The Wizardwar

She nearly stumbled over a young couple, common laborers judging by their dress, too absorbed in each other to notice her arrival. Kiva picked up the rude knife the lad had set aside. She brought the hilt down hard on the girl's head, then dispatched the suitor with a quick slash, taking care not to get any of his blood on the stu

Kiva's victim was small and slim, and her gown looked to be a near fit for the slender elf. Since the girl had prepared for an assignation, she'd worn a cowl and cloak. This would provide cover for the elf's telltale hair. Delighted with this unexpected bounty, Kiva quickly claimed her prize. She quickly dressed herself in the dead girl's clothes and made her way through the deepening twilight to Basel Indoulur's tower.

A dark-haired young woman in an apprentice's sky blue robes opened the gate. For a moment Kiva felt that she was still regarding a ghost, so closely did the girl resemble the long-dead Noor.

"You are Lord Basel's apprentice? The Noor heiress?"

The girl smiled. "I am one of the apprentices, yes, but since I have an older sister I'm not likely to inherit. I am Farrah, second daughter of Ahaz and Beryl Noor. How may I serve?"

Kiva glanced over the girl's shoulder. "Actually, I came seeking another apprentice. A girl known as Tzigone."

The smile fell from Farrah's face. "Tzigone was lost in the recent battle. You must be newly come to Halarahh, for her story is sung at every corner."

At Kiva's urging, the apprentice repeated the tale. During a pivotal battle, when the Crinti threatened to overrun the Halruaan army and the dark fairies stood poised to pour through a portal and into the fray, Tzigone had not only closed the floodgate but had also dropped the veil between the worlds. She had sacrificed herself, binding her magic with that of other wizards to seal these.

Kiva remembered the jolt of power that had thrown her and Akhlaur free of the Plane of Water. So that was the source of it! She supposed she ought to be glad the timing of Tzigone's spell had coincided so well with her own, but all she could feel was fury. Once again, Keturah's little bastard had interfered!

Well, perhaps all was not lost.

"What of Tzigone's friend, the jordain known as Matteo?"

Farrah brightened. "Another hero. He lives and serves King Zalathorm as counselor."

A sharp burst of panic sizzled through Kiva, quickly mastered. "I know Matteo. He must be deeply saddened by Tzigone's loss. What became of his friend Andris?"

"He lives," the girl said shortly. "He awaits trial for treason, but I hear he was released to Matteo's keeping. Matteo wished to visit the place where Tzigone disappeared and took Andris as a guide."

More likely, Kiva thought grimly, he had something more productive than mourning in mind. If she and Dhamari Exchelsor could find a spell that parted the veil to the Unseelie Court, eventually other wizards would do the same.

If that occurred, the three wizard-spawn descendants would be together in one place. That simplified matters admirably.

Kiva fingered the knife hidden in the folds of her stolen cloak and contemplated her next steps. Even though the cowl covered her hair and ears, her face was unmistakably elven. Farrah Noor must not tell anyone that an elf woman had visited, asking questions about Tzigone and Matteo. There were few elves in Halruaa, and the appearance of one at this time and place would hint too directly at Kiva. She could either kill Noor or take the memory from her.

Murder was risky in Halruaa, for it led to magical inquiry. Even memory loss could be reversed.

The elf forced a smile onto her face and thanked Farrah Noor for her time and her kindness. She walked away from the tower and into a side street, where she watched until a sturdily built young man entered the tower by a side door. After a while, lamplight flickered in a room several floors above. Kiva made out the man's silhouette.

She closed her eyes and brought to mind his face and form, chanting a spell that would cast an illusion over herself. Clad in the young man's image, she sauntered over to the tower door and knocked.

Again Farrah came to the door. Her dark eyes widened in surprise. "Mason! What, forgotten your key again?"

To avoid telltale speech, Kiva went into a fit of coughing, nodding to show agreement. The girl stepped aside to let "Mason" pass. Kiva pulled the knife and waited while the girl shut and locked the door. When Farrah turned to face her assailant, when the shocked puzzlement in the girl's eyes turned to fear and supplication, Kiva struck.

Still wearing Mason's form, she cleaned the dripping blade on Farrah's robes and made her way up toward the tower room. Mason was already asleep, lying on his back and snoring like a sailor. Kiva took a potion of forgetfulness from her bag. This she poured into the apprentice's open mouth, drop by subtle drop. When the vial was empty, she dropped it on the floor along with the blood-smeared knife.

When Farrah's body was found and magical inquiries made, the magehounds would recover an image of the last face Farrah had seen, and they would discover her belief concerning her killer's identity. Mason, of course, would know nothing about the murder. His convenient loss of memory might be construed as self-preservation on his part, or as one layer of an elaborate deception. Either way, the situation would take some time to unravel.

Kiva intended to use this time well. She began the casting of another far-traveling spell. Before Farrah Noor's body cooled, Kiva would stand in the Nath, the wild northwestern mountains. By this time tomorrow, descendants of all three of the crystal star's wizard creators would be in her hands.

Chapter Eight

Storm clouds rumbled over the wild mountains. Rain fell steadily, and an occasional sizzle of lightning cast brief illumination over the bleak terrain.

Kiva moved through the Nath like a shadow, aided by the keen night vision of her people. She kept alert, for her elf-blooded quarry also had vision well suited to darkness.

Years of acquaintance with the Crinti bandits had taught Kiva their patterns, their habits, their haunts. She quietly made her way through twisting passes and over tumbled stone to a hidden watch post. There stood a tall warrior, a shadowy figure with storm-gray skin and hair, her feet planted wide apart and her face lifted to the wild sky as if to defy the gods.

"Xerish," Kiva murmured, recognizing the Crinti scout. She reached into her bag and fingered its contents until she found the spell components she needed. Then she rose and shouted out a hail in the mangled, bastardized Elvish dialect the Crinti used with such pride.

The scout whirled, sword out and face wary. Her suspicion turned to joy when Kiva stepped out of her hiding place.

Xerish loped forward and swept Kiva into a crushing, sisterly embrace. "Elf-sister! I am so pleased you are not dead!"

“That gratifies me, as well," Kiva said with as much warmth as she could manage. She quickly extricated herself from the Crinti's arms and held out a small, deeply tarnished silver locket. "I have brought you a gift."

The Crinti took the trinket and examined it with interest.

"Open it," Kiva suggested.

Xerish found the clasp. Inside the locket was a crumbling lock of white hair. She lifted astonished eyes to Kiva's face.

"Relics," the elf said, confirming the warrior's unspoken question. "The only known remains of Mahidra, the warrior woman who founded your clan."

The Crinti quickly put the locket around her neck. Overwhelmed, she drew herself up and saluted Kiva, her fists thumping against opposite shoulders. "I will prove myself worthy of this honor, this I swear. My life is yours."