The Magehound

Matteo took her arm and drew her to the far side of the market square. They stopped in the vine-covered shadows of a thick, high wall.

"Frando was not my friend. Now he is my enemy," he said tersely. "He challenged me to public debate to avenge the insult you dealt him. Win or lose, this will utterly destroy the hopes of my patron. Procopio Septus will not thank me for this day's work. My position with the lord mayor is as good as ended."

Tzigone took this in. She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "That's easy enough to resolve. Find a new patron." She snapped her fingers. "I know just how to go about it. That ought to settle things between us for once and all!"

"Thank you for the kind thought, but, please, no more 'help, " Matteo said earnestly.

Tzigone wasn't listening. She busily sca

Like the crowd, Matteo was suddenly suspicious of magic surreptitiously used. He bent down and parted the bushes, but there was no sign of Tzigone or her escape route. He searched for quite some time before he found an explanation. Behind the vine, the stone wall had crumbled, leaving a hole big enough for a child or very small woman to crawl through.

"You have lost something, other than your judgment and your dignity?"

The rounded alto tones struck a chord in Matteo's memory. He scrambled to his feet. There stood a tall, regal woman clad in a simple, elegant white gown that left her arms bare and draped low over her bosom. Her glossy black hair had been elaborately dressed and coiled about her shapely head, but her only ornament was the enameled pendant that proclaimed her position. Her long, narrow face would never be considered conventionally beautiful, but the intelligence in her dark eyes made it extraordinary.

"Lady Cassia." Matteo inclined his head in a respectful bow, giving honor to the most powerful jordain in all of Halruaa. "How might I serve you?"

The words were polite, but they brought a small, hard smile to the jordain's lips. "Badly, no doubt. Who is your patron?"

Matteo told her. Her ebony brows lifted in surprise. "And does Lord Procopio know that you consort with base entertainers? That you enjoy listening to the mockery of your fellow jordaini? Is this typical of your service?"

"I would like to think it is not, my lady."

"To the contrary, I would like to think that it is," she said slyly. "It is reported that Queen Beatrix is in need of counsel. If you were to serve her, most likely you would also serve me, provided you could survive long enough. Clockwork devices are so unreliable, and Beatrix is so fond of them. Such a pity, what happened to her last counselor. They intend to bury him with full honors just as soon as they gather up enough pieces."

The smile she gave Matteo was as cold and reptilian as a crocodile's. "Prepare yourself for a promotion, boy. And while you're at it, you might want to put your affairs in order."

Chapter Twelve

Matteo watched as Cassia swept through the market, as queenly and formidable as any woman who'd ever worn a crown. The short encounter left him stu

"You're gaping like a hooked fish," intoned a rich alto voice at his elbow.

The voice was Cassia's. Matteo jumped, startled by the seeming split of sight and sound. In the next heartbeat, he realized who the speaker had to be, and he whirled to face the troublesome Tzigone. To his surprise, the young woman wore an expression of extreme self-satisfaction.

"That was easy," she said brightly. "All I had to do was mention in Cassia's hearing that you and that Frando person were pla

"You might say that," he said shortly.

Tzigone frowned and handed him a small burlap sack. "You can carry this for me. That will help restore your image as a polite and proper jordain."

Matteo absently took the sack and slung it over his shoulder. "You have no idea what you've done, do you?"

"Of course. I got Cassia's attention for you. Again, there's no need to thank me."

Matteo cast his eyes toward the sky. "Again, I concur wholeheartedly."

She gave him a suspicious look. "You don't sound pleased. I must say, you're a hard man to repay. But I know just the thing-something not even you could fault or refuse."

She took off through the crowd, weaving through the throng of shoppers and buskers as she moved confidently toward her destination. Matteo followed, fearful of the trouble her next well-meaning act might cause.

They wound through the market to a small side street lined with stalls, each of which was shaded by silk awnings dyed in brilliant rainbow hues. The afternoon sun filtered down through the trees that shaded the street, providing pleasant shade for those who lingered for a midday meal.

Murmured conversations and savory fragrances filled the air. Tzigone came to a stop under a crimson canopy. She inhaled deeply as she eyed a row of braided pastries drying on a T-shaped wooden rack. Several more pastries swam in a cauldron of bubbling fat, rapidly turning plump and brown and filling the air with the scent of frying sweet bread. The baker was dredging a fresh batch in finely ground sugar mixed with rare spices: allspice and cardamom and mace. Tzigone patted her pockets and produced a few of the wedge-shaped electrum bits that passed as small currency.

"Two of the hangman's nooses," she instructed the baker, pointing to a long braided pastry with a loop at one end. "And can you swirl them around in the spice again? Make them good and sticky?"

Matteo shook his head when she offered him one of the powdery treats. He pointed to the cauldron's underside, which was red and glowing without the benefit of fire.

"The pastries are cooked by magical means," he explained. "Such things are forbidden to a jordain."

For a moment she gaped at him, then she shrugged and took a big bite of the sugary bread. “Tastes the same, either way. But there'll be no waste. I'm hungry enough to finish them both," she assured him. "What about you? Let's stroll about and find something that pleases you."

He shifted the bag from his shoulder. "There's no need and little time. I'm due back at my patron's villa by sunset, and before then I must see that Procopio's message is properly delivered."

Tzigone gri

Matteo sighed and slumped against the broad, silvery trunk of one of the massive trees that shaded the lane. "I will be, once Lord Procopio hears of Frando's challenge."

"Why should he care? That Frando is an idiot, even by the standards of the jordaini. I've met donkeys who could best him in debate."

"That may be so, but he is counselor to the mage Xavierlyn. A challenge between counselors reflects upon their patrons. At this point, Procopio has no desire to best Xavierlyn, but neither would he care to lose to her."

Tzigone nodded sagely. "Ah. He has a standing bet, with large sums placed on either gamecock. He'll suffer no great loss that way, but such things can be inconvenient if he hasn't the ready coin to float."

The notion scandalized him, as did the comparison between a jordaini debate and the vulgar practice of gambling upon cock fights. "This has nothing to do with money! It is a matter of politics. Xavierlyn is the Chief Elder of Halarahh. For Procopio to challenge her would be tantamount to a