The Magehound

"I shall keep that in mind," Matteo said dryly.

They spoke of other things, and the skyship came to port without further incident Matteo suspected, however, that his time of testing had just begun.

His suspicions were confirmed when he was taken to the jordaini quarters. His two escorts were not the only counselors in Procopio's employ. Matteo was the youngest of eight. That night at di

That night the oldest of the jordaini came to his chambers. To Matteo's surprise, the jordain was a full-blooded elf and very old indeed.

The counselor thrust out a slender hand, much wrinkled but still strong enough to offer a firm grasp. "I am Zephyr. If you have any questions, ask freely." The elf smiled briefly. "Then when you are finished, I will supply answers to those questions you were too tactful to ask."

This introduction brought a smile to Matteo's face. "Procopio finds himself in need of much advice, it would appear. Eight jordaini to one wizard?"

The elf shrugged. "It is a matter of status. Procopio Septus collects counselors as some men collect horses, and I might add, he regards us in much the same light. Surely the starship flight convinced you of that."

"You heard of it?" Matteo asked, somewhat chagrined.

"From one of Lord Basel's counselors," the elf confirmed.

"Your boldness surprised and pleased both wizards, but rest assured that Procopio stood ready to magically transport his ship to safety had you failed."

The enormity of such a casting stole Matteo's breath. "If he doesn't have need of me, why am I here?"

"You have a name as a good fighter with a head for strategy. Procopio wishes to strengthen his understanding of military tactics. You can expect him to stage other games to test your wits and nerves."

That made little sense to Matteo. "Procopio is mayor of the city, but it is the king who directs the defenses."

The elf stabbed a finger at him as if to award a point. "Precisely. And Procopio intends to be king after Zalathorm."

There was something almost treasonous in that notion. Zalathorm had been king all of Matteo's life, not to mention the lives of his unknown parents and grandparents. Life under another ruler was almost as unfathomable to him as the idea of moving to a strange land.

"You must become accustomed to this notion," Zephyr said dryly. "Our task is to aid Procopio in reaching this goal."

"Our task is to serve truth," Matteo pointed out.

The elf gave him a level stare. "And I'm telling you what our particular truth is. Measure all others against that, and you will do well here."

They chatted for a few moments more, then the elf jordain tired and excused himself to rest.

For a long time, Matteo lay abed and considered what the elf had said. He had long understood that Halruaa was a society controlled by many rules and customs. For the first time, he considered the complexity of political maneuvering beneath the ma

It was hard for him to find a place for himself amid this. A jordain's stated role was to see and speak truth, cloaked perhaps in satire or other rhetorical garb, but truth untainted by either magic or personal ambition. The honor and veracity of the jordain was proverbial. Things were true or they were not. It was that simple.

But what of Andris? Was it possible that truth was a changeable thing, that the inviolate judgment of the magehounds, perhaps even the Disputation Table, could be bought with subtle coin?

These were disturbing thoughts, and they followed him into his dreams when at last he fell asleep.

The following days proved no better than the first Matteo learned that although the king had no heirs, Procopio was abundantly blessed with them. The jordaini in Procopio's service were entrusted with the education of these would-be princes and princesses-nine of them, by Matteo's best count.

His charge was Penelope, a girl of about eight, with long, fat black ringlets and a permanently petulant expression. Matteo got out a finely carved game of Castles and began to instruct her in the strategy.

The tiny buildings held her interest for a few moments, but her attention soon wandered. Matteo quickly surrounded her fledgling structure with his pieces.

"You are encircled, child. Next time keep a closer eye on the board and think with each move of what might come next."

Penelope's lip thrust out, and her small hand flashed forward. Pieces of carved sandalwood and ivory scattered across the marble floor.

"You cheated," she said heatedly.

Matteo blinked, not sure how to respond to such an absurd accusation. "Not so, lady. You simply lost the game."

She folded her arms and glared at him. "I don't lose. I've never lost any game, ever."

Matteo began to understand the situation. "Why don't you play in the courtyard gardens, and we will try again after midday meal."

The child shrugged ungraciously and left the room. Matteo made his way directly to his patron's study. He told the wizard in a few words about the child's response.

"Next time let her win," the wizard decreed.

"That is dishonest, and a disservice to the child, "Matteo protested. "Strategy games are designed to develop the reason and intellect, but learning to win and to lose with grace is a skill as important as any other."

"A lesson she will learn in time," the wizard said. "Ease her into it."

"With all respect, I ca

Procopio shrugged. "Fine. Tell Dranklish to take over the girl's tutoring. You can deliver a diplomatic message for me. That is, if your scruples don't prevent you?"

He ignored the wizard's sarcasm. "I would be honored."

For several days to come, Matteo served largely as messenger, memorizing a sentence or a speech and repeating the messages, faithful to the word and nuance and inflection. He did not see Zephyr again except at an occasional meal, and his attempts at befriending the other jordaini were soundly rebuffed.

Matteo found none of the camaraderie and good-natured teasing he had known in the school. Here, satire was in deadly earnest and usually held several sharp, hidden layers of meaning.

After a few days of this, Matteo began to feel rather despondent. When he was not on duty, he spent his time learning the city or reading alone in his bedchamber.

He was engaged in study one evening when a soft rustle drew his eye to his open window. A surge of pleasure engulfed him at the sight of the small, pointed face peering over the ledge, and his smile mirrored the grin on the young woman's face.

"Tzigone!" he exclaimed. "How did you find me? For that matter, what possessed you to travel so far?"

She hauled herself over the sill and into the room. "I take my debts very seriously. Or had you forgotten? I thought jordaini were supposed to have memories like palaces with endless rooms."

Matteo had forgotten nothing, and his wariness returned, as he recalled all that had passed between them. "I remember that you advised me not to trust too easily."

She nodded in understanding. "You'll be reminded of that often enough of in a place like this. I'd rather live in a behirs' nest than a wizard lord's villa. You've had a hard time of it, I suppose."

"It is a fine position," he said stiffly.

"Hmmph," she said, unconvinced. "Where wizards are concerned, the only 'position' you're likely to find yourself in is over a barrel with your breeches about your ankles."

Matteo stifled a chuckle. "I am not supposed to hold such dim opinions of wizards."

"Nice evasion," she complimented him. She sat on the windowsill, her bare feet dangling into the room. "This place is as good as any. I suppose that after your last few days at the jordaini complex, you would be happy to go almost anywhere else."