The Magehound

A figure appeared suddenly in the open door, though the sound of footsteps was still many paces away. The child stared with mingled awe and fear at the most beautiful creature she had ever beheld.

In the doorway stood an elf woman of rare and exotic beauty. Her skin was the coppery hue of a desert sunset, and her elaborately curled and braided hair was the deep green of jungle moss. Rich displays of gold and emeralds and malachite glittered at her throat and on her hands. Over her yellow silk dress, she wore an overtunic of dark green, much embroidered with golden thread. A little smile curved her painted lips but did not quite touch her eyes, which were as golden and merciless as a hunting cat's. She was beautiful and terrible all at once.

"Greetings, Keturah," the elf said to the child's mother. "You have led us a merry chase. And this, of course, is your accursed little bastard."

Her voice was as sweet and clear as temple bells, but Tzigone wasn't fooled. «Bastard» was the worst epitaph a Halruaan could hurl. Tzigone understood that it was not just insult but truth.

The crescendo of footsteps came to a sudden stop just beyond the door, and the elf woman glanced back over her shoulder. "Take them both," she said with cold satisfaction.

But Keturah leaped forward and braced her hands on either side of the doorframe. She cast a desperate glance back at her daughter. "Run, child!" she pleaded. "Don't stop for anything."

Tzigone hesitated. Green light began to encircle her mother, twining about her like choking vines. Keturah tottered and went down to her knees, her hands clawing frantically at her throat.

Terror urged the child to flee, but guilt held her in place. She had begged to Mother to summon a fierce creature. Was this what had come of her wish?

The elf woman shouldered past the faltering wizard and lunged for her small quarry. But the child dropped to the ground, and the sudden shift of her weight made her slip like a fish through the slender copper hands. She rolled aside and darted out into the courtyard.

Her mother's voice followed her, urging her to flee. She ran to the fragmented waterfall and dived in, not sure whether she would crack her head on tile or soar out toward the bright shards that followed Selune through the night sky. But she fell smoothly through the waterfall and splashed down into the fish pond. Her flailing hands found a tu

She came up for air, breathing in as deeply as she could and then diving deep. Her mother's last words followed her into the water, and haunted her as she swam.

"Forget me!"

Tzigone came out of the memory trance suddenly, gasping and sobbing. It was Kiva who had taken her mother! Kiva who had chased her even then! She shrieked aloud, giving voice to the loss and fear and rage of a lifetime.

"I will not forget," she said as she fisted the tears from her eyes. "I never forgot you."

But she had forgotten. And suddenly she understood why. Her mother's last words to her had been no mere farewell but a powerful enchantment. Apparently Tzigone's magical resistance wasn't absolute. Her mother, if no one else, could pierce it.

But the spell was broken now, and memories came flooding back. For a long time Tzigone huddled in the tree, letting the images and sounds flow through her, savoring them all. There had been bad times, but they were hers. She lingered longest on her favorite memory-listening as Keturah sang into the night wind, and then waiting breathlessly too see what creatures came to the beautiful wizard's call.

After a time, Tzigone began to sing a dimly remembered tune, tentatively at first, then with growing conviction. The sound of her voice startled her. It was rich and true, full of magic but possessing its own beauty. Her mother's voice, unpolished but unmistakable, poured from her throat.

A sparkle of light appeared beside her, whirling in a tiny vortex that slowed as it gained color and substance. When it stopped, a tiny winged lad stepped out into the empty air. Wings beating, he darted closer and peered into her face with puzzlement.

"Keturah? Where did all your hair go?"

"Not Keturah," she said softly, and suddenly she realized that she had no name to give him. Hope flared bright in her heart. Surely her oldest friend would know her true name! "I'm Keturah's daughter. Do you remember me?" The tiny face lit up in a smile. "Child? Is that you?" A sinking suspicion crept into her mind. "Why do you call me 'Child'?"

"Why do you call me 'Sprite'?" the creature riposted. "You couldn't say my name, and I couldn't say yours."

"What was my name?" Tzigone asked eagerly. "Say it as best you can!"

The sprite shrugged. "If you don't know it, why should you expect me to? Keturah said it wasn't to be spoken, so I didn't ask."

Disappointment surged through Tzigone, but she understood what her mother had done. Names had power, and knowledge of her true name could become a tool in the hands of those who sought her.

She shook this off and moved on. "You came when I called," she said to the sprite.

The tiny lad shrugged again. "Had to."

Tzigone nodded thoughtfully. Apparently the redheaded jordain wasn't as foolish as he seemed. This was why Kiva had been seeking her. And once her purpose was fulfilled, Kiva would no doubt cut her throat with the knife nearest at hand.

Fury assailed her at the thought of all Kiva had cost her. "No more," Tzigone whispered. "You won't win this time."

"Win?" Sprite looked at her quizzically. "You want to play?" He darted aside and conjured several tiny balls of light, which he began to juggle with unca

Tzigone snatched up the glowing toys and squashed them in her hand. "No magic," she said firmly. "You wouldn't like what it might attract."

The sprite flittered down to rest on the branch beside her and wrapped his wings around himself like a cloak. "Don't like this place already. It's cold here."

Tzigone's eyes narrowed. The swamp was as hot as a bathhouse. She realized suddenly the danger she had put Sprite in by calling him to this place.

"Go," she urged. "Go as far from the swamp as you can. We will play soon."

The tiny lad shrugged and disappeared. Tzigone took a deep breath and stilled her mind. When she had achieved a measure of calm, she reached out with senses that had always been finely attuned to the presence of magic.

She sensed a faint shadow of magic where Sprite had been, other than that, the swamp was oddly devoid of it. There was almost nothing, other than a soft, unfocused glow that rose from the camp.

But it was not the magic of the silencing spell. This was someone's personal mark, a «feel» that was unique to one individual. Someone in that camp possessed magic, and most likely was not aware of it. But Kiva had known. A magehound knew who possessed magic and who did not. Most likely the elf had brought someone into the swamp as bait for the laraken. Perhaps Matteo. Kiva thought she could do anything without reprisal.

"I don't think so," Tzigone said softly as she scrambled down the tree, more determined than she'd ever been. The memories that flooded her had reminded her how difficult her survival had been. Survival was a rare accomplishment. But it was time to do more than just survive.

She crept deeper into the swamp, prompted by fury and by the determination that Kiva would destroy no more lives.

As she reached up to pull aside a curtain of vines that twisted between two trees, colors spilled onto her hand, a stray bit of rainbow where there should be none. She stopped and spun to her right. Not more than five paces away stood a glassy, ghostly form.

But the spirit did not move, and after a moment Tzigone realized that it wasn't a ghost-at least, not a ghost in any conventional sense.