The Magehound

Tzigone slid down the tree and raced over to Matteo's side. He struggled to a sitting position and she dropped to her knees beside him. For a long moment, she regarded the deep gashes that ran from wrist to elbow.

"Well, that's pretty disgusting," she a

Matteo chuckled weakly. "Get Andris. He knows how to clean and stitch wounds."

She rose and looked around for the tall jordain. Andris was bent over one of the wounded men, his touch deft and sure as he bandaged a wound. He, too, had suffered from the attack. His form still retained its distinctive colors, but it was translucent. Looking at him was like looking at a rainbow in human form.

Tzigone hurried over and grasped his elbow, relieved to find that he still felt solid. "Matteo needs you."

Andris quickly finished his work and came to his friend's side. His expression was somber as he examined the wound. He took out needle and fine gut thread and began to stitch. Tzigone paced as he worked.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Deep, but clean. There is little tearing across the muscle. Fortunately the talons on that creature were sharp as knives."

"How lucky can a man get?" she muttered. "Will he be all right? I know how quickly a wound can turn bad in a swamp."

"He'll be fine," Andris assured her in a soothing voice.

Tzigone stopped and prodded the translucent jordain with her foot. "Don't lie to me," she warned him. "I can see right through you."

"Tzigone," Matteo said wearily. "Go check on Kiva." That struck her as an excellent idea. She went over to the elf, seized one of her limp coppery hands, and jerked her over onto her back. Stooping, Tzigone placed her fingers against Kiva's throat.

"She still lives," she said in a flat voice, and then she pulled a knife from her boot and lifted it high.

Andris darted forward and seized the girl's wrist in a translucent hand. "No," he said softly. "I will not argue that she deserves to live, but consider the good of the land."

"He's right," Matteo agreed. He rose painfully and made his way carefully through the tangle of fallen men. "Kiva didn't close the gate. She merely moved it. We must find out where. Let her live, under the guard of the church of Azuth, until she recovers enough to submit to Inquisition. If it is vengeance you seek, her own kind will deal with her less kindly than you would."

Tzigone gave him a baleful look. "Is that true?"

"I swear it. Magehounds are seldom merciful, even to their own kind."

"Hmmm." She considered this and then nodded. "Maybe I could get to like magehounds after all."

But Matteo noticed that she still gripped the knife, and she eyed Kiva with a fury than went beyond hatred. He gently took her wrist and eased the blade from her fingers.

"Our task is done," Matteo said softly. "The swamp has been contained, the laraken is gone. There is a balance in that. Halruaa is well served."

"But what about us?" Tzigone said passionately. "Who among us have been well served?"

Matteo looked at his friends and at the men whom Kiva had tricked or conscripted into service. Even the brave wemic who died defending her had no doubt been stolen as a cub and trained to Kiva's service. He considered what had been taken from all of them. And try as he might, he could not hold Kiva solely guilty.

"I'm not saying that what Kiva did was right or justified," he said softly. "But who knows what wrongs she sought to avenge? If such grim measures were taken to mold the jordaini, what else might Halruaa's wizards have done? What evils gave birth to what we have fought today? This is something we must know."

Andris gathered up Kiva in his translucent arms. The tiny elf woman seemed almost to float. "That is no task for a jordain," he said. "It is our duty to serve Halruaa's wizards."

"It is our duty to seek truth," Matteo said with quiet determination. "From this day on, I will follow no other master."

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kiva awakened to the chant of morning prayers. Moments passed before she realized she was in the care of the Temple of Azuth. Memory returned in a rush, dimming the pain that throbbed through her every bone and sinew. And worse still was the terrible void in her mind and soul.

She had been stripped of magic. Not entirely-no elf could be entirely devoid of magic and live-but her wizardly power was gone beyond recall. She wouldn't have felt half as bereft if she'd lost sight or hearing or touch. The elf lay back on her pillows and fought against her rising despair.

There might yet be something she could do. In fact, the loss of her magic made her quest for the treasures of Akhlaur even more imperative.

But she had few defenses now, and fewer allies. Who would rally to the cause of a magic-dead magehound? Mbatu was dead-Mbatu, who would have stood beside her if she had been halt and lame and hideous. Mbatu, at least, she had not betrayed. The wemic had gone into battle honestly, knowing the risks and accepting them for love of her. Kiva took some comfort in that, especially in the face of what she had to do.

With great effort, she managed to reach the silver bell that stood on the bedside table. A cleric of Azuth answered her call, a tall man wearing a saffron tunic and a frigid expression.

"So you have awakened. Good. I will summon servants to bring broth and bread. You will need your strength to face the coming Inquisition."

Kiva propped herself up on one elbow. "What I did was done at the behest of the queen," she said, knowing that this would slow the Inquisition until her claim was investigated.

"Queen Beatrix bade you to subvert the jordaini? That is difficult to believe."

"The queen suspects the jordaini order," Kiva continued. "I slew Cassia at her command. This was my right, for Cassia was tainted by magic's touch.

"And she is not alone in treachery," the magehound continued. "Zephyr, the counselor to Procopio Septus, is another hidden wizard. He must be destroyed."

The cleric gazed at her. "Many of Halruaa's wizards might have been destroyed if you'd had your will in Akhlaur's Swamp."

She waved this aside impatiently. "The whole story hasn't yet been told. When you question Zephyr, he will tell you that he wanted the laraken to die. But ask him who sired the laraken! He ca

"But if he's a wizard, then he would die as well."

"Zephyr is over six hundred years old," she said flatly, "and though that is not so old for an elf, he was greatly aged by the magic worked upon him by the wizard Akhlaur. Ask him about Akhlaur. Ask what was done to him, and then tell me that Zephyr had no part in this vengeance.

"He wishes to die," Kiva said, speaking true at last. "But not until a great evil is avenged. Test me now. I will repeat these words, and you will see that they are true."

The cleric hesitated, but Kiva gave a firm nod. He left the room and returned with an inquisitor. When the silver rod touched her forehead, she repeated her claim. The truth of her accusation-or at least, a damning partial truth-rang through her words like temple bells.

When the men had left to send word that Zephyr was to die at once, Kiva fell, exhausted, against her pillows. She didn't regret this betrayal, for it was a necessary thing. Zephyr suspected her. She'd sensed that for some time. When he heard she had fought to release the laraken upon Halruaa's wizards, he wouldn't rest until he ferreted out the rest of her plans.

She reached for the cup of broth the servant left and forced herself to take sips of it. When some of her strength returned, she slipped out of bed and padded over to the window.