The Magehound

As it was, Cassia had information sufficient to create trouble. She quickly pe

"Another few days' study, and I shall have all the puzzle pieces in place," she murmured.

"Then perhaps I should return," said a sweet, bell-like voice behind her. "I do hate to leave things unfinished."

The jordain leaped from her chair and whirled, twin daggers gleaming in her manicured hands. Her fury changed to fear as she regarded the small, strange figure seated in her favorite chair. Long ringlets of jade green cascaded over a gown of green and gold and framed a face that held the color and the coldness of polished copper.

Cassia drew herself up with all the dignity she could muster. After all, she was the king's high counselor, and this creature, despite her position, was merely an elf.

"How dare you enter my chamber uninvited, and by magical means?"

The magehound's smile made the room feel suddenly chill. "I go wherever my duty takes me."

"What is that to me? You have no business here."

"Don't I?" Kiva rose in a single swift, fluid motion. "The ranks of the jordaini must be kept free of magic's taint No one, no matter how high her rank or how powerful her patron, is immune to that rule. If I decide to call inquest against you, no one will question my right."

Cassia hadn't considered this possibility. It was a potent threat. She swallowed with great difficulty. "What do you want?"

The elf extended a peremptory hand. "To begin with, you can give me those papers."

After a moment's hesitation, Cassia handed them over. Kiva studied them and then fixed a challenging stare upon the jordain.

"As you have gone to such trouble to learn, I have sought this girl for quite some time. She is wanted for inquest. This is my duty, and I will brook no interference. This quarry is mine, jordain. Back away, and perhaps I will not need to seek another."

Cassia didn't need to ask who the second quarry might be. "I accept your terms," she said quickly.

"You are hasty," the elf said with a cool smile. "I wasn't quite finished. Have you spoken to anyone about what you have learned?"

The magehound reached into the folds of her yellow sleeve and produced a silver wand, the instrument that could find magic wherever it hid and condemn any jordain who knew Mystra's touch.

Cassia's gaze did not waver, and she spoke words that were partial truth and careful falsehood. "I did not speak to anyone, nor will I," she vowed, omitting mention of the letters she had pe

Kiva accepted this with a nod. "Good. If I hear you have broken silence, we will meet again. And I assure you," she said softly, "on that day you will be far less happy with the bargain we make."

* * * * *

Matteo's new quarters were in the south wing of the royal palace, far from the council chambers and several floors up from the queen's clockwork court. Although this was not the most prestigious part of the palace, it was by far the most luxurious suite he had ever occupied. There was one room for sleeping, another in which to receive company, a study lined with books, and a bath so large and luxurious that it was almost an embarrassment.

As he entered his rooms, the faint splash and murmur of water caught his ear. Carefully he eased one dagger from its sheath and crept to the door of the bath. The sight before him froze his feet to the marble floor and left him uncertain whether to smile or groan.

Tzigone had returned, and she had made herself very much at home. She was sprawled in the bath, her small bare feet propped up on one end and her head lolled over the other. Her eyes were closed, and her short brown hair had disappeared into a foamy, fragrant mass. More suds filled the tub like cream on a trifle.

He cleared his throat.

"Come on in," Tzigone said without opening her eyes. "I've been waiting for you for hours. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I've waited in far worse places."

For a moment he wondered whether «in» referred to the room in general or the bath. Neither course of action seemed wise.

"How did you get into the palace?"

She cracked open one eye. "You always start conversations with a question. Are you aware of that?

"I started in the bilboa tree over by the harbor park," she went on, not waiting for an answer. She lifted one arm out of the water to brush aside a fleck of soap that dripped onto her face. "It's amazing how far you can travel in this city without once touching the ground."

His gaze shifted to his open window, which was at least six stories off the street, and marveled. Whatever else this girl might be, she had a powerful sense of honor if she would go to so much trouble to fulfill her perceived responsibilities.

Or was there another reason for her presence here?

"Is there still a debt between us?" he asked tentatively.

She shrugged, a movement that had Matteo averting his eyes again quickly. "That depends. How are things working out at the palace?"

"Strangely," Matteo said honestly. "I have yet to find a way to truly serve the queen."

"Hmm." Tzigone took this in. "Well, what can you do?"

This drew his attention back to her. "Excuse me?"

"What kinds of services are you trained for? Besides battle, of course. I've seen what you can do with a blade."

"Many things-history, battle strategy, etiquette, protocol, languages, customs, heraldry. It is difficult to give counsel without knowledge of such things. We must also study magic and learn its strengths and weaknesses."

She nodded, her eyes huge and bright. "How do you remember half of that? This is no idle question. I really want to know."

"I can see that," he murmured, puzzled by her intensity. "The memory is both a talent and a skill. Some have more capacity than others, just as some men are born with better singing voices than others. But there are ways to develop the memory. From a very early age, jordaini work to build a palace of the mind, one room at a time, with corridors between them. It is all very deliberate and meticulous. Each fact and idea is affixed to a particular place." He tapped his forehead and closed his eyes. "I can almost literally envision the pathways I must take to get to a needed room."

"What's in the root cellars?" she demanded. "And how about the dungeons?"

His eyes popped open. "Excuse me?"

"How far back can you go?"

He considered this. "I have some memories that go back to the age of two or so. There are also a few earlier memories, mere impressions-vague and warm but unformed by words." He paused and met her incredulous stare. "It is often so with the jordaini. My friend Andris claimed he could remember things that he must have heard while in his mother's womb, but perhaps he was jesting."

"Show me how," she demanded.

Matteo tossed her a towel. "Meet me in the sitting room and we will do what we can."

She padded in a few moments later, clad in green leggings and tunic and looking rather fetchingly like a dew-soaked dryad.