The Magehound

by Elaine Cunningham

  Suddenly the man reared up, shrieking like a banshee. Over him stood a grim-faced Tzigone, wielding the pitchfork like a triton.

  “He won’t be sitting for a while,” she said with satisfaction.

  Matteo pointed. “Behind you!”

  She whirled to face the first man. He had a small ax raised for a killing blow.

  Tzigone dropped the pitchfork and gestured sharply. The ax handle burst into flame—or so it appeared. Matteo recognized the spell as a simple globe of light, although the leaping red “flames” were far more impressive than the child’s toys that half of Halruaa could summon.

  The farmer dropped the weapon and backed away. Tzigone stooped and picked it up. The wizard fire darted along her arm, swiftly outlining her entire form in flame. Her hair exploded into crimson flumes that writhed like the snakes of a tormented medusa.

  With a sound very much like a drowning man swallowing water, the farmer turned and fled from the terrifying figure.

  Tzigone’s fire disappeared like a snuffed candle, leaving her unscathed but for a tiny smudge on her nose. She caught Matteo’s eye and shrugged self-consciously.

  “Bullies are cowards,” she said, dismissing what she had done.

  “True enough, but that doesn’t make your display the less impressive. If I were able to move, I might not be far behind him,” Matteo said dryly. He painfully rose into a sitting position.

  “You’re no coward,” she said staunchly. “And not that much of a fool, either. You just need to remember to check for ticks, so to speak.”

  She moved behind him and tugged up the hem of his tunic. A long, low whistle escaped her. “You’ll be several shades of purple by morning, but there doesn’t look to be lasting damage.” She ran her fingers lightly over his back. “The club hit here, to the left of the spine. That’s good. He got a shot to the kidney, which isn’t good. Hurts like all Nine Hells.”

  She dropped the tunic back into place and leaned forward to peer into his face. “I always seem to be picking up after you,” she said. She silenced Matteo’s ready rejoinder with an upraised hand, her suddenly subdued expression letting him know that she realized that she had caused him more grief that she intended.

  “Thank for you for coming after me. I owe—”

  He stopped her by placing his hand over her lips. “No more talk of debts between us,” he said firmly. “No distractions. We have to do everything we can to find and stop Kiva.” Tzigone nodded and pushed Mateo’s hand aside.

  “Finding her isn’t going to be the problem. Does it seem to you that Kiva seems a bit too easy to track?”

  “She wants to be found,” Matteo reasoned. “She is luring us. If she were simply doing her duty, I could understand why she wished to entrap you. But there is something more happening here. I have a feeling that she has a purpose for us both. Why else would she free me from the hold or send a message that would bring me to Cassia’s chambers?”

  “You’re a good fighter. Maybe she wanted to add you to her army.”

  Matteo perked up. “Army? What army?”

  “I’ll show you.” She extended a hand and helped him to his feet. They both mounted Cyric the Second and rode to the edges of the swamp. By then Matteo felt able to walk without much pain, and he followed her as they crept through the moss-hung trees.

  She stopped him with a silent gesture and carefully parted a curtain of vines.

  There, in utter silence, was a training field reminiscent of his days at the Jordaini College. Over a hundred men practiced with weapons of steel and wood and bone, yet there was no sound of impact, no grunts of exertion.

  Matteo marveled to see jordaini routines practiced under a magical shroud of silence. He would have sooner expected snow in midsummer.

  His gaze skimmed the crowd and came to rest on a tall auburn man. His disbelieving eyes widened, and he couldn’t quite suppress a gasp of astonishment.

  Tzigone sent him a quizzical look.

  “That tall man,” he said quietly, pointing. “He is very like my friend Andris.” A terrible thought occurred to him. “Or an undead creature that was once Andris! I saw the wemic kill him the very day we met.”

  He spoke softly, just above a whisper, and then fell silent. But some magical ward captured his words and repeated them in an echo that thrummed through the forest.

  The fighters stopped and turned toward their hiding place, weapons leveled.

  But Andris’s face broke into a joyful grin. He made a quick, impatient gesture, as if he were tearing aside an insect netting. “Trust your eyes, my friend,” he said in a clear, carrying voice. “I’m alive and well and happier than I’ve ever been! Come into camp, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “It’s a trap,” Tzigone said flatly.

  Matteo hesitated, uncertain whether to believe what his eyes told him. “Andris was my dearest friend. I can’t walk away from him without a word. I’ll understand if you don’t wish to follow me, but I must go.”

  She thought this over and shrugged. Matteo stepped out into the clearing. After a moment, he heard Tzigone’s light step behind him.

  Andris strode to meet him, and the friends fell into a back-thumping embrace. Finally Matteo put Andris out at arms’ length and regarded him. Andris had gained color from much time in the sun, as well as a bit more muscle on his lean frame.

  “You’re looking remarkably well for a dead man.”

  Genuine regret crossed the man’s face. “My ‘death’ was a ruse to bring me to this cause. I have often wished I could send you word, but doing so would compromise the coming battle.”

  “Battle?” Matteo said incredulously. “Here, in this foul swamp? Andris, what are you thinking? How many people have survived Akhlaur? Do you have any idea what you’re going up against?”

  “A laraken,” the man said easily. “It is a creature that drains magic. But none of these men possess any magical ability or weapons. We fight as jordaini fight against wizards, with wits and weapons.”

  “Wits and weapons?” echoed Tzigone. She strode over to Andris and eyed the daggers strapped to his side. “Hmm. Weapons. Looks like you’re half right”

  Andris lifted an eyebrow and glanced inquiringly at Matteo.

  “This is Tzigone,” he said simply. “Lured here by Kiva. Believe me, the laraken is not your only foe.”

  “Kiva is no foe,” Andris said quietly. “I lead these men, but I follow the elf woman.”

  “Andris, there are things that Kiva hasn’t told you. There are things about her that you don’t know.”

  “No doubt. Can you claim to know every secret of the wizards you have served?”

  “I’m reasonably sure that neither of them murdered Cassia,” Matteo said sharply.

  His friend’s expression turned grave. “Cassia dead, at Kiva’s hand? Are you certain of this? Beyond doubt? Has Kiva been magically tested?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then wait until that time to make accusations. Kiva has been traveling with us for many days. We have never gone to the city of Halarahh. She could not have killed Cassia.”

  Tzigone rolled her eyes. “Kiva’s a wizard, isn’t she? Do you think her fastest means of travel is a good horse or a quick ship?”

  Andris considered this, then shrugged and turned back to Matteo. “Let me tell you what we plan to do. Listen to what Kiva has done, what she wishes to accomplish, before you judge her.”

  “I can’t think of much that would justify taking these men into Akhlaur! This is not a fight you can win.”

  “We won in Kilmaruu,” Andris stated. “We resolved the Kilmaruu Paradox, just as I told you.”

  Matteo stared at him. “So that’s why Kiva took you. But how could she know of your studies of Kilmaruu? Did you tell anyone other than me and the jordaini masters?”

  “No one.”

  “Then how did she know?”

  Both men fell silent as they considered this disturbing puzzle.


  “I can answer that,” Tzigone said with obvious reluctance. “You told the jordaini masters, right? Well, there you go. One of them passed information along to Kiva.”

  “That’s impossible,” Andris said flatly.

  “A year ago, I would have agreed,” Matteo said, his face thoughtful and troubled. He turned to Tzigone. “Are you suggesting a possibility, or do you know this for truth?”

  Tzigone squirmed. “Let’s say that maybe one of the masters has a secret he’d just as soon not hear spoken aloud. Kiva knows this secret, and she trades silence for information. She wanted a battlemaster, right? Who were her best choices?”

  “Andris and I stood nearly equal in most of our studies,” Matteo said.

  “Well, that explains why Kiva chose Andris. I’m guessing the master gave up without a word of protest. He probably figured better Andris than you.”

  “What is this secret?” Matteo said quietly.

  She was silent for a long moment “Knowing what you do, how would you respond if you knew that one of your jordaini masters was your true father? How long before you ferreted out the secrets of the jordaini class, before you found your mother? And how long before your brothers started similar searches? The entire order would be in, well, disorder.”

  Matteo considered this. “One of my masters sired me. And the woman you showed me. She was in fact my mother?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded, his face set and grim. “Then the wizard had reason to keep his secret. I would have killed him for what was done to her. I may still. You know his name, don’t you?”

  Tzigone hesitated, then shook her head. “I’ve always searched for my mother. When I saw your lineage, my eye went right to your mother’s name. I read everything written about her, but I paid scant attention to the father’s information. He’s a wizard at the Jordaini College, that’s all I know for sure.”

  Andris listened to this exchange with an increasingly incredulous expression. “Matteo, this is absurd! Surely you don’t believe this boy’s tall tales! The jordaini order has come to a sad state when the lads give in to open falsehood.”

  “Watch who you’re calling a jordain!” Tzigone fumed, jabbing her forefinger into Andris’s chest. “Don’t start with me, unless you want to hear a few things about yourself that you won’t like knowing.”

  Despite himself, the tall man looked intrigued. “A jordain’s ancestry is not important.”

  “You look real convinced of that,” she said dryly. “So let’s leave it at this: You’re elf-blooded. It’s back a few generations, but trust me, it’s there.”

  Andris stared at her as if she’d run a sword through his gut. Matteo sighed and turned to Tzigone, who had apparently forgotten that she was wearing the “borrowed” vestments of the jordaini order. “Was that really necessary?”

  “I’ve been into the swamp,” she said grimly. “Not far into it, but far enough. Trust me, it’s necessary. No one with a drop of elf blood ought to go near that place.”

  “To the contrary,” Andris said softly. “I have even better reason now than I did before.”

  Tzigone huffed and threw up her hands. “You try to do the right thing, and who listens?”

  Andris draped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “We are doing a great thing here. I hope you’ll choose to join us.”

  They turned to watch the fighters, who had resumed their training. As Matteo studied the group, he recognized a number of men from his school, students who, at a very young age, had been found unsuitable for a jordain’s life and released from service. Also among them were two or three men who had been condemned by the magehound as magic-tainted. Yet they had fought with passion and pride, preparing to serve the elf woman who had destroyed their lives.

  “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, and 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 ela
borately 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 Tekurah 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.