The Wizardwar cakt-3

by Элейн Каннингем

  The cloud elemental stooped down and scooped Tzigone up in one hand. She pulled a dagger and slid it under the creature's thumbnail. The elemental roared-a sound like wind and thunder-and tossed Tzigone into its other hand, shaking the offended member.

  Tzigone had never feared heights, but dread seized her as the elemental flung her from hand to hand. All the thing had to do was drop her, and Procopio's job would be finished. It was exactly as Matteo had feared: she did not have the mastery of magic to stand against a wizard like Procopio.

  She quickly shook off the moment of despair and cast a simple feather fall spell. The elemental hauled her up and threw her with all its strength. Tzigone floated slowly down, touching the ground just short of the glowing wall.

  With a grimace, she acknowledged that this was far too close. The first wizard forced out of the cube was declared the loser. She'd entered the arena hoping to humiliate Procopio but not expecting to win. Suddenly her goals shifted, her resolve settled.

  She was a sorceress, like her mother before her. Although Basel Indoulur was the only father she held in her heart, in her veins ran the blood of Halruaa's king.

  Tzigone stretched one hand toward one of the standards flying over the king's dais-a black silk flag with a firebird emblazoned upon it. The enormous arena encompassed the flag, and anything within it was fair game.

  At her call, thе firebird leaped from the silk and began to grow.

  With each beat of its burning wings, the creature grew. Heat filled the arena, as the firebird circled Procopio's creature. The light from its wings reflected in the elemental, turning the clouds to brilliant sunset hues. The creature batted at its circling foe as it dissipated into colored mist.

  Tzigone turned to Procopio and raised one brow, inviting him to take his next turn. She was not prepared for the look of astonishment on the wizard's face, swiftly turned to fury.

  Procopio stalked over to the king's throne, shouldering past the barrier of shining magic. Tzigone, curious, followed.

  "This was no just competition," he began furiously. "I did not issue this challenge but was honor-bound to accept. Yet I fight not one wizard, but two!"

  Zalathorm regarded him coolly. "You accuse this young woman of cheating?"

  "I accuse the king of intervening on behalf of his daughter!"

  At that moment, Tzigone's suspicions were confirmed. Dhamari knew that Keturah and Beatrix were one, and so did Kiva. Procopio was surely aligned with at least one of them.

  "I did not intervene in the spell battle," Zalathorm said quietly. "As for the other, I will not embarrass Lord Basel by directly refuting his claim."

  "Basel is dead," Tzigone said flatly. "He was an honest man, but he lied to protect me. He would do anything for his apprentices, and when it comes right down to it, that's probably how he'd want to be remembered. You want me to be his daughter, that's fine with me, but do whatever you need to do."

  Zalathorm studied her with measuring eyes. Tzigone was not certain what he saw there, but an expression of resolve crossed his face. He rose from the throne and faced the whispering, puzzled crowd. All could see that something strange was occurring, but few had heard Procopio's claim.

  Raising his voice, Zalathorm said, "Lord Procopio suggests that the fire roc summoned by this young woman was my spell and not hers. It was not. This I swear to you by wind and word. I do not work magic through another wizard and will not take credit for another wizard's work.

  "Many of you believe I created the water elemental against the Mulhorandi from the fluids of living enemies and raised their skeletal forms as an army. I have never claimed this feat. It is important that all know these powerful spells were not mine."

  His gaze swept the silent throng. With a quick gesture, he dispelled the shimmering magic of the arena. "This challenge has been made and met. I declare Tzigone, lawful daughter to Zalathorm and Beatrix, to be the winner."

  The king silenced the sputtering Procopio with a glance. "You underestimated your opponent. You were so certain of her limits that you stepped beyond the bounds of the arena. By law, that is a default."

  "Proud and arrogant," Tzigone repeated. She glanced down pointedly. "Not to mention, short."

  Procopio's jaw finned. He executed a choppy bow to Tzigone to acknowledge her victory and strode off-without the proper acknowledgements to the king.

  "That one will come back to bite you," she murmured as she watched the wizard stalk away.

  "It matters less than it did," the long answered, "now that I can leave Halruaa with an heir."

  It was Tzigone's turn to gape and sputter. Zalathorm glanced pointedly at his seneschal. The man hurriedly moved a chair to the king's left side and ushered Tzigone to it. She sank down, feeling as though she'd reentered a world ruled by illusions.

  Zalathorm rose and addressed the stunned and watchful crowd. "One challenge was made and met. I lay down another. I call upon the wizard who cast the great spells of necromancy against the Mulhorandi. I challenge him to battle-in the old way, without boundaries of magic."

  The king gestured, and an enormous golden globe appeared, floating in the air before him. He placed one hand on it and repeated his challenge in ringing, metered chant, sending it to every wizard within the boundaries of Halruaa.

  Again he addressed the crowd. "This land is on the brink of wizardwar. What will be done here could either burn out in a sudden flare or light a fire that could consume all of Halruaa. Gather all the forces of steel and magic and bring them to this place. I entreat all of you to put aside your personal ambitions and petty challenges. The wizard who cast this spell is formidable indeed. If I am not equal to the challenge I sent out this night, it might take the strength of every one of you to pick up the standard."

  * * * * *

  Far away from the dueling field, in the deepest part of Halruaa's deadliest swamp, Akhlaur and Kiva watched as the lich who had once been Vishna prepared his undead troops.

  "He was a battle wizard," Akhlaur said with satisfaction. "The best of his generation."

  Kiva forbore from observing that Vishna was among the wizards who had vanquished and exiled Akhlaur. "His plans seem sound enough. The battle will create a diversion. But the crimson star-"

  "Enough!" snapped the necromancer. "The star aids Zalathorm and me in equal measure. It will not change the battle one way or another."

  "Can Zalathorm be destroyed?" she persisted.

  "Could Vishna?" he retorted. His mood suddenly brightened. "As a lich, Vishna will be a brilliant and loyal general. It will give me great pleasure to use Zalathorm's oldest friend to bring down his realm."

  As the elf woman bit back a shriek of frustration, a golden light filled the clearing. Zalathorm's voice, magnified by powerful magic, repeated the challenge he issued to every magic-user in the realm.

  Akhlaur's black eyes burned with unholy fire, and his gaze darted to his undead battlemaster. "All is in readiness?"

  "It is," Vishna replied in a hollow voice.

  "Gather our forces and weapons," he announced. "Quiet your doubts, little Kiva. The three will be reunited, and the crimson star will once again be mine to command!"

  * * * * *

  The crowd dispersed after the mage duel. Andris, who had been seated near Matteo behind the king's throne, walked silently toward the palace with Matteo and Tzigone, his crystalline face deeply troubled.

  "Three of us," the jordain said at last. "We three are descendants of the original creators of the Cabal."

  Tzigone elbowed Matteo. "Destiny," she repeated. "Maybe there's a reason we were all drawn together. Sometimes one person's task falls to another-or to three."

  "What are we to do?" Matteo demanded.

  "What I have intended all along," Andris said urgently. "We need to destroy the Cabal-the crimson star."

  "Now, just as Zalathorm issued a challenge to any and all wizards who desire to take it?"

  "Ask him," the jordain persisted. "If Zalathorm is truly a good and hon
orable king, he won't consider his life, even his throne, as a higher good than this."

  Matteo was silent for a moment, then nodded abruptly. He made his way through the guards, Tzigone and Andris on his heels.

  The king looked at him quizzically. Matteo leaned in close and softly said, "Andris is descended from Akhlaur."

  Zalathorm's eyes widened. His gaze slid from his counselor to his daughter, then to the ghostly shadow of Andris. "I’ll take you to it," he said simply.

  * * * * *

  Early the next morning, the four of them stood in a circular chamber far below the king's palace. The crimson star bobbed gently in the center of the room, casting soft light over them all. Andris's translucent body seemed carved from rosy crystal, and his eyes burned with fire that came from some hidden place within.

  "I have tried to destroy this many times," Zalathorm said, "but one of its creators is not sufficient. Mystra grant the three of you success."

  Andris pulled out a sword, lofted it with both hands, and threw himself into a spin. With all his strength, he brought the heavy weapon around and smashed it into the shining crystal. The next instant, his sword went flying in one direction and Andris in another. The sword, once released from his grasp, lost its glassy appearance and clattered heavily to the stone floor.

  The jordain picked himself up. "Perhaps if we all strike at once," he ventured.

  Matteo and Tzigone joined him and took up positions around the gem.

  "From above," Andris cautioned, "so no one is struck on the backswing."

  On Matteo's count, they all brought weapons down hard. Before they neared the artifact, the swords flew from their hands and clanged together, forming a tripod that hung in the air over the globe.

  "So much for togetherness," Tzigone muttered, eyeing the enjoined weapons.

  Andris paced around the artifact, his face furrowed in thought. "Let the princess try alone."

  She made a rude noise, but she approached the gem slowly and touched tentative fingers to one of the starlike spires. For many long moments she stood silent, her deeply abstracted look changing to pain.

  "So many," she said in a subdued voice. "I was a prisoner in the Unseelie court for a few days. These elves have been in captivity for more than two hundred years."

  She eased her hand away and turned to the king, her eyes wide with understanding. "Keturah knows how it could be done! That's why Kiva wanted her all along-why she brought her here to the palace!"

  She looked to Zalathorm for confirmation. "It is possible," he admitted.

  Tzigone was already sprinting through the halls toward the queen.

  * * * * *

  The throng that gathered on the dueling field was far from the unified, disciplined host of Zalathorm's vision. Wizardlords and their retainers stood in separate ranks, eyeing their rivals. Each faction boasted wizards, clerics, and mercenaries. The spell battle against Zalathorm would be only the start. Anyone who successfully challenged the king would need all these supporters in order to defend his newly won crown against other contenders.

  Procopio Septus, as lord mayor of the city, had at his beck the entire militia of the king's city. He strode along confidently, reviewing the ranks. Seriously depleted by war and confused by the turmoil among the wizards, the fighters looked uncertain of their purpose. The wizard at his side looked even less certain. Malchior Belajoon, would-be challenger to the king, measured the opposing ranks with worried eyes.

  "Perhaps this is not the time to make my bid for the throne," Malchior ventured.

  "The king welcomed all challengers. Your lineage is as good as his, and recent events have made painfully obvious that the king's powers are failing. What better time to press your claim?"

  "I did not cast the necromancy spell!"

  "It hardly matters. Zalathorm has issued a challenge, and he will be honor-bound to answer any who respond."

  Again Malchior's gaze swept the gathering throng. "What of the king's plea for unity until the hidden wizard is unmasked?"

  Procopio shook off this concern. Before he could speak, an enormous oval of shimmering black opened against the backdrop of forest, like a rift into a dark plain.

  Warriors poured through, hideous undead creatures that reeked of decay and stagnant waters. The militia-as well-trained as any fighting force in the southern lands, veterans and survivors of the recent invasion-shrank back in horror.

  The undead army swiftly formed into disciplined ranks. Their leader, a tall, gaunt wizard with livid bluish skin and a still-glossy mane of chestnut, strode from the gate and took up position.

  As strange as this sight was, it did not prepare the stunned observers for what was to come. A small elf woman with long braids of jade-green hair emerged. Her cool, amber stare swept the wizards and seemed to linger briefly on Procopio's face. Then she stepped aside to yield way for an even more daunting apparition. A tall, thin man, robed in the necromancer's scarlet and black, stepped into the silence. In the bright morning sun, his pale greenish skin and faintly iridescent scales shone with a sickly glow-like some luminescent creature emerged from the sea depths.

  Not a wizard there had ever set eyes upon the strange figure, yet all knew him for who he was. One of the most infamous wizards of Halruaa, whose name had been lent to a deadly swamp and scores of terrible necromantic spells, was not forgotten in a mere two centuries.

  "Akhlaur."

  The whispers seemed to coalesce into a single tremulous breeze. The necromancer inclined his head, an archaic courtly bow once performed by great wizards to acknowledge their lessers.

  The gathered wizards exchanged panicked glances, no longer so certain that ridding the realm of Zalathorm was such a good and desirable goal.

  Akhlaur had no doubts on that matter. "Zalathorm has issued challenge," he said in a deep voice that rolled across the field like summer thunder. "I have answered. Fetch him, and let it begin."

  * * * * *

  Kiva and Akhlaur retired to the rear of their ranks to await the king's response. The elf woman paced furiously.

  "Troubled, little Kiva?" the necromancer asked.

  She whirled toward him, flung a hand toward the dueling grounds. "Did you see all those wizards gathered to challenge the king? We should have let them! You know Halruaa's history as well as I. Her wizards might squabble, but they will unite against a single threat. Had you allowed Zalathorm to destroy these challengers one by one, your task would have been easier and its outcome assured! Now we will face them all."

  Her vehemence and fury raised the necromancer's brows. "You fear for your safety," he said condescendingly, "and with reason. The death-bond ensures that if I die, so do you. I assure you, between the crimson star and my not-inconsiderable magic, we are quite safe.

  "Yes," the necromancer continued, "all will go as planned. Nothing-least of all you-will interfere with this long-desired confrontation."

  The elf stood silent for a long moment. "With your permission, I will watch your victory from the forest."

  "As you will," Akhlaur said. Suddenly his black eyes bored into her. "Remember, you cannot betray me and live."

  "I assure you, my lord," Kiva said with as much sincerity as she had ever brought to anything, "that this is never far from my thoughts."

  * * * * *

  Matteo and Tzigone paused at the door to the queen's chamber.

  "What do you propose to do?"

  "I'm making this up as I go along," Tzigone admitted. She walked softly into the chamber and dipped a bow before the too-still queen.

  On impulse, she began to sing. The queen's gaze remained fixed and blank, but her head tipped a bit to one side as if she were listening. When Tzigone fell silent, Beatrix softly began to repeat the last song in a flat, almost toneless voice. Her voice strengthened as she sang. It was ragged from disuse and long-ago hurts, but in it was the echo of beauty.

  Tzigone shot a dazzling smile at Matteo. She sang another song, and again the queen repeated it. Then Tzigone
spoke of starsnakes, and the queen sang the little spell song that Tzigone had used to summon the winged beasts. On and on they went, with Beatrix responding with songs appropriate to various situations Tzigone presented.

  "Well?" she said triumphantly.

  "It makes sense," Matteo agreed. "Music and reason do not always follow the same pathways in the mind. A person who suffers a mind storm might not remember how to speak but often can still sing the songs learned before the illness. However, Keturah's voice no longer holds the power to cast magic."

  "All she has to do is remember the song. I’ll cast it."

  After a few moments Matteo nodded. He left the room and spoke with the guards, who released the queen into his keeping. The three of them made their way down the winding stairs to the dungeon.

  Matteo and Tzigone went first. He had committed to memory each of the spell words Zalathorm used during their descent and whispered each one to Tzigone-only a wizard's voice could undo the wards. She repeated each spell word as they moved together from step to step. It was a long descent, and by the time they reached the bottom both were limp with tension.

  "For once that jordaini memory training came in handy," she murmured as she took off into the room.

  A sudden bolt of energy sent her hurtling back into Matteo's arms. He sent her an exasperated look.

  "Memory training," he reminded her. "There's no sense in having a jordain around if you don't make good use of him!"

  Tzigone recovered quickly and sent him a teasing leer. "I’ll remind you of those words at a more convenient time."

  With a sigh, Matteo pushed her away and gave her a shove. "Three paces, then turn left."

  They traversed the maze without further mishaps. Finally the three of them stood before the crimson globe. Andris and Zalathorm were still there. The jordain stood off to one side, watching intently as the king knelt before the shining artifact. Zalathorm rose and faced the newcomers.