The Floodgate

"What is that?" he asked warily.

"You know the Crinti," she said, gesturing to one of his older tables. "Once they were useful to me, but they have become too numerous, too bold. They are coming into the Nath by the scores through the caves and mountain passes."

"Why should that concern me?"

"This activity might well draw eyes eastward. If your fellow wizards learn of the coming Mulhorandi invasion, you lose the opportunity to predict a threat that Zalathorm did not perceive. Help me with the Crinti, and you serve yourself."

Procopio carefully hid his elation. To do battle against Crinti warriors! He had dreamed of such battles hundreds of times. He had pla

"You are the lord mayor of this city. Surely you have some militia under your command. Claim your great powers of divination have perceived a threat from the Crinti, and argue that because of your studies, you are better prepared to counter this threat than any other man. I will tell you where many of their camps and caves are hidden. You will win fame for this victory, and when you predict the coming of Mulhorandi troops, people will take notice."

"A compelling argument," Procopio conceded. "And if the militia requires some substantiation?"

"Two of your former jordaini travel the Nath. Report to the king your concern for these young men, the troubling visions you have received. I will use my influence with the Crinti to have the jordaini captured. Send a scouting party to 'rescue' them. When they return to the king's city spouting tales of Crinti atrocities, you will appear to be a true prophet."

"Agreed," Procopio said promptly, "but I warn you, I have studied every possible variation of battle strategy in the northern hills. Your Crinti ca

"Why would I?" she countered. "You wish to prove yourself in battle, I wish to see the Crinti banished. You wish to replace Zalathorm, and you will need the chaos I have proven myself capable of providing. And I wish to dance on Zalathorm's grave."

Never had Procopio heard words infused with such venom or seen such hatred as that shining in Kiva's eyes. "Perhaps I have reason to trust you, after all."

“Test me and see!"

The elf woman planted her feet wide and squeezed her amber eyes closed. Procopio quickly cast a small spell of divination to probe her motives.

Instantly he was engulfed by an icy storm of emotion, a glacier of resolve. So intense was Kiva's passion for vengeance that Procopio experienced it as a physical blow. A violent chill shuddered through him, and he stumbled back on legs suddenly stiff and numb.

"Why?" he managed.

"As long as you're satisfied with my sincerity, why should you care?" The elf woman threw her arms out wide and began to spin like a child at play. Her feet lifted from the floor. She continued to whirl as she took flight, diminishing and rising as quickly as the winged horse had done. In moments she was gone-a tiny tempest that had struck and moved on.

Kiva stepped out of the whirling spell into the bleak terrain of the northlands. She continued to spin, however, laughing and circling in a giddy little dance. This was too delightful! A wizard-lord stood willing and eager to bring forces to the Nath! The Crinti would crush them like ants beneath an ox's hooves! Not incidentally, Procopio's foray would drain the king's city of its defenses.

She had told Procopio the truth-in a ma

Procopio's kingly ambitions would have to wait. For now, let Zalathorm sit his throne, his eyes fixed upon his troubled borders. Perhaps then he would not realize that the true danger lay in his own land, in the very heart of Halruaa.

Chapter Twenty

Andris watched as Kiva strode into the camp, nodding to the watchful Crinti but coming directly to his side. "We are leaving," she said abruptly.

He rose slowly from his place by the campfire. "Everyone?"

"We two. I want to be beneath the trees of the Mhair before highsun."

She chanted an incantation and reached out her hand to him. As soon as he touched her fingers, they were both swallowed in a whirling haze of soft white light. Andris expected a whistle of wind, a sense of motion. There was nothing but the light, and a quiet so intense that the beating of his own heart sounded like crashing surf.

The light deepened, turning the golden green of sunlight filtered through a forest canopy, and the white silence unfolded into the lush cacophony of the jungle. Birds chuckled and called in the branches overhead. Frogs belched in nearby shallows. Insects whined and hummed. In the distance, a snarl spoke of a jungle cat's unsuccessful hunt. Lying beneath the complex clatter was the soft, pulsing song of the forest, never before audible to his ears.

This, Andris suspected, was what an elf heard-the voice of life, and of magic! As his hearing adjusted to its normal level of sensitivity, the song faded. He felt like a blind man, granted a moment of tantalizing sight, then plunged back into oblivious darkness.

"You look disappointed," an amused Kiva said. "Magical travel didn't live up to expectations?"

Andris had no desire to explain. "I am not unhappy to leave the Nath and the Crinti camp. But why return to the Mhair?"

Kiva cupped her hands to her lips and let out a high, ringing cry. Sweet and musical enough to be mistaken as birdsong, the call was not exceptionally loud. Yet Andris got the impression that it soared though the forest on quiet wings. A message had been sent.

They settled down in the lower branches of a flowering tree, keeping a watchful eye on the forest around them. Suddenly Kiva dropped from her branch, and lifted one hand in greeting to the elves who emerged from the deep green shadows. Andris shook his head in astonishment. He had not seen or heard their approach.

He climbed down and walked to Kiva's side. The elves were familiar-all had fought with them at the Lady's Mirror-but there was no welcome in their eyes. At their head was Nadage, the battle leader Kiva had turned into a raider.

"You are no longer clan, Kiva," the elf said solemnly. "This forest is closed to you. Walk beneath other trees, or die."

Kiva bowed her head in acceptance of this sentence. "If you will join me, I will walk beneath the trees of Akhlaur's Swamp."

An expression of utter disbelief flashed across the elf's copper face. "Is it your life task to destroy what remains of the Mhair elves?"

"The laraken is gone. Elves can walk the swamp in safety."

"Even so, walk among the crystal ghosts of our family, our friends? You ask too much."

"Too much?" She spoke the words softly, but gave them weight and emphasis. "What price would be too high to see the wizard Akhlaur destroyed?"

"He was human. Why are you so certain he still lives?"

Kiva shrugged. "Alive, dead. It matters not. Akhlaur was a necromancer, a wizard who deals in the mysteries of life and death. I know that he prepared a lich spell-I saw him do it. When his body dies, his evil may well live on. If that comes to pass, where can any elf walk in safety?"

Indecision washed over the elf leader's face. "You have led us false before. How can we trust you in this?"

"That is precisely my point," Kiva argued. "Would you accept word of Akhlaur's death from my lips? Or would your Reverie finally know peace if you scattered his bones with your own hands? Go with me to the swamp. I will defeat him, and bring him to you."