The Magehound

Tzigone shrugged and kept climbing. Her lack of response deepened Matteo's suspicions, but he followed her as she ran across a broad limb to the far side of the tree. She counted off the side branches and then nodded in satisfaction.

"This is where we get off. Watch, then do as I do."

She leaped off the limb and seized the narrow branch. The strong, flexible wood bent under her weight, slowing just as her feet touched the wall that bordered the north side of the city garden. When she released the branch it snapped back up into place. She motioned impatiently for Matteo to follow.

He considered the situation and at once perceived a problem. With his greater weight, he would either hit the wall with great force or miss it entirely. Quickly he estimated the difference in mass between his tightly muscled body and Tzigone's slender, wiry frame, then he ciphered the angle and tensile strength of branches on either side of her chosen limb.

Fortunately the branches were close enough for him to grasp both. He dropped between them, and his hands closed lightly around them.

The branches slid through his hands as he fell. He ignored the scrape of the bark against his palms, then gripped tightly when he reached the chosen spot. His calculations proved right on the mark. He dropped precisely as he intended and landed lightly beside the openmouthed girl.

She looked at him with new respect. "Huzzah!"

"It's a good thing that one of us considered the weight difference," Matteo commented.

She dismissed this with a light shrug. "It's been a while since I had to concern myself with someone else. Amazing how fast you get out of practice."

"Is there truly a sword?" Matteo demanded.

"Truly," she said, imitating his tone to perfection. His exasperated sigh amused her, and she chuckled as she walked along the wall of the public garden.

They climbed down onto Reef Street. Matteo couldn't help but stare as they walked down its length. Though this part of the city was well inland, the scent of the sea was strong. Aqueducts brought seawater in from the bay, and with the seawater came the creatures that constructed the houses and shops.

All the buildings on this street were fashioned from coral, and they ranged in color from pale sandy pink to a deep dusky rose. Sea motifs were much in evidence, from the wavelike patterns in the iron fences to the flowering topiaries carved in the shape of fish and merfolk. The gate of one particularly imposing shop was framed by a pair of stone sahuagin, hideous fish-men who stood guard with braced tridents and shark-toothed snarls. Matteo had heard that sailors considered this sort of decoration to be in terrible taste. Elves were more likely to mar the serenity of their temples with statues of drow raiders than seamen were to seek reminders of sahuagin.

Despite the occasional lapse in taste, such buildings were popular among the wealthy commoners. Growing a coral building took many years and an enormous amount of expensive magic. A new building was in the birthing process, and Matteo took great interest in observing firsthand how it was done.

A stout timber frame formed the skeleton, but the building grew from the top down. The city's artificers provided pumps-small marvels constructed of metal and magic-that lifted seawater through pipes to the roof, where it cascaded down into the cistern moat below. Tiny coral animals, summoned by magic, had risen with the water and over time had built a reef that reached almost halfway to the ground. Several artisans were at work framing in the lower windows and door with timber. A wizard hovered in the air, gesturing broadly and tossing fistfuls of odd substances into the portals that had already been framed. The debris vanished as it passed in, leaving some sort of magical ward in the windows that kept coral from filling them in. The magic they cast was as translucent as fine glass and far stronger.

It was a marvelous process, but Matteo also found it inexplicably sad. Generations upon generations of tiny creatures were induced to venture out of the wide sea into this narrow, artificial inlet, then tricked into building their reefs out into the inhospitable air.

Matteo wondered briefly if there were among these structures the tiny bodies of coral seers who perceived the deadly pattern, who strove to convince the others to give up the ways of untold generations. Clearly they did not succeed, but perhaps they, too, were part of the pattern.

"This way," Tzigone said, pointing toward a small shop shaded by a sea-green awning. No one was currently in attendance, which in itself was not unusual. Many merchants took long meals and short naps in the midday heat, trusting in powerful magical wards to safeguard their goods.

Tzigone strode purposefully toward the shop and studied the weapons on display. She reached in and took a simple but finely crafted short sword, considerably longer than a dagger but not so long that a jordain unfamiliar with dueling weapons would find it unbalanced.

"You keep your sword in a swordsmith's shop?" Matteo said dubiously.

She glanced up and down the street and then pressed the weapon into his hand. "For a while, I kept it in a perfumery, but every time I turned around I knocked down crystal vials. It was damned inconvenient."

Matteo's eyes narrowed. "You are quick to play games with words. Is this weapon truly yours?"

"Could I pass the swordsmith's wards if it were not?" she said impatiently. "Take it and let's be gone."

Matteo set off toward the harbor and the place where he had secured his stallion. He set a brisk pace, eager to find his horse and his friend Themo and take both back to the comparative safety of House Jordain.

Safety.

The word echoed in the great hollow that was his heart. Andris had found no haven there.

Matteo was unprepared for the grief that struck him like a tidal surge. Never had he experienced anything like this flood of emotion. He felt overwhelmed, as if he was being torn away from his moorings.

Several moments passed before he realized that Tzigone was studying him with interest. He caught her eye and braced himself for her questions.

To his surprise, she merely nodded. There was little sympathy in the gesture, but much understanding. Whatever she saw in his eyes was something she knew well.

For some reason, Matteo found this simple acknowledgment more comforting than any of the jordaini's beautifully honed and reasoned phrases.

He searched his benumbed mind for something profound to say and came up empty. "I have to get my horse," he said lamely.

"Well, good for you," she said approvingly. "I was afraid you'd want to look for Mbatu or some such foolishness."

"The wemic will likely find me. If he loses our trail, it would be logical for him to return to the place where we met. I left Cyric tied to a rail near the tavern."

She hoisted one eyebrow and sent him a sidelong look. "Cyric?"

"Yes. The stallion is named after-"

"I know who Cyric is, although frankly I'm surprised that you do. What did the horse do to earn a name like that?"

"Well, he is somewhat volatile."

"I'll bet." Her lips twitched. "You know, I thought all jordaini would be boring, seeing how you aren't allowed to add any color to your facts. It's nice to know that understatement isn't against your creed."

Her dry comment surprised a chuckle from Matteo. They fell into a comfortable pace as Tzigone wove a path through the streets.

Their shadows stretched out before them as they rounded a corner into yet another narrow street. The city was begi