The Magehound

Ignoring the numbing pain, Matteo surged to his feet and hurled himself at the second man's knees. They went down hard, rolling and pummeling at each other as best they could. It was no strategy at all and very little skill, but in his dazed state, Matteo could do no better. To his chagrin, the big man managed to pin him. He lifted his fist, prepared to drive it into Matteo's face.

Suddenly the man reared up, shrieking like a banshee. Over him stood a grim-faced Tzigone, wielding the pitchfork like a triton.

"He won't be sitting for a while," she said with satisfaction.

Matteo pointed. "Behind you!"

She whirled to face the first man. He had a small ax raised for a killing blow.

Tzigone dropped the pitchfork and gestured sharply. The ax handle burst into flame-or so it appeared. Matteo recognized the spell as a simple globe of light, although the leaping red «flames» were far more impressive than the child's toys that half of Halruaa could summon.

The farmer dropped the weapon and backed away. Tzigone stooped and picked it up. The wizard fire darted along her arm, swiftly outlining her entire form in flame. Her hair exploded into crimson flumes that writhed like the snakes of a tormented medusa.

With a sound very much like a drowning man swallowing water, the farmer turned and fled from the terrifying figure.

Tzigone's fire disappeared like a snuffed candle, leaving her unscathed but for a tiny smudge on her nose. She caught Matteo's eye and shrugged self-consciously.

"Bullies are cowards," she said, dismissing what she had done.

"True enough, but that doesn't make your display the less impressive. If I were able to move, I might not be far behind him," Matteo said dryly. He painfully rose into a sitting position.

"You're no coward," she said staunchly. "And not that much of a fool, either. You just need to remember to check for ticks, so to speak."

She moved behind him and tugged up the hem of his tunic. A long, low whistle escaped her. "You'll be several shades of purple by morning, but there doesn't look to be lasting damage." She ran her fingers lightly over his back. "The club hit here, to the left of the spine. That's good. He got a shot to the kidney, which isn't good. Hurts like all Nine Hells."

She dropped the tunic back into place and leaned forward to peer into his face. "I always seem to be picking up after you," she said. She silenced Matteo's ready rejoinder with an upraised hand, her suddenly subdued expression letting him know that she realized that she had caused him more grief that she intended.

"Thank for you for coming after me. I owe-"

He stopped her by placing his hand over her lips. "No more talk of debts between us," he said firmly. "No distractions. We have to do everything we can to find and stop Kiva." Tzigone nodded and pushed Mateo's hand aside.

"Finding her isn't going to be the problem. Does it seem to you that Kiva seems a bit too easy to track?"

"She wants to be found," Matteo reasoned. "She is luring us. If she were simply doing her duty, I could understand why she wished to entrap you. But there is something more happening here. I have a feeling that she has a purpose for us both. Why else would she free me from the hold or send a message that would bring me to Cassia's chambers?"

"You're a good fighter. Maybe she wanted to add you to her army."

Matteo perked up. "Army? What army?"

"I'll show you." She extended a hand and helped him to his feet. They both mounted Cyric the Second and rode to the edges of the swamp. By then Matteo felt able to walk without much pain, and he followed her as they crept through the moss-hung trees.

She stopped him with a silent gesture and carefully parted a curtain of vines.

There, in utter silence, was a training field reminiscent of his days at the Jordaini College. Over a hundred men practiced with weapons of steel and wood and bone, yet there was no sound of impact, no grunts of exertion.

Matteo marveled to see jordaini routines practiced under a magical shroud of silence. He would have sooner expected snow in midsummer.

His gaze skimmed the crowd and came to rest on a tall auburn man. His disbelieving eyes widened, and he couldn't quite suppress a gasp of astonishment.

Tzigone sent him a quizzical look.

"That tall man," he said quietly, pointing. "He is very like my friend Andris." A terrible thought occurred to him. "Or an undead creature that was once Andris! I saw the wemic kill him the very day we met."

He spoke softly, just above a whisper, and then fell silent. But some magical ward captured his words and repeated them in an echo that thrummed through the forest.

The fighters stopped and turned toward their hiding place, weapons leveled.

But Andris's face broke into a joyful grin. He made a quick, impatient gesture, as if he were tearing aside an insect netting. "Trust your eyes, my friend," he said in a clear, carrying voice. "I'm alive and well and happier than I've ever been! Come into camp, and I'll tell you everything."

Chapter Nineteen

“It's a trap," Tzigone said flatly.

Matteo hesitated, uncertain whether to believe what his eyes told him. "Andris was my dearest friend. I can't walk away from him without a word. I'll understand if you don't wish to follow me, but I must go."

She thought this over and shrugged. Matteo stepped out into the clearing. After a moment, he heard Tzigone's light step behind him.

Andris strode to meet him, and the friends fell into a back-thumping embrace. Finally Matteo put Andris out at arms' length and regarded him. Andris had gained color from much time in the sun, as well as a bit more muscle on his lean frame.

"You're looking remarkably well for a dead man."

Genuine regret crossed the man's face. "My 'death' was a ruse to bring me to this cause. I have often wished I could send you word, but doing so would compromise the coming battle."

"Battle?" Matteo said incredulously. "Here, in this foul swamp? Andris, what are you thinking? How many people have survived Akhlaur? Do you have any idea what you're going up against?"

"A laraken," the man said easily. "It is a creature that drains magic. But none of these men possess any magical ability or weapons. We fight as jordaini fight against wizards, with wits and weapons."

"Wits and weapons?" echoed Tzigone. She strode over to Andris and eyed the daggers strapped to his side. "Hmm. Weapons. Looks like you're half right."

Andris lifted an eyebrow and glanced inquiringly at Matteo.

"This is Tzigone," he said simply. "Lured here by Kiva. Believe me, the laraken is not your only foe."

"Kiva is no foe," Andris said quietly. "I lead these men, but I follow the elf woman."

"Andris, there are things that Kiva hasn't told you. There are things about her that you don't know."

"No doubt. Can you claim to know every secret of the wizards you have served?"

"I'm reasonably sure that neither of them murdered Cassia," Matteo said sharply.

His friend's expression turned grave. "Cassia dead, at Kiva's hand? Are you certain of this? Beyond doubt? Has Kiva been magically tested?"

"Not yet."

"Then wait until that time to make accusations. Kiva has been traveling with us for many days. We have never gone to the city of Halarahh. She could not have killed Cassia."

Tzigone rolled her eyes. "Kiva's a wizard, isn't she? Do you think her fastest means of travel is a good horse or a quick ship?"

Andris considered this, then shrugged and turned back to Matteo. "Let me tell you what we plan to do. Listen to what Kiva has done, what she wishes to accomplish, before you judge her."

"I can't think of much that would justify taking these men into Akhlaur! This is not a fight you can win."