The Magehound cakt-1

by Элейн Каннингем

  "You and I are jordaini," Andris said quietly. "Chosen for our gifts, trained to serve the wizards of Halruaa. None of the wizards can halt the spread of the Swamp of Akhlaur. We can."

  Despite himself, Matteo was interested. "You know the secret of the swamp?"

  "The wizard Akhlaur opened a gate to the Plane of Water. A trickle remains, and the laraken feeds upon the spill of magic from the elemental plane. It is our task to fight through to the gate and make the way clear for Kiva. While we engage the laraken, she will enter the swamp and close the gate."

  "But that is worse than the Kilmaruu Paradox!" Matteo protested. "If the gate is closed, the laraken will be unleashed upon the land. Many wizards will be destroyed."

  Tzigone sniffed. "Well, there's more to Kiva than I suspected! I thought I was the only one to have that particular dream."

  Andris eyed her with interest. "You do not care for wizards. That's a strange sentiment for a jordaini lad."

  "I'm not a boy, and I'm no jordain!" she said emphatically. "What I am is chock-full of magic. Laraken eat magic. So as far as I can figure, there's only one reason for Kiva to want me here: bait."

  The jordain's face lit up. "You are the young woman of whom Kiva spoke! The one who can call the laraken!"

  Tzigone's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think this laraken will come when I call it?"

  "You have the gift. Kiva says that it is so-an inheritance from your mother, the wizard Keturah."

  The color drained from Tzigone's face. "Keturah," she said, repeating a name that was suddenly familiar. "Of course. All creatures came to Mother's call."

  "You have both magic and resistance to magic. The laraken will be enticed by your voice. You will lure it away from the magical gate, and Kiva will close the leak forever. But if Kiva is correct, the laraken will not be able to touch the magic locked inside you."

  "And if Kiva is not correct?" Tzigone asked, her voice a mocking imitation of the jordain's worshipful tones.

  "I would not ask this of her," Matteo said softly. "She may have this talent from her mother, but I suspect she also has a bit of the diviner's gift. Her sight doesn't go forward, but back in time. I have seen it. This gift is newly awakened in her. I do not know if the laraken will sense it or not."

  Andris considered this. "If this is true, then the battle would be dangerous to her, and to us as well. Only people who are utterly without magic can avoid the laraken."

  "It is too big a risk to take," Matteo said. "Tzigone, you must leave. Go now, and quickly."

  His words stirred memory, memory awakened by the sound of her mother's name.

  Run, child! Keturah had said, her beautiful voice shrill with fear. Don't stop for anything.

  The words echoed through Tzigone's mind and chilled her heart, just as they had done nearly twenty years before. She responded instinctively, like the child she had been, arid she turned on her heel and fled.

  She ran to the nearest big tree and scrambled up into its comforting, leafy arms. She fisted her hands and dug them into her eyes, fiercely willing herself into the darkness of the memory trance.

  Tzigone slipped back, back, until once again she was a small child, fleeing with her mother. They were in the puzzle palace, a magical maze that filled a vast courtyard. Footsteps thudded through the villa toward them.

  Tzigone turned to dart back into the insane courtyard, plucking at her mother's skirt. But the woman gently pried the small fingers loose.

  "Go," she said quietly. "My magic is nearly gone. They will find me soon whether I run or stay."

  "I won't leave you," the child said stubbornly.

  "You must. It is you they seek."

  The child Tzigone nodded. Somehow she had always known. But knowing wasn't the same as doing, and she could not bear to leave.

  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 tunnel opening in the tiled wall.

  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 uncanny dexterity.

  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.

  Beside an ancient swamp oak stood a translucent statue of a beautiful female, far too lovely to be human. The slender hand disappeared into the trunk of a thick tree, and the frozen face was upturned with the hopeful expression of one who expects sanctuary. This, Tzigone realized, had been a dryad. She took a deep breath and plunged on.

  As Tzigone walked, she saw other glassy forms of creatures suddenly drained of magic, and therefore of life. There were more dryads, and among the leaves, she saw the tiny fallen bodies of sprites and pixies, many of them nothing but shards. She saw a single faun frozen in midcaper and more elves than she'd seen in all her travels through Halruaa.

  She'd seen one of these crystal shadows before and had thought that only elves could suffer this fate. But the lie was all around her. All magical creatures fell to the mystery of the swamp. No wonder wizards seldom emerged from Akhlaur!

  A voice in her head sounded, part warning and part taunt. This could be you.

  Tzigone blinked away the phantom image of her own glassy shadow and plunged deeper into the swamp.

  Chapter Twenty

  Matteo and Andris walked side by side, talking softly of all they had done since they'd parted and of the task that lay before them. Try as he might, Matteo hadn't been able to convince Andris to flee the swamp. He couldn't walk away and let his friend fight alone.

  But his decision to stay went deeper still. Matteo had been raised with a firm sense of his own destiny. That had been sorely shaken. Lacking a vision of his own, he accepted the one shining in his friend's eyes. He would fight the laraken for Andris, not for Kiva. And when the battle was done, he would find a way to deal with the magehound.

  An undulating cry howled through the forest, a terrible sound that was both deep, bone-shaking growl and raptor's shriek. Distant but powerful, it reminded Matteo of the winds that blew off the Bay of Taertal before the onset of a monsoon.

  Matteo and Andris unsheathed their daggers instinctively, moving in perfect unison.

  "It is still some way off," Andris said softly.

  Matteo nodded. As he put away the daggers, an annoying little whine sounded just above his head. Instinctively he swatted at it, then realized his mistake and dropped to the ground, shouting for the other men to do the same.

  A dark, whirring cloud swept down on them, moving in deadly formation. The cloud dived sharply, and then at the last moment swerved in a rising arc to keep from crashing into the ground.

  "A surge swarm?" muttered Andris. "What next?"

  Angry and cheated, the swarm of mosquitolike creatures broke formation and began to whir around in small circles as they selected their prey.

  Matteo groped for the thong that bound the four-foot pike to his back. He tugged it free and surged to his feet, thrusting at the stirge that swooped toward him.

  The enormous insect slid wetly down the slender blade, its slide aided by the blood it had stolen from some hapless forest dweller. The stirge stopped only when it struck the pike's cross guard. Its long mosquitolike snout still stabbed and probed, even as it twitched in its death throes.

  Matteo ducked and thrust and stabbed again and again, until the skewered bodies of giant mosquitoes filled half his pike and slowed his movements. He tossed the weapon aside and pulled his daggers, slashing at any of the creatures that came near.

  The men fought furiously, and soon they were joined by unlikely allies-the stirges themselves. Desperate for food, some of the giant insects fell upon their fallen kin and thrust their swordlike snouts into their rounded bellies. Macabre little tunes, the stirge song hummed by the feeding monsters, filled the air as the creatures drank the twice-stolen blood.

  Their traitorous behavior disgusted Matteo. He fell upon the cannibals, slashing and stabbing until the stirge song faded into silence and the bodies lay thick upon the ground.

  Andris waded over to him through the grim carpet. "Big swarm. Even so, they had to be desperate to attack an armed band."

  Matteo nodded. He stooped by one of the men, a young jordain he recognized but whose name he had never known. The man had been bitten two or three times. He was as pale as a man drained by vampires. A pike lay nearby, heavy with skewered stirges. Another stirge lay dead beside him, leaking ichor from a gaping hole in its head where the snout had been. This protruded from the man's chest. He had torn it away when he ripped the giant insect from him, but not quickly enough. Blood had bubbled from the top of the tube, but the flow was stilled now.

  Andris stooped and gently closed the man's eyes. He rose and motioned for the others to follow. The ground grew soft beneath their feet, a
nd soon bog gave way to shallow water. They waded through it, moving into the deep shadows of moss-draped trees.

  Matteo bumped against someone and stopped suddenly, instinctively putting out his hand to steady whomever he'd jostled. He felt a deathly chill and snatched his hand back. Squinting in the faint light, he made out the glassy shadow of an elf. Behind the crystalline form was another elf, and as his eyes adjusted, he made out several more. Matteo would have thought them to be clever statues but for the incredible cold within.

  "I'm beginning to see why Tzigone warned you away from the swamp," he told Andris, shaking his head in awe. "By all the gods that ever were! This laraken is no ordinary monster."

  "Since when did monsters become ordinary?" Andris said with an attempt at lightness. But his eyes were pained as he took in the ghostly shadows. "Let's keep moving."

  The swamp water grew steadily deeper, the shallows unexpected giving way to sudden dangerous drops and deep pools. As they skirted one such pool, Matteo thought he saw the crenellations of a vast sunken tower, but he couldn't fathom a valley deep enough to swallow such a thing.

  As he studied the towerlike shape, the water stirred. Before he could draw breath to shout a warning, a figure rose suddenly from the water, and of the water.

  Shaped more like a giant bear than a human, its form was dark and brackish, and small fierce fish schooled frantically within the watery body.

  Matteo shouted an alert and pointed to the magical creature. "Water elemental!"

  For a moment the fighters paused. Such creatures were fought with spells and weapons of magic, and they had none.

  Andris pulled a small bottle from his bag and shouted a command. Matteo quickly lit a torch and waited until Andris and several others had tossed the contents of their bottles into the fetid water.