The Magehound

"No. A donkey perhaps, or a Durparian merchant," the queen said in the same even, emotionless tone. "They are much the same."

From another person's lips, this might have been a dark jest. Matteo realized that Beatrix was speaking simple truth as she saw it

"Who builds these?" he asked, with a sweep of his hand that indicated the entire collection of strange contraptions.

"I send for artisans and wizards as I require their services. There are none here now," she added u

The queen didn't seem bothered by her isolation, but it seemed u

She considered this and placed a small white hand at her waist. "I should eat," she said, as if calculating how long it had been since she had bothered to think of such things.

He nodded and walked over to tap at the massive door. The guard let them out, and together they walked down the long corridor. Each of the clockwork dragons bowed as the queen walked past, dipping its metal head until its rusty horns rasped against the floor.

Their appearance in Zalathorm's hall created quite a stir. For a moment conversation stilled altogether, which in ma

"Beatrix, my dear, this is a most unexpected pleasure."

The queen responded with a single remote nod, but she put her hands into his. Matteo fell back as they spoke for a few moments, Beatrix answering in cool, measured phrases.

After a few moments she excused herself and lifted a hand to summon one of the servants who carried trays of goblets and fruit around the room. The king sighed and turned to Matteo.

"Walk with me," he said abruptly.

The young man fell into step. They left the main council hall and entered an antechamber, which in turn led to a hanging garden. The king didn't stop or speak until they reached the rail and the city was spread out before them, twinkling with magical lights.

"The queen was not always like this, you know," Zalathorm said abruptly, his eyes fixed on the city below. "When she came to the city fifteen years ago, she was a marvel. So beautiful, and so full of light!"

Matteo nodded. Over the long years, Zalathorm had had several queens. Beatrix was the latest. She had been much admired in the early years of her reign for her intelligence and courage. The daughter of reclusive wizards who lived in a remote mountain village, she was the sole survivor of an attack by Crinti raiders. She didn't speak of her early years beyond that fact, but she had been tested and shown to be a generalist mage of middling ability. But as the years passed, she took more interest in clockwork than in magic and seemed to prefer the company of mechanical creatures to that of her human subjects.

Worse yet, she had not provided Zalathorm with an heir. There were many in Halruaa who thought it past time for the king to put Beatrix aside and find a more suitable queen. Though it seemed likely that the king would outlive most of his subjects, the issue of succession was of no small importance. If Zalathorm didn't have an heir, ambitious wizards would vie for his throne. Halruaans knew their history and remembered the devastation that such a contest could cause.

"You persuaded Beatrix to come tonight," the king said. "For this I am grateful."

"It was no great matter. She is no clockwork device, and she needs food and music and company as much as any other."

Zalathorm's smile was tight and wry. "A fact that she seldom remembers. It has been some time since the queen appeared in court. You have done well. I am delighted to see that she will be well cared for."

Matteo nodded, hearing his fate in the king's words. He wasn't happy about it, but he saw no way to evade what was apparently his fate and his duty. Still, there was something he had to know.

"What happened?"

The king didn't need to ask what he meant. "Magic," he said shortly. "It is a great boon, the noblest of arts. But its effects can be as deadly to the spellcaster as the most potent poison. No one knows what spells Beatrix cast against the Crinti, or how she survived the raid. She doesn't recall anything about it, moreover, she has lost memory of all that happened to her before she came to Halarahh. No diviner could learn the queen's story. It took the most powerful of inquisitors to pull even this much memory from her. But something shattered within Beatrix, something that no magic can repair. In fact, she turns away from magic more and more with each day that passes."

Zalathorm passed one hand across his face as if to erase the pain written there. "And Halruaa being what it is, that means she shuns the land and all who live within it. Where she has gone, no one may truly follow. I will speak plainly to you and admit what many of my subjects whisper. The queen, the woman whom you must serve, is no longer sane."

Matteo listened with great sympathy, chilled by the king's obvious grief and by the enormity of damage that magic had wrought. He knew the queen's scant history, as did most of Halruaa, but for the first time, it occurred to him that perhaps more could be learned. If he was to serve Beatrix, he would need to know all he could.

"The inquisitor who learned of the queen's past… do you recall his name?"

"It was a woman," the king said without much interest.

"Or more strictly speaking, an elf woman. No, I do not recall her name."

A chill swept through Matteo like the passing of a vengeful ghost. There was only one elf in all Halruaa who had risen to the rank of inquisitrix: Kiva the magehound.

Chapter Fourteen

Zephyr stood at the rail of his patron's skyship, watching the small dark cloud that brooded over Lake Halruaa. The wind whipped the sparse white strands of his hair about his shoulders and sent a cruel chill through his bones. But he dared not go belowdecks until he was certain of his course. The gales that came off the lake were strong and dangerous. He wouldn't take any more risks with the skyship than he needed to.

The elf had leave to take the Starsnake up whenever he chose, and the crew were instructed to follow his bidding and speak nothing of what they heard and whom they saw. It was among Zephyr's tasks to gather information, and few Halruaans would not eagerly accept an invitation to fly on one of the wondrous ships. Once away from port, the visitors were quite literally captive audiences until whatever time Zephyr chose to put down. Over the years, he had coaxed amazing secrets from people who were too thrilled or u

Today, however, the elf had few illusions about who commanded whom. He had taken to the skies at Kiva's call.

It occurred to him that the beautiful magehound had come a very long way from the bedraggled, terrified girl-child that Akhlaur's men had dragged from the trees of the Mhair. She had been nearly insensible with shock and grief, for she had escaped the first attack upon their village only to witness the slaughter of her people. Like Zephyr, she had survived years of torture and degradation at the hands of the wizard Akhlaur. But unlike him, she had escaped Halruaa and made a life for herself. Many years later, she had returned to learn the famed magic of the land, determined to use it to right this terrible wrong. For what she had endured and all she had accomplished, Zephyr admired her.

Recently, however, he had also begun to fear her. He wished he could explain why this was so. Wasn't her life's quest, grim though it was, the same as his own? Didn't she bear the same grief and guilt over the creature that haunted Akhlaur's swamp? Hadn't they both sworn not to rest until the laraken was destroyed?