The Floodgate (27 page)

“I would argue that the times are troubled because of Kiva, and that the vulnerability is real.”

Ferris scowled. “You give the elf woman too much credit.”

“That is worthy of debate, but perhaps another time. I will answer your question about Tzigone. Let the Azuthans concern themselves with their good name, but the jordaini are pledged to serve the land. I accept the aid and friendship of those who are likewise pledged.”

“Your duty is to serve your patron,” Ferris reminded him, “not to take up personal quests.”

“I have royal permission to do as I will and to use what resources I need.”

“Yes, I know,” the headmaster complained. “Themo left the college yesterday, riding faster than a flea off a fire-newt. It is not seemly to send a jordain into service who has not completed his training.”

“Perhaps Themo should never complete his training. At heart he is a warrior, not a jordain. I wanted him released now, before receiving the rites and tests that end the final form.” Matteo paused meaningfully, then added, “As some others have been.”

Ferris Grail’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think one jordain’s experience would differ from any other’s? The jordaini are sworn to secrecy concerning the nature of these rituals.”

“After the fact! By Mystra, what man would wish to boast of it!” he said heatedly. “This much I do know: This practice is wrong.”

The wizard’s face darkened. “Do you think to challenge the entire jordaini order? These rules might seem harsh, but they exist for good reason.”

“When I know all these reasons, I will judge for myself.”

“You are not meant to know everything, young jordain. You were trained as a counselor, not a judge!” snapped Ferris.

“In seeking truth, I am doing no more than I was trained to do. What I was bred to do,” he added bitterly.

A long moment of silence followed. Matteo marked the guilt and fear on the wizard’s face. It occurred to him that Jinkor the gatekeeper might not have been Kiva’s sole source of information. Over the years someone had betrayed jordaini students best suited to her purpose. Who could better fill this treacherous office than the headmaster? Or perhaps Ferris Grail, a diviner, knew who the culprit was but kept silent to protect the college from scandal. That would explain his willingness to allow Kiva to remain conveniently lost.

“You may have Themo,” the wizard said at last. “He is released from his jordaini vows. In return, I require your word that you will look no closer at these hidden things.”

“I cannot give it,” Matteo said bluntly.

Ferris Grail’s face clouded. For a moment Matteo thought he would renege on his promise to grant Themo his freedom, but the wizard’s stern posture wilted, and he passed a hand wearily over his face.

“Go, then, and Mystra’s blessing upon you. I ask that when your quest is over, you return to the college. There are things you should know before you proceed much further down this path.”

“Such as the fact that the necromancer Akhlaur had a hand in our order’s creation?”

It was a shot into the clouds, but it found its mark. The color drained from Ferris Grail’s face. “Come to the college,” he repeated. “I will do what I can to help you. And may Lady Mystra have mercy upon us both.”

Tzigone stared at the green marble tower, trying to imagine her mother living there, doing the things that Dhamari Exchelsor and Halruaan law said she had done. She gave herself a brisk shake, tucked away her troubled thoughts, and marched to the gate. The servant there took her name and her request for audience. When he returned, a slight, balding man came with him.

The unimpressive newcomer did not look like the lord of a tower, but he held out his hands in the traditional greeting of one wizard hosting another.

So this was Dhamari Exchelsor, the monster she had known all her life as her “mother’s husband.” Before she could say a word, the wizard stopped dead and stared. He quickly regained his composure and inclined his head in the bow that acknowledged a wizard of lesser experience, but greater rank.

Tzigone was not sure what impressed her more: that Dhamari Exchelsor obviously recognized her as Keturah’s daughter or that he did not immediately press the matter. An effusive greeting, any sort of claim on her, would have sent her sprinting down the street. Tzigone had learned caution from her mother. Maybe this man understood Keturah well enough to give his meeting real value.

She removed Keturah’s talisman from her bag and held it up.

Dhamari studied the medallion in silence for a long moment. When he turned his gaze back to her, his eyes were gentle. “Come to the garden, child. I’m sure you have many questions.”

She followed him through fragrant paths, listening as he spoke of the uses of this or that plant. He seemed exceptionally learned in herbal lore and considerate enough to grant her time to adjust herself to his presence. Tzigone was reluctantly impressed.

“I’m ready to talk,” she announced abruptly.

“Talk we shall.” He gestured toward a bench in a small alcove and sat down beside her. “Ask what you will.”

“Keturah left the city the same day a greenmage was eaten by starsnakes.”

He nodded sadly. “That is so.”

“Do you think she did it? Called the starsnakes?”

“In all honesty, I do not know.”

Tzigone’s eyes narrowed. “Did you join the search for her?”

Dhamari hesitated. “Understand that in answering freely I put my life in your hands. If you harbor any ill will toward me, you could use what I am about to tell you. Yes, I sought Keturah,” he continued, not even waiting a beat to gauge her reaction and thus his own safety. “I employed rangers to comb the wilderness, diviners to cast spells and to read the auguries in the flight of birds. A hundred trusted merchants carried messages to every part of the land announcing a reward for her return. But I acted only for love of her. Had I found her, I would have seen her safely away from Halruaa and into the best care the Exchelsor fortunes could purchase.”

“Care?” Tzigone echoed. “She was ill?”

“She was preparing herself to bear a jordaini child,” he admitted readily. “We were matched for that purpose, but Keturah was never one to leave things to chance. She took potions to ensure that the child she might bear would be among the most powerful jordaini known.”

Tzigone’s heart thudded painfully. She, a failed jordain? Well, why the hell not? She’d been a pickpocket, a street entertainer, a behir tender, and half a hundred other odd jobs over the course of her short life. There wasn’t much new territory to explore.

It made a horrifying sort of sense. Her resistance to magic, her quick mind and nimble tongue. Unlike the true jordaini, though, she also had a wizard’s gift. The result yielded a potential wizard who could use magic and yet was nearly immune to counterspells. No wonder a wizard’s bastard was considered dangerous!

“The process was disrupting her magic and stealing her memory,” Dhamari continued. “I begged her to stop, but she was determined. A very stubborn woman, my Keturah.”

Yes, that also made sense. Tzigone’s last memories of her mother included her diminishing and unreliable magic. The potions given a jordain’s dam could do that. Even so, Keturah might have lived, had Kiva not intervened.

“You knew Kiva,” Tzigone said. “Did you hire her to find my mother?”

Dhamari was silent for a long moment. “Yes, to my eternal shame and regret. She had skills I thought useful. No human knows forest lore like an elf.”

“But my mother was captured in a city!”

“That is true, but the search was long.” Dhamari did not offer further comment. There was no need, for Tzigone’s early life had been defined by that long search. “Kiva betrayed my trust and killed your mother. She told me that she had killed Keturah’s child, as well. She taunted me about it and gave me the medallion as proof.”

“Did you seek vengeance?”

“No.” The admission seemed to shame him. “By then Kiva had become an inquisatrix of Azuth-a magehound. I might have prevailed against someone of her high office, but more likely I would have met failure and disgrace.”

Dhamari sighed wearily. “In all candor, I will never be numbered among the great Halruaan wizards. Keturah would have been, had she not died at Kiva’s hand. I measured my chances against a better wizard’s failure. The laws of Halruaa are a powerful safeguard, but sometimes they are also a dark fortress. Occasionally a tyrant such as Kiva hides behind them as she rises to power. The laws supported and aided her, at least for a time.”

“Well, that time’s done and over with,” Tzigone said.

“Thanks in no small part to you. Keturah would be proud.” Dhamari gave her a wistful smile.

Tzigone rose abruptly. “I should be going.”

The wizard’s face furrowed in concern. “Are you happy in Lord Basel’s tower? He is a fine man, do not mistake me, but I wonder if a conjurer’s path is most suited to your talents. Your mother was a master of the evocation school. You may wish to explore many branches of the Art before you settle upon one.”

“Good idea,” she said noncommittally, knowing full well what was next to come. More than one wizard had tried to lure her away from Basel’s tower.

He shrugged modestly. “I am a generalist wizard of moderate talents, but I learned many spells from your mother. If you wish, I would be happy to teach them to you. Not as a master-I haven’t Lord Basel’s talent for instruction-but as a gift, in tribute to your mother.”

“I’ll speak to Basel.”

Her agreement surprised both of them. Dhamari blinked, then turned aside to surreptitiously wipe away a tear.

All her life Tzigone had viewed Keturah’s loss as her private pain. Never once had she considered that this burden might be shared by her mother’s husband.

“Is tomorrow good?” she asked abruptly.

Dhamari’s eyes lit up. “If it suits your master.”

Something in his tone set off warning bells in her mind. “Why wouldn’t it? Does Basel have any cause to object?”

“Not really,” he said slowly. “Basel and Keturah were childhood friends. I thought he fancied himself to be something more than that. It is hard to fathom, looking at him now.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Actually, Tzigone could see how a young Basel might have been a fine companion and conspirator. “Why did nothing come of it?”

“Wizards do not chose whom they will wed. Lord Basel comes from a long line of conjurers, and it was assumed that he would continue the family tradition with a woman from his school of magic. I heard a rumor that he appealed his assigned match to the council and was denied. If he bears me a grudge, I would not blame him.”

Dhamari paused for a wistful smile. “Wizards are rarely as fortunate in marriage as I was. I loved your mother, Tzigone, and it took many long years before I could reconcile to the fact that she was gone. But her daughter lives. That brings me more happiness than I ever expected to know again.”

He asked nothing of her and offered nothing but her mother’s spells. That pleased her.

“Most of Keturah’s spells involved the summoning of creatures,” Dhamari went on. “We would do better beyond the city walls, where we don’t run the risk of summoning behir guardians and wizards’ familiars. It has been quite some time since I left this tower. A short journey would serve the purpose, but I’m not sure how to go about arranging the particulars.”

This was something Tzigone knew well. “I’ll be back in the morning. Get yourself a good pair of boots and send to Filorgi’s Hired Swords for some travel guards. Leave the rest to me.”

“You can prepare for a journey by tomorrow morning?” he marveled.

“Sure.” Tzigone grinned fleetingly. “Usually I have a lot less notice than that.”

The wizard caught the implication, and an ironic smile touched his lips. “It would seem that I am partly responsible for your resourcefulness. Mystra grant that from now on our association will be an unmixed blessing.”

“That’ll never happen,” she said as she rose to leave. When Dhamari raised an inquiring brow, she added, “I’ve been called a lot of things over the years. I might as well be honest with you: ‘Mixed blessing’ is about as good as it’s likely to get.”

Dhamari’s smile spoke of great contentment. “Then you are your mother’s daughter indeed.”

A golden wedge of sun peeked coyly over the forest canopy, proclaimed that the morning was nearly half spent. In a mountain travel hut perched above the tree line, Matteo and Iago stood at the open door and gazed uncertainly at the road that led from Orphamphal, and into the wilderness known as the Nath.

“Themo should be here by now,” Matteo grumbled. “Perhaps we should go out looking for him.”

“We should await him here,” the smaller jordain said firmly. “If he has met with delay, leaving this agreed-upon place will ensure that we miss each other.”

Matteo conceded with a nod. “I’ll scout the area. You stay here and await him.”

He whistled to his horse-a black stallion he’d named Cyric Three-and mounted before Iago could protest. Slapping his heels against the horse’s sides, he headed up a path that wound steeply uphill through scrub pine and rock.

Earlier that day he’d wrapped the horse’s hooves, not only to pad them against the shards of dark rock that splintered off the cliff faces, but also to muffle the sound of their passage. This precaution paid well-he rode silently enough to catch the sound of a small-scale battle taking place a league or so ahead.

Matteo rode as close as he dared. He swung down from his horse, drew his weapons, and quietly walked the rest of the way to a small, level clearing.

Two strange combatants were locked in fierce battle. A gray-skinned female, looking less like a woman than a deadly shadow, bared her teeth in a snarl as she slashed with sword and flail at a male warrior even stranger than she. Sunlight glinted off the man’s crystalline daggers. Rivulets of sweat-or perhaps translucent blood-ran down the ghostly face.

“Andris,” whispered Matteo.

The moment of surprise passed quickly. Andris was among the best fighters he knew, but the shadow amazons were notorious for ferocious treachery. Despite her pointed ears and the high, sharp bones of her face, there was nothing of an elf’s delicacy about the Crinti. Matteo had seen barbarian warriors who carried fewer weapons and less impressive musculature.