The Magehound

But she hadn't intended to seek out Matteo again. His harsh words had hurt her feelings, something that hadn't happened for a very long time-not since she'd been a very small girl and Sprite had teased her mercilessly.

Tzigone abruptly sat up straight, startled by this sudden remembrance.

"Sprite," she whispered, marveling as the tiny shadow of this distant memory took shape. She hadn't thought of her old friend for many years, at least, she had not remembered him during her waking hours. It seemed to her that she had dreamed of him, but she couldn't recall the details.

Sheer frustration assailed her, and she snatched up an inkwell and hurled it at the wall. Emerald green ink splattered against the white plaster and dripped onto the carpet. The mess immediately began to disappear, just as it would on any written contract about which the behir keeper had second thoughts.

Tzigone sighed again. Memory. It both eluded her and obsessed her. She made it a point to remember everything she could, learning languages, committing names and faces and songs and maps of city streets to memory. More importantly, she searched for ways to reclaim those things she could not remember. But she had never thought to seek out the jordaini.

The jordaini made a special study of memory. It was said that they could retrieve the smallest scrap of information from the storehouses of their minds. Perhaps she could learn from Matteo.

This was reason enough to seek him out. Tzigone suspected she had another purpose, but the words to describe it were unfamiliar to her.

With a shrug, Tzigone picked up the book and began to read about the secret lineage of the jordaini.

That night Matteo accompanied Procopio Septus to court for the first time. No mention was made of the events of the day, but Matteo had no illusion about the reason for his inclusion in his patron's plans. Even so, he steeled himself for the unexpected. Unforeseen events had become common since the day Tzigone had started haunting the edges of his life. Her meddling had brought him to this place, and he didn't believe that she was done with him.

The first surprise was that the king and queen held separate courts. Zalathorm held sway in a vast chamber defined by soaring rounded arches of green-veined marble. Large windows had been placed high on the walls, and beyond one of the largest windows was a docking platform for skyships. Ornate carvings lined the walls and arches, and the ceilings had been enspelled to resemble a night sky.

Matteo glanced up and saw that the rumors about the ceiling were true. The «stars» overhead truly did form constellations unknown to nature, shaping and reshaping to form the crest or sigil of each wizard who entered and was a

Nearly everyone in attendance was a wizard of considerable power. There were seventeen members of the Council of Elders in this city, and all but one was present when Matteo and his patron arrived. The final member was Xavierlyn, a tiny woman who liked to be called the Dawn Wizard. Matteo watched as her skyship, a gilded marvel with sails painted in soft, sunrise hues, floated gracefully to the dock. The wizard walked across the last few feet of air without aid of plank or platform, then floated down to the main floor. It was a remarkable entrance, and Matteo noted that Procopio took more than a little interest in his rival's appearance.

Matteo expected Zalathorm's court to display power and splendor, and he was not disappointed. Many of the wizards wore the old-fashioned ceremonial robes of their office and school. Others courted current fashion. The women dressed in exquisite gowns, and men do

King Zalathorm was something of a surprise. Despite all his training in the ways of wizards, Matteo wouldn't have picked the man out of a crowd as someone of power and importance. The king was no more than average height, with thick hair and a full beard of a soft brown hue. His gaze was mild, his speech soft and almost diffident. To all appearances, he was a man in his fifth decade of life. Yet Matteo knew this was impossible, for Zalathorm had held the throne for more than sixty years. No one knew for certain how old the wizard was, but all agreed that he was one of the most powerful wizards in a nation full of magic.

"Tell me what you see," Procopio demanded in a soft voice.

Matteo tore his gaze from the king and looked about the room. "The woman in the yellow gown, the one standing by the harpist, is a priestess of Azuth. She must be quite powerful, for several wizards of high rank are laughing and drinking with her."

"True enough. Azuth's clergy is not highly esteemed, and the wizards would not bother with her unless her rank was high. What else?"

"The tall, auburn woman is Rhodea Firehair. She seldom leaves the city of Aluarim, for she is kept busy supervising the mint and commanding the soldiers that protect and transport the new coin. Her presence here indicates one of two things: Either a battle is on the horizon, or King Zalathorm has called council. She is never known to miss either. The presence of all seventeen members of the Council of Elders indicates that the king has issued a summons. The fact that the wizard Rhodea is garbed in silk rather than battle leather indicates that the council deals with matters of peace."

Procopio nodded but looked mildly impatient. So far Matteo's comments had required little special knowledge or discernment. "Continue."

The young man sca

The diviner lifted one snowy eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"The ornaments they wear on their hands and about their necks are of Moonshae gold," Matteo explained. "Nowhere else is that particular shade of pale rose-gold mined. If these men were capable of crafting magical items themselves, they would do so. Nor are they overburdened with coin. Had they the means to buy the best, they would purchase Halruaan magic."

Procopio smiled and nodded in approval. "That goes without saying, but it's pleasant to hear nonetheless. Go on."

"The question is, how did they acquire these items, and for what purpose? It is said that the Llewyrr elves gave such gifts to the High Queen of the Moonshaes when she succeeded her father, King Kendrick, along with the prophecy that her line will continue for as long as the elven magic endures. This was no doubt meant as an elf blessing, but there are factions in that kingdom that might see opportunity in these gifts and this pronouncement."

Procopio studied his counselor with interest. "I begin to see your reasoning. Where else could such magic be studied and counteracted but in Halruaa? If the artifacts are what you think they are, their reappearance in the hands of the Moonshae queen's rivals, their magic depleted, might prove a rallying point to mount a serious challenge to the throne."

"Therein lies the problem. Halruaa can have no part in such games. Our magic is too widely feared. If the ruse were discovered, it wouldn't matter to the world if the Halruaan wizard who altered the artifacts knew nothing of their intended use. The Moonshae Islands have powerful allies. Most certainly there would be harsh reprisals."

Procopio nodded thoughtfully. He looked at Matteo with genuine regret. "You have counseled me well. I will seek a private audience with Zalathorm, and we will get to the heart of this. You, however, must present yourself to the queen's court."