The Magehound

She smiled at him. "You are quick, Andris. I suppose I need not tell you that Kilmaruu was little more than a test."

The weary jordain let out a small, dry chuckle. "Next you'll be telling me that fighting a red dragon is nothing but battle training. I may regret asking, but for what did Kilmaruu prepare us?"

Kiva poured more wine into his cup before answering. "What do you know of the Swamp of Akhlaur?"

The jordain choked on his sip of wine. He coughed and put the goblet down with a sharp thunk. "It is an ancient swamp with a relatively new name. Known in ages past as the Swamp of Ghalagar, it was renamed for Akhlaur, an infamous necromancer who reputedly built a tower there. The swamp grows slowly, advancing some hundred feet or so each year. No one seems to know why, and the wizards who venture into the swamp to seek answers do not return."

"Wizards," she emphasized. "Your men will do better."

Andris thought this over. "We went into Kilmaruu with a purpose. I won't risk these men's lives again without knowing that there is just cause."

The elf woman sat silent for a long moment as if in private debate. Then she rose abruptly, the glowing sphere in her hands. Raising it aloft, she began to sing.

Never had Andris heard anything like that elven song. Naming it music would be a disservice, he would sooner refer to the finest wine as spoiled grape juice! Kiva's song was magic and starlight and wind and every emotion he had ever felt or imagined. The keen of a funeral dirge was in that song, and the exhilaration of a battle yell, and the sweetness of a first kiss.

Her bell-like voice enchanted the globe as surely as it did him. The light deepened, and glowing forms began to swirl within. Finally Kiva finished the song on a clear, ringing note. Before the sound died away, she flung the globe to the floor.

There was no explosion, no tinkle of breaking crystal. But suddenly the room was crowded with softly translucent shadows, all of them elves, all of them regarding him and Kiva with profound joy and gratitude.

Motes of lights shimmered in the ghostly forms, which began to slowly dissolve. The lights drifted through the open window and rose into the night. Andris could have sworn that the stars shone brighter.

Kiva watched them go, then turned her face to Andris. It seemed to the wondering jordain that some of the light lingered on her coppery features.

"I do not think I can explain to you what happened here, but since you will surely ask, I will try."

Andris nodded, not sure that he could speak. "Some elves join together to work magic. One elf acts as a center, drawing together the magic of the others and that of the surrounding land, focusing it and weaving it into a spell. In the city in Kilmaruu, there once were many elves, engaged in working a great magic. You can probably guess what they might have been attempting."

"A spell battle," he said. "They fought against the three wizards who diverted the river and created Kilmaruu Swamp."

"Fought, and lost," she said tersely. "The crystal was a tool to help focus their magic. Something went terribly wrong, and some of their essence was trapped when they died. But they were also linked to the magic of the land, and this link stayed open. I suspect that this is what drew and empowered the undead. I ca

Andris considered this. "So we serve not only my people but yours as well. This is true also of the Swamp of Akhlaur?"

"Doubly so," Kiva said in a soft, dark tone. "One of those three necromancers was named Akhlaur. Like you, he learned from his experiences in Kilmaruu and went on to 'greyer things. I will not sooth you with pretty lies: What you saw in Kilmaruu is but a preparation. Knowing this, will you follow me still?"

The jordain glanced through the open window. The sky near the horizon was begi

He turned back to the magehound, and a passion that had nothing to do with Kiva's beauty burned in his hazel eyes.

"I will follow," he swore.

Chapter Sixteen

Tzigone hauled herself over the window ledge and dropped into the chamber. She crouched low to the floor and listened for sounds that spoke of the room's rightful occupant. No lights were on, but she hadn't lived this long by abandoning caution. Nor did she feel any qualm about invading Matteo's sanctum. After all, the shutters hadn't been closed and barred. If he had truly wanted to keep her out, he wouldn't have left them open.

She rummaged through the chest at the foot of his bed for one of his white tunics. The garment was far too long for her and hung almost to her knees, but it didn't look too bad once she'd belted it up. The jordain's pendant she already had, and she quickly looped it over her neck. She already wore white leggings and a loose, long-sleeved white shirt. In this weather, the jordaini usually left their arms bare, but that would give away the game. Tzigone was strong and fit, but there was no way anyone would confuse her slender arms with those of a trained fighter.

Before she ventured out into the palace, she went into the bath and practiced before the mirror until she'd produced the calm, certain expression she associated with the jordaini. Looking the part was important. A misplaced smirk might be enough to draw attention that she could ill afford.

She walked down the halls purposefully, even though she had no idea where she was going. Whenever she passed someone, she merely put on an abstracted expression, as if she were puzzling over deep secrets or committing to memory some three-scroll epic. But an hour passed in this fashion, and she began to think that she might be wandering about the palace forever. Finally she stopped a scullery maid and asked where she might find the queen's new counselor.

"If Matteo's in the palace, he'd be in the queen's workroom, like as not," she said. She shuddered as if the thought horrified her. "No, wait. No one will be there until dusk. Matteo sent word to the kitchen to pack a picnic for the queen and her guards."

Tzigone threw up her hands in feigned disgust. "Well, that's just fine! He bade me tend an errand and didn't even tell me where to go. My first day as his assistant, and he isn't here!"

"I'll point you the way," the servant offered.

Tzigone listened to the directions and took off. To her delight, the queen's workroom was utterly abandoned but for the guard seated by the vast door, nodding and snoring. A quick pressure to his neck and temples ensured that he'd sleep a bit longer and deeper than he had intended. Tzigone quickly patted him down for keys. There were none, but she found a small silver wand. It looked a great deal like the lockpicks she occasionally employed.

With a shrug, Tzigone inserted the wand into the lock and began to tinker. But there was no mechanism inside, no gears and levers to catch and trip. Not a tool, then, but an artifact.

She heaved a frustrated sigh and stepped back a pace, leveling the wand at the door and hoping that no trigger word was needed. To her relief, the door melted away, and then another. The third door actually did require picking, but she handled the matter quickly, and in moments she stood at the entrance to the queen's i

The rows and shelves of clockwork creatures didn't interest her. Tzigone wanted books. There was a new rumor on the streets, whispers suggesting that the records of the secret Cabal might be kept under the queen's watchful eye. If that were true, Tzigone might finally find some clue about her ancestry, a clue that might lead her to learn of her mother's fate.