The Floodgate

The jordain's brow furrowed. "A spell?"

"Not precisely," the king said carefully. "It is a powerful and mysterious force. I ca

Matteo recalled the men in the icehouse melting away into magical haze. "What is the heart of Halruaa?"

Zalathorm was silent for a moment. "Removing a malfunctioning machine from the palace is the sort of manifestation I have come to expect. You need have no fear for your patron's safety."

"What about the safety of those around her?"

The king sighed. "Very well, I will admit that the queen's clockwork toys have grown too numerous and dangerous. I will see that this building frenzy is curtailed and have priests heal the wounded and restore the slain woman to her life and her loved ones. Will that content you?"

Matteo considered pressing for an answer to the "heart of Halruaa" question and decided to leave this for another time. "Almost, Your Majesty," he said. "Now that I have your assurances that the queen is safe, I request permission to leave Halarahh for an indeterminate period of time. I will need horses and supplies for my journey. I have tried for some time to bring this request to the queen and ask that she retain the jordain Iago, currently serving Procopio Septus. He will accompany me on my journey."

"Is that all?" the king inquired in a dry tone.

"Not quite. There is a jordain yet at the college-Themo, a fifth-form student. The queen has need of his service, as well. We will ride north and meet him at the travelers' rest on the road out of Orphamphal, but he must leave today, though he has not yet completed his training."

Zalathorm studied Matteo's face, then nodded slowly. "I ca

Matteo bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Don't thank me," the king said with a grim smile. "Don't the jordaini have a proverb claiming that virtue never goes unpunished?"

"I have never heard that proverb, but most seem to be of jordaini origin."

"Blame it on the jordaini, in other words?"

"Perhaps, sire," said Matteo dryly, "that is our true function."

To his surprise, the king chuckled and clapped him on the back. "Mystra speed you, lad. I look forward to speaking with you again, when your business in the north is completed."

Matteo bowed again, and watched as Zalathorm strode down the hall that separated the king's palace from the queen's. He turned and sprinted to the royal stables and rode quickly to Basel Indoulur's tower. A pretty, dark-eyed apprentice greeted him at the door and went to fetch Tzigone for him.

His friend came to the door wearing her sky-blue robe, liberally dusted with soot. Her face was likewise blackened, and her hair stood up about her head in spikes, lending her the look of a swarthy hedgehog.

"Don't ask," she advised.

"I'm leaving the city by dawn tomorrow. Before I go, there are things I must tell you."

Tzigone took his arm and drew him into the garden. They took refuge in a rose-draped arbor, a retreat that sheltered a tiny pond and a bench piled with bright silk cushions. As soon as they were seated, Matteo reached into his bag and produced the medallion Dhamari Exchelsor had entrusted to him.

Before he could explain its origin, Tzigone's eyes grew enormous. "That was my mother's," she whispered.

Her grubby fingers closed around the token, and she turned it over and over in her hands. "I can't feel any magic in it," she said absently. "I seem to remember there was. Every time we had to flee, my mother would touch it, and her face would become very still, as if she were listening, Sometimes she let me touch it, but all I could feel was her. Why is that, do you think?"

"Perhaps children become very attuned to their parents," Matteo suggested. "Magical items sometimes hold something of their possessor's aura. No doubt that is what you perceived."

Tzigone looked down. "I'm holding the talisman now. I can't feel anything."

The silence between them was long and heavy. Finally Tzigone lifted agonized eyes to Matteo's face. He nodded, answering the question she could not ask.

Tzigone squeezed her eyes shut, and her face went very still as she sought some reservoir of strength deep within. Several moments passed before she won command of her emotions.

"How did you come by this?" she said in a small voice.

"Dhamari Exchelsor gave it to me. I meant to give it to you when last we met, but did not have the chance."

"How did he get it?"

"Kiva brought it to Dhamari like a trophy and gloated over Keturah's capture. They were apprentices together, you see, and Keturah was their master. They were conspirators in the miscast spell that prompted Keturah to banish Kiva from her tower. Clearly Kiva held a grudge against your mother. Possibly she resented Dhamari because he did not receive the same treatment."

"What was he like?" she asked grudgingly.

"A quiet man, modest in his ways and habits. He spoke of your mother with great pleasure and deep sadness."

The girl sniffed, unimpressed.

"You should meet with him."

Her head came up sharply. "So you said before. Dhamari offers to give a wizard's bastard a home, a name, a wizard's lineage, a tower, and a fortune. Ever wonder why?"

"You are Keturah's daughter. Perhaps that is reason enough."

"That's what worries me. Why would my mother flee from this Dhamari if he is a good man?"

Matteo told her about Keturah's fascination with dark creatures. He told her about the greenmage's fate and the starsnakes that gathered to attack, against their nature. Disbelieving tears spilled unheeded down Tzigone's dirty face as she listened, leaving muddy tracks in the soot. Matteo expected her to reject the notion that her mother could have become so twisted through the practice of dangerous magic, but after a moment she nodded.

"It is… possible."

"So you will see Dhamari?"

"Why should this wizard-or any other, for that matter-trouble himself about me?"

Matteo hesitated, wishing he could tell her of Basel Indoulur's vow to claim paternity if need be. But that would not only violate the wizard's confidence, it would also undo the very thing Basel wished to achieve. Tzigone would never accept such a costly gift.

He brushed a sooty tear from her cheek. "Given the options before you, yes, I think you should see Dhamari and give serious consideration to his offer."

"I'll think about it."

They spoke briefly about the clockwork creatures, and Matteo's destination. When they rose to leave, she lifted one hand to trace a brief, graceful farewell dance-a wizard's convention as common as rain in summer. Then she spun and slipped away, like the thief she had been.

This small, familiar rite set Matteo back on his heels. For the first time, he understood that the training Tzigone was undertaking was not a whim but a true path. She was wizard born, wizard blood.

Because of who he was-a jordaini bounded about by proverbs and prohibitions-he could not follow where she went.