The Floodgate

by Elaine Cunningham

  “Lesson one,” Tzigone said firmly. “If you’re serious about becoming a thief, you should never call anything a last resort.’ It’s like daring the gods to prove you wrong. No matter how bad things get, they can generally manage to come up with something worse.”

  Sinestra’s face turned both sympathetic and speculative. “How can you possibly be so cynical when you’ve never been married? Someday, I would like to hear your story.”

  Tzigone suppressed a wince and managed a wink. “Someday, so would I.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  A band of elves crept through the forested pass leading from the Mhair Jungle through the mountains of Halruaa’s western wall. The trees ended abruptly, giving way to a swath of open field as suddenly as a cliff might drop into the sea. The elves stopped and looked to the ghostly human who had led them here.

  Andris crouched low and surveyed the borderland. Several days’ rain had allowed the grasses to grow knee high. Heavy mist shrouded the night sky, and the only illumination came from a monument at the end of the field—the likeness of a man’s left hand, index finger pointing upward. Arcane fire surrounded the stone hand in a dancing nimbus, sending a soft glow through the surrounding mist.

  “The symbol of Azuth.” Andris spoke softly because this was a holy place, not for fear of being overheard. A distant cacophony of laughter and music drifted toward them, a bacchanal strangely at odds with this serene setting. “Be alert for manifestations of the Lord or Lady.”

  Kiva pointed to the sleek gray dogs that paced the edge of the temple complex in apparent agitation. Azuth’s favor was often signified by the appearance of gray animals. “What of those?”

  A tiny elf woman wearing the elaborately beaded braids of a shaman crept to Andris’s side. She took a handful of polished black stones from her bag. Clenching her fist, she gazed at, and far past, the agitated dogs.

  “The pattern of the Weave lies smooth around those beasts,” the shaman announced. “They are troubled—puzzled by their masters’ behavior perhaps, or by the wild magic, but they are natural creatures.”

  Kiva nodded with satisfaction and gestured to four archers who crouched behind her. They fitted darts into small crossbows, letting fly in two quick volleys. Startled dogs leaped, pawing wildly at the air. In moments they sagged to the ground in deep, herb-induced slumber.

  Andris began to crawl through the tall, sodden grass. He sensed, rather than heard, the elves moving behind him. A thick grove of trees surrounded the temple, giving promise of shadows and shelter ahead.

  The wild celebration grew steadily louder. As they moved past the monument, Kiva pointed to the Azuthan creed carved into the base. “Calm and caution,” she murmured derisively.

  “They love magic for its own sake,” Andris pointed out. “From time to time they unleash wild magic and dance amid the chaos, just to experience it.”

  The battle leader Nadage crept to Andris’s side. “How did you know the wild dance would be this night?”

  “There is no pattern, no set time.” Andris glanced at the elves that crept near to listen. “When I was at Azuth’s Temple, I overheard two priests speak of a new Magistrati—a special sort of priest Many gathered here have also been elevated in rank. They wish to celebrate before the moon is full, on a night when there is no rain, but a thick veil of mist.”

  “They wish to veil their foolishness with darkness,” reasoned Nadage.

  “They wish to use their magical devices and light spells to best effect,” Andris corrected. “The light within the circle will be dazzling. All the better for us, for it will blind them to our approach.”

  Cibrone, the shaman, squinted into the grove that lay between them and the revelers. “I hope you are right, karasanzor. We are breaking treaty to enter these lands, and risking the wrath of Halruaa’s wizards. Many of us bear scars from their last war against the People.”

  Andris put a translucent hand on the elf woman’s shoulder and was grateful that she didn’t flinch. “Your spells are ready?”

  The shaman patted the bag at her belt and looked to Nadage for the signal to proceed.

  “We go,” the leader said simply.

  The elves rose and glided toward the trees. Nimble as lemurs, they climbed into the branches and disappeared. Andris stayed on the ground, trusting his translucent form to provide cover. He crept in, alert for signs of Azuth’s displeasure. He paused near the edge of the grove and studied the scene in the clearing beyond.

  A glowing circle had been drawn in the soft moss, a large circle that enclosed the Lady’s Mirror and most of the clearing surrounding the pool. An enormous, translucent dome enclosed the whole. Within its confines, wild magic raged. Magical sparks leaped and flashed, lending ever-shifting color to swirling mists. Fleet, fanciful illusions darted through the air and reflected on the surface of the pond. The sounds of surf and storm and song rolled like waves over the people who frolicked within the circle. All were dressed in the gray vestments of Azuth and wore the god’s symbol over their hearts. Colored fire danced around each embroidered hand, marking the rank of the celebrants. The Azuthans whirled like giddy children or wandered about dazedly, letting the brilliant mists sift through their outstretched hands. Their songs and laughter rose with the maelstrom, magnified and distorted by the wards that contained it.

  Nadage padded quietly to Andris’s side. “Calm and cautious,” he repeated in a derisive murmur.

  A few people stood outside the magical circle. Andris pointed to two women who carried swords and wore practical gray tunics and trews. Red flames danced around their Azuthan symbols. “That color denotes experience and strength. Those women are not clergy, but fighters, possibly battle wizards. Subdue them first Next deal with those bearing yellow auras.”

  “And the white?” The elf pointed to a tall man whose holy symbol flamed like a small star.

  “The new Magistrati,” Kiva said as she came toward the two males. “Remember what to expect from him.”

  Nadage glanced up into the trees and let out a soft call, like that of a drowsy, contentedly nesting bird. In response an arrow rustled through the foliage and rose high into the sky. It slowed as it traced a downward arch, then picked up speed as it dived into the midst of the revelers. It hit the dome and exploded. Sheets of light flowed over the clearing like a protective shield.

  As Andris suspected, the arrow triggered a spell that would keep attackers out until the revelers could shake off the effects of the wild magic. Just as effectively, it kept them safely in.

  Caught up in the wild magic, the revelers were slow to take note of this latest burst of magical light. All the watchers went on instant alert. One of the warrior women pulled a slender pipe from her belt and blew lustily into it. Andris heard nothing, but the elves cringed.

  “They’re calling the dogs,” Kiva explained through gritted teeth. “Much good may it do them!”

  The guard quickly came to the same conclusion. She tossed away the pipe and pulled her sword. Her partner began the gestures of a spell. The crimson flames around the spellcaster’s holy symbol climbed higher with gathering power. Holy fire leaped out and licked down the length of the warrior’s sword.

  Andris sucked air in a sharp hiss. At his side, Nadage shot a concerned glance in the jordain’s direction. “Not good?”

  “A glowing sword seldom is, unless you happen to be the one wielding it”

  A sharp twang resounded, and suddenly an arrow sprouted from the warrior woman’s throat. Her blood flowed, first mingling with and then quenching the crimson flames of Azuth. She dropped her sword and fell to her knees, both hands clenched around the killing shaft

  “No!” shouted Andris as he whirled on Kiva, who stood calmly, bow in her hands.

  The word burst from him before he could consider the consequences. Nadage looked as deeply shocked as Andris felt.

  “This was not what we agreed!” Nadage hissed. “We were to subdue the humans, not kill them.” He met Andris’s eyes for the
first time. “We must withdraw at once.”

  Kiva shook her head and pointed to the Magistrati. “Too late! Drop and hide!”

  The new priest had turned toward Andris’s shout. He lifted one hand high, like a child about to throw a ball. A glowing sphere appeared in his hand.

  Before the wizard could hurl the magic missile, the elves disappeared into the trees like shadows, and Andris shrank behind a thick cypress. He held very still, hardly daring to breathe.

  From the corner of his eye he watched the light speed past him into the trees. It separated as it flew, reforming into five seeking balls of flame. The lights darted here and there among the trees. They faltered, faded, and then flickered out like fireflies at dawn.

  Andris let out his breath on a sigh of relief. The ability to hurl this particular spell was granted to all Magistrati, but this man had not wielded the power long enough to remember its limitations: He could not hit a target he could neither see nor name.

  He peeked around the tree as an old woman struggled from her chair, her sparse white hair glowing like the moon in the reflected light of her holy symbol. She lifted both hands, beginning the gestures of a spell.

  “The old Magistrati,” Andris muttered, shielding his eyes with one hand as he squinted into the brilliant white light that surrounded the aging priestess. He lifted his voice to shout, “Get ready, Cibrone! The wizard is casting a protective spell. A wall.”

  The shaman dropped from the trees. She dug both hands into her bag and brought them out full of seeds. “Get me in closer, karasanzor.”

  Andris began to run toward the clearing, zigzagging through the trees with the elf woman following closely at his heels. Several Azuthans hurled gouts of magic at the shadowy attackers. A meteor storm of tiny fireballs arced toward them, but all fizzled away just short of Andris—his jordaini resistance to magic repelled such weapons.

  Andris searched for the first sign of the wall. He smiled with grim satisfaction as an expanse of stone began to rise out of the ground, just beyond the grove. Azuthans were a devout lot—a wall of fire would have been harder to breach, but their first impulse was to surround themselves with Azuthan gray.

  The shaman hurled her seeds at the base of the wall and began a high, ululating chant. Tendrils of green rose from the soil, clinging to the rising wall and matching its soaring growth.

  As soon as the wall had grown high enough to obscure their attack, the rest of the elves dropped from the trees and came running. Timing was crucial, for they had to breach the wall before the wild magic died and the celebrants joined in the defense. They seized the vines and hauled themselves up the rapidly growing wall. As they reached the top, Andris seized Kiva’s arm.

  “Subdue them,” he reminded her. “Only that.”

  The elf woman shook him off. Dropping to one knee, she took her bow from her shoulder, nocked an arrow, and let fly—all in a single, fluid movement.

  Her bolt took the new Magistrati through the heart, sending him staggering back several paces. For a moment he stood, staring at the shaft that protruded from his chest.

  “Too stupid to know he’s dead,” Kiva said as she reached over her shoulder for another arrow.

  Andris seized her wrist. “Stop this!”

  “Too late.” She hurled herself over the edge, bringing Andris with her.

  He rolled wildly down the steep incline and hit the ground hard. The sounds of battle thundered in his ears as he got his feet under him and pulled his sword.

  The wizard woman he’d noted earlier advanced on one of the elves. Her dead partner’s sword glowed in her hands, and wrath burned on her face. She chanted a spell as she stalked in, and the sword’s light began to pulse with gathering power. Andris threw himself between the wizard and the elf—just in time to catch a lighting flash of crimson energy squarely in the chest.

  Waves of power swept over him, sending his hair dancing around his face and making his flesh tingle and twitch. He recovered quickly and snapped into position for a high, slashing attack.

  The woman’s eyes widened in shock as she noted her new opponent. Reflexively she swung upward to parry Andris’s descending strike.

  Her glowing sword met his translucent blade with a ringing clash. She had not anticipated the ghostly jordain’s strength—Andris knew this from the way her sword dipped under his. Before she could adjust her grip, he twisted his sword in a quick circle, spinning the enjoined weapons and wrenching the sword from her too-slack hand.

  The wizard pulled two long daggers from her belt Andris thrust aside his sword and matched her weapons. They circled each other, slashing and testing. The woman came on quickly in a wild flurry of blows, slashing at him like a caged wildcat. Andris met each blow, and the clattering daggers all but drowned out the fading cacophony of the wild dance, and the sound of a deadly battle.

  Suddenly the woman pitched forward. Andris leaped aside as she fell facedown, and stared with astonishment into Kiva’s stony face. An arrow shaft protruded from the warrior’s back. The elf already had another arrow ready.

  “She was an honorable warrior,” Andris said with quiet fury. “You will answer for this!”

  “Not now, and never to you.” The elf snapped her bow up into firing position, letting fly as she shouted, “Behind you!”

  Andris whirled as the arrow whizzed past him, instinctively lifting his daggers into a defensive X. A thick staff slammed into the crux of his weapons. His attacker was a black-bearded man with clerical vestments, a warrior’s fierce scowl, and arms as sinewy as a sailor’s.

  With all his strength Andris pushed up, thrusting the captured staff higher. Pivoting on his left foot, Andris kicked out hard with his right. His boot connected hard with the man’s gut. The priest folded with a grunt, and Andris brought the hilt of one dagger down sharply on his neck. The man fell, stunned but alive.

  The jordain glanced around. All of the guardians were dead or subdued. Several small fires flickered here and there, remnants of their defensive magic. The dome of light surrounding the Azuthan revelers was fading fast.

  One of the elves hurried toward Kiva. A sack stuffed with spellbooks and artifacts hung heavy over his shoulder, and he cradled a pair of small dark spheres in one hand. Kiva seized the spheres and hurled them at the protective dome. Delicate crystal shattered on impact, and a viscous black substance began to slide over the rounded surface. The elf woman nocked another arrow and dipped the head into one of the small fires. The arrow caught and blazed. She swept her bow up high and loosed the flaming missile at the dome.

  The arrow struck in an explosion of light and power. Fire flowed down like lava, swiftly engulfing the protective dome with a curving wall of flame.

  Rage blazed through Andris, matching the heat from the burning dome. He followed the elves’ retreat, stopping only to hoist a wounded elf over his shoulder. Two of the elves took their wounded comrade from Andris and disappeared into the trees.

  Andris sprinted over to Kiva, who stood studying the blaze. “You will kill them all!”

  She regarded him with a supercilious smile. “Efficiently and quickly. Your plan was excellent, as far as it went, but I required more.”

  “Why?” he demanded, gesturing toward the fiery dome. “We could have subdued the guards, raided the library, and fled before the protective barrier could be dropped. No one needed to die!”

  The elf woman did not respond. Andris was not even sure she heard him, so intense was her scrutiny of the dying flames. Reluctantly, he turned to see what had so captured Kiva’s attention.

  The fire faded almost as quickly as it had flared. The protective sphere disappeared as well, revealing the carnage within. Revelers lay in twisted, tormented postures, their festive garments blackened and smoking.

  Andris walked forward as if in a dream. He crouched beside a fallen priest. A glance was enough to know that nothing more could be done for him.

  A soft whimper caught his ear. He rose and whirled toward the pool. On the banks
lay a young woman. Light from the scattered fires danced over her pale, naked form, and bedraggled wings hung limply from her shoulders. Her face was twisted with pain and bewilderment. Instinctively Andris shrugged off his cloak and moved toward her.

  Kiva darted to the girl’s side, speaking soothingly in Elvish, calling for the shaman. The two elf women bent over the confused girl. Kiva poured a potion into her mouth while the shaman chanted a prayer of healing. At last the shaman helped the girl to her feet and led her gently away. Andris seized Kiva before she could follow.

  “An undine,” she explained. “The pool was no doubt her home, and hers the face that pilgrims saw in the water. The Azuthans were either fools or charlatans, blessing Mystra for these signs of her ‘great favor!’ ”

  “You knew!” Andris said with suddenly certainty. “You knew that an undine lived in the Lady’s Mirror. Why else would you set that fire but to draw her out of the heated water and into the air?”

  Kiva’s gaze swept pointedly over the grim battlefield. “Scores lie dead—wizards, magehounds, priests of Azuth. By my measure, this was a good night’s work, even without the spellbooks. Which of course I also intend to take. Our friends should have finished emptying the library by now.”

  The spellbooks kept at the Lady’s Mirror were beyond price. Andris understood their worth and knew Kiva needed such things to restore her wizardly magic. “Why the undine?”

  The elf woman’s gaze turned mocking. “I warned you that this would be no paladin’s quest. You wish to upset the order of Halruaa, to tear the veil away from her ancient secrets. Surely you didn’t think this could be done without fire and blood!”

  “I am not quite so naïve as that,” Andris retorted. “To see the Cabal destroyed, I am willing to fight and to die if needs be. But in honest and honorable battle, Kiva, and not in senseless slaughter.”

  For a moment the elf woman looked surprised, and then her laughter rang out over the ravaged clearing like mocking bells. “My dear Andris, I thought you were a student of warfare! Haven’t you learned when all is said and done, the difference between victory and slaughter depends upon who tells the tale?”