflection. He did not see Zephyr again except at an occasional meal, and his attempts at befriending the other jordaini were soundly rebuffed.

  Matteo found none of the camaraderie and good-natured teasing he had known in the school. Here, satire was in deadly earnest and usually held several sharp, hidden layers of meaning.

  After a few days of this, Matteo began to feel rather despondent. When he was not on duty, he spent his time learning the city or reading alone in his bedchamber.

  He was engaged in study one evening when a soft rustle drew his eye to his open window. A surge of pleasure engulfed him at the sight of the small, pointed face peering over the ledge, and his smile mirrored the grin on the young woman's face.

  "Tzigone!" he exclaimed. "How did you find me? For that matter, what possessed you to travel so far?"

  She hauled herself over the sill and into the room. "I take my debts very seriously. Or had you forgotten? I thought jordaini were supposed to have memories like palaces with endless rooms."

  Matteo had forgotten nothing, and his wariness returned, as he recalled all that had passed between them. "I remember that you advised me not to trust too easily."

  She nodded in understanding. "You'll be reminded of that often enough of in a place like this. I'd rather live in a behirs' nest than a wizard lord's villa. You've had a hard time of it, I suppose."

  "It is a fine position," he said stiffly.

  "Hmmph," she said, unconvinced. "Where wizards are concerned, the only 'position' you're likely to find yourself in is over a barrel with your breeches about your ankles."

  Matteo stifled a chuckle. "I am not supposed to hold such dim opinions of wizards."

  "Nice evasion," she complimented him. She sat on the windowsill, her bare feet dangling into the room. "This place is as good as any. I suppose that after your last few days at the jordaini complex, you would be happy to go almost anywhere else."

  "I'm not sure I understand."

  A flicker of pity crossed the girl's face. "I followed you back to the school, as I said I would. I witnessed that so-called rite of purification."

  "I was late to come," he said shortly. "But in the time allotted me, I had much to contemplate."

  "Contemplate?" she echoed incredulously. "Is that what you call what I saw?"

  Matteo shrugged. "Granted, it probably was not much to watch. Observing the growth of crops would be as exciting as watching jordaini in solitary contemplation. Though I do not complain. I arrived late, but the two days I spent in thought were most enlightening."

  Tzigone's eyes lit with understanding. "And as far as you know, that's the extent of this rite."

  "The ritual of purification is a time of solitary contemplation," Matteo said, puzzled by her reaction. "Mine was shortened, but I made what use of it I could."

  For some reason she found that comment amusing. "No offense, Matteo, but that's something I'd expect one of your less fortunate comrades to say."

  "I don't understand," he repeated.

  "Someday you might. When that day comes, be sure to tell me if you consider my debt paid. After talking to you, I think it might be."

  With that cryptic comment, she disappeared into the night, leaving Ma
tteo staring after her in puzzlement.

  Chapter Ten

  Kiva enjoyed a few quiet days in her retreat outside of Zalasuu, but she was just as happy to see this time draw to a close. She had spent a very long time preparing for the assault upon Akhlaur, and today she expected to make more progress than she had in a decade.

  The villa was well outside the walls of the city. Small but luxurious, it was surrounded by deep forests and warded by virtually impenetrable magical wards.

  That morning the magehound broke her fast with tea and fruit on the piazza, a tiled courtyard encircled by gardens. An elaborate iron trellis curved over the breakfast table, providing shade and lending support for the profusion of grapevines that entwined it. Bunches of grapes, some yellow and some a soft, sunrise pink, hung in fragrant clusters overhead. The morning rain had come before dawn with a sudden bursting of clouds, and moisture still hung thick in the air. The air, despite the heavy perfume of the garden and the braziers of scented smoke that kept away the insects, was fetid with the scent of the nearby swamp-the Kilmaruu Swamp, and the origin of the paradox that Andris had been brough there to solve.

  Kiva heard the soft tap of approaching footsteps and watched as the tall jordain walked onto the piazza. For many days he had lain in deep slumber. Since magic had little effect upon the jordaini, Kiva had resorted to burning in his room incense made from powerful herbs and giving him sips of strong herbal infusions. Though she had been tapering off the dosage so that he might awaken, she had given him enough over the past several days to leave him disorientated and confused.

  She studied the tall young man as he approached. His auburn hair was still damp from the baths, but he had not made use of the razor that had been left for him. This was telling. The jordaini custom was for men to be meticulously clean-shaven.

  She gestured him to take the seat across from her. "You look well, Andris. Your long sleep seems to have agreed with you."

  "I was given no opportunity to disagree," he pointed out

  "True enough." She put down her cup and folded her hands on the table. "I must apologize for the way you were brought here. You have been chosen for an important task, as counselor to a hidden lord."