The Floodgate

Iago had also been one of Kiva's captives and had nearly as much reason for vengeance as did Andris. He listened to Matteo's story and readily agreed that Andris had gone in pursuit of Kiva. Themo, on the other hand, was eager to pursue this quest, or any other.

The high priest himself accompanied them to the side gate, wishing them success and admonishing them to secrecy.

"Success," muttered Themo later that day, climbing back onto his lizard mount for at least the fifth time. "If I fall off this slimy excuse for a horse only twice more before sunset, I'll call it a good day's work."

"Wishing you were back at the college?" Iago asked.

Themo looked genuinely surprised. "Nine Hells! A man can't complain for love of hearing his own voice?"

"A man can. A jordain shouldn't. The measure of a man's spirit is the distance between ordeal and adventure," Iago pointed out, quoting a familiar proverb.

"The college is an ordeal," Themo grumbled. "As for adventure, I wish I'd been with you two in Akhlaur's Swamp."

"No, you don't," Iago said with quiet certainty. "Consider what happened to Andris."

The big man conceded this with a shrug. "Poor bastard, Going through life looking like a glass sculpture isn't my idea of fun. Makes people hesitate before taking a swing at you."

"Hold your sympathy until we find Andris and Kiva," Matteo advised, giving voice for the first time to his reluctant suspicions.

Iago sent him a considering stare, but Themo responded with an out-thrust tongue and a rude, moistly vibrating buzz.

"You sound like the logic and rhetoric master, Matteo. Before that, therefore because of this," Themo quoted in a derisive singsong. "One thing doesn't always follow another, lined up like swimming ducklings. The elf is gone, and so is Andris, and what of it? Doesn't mean Andris has thrown in with Kiva. Maybe he just didn't want the Azuthans poking at him. Can't say I blame him."

"Nor I." A stab of guilt pricked at Matteo. Yes, Andris had misled him, but he had to assume that his friend had a good reason for doing so.

They rode on, stopping frequently to search for the faint, subtle marks of Andris's passing. The lizards moved soundlessly, finding passages through the thick vines and dense underbrush that none of the men could see.

"We're following Andris, but what the Nine bloody Hells is he following?" demanded Themo as he picked a leaf from his hair. "Besides the sun, that is."

"According to the temple lore, there is an elf village due west of the temple. Kiva was badly weakened by the laraken. She will need help. It is logical to assume that she would seek out others of her kind."

"I'm not sure which idea I like less," the big man grumbled. "More jordaini logic, or the notion that there could be more at home like Kiva." He suddenly brightened and pointed to a long, narrow clearing up ahead. "There's a path. Going due west, too!"

The «path» was an odd, cone-shaped swath cut into the jungle. No, Matteo noted suddenly, the path had not been cut but burned. The foliage had wilted away, matting the jungle floor with a thick, blackened mass.

Matteo dismounted. He studied the passage, then kicked at some of the wilted vines. The smell of rotting plants rose into the air, and with it the distinctive stench of spoiled eggs.

"Chlorine gas-the breath weapon of a green dragon," Matteo said softly. "Some of the jungle plants can absorb poisonous gases, which is no doubt why we can smell it still."

Iago came to stand beside Matteo. "The dragon is long gone, judging from its droppings." He pointed to a pile of fewmet, nearly dry and littered with bones from long-ago meals.

"Might as well take advantage of the dragon's path." Themo gave his lizard a sharp nudge with both heels. The creature took off like a loosed arrow. Themo jerked back in the saddle, swearing as he struggled to keep his seat.

Startled by the impulsive act, Matteo had no time to shout a warning. He lunged for his friend and seized Themo's tunic as he rode past. He dug in his heels and managed to drag the big jordain off the lizard.

Themo fell hard and came up mad. He launched a wild swing at Matteo, co

"I don't need your help to fall off the damn lizard!"

Matteo scrambled to his feet in time to intercept Themo's second swing. He caught the big man's wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. He spun Themo around to face the path. "See those spider webs at the end of the passage?"

The big jordain squinted at the layers of delicate netting spa

Before Matteo could speak, the «web» enfolded the charging lizard and jerked it up into a tree.

"Oh. Not your usual web," Themo observed, glancing sheepishly back at his friend.

But Matteo's attention was on the trees overhead. He abruptly released Themo and reached for his sword.

The jungle suddenly came alive with exited little yips. Golden, catlike eyes blinked from the deeply shadowed underbrush. A small, hunched green figure dived toward them from high overhead, clinging with one hand to a long vine. A wicked bone-headed spear was couched under one arm, giving its flight the appearance of an airborne joust.

The creature passed harmlessly overhead and landed on a high branch behind them. It sat there, chittering and shaking a small fist.

"What the-"

Themo's outburst ended in a sharp oof! as another vine, this one bearing three of the creatures, slammed into his back. He pitched forward onto all fours, and more of the creatures dashed out of the underbrush, swarming over him. They clung to him, clawing and squealing, as he struggled to his feet.

More creatures encircled Matteo. They were hideous beasts, green as goblins but emaciated in form and hunched over in a permanent crouch. None of them stood much higher than Matteo's knees. Their gait was awkward, their mien cowardly. Yet they wielded an assortment of weapons crafted by humans and elves, a silent but powerful testament to previous successes.

"Tasloi," Matteo muttered.

"Lizard grub!" countered Themo. He peeled off one of the creatures and hurled it toward his entrapped and struggling lizard. The tasloi sailed down the passage, wailing pitifully, and landed well short of the trap. Themo shrugged this off and backhanded another of the pests. He drew his dagger and began to cut free of the mob, working his way toward Iago and dragging the tasloi that clung doggedly to one ankle.

Matteo glanced toward Iago. The small jordain was whirling about, slapping at the tasloi that clung to his back. Several more of the creatures tittered excitedly, circling around Iago and his dervish dance. Though all held weapons, they did not strike. Clearly they expected their comrade to bring the jordain down.

Themo caught up a chunk of dried fewmet and hurled it into the midst of the tasloi spectators. Dragon dung splattered, and the tasloi scattered with shrill, startled yips. Iago took advantage of this reprieve to stagger over to a tree. He slammed his back repeatedly into the trunk, trying to dislodge the clinging tasloi.

Matteo's friends seemed to have matters well in hand. That was just as well, for the tasloi pack that encircled him left him in no position to give immediate aid.

He turned this way and that, sword menacing as he kept the creatures at bay.

The tasloi swarmed him suddenly. He lunged low, knocking aside the spear wielded by the creature directly in front of him. At the same time he kicked out with his back foot, co