The Floodgate

Chapter Ten

After the raid upon the Lady's Mirror, Andris and Kiva headed north, following rough, barely discernable paths rather than trade routes. They traveled alone, for none of the Mhair's elves would have anything more to do with Kiva.

One elf had been badly burned and would always bear scars. Several more sustained wounds from sword or spell. None had died, though, and they carried a rich treasure back into the Mhair. Kiva had assured them that this magical treasure would restore her wizardly power and prepare her to defeat Akhlaur.

Even so, the elf leader had bidden them farewell that very night, firmly and in a manner than left no room for argument. Kiva did not seem unduly troubled by this rejection, though she did secure the elves' promise to care for the wounded and displaced undine. To Andris's eyes, they were offended that she thought it necessary to ask.

They'd walked until they found a remote farm village. A few coins from the temple's treasury had purchased them horses and travel supplies. As they rode, Kiva studied the spellbooks constantly and frantically, her lips moving as she practiced one spell after another. Each night when they stopped to rest the horses, she would test small cantrips: summoning lights, igniting small fires-things Halruaan children could do.

Never had Andris seen such fierce, absolute focus. He knew wizards and their ways, but had no idea that magic could be acquired so fast. The effort was costly. Kiva aged swiftly and visibly, as if she were trading her life-force for another sort of magic. Step by hurried step, like an infant determined to compress an entire childhood into a single day, she pressed through the books and scrolls.

For several days they skirted the mountains, moving steadily north and then east. The way became rougher and more dangerous as they went. Each day Andris pressed Kiva for answers about their destination and their purpose. She ignored him until finally his importuning ignited her temper. Raising furious golden eyes from the page, she flung out one hand. Gouts of flame flashed toward him.

Instinctively Andris ducked-not away from the flame, but toward it. He lunged between the flame and the horse's neck, barely clinging to the saddle as he protected his vulnerable steed.

The arcane missile caught his shoulder and sizzled off, dissipated into smoke. Andris felt the impact but not the heat The jolt knocked him from his uncertain perch. He hit the rock-strewn ground and rolled away from his unnerved horse. Andris rose and glared at the elf. "What was that for?"

"Practice," she responded with a cool smile.

He captured the horse's reins, then hauled himself into the saddle. He was reaching into his bag for a salve when a sudden movement caught his eye. He looked up, and reached for his sword instead.

A steep cliff rose along the path. Up ahead, not more than a dozen paces, was a shallow cave. Shadows collected there like rainwater in a ditch, but the shadows breathed, and moved, and came forward to claim substance. The battle-trained jordain's mouth went dry.

Three warriors, deadly females armed with curved swords and spiked flails, paced steadily toward them. All were tall, beautifully formed, and formidably muscled. Аll wore leather armor, all had wild mops of curly gray hair and large almond-shaped eyes in angular faces the color of smoke.

"Crinti!" he shouted as he drew his sword. He reached out to slap the flat of it against the flank of Kiva's steed, hoping the horse would run and carry the elf to safety.

The horse merely snuffled indignantly. Kiva glanced at the shadowy trio, then back at Andris. "So they are. Greetings, Shanair," she called out.

To Andris's astonishment, all three warriors dropped to one knee before Kiva. The tallest elf balled her right fist and pounded it once against her left shoulder.

"Shanair reports," she said in a curiously harsh, sibilant voice. "The foothills are ours, the treasure is great."

"What of the gate?" Kiva said anxiously.

In response, Shanair removed a leather thong from around her neck and held it up for inspection. A dozen bone-colored objects hung from it, long and curved and as barbed as fishhooks. After a moment Andris realized that they were talons.

"When the Crinti guard," Shanair said with fierce pride, "nothing passes."

Kiva slid down from her mount and accepted the gruesome tribute. For a long moment she studied it with an unreadable face. Andris watched as the ghost of a smile touched her lips, and the unmistakable light of battle lit her amber eyes. What that meant, he could not begin to say.

She gestured for the three Crinti to rise. "Nothing passes," she echoed, then she smiled and added, "Nothing we elves cannot handle."

The Crinti leader threw back her head and laughed with wild joy. She threw her arms around Kiva, nearly crushing the delicate elf in her strong embrace.

"Come, elf-sister," she said when they fell apart. "My warriors and I will take you to the floodgate."

Throughout that morning, Procopio Septus received supplicants, read reports-many of which brought disturbing news from diverse corners of the land-and presided over meetings. However, his recent conversation with Matteo insistently played through his mind.

When the sunsleep hours put a halt to city business, Procopio returned to his tower to send a message to Ymani Gold, a priest of Azuth.

The diviner locked and warded the door of his most private room and settled into a comfortable chair. He began the chant that would put him deep into a wizard's trance and send his sentient image to the priest's study.

Procopio's vision went black, then slowly brightened into swirling gray mist. The scene took on shape and substance, if not color, and settled into an austere chamber suitable to an Azuthan priest.

The entire room was a study in gray. Cedar paneled the walls, aged to a silvery sheen. The writing table was carved from somber marble, the chairs padded with smoke-colored silk. Even the carpet was patterned in shades of gray. Procopio noted, however, that it was a fine Calimshan carpet, a work of art that would cost most men a year's wages.

Ymani Gold sat behind his table, absently decimating a pile of sugared figs as he read a messenger's scroll. His plump hand moved steadily between plate and mouth, and the plodding movements of his jaw brought to Procopio's mind the image of a cud-chewing rothe cow. The priest was not yet in midlife, but his bulbous nose was a map of broken veins, and deeply shadowed skin sagged in tired crescents beneath his eyes. He wore beautifully embroidered gray silk, cut in flowing layers to conceal his bulk. In short, Ymani Gold was visibly fond of fine things. Procopio knew of other, less readily apparent indulgences. Since a priest's wages could hardly begin to satisfy Ymani's various appetites, Procopio found that Ymani was quite willing to serve the lord mayor of Halarahh-for a price.

Procopio quickly cast a spell of divination, hoping to 11 the scroll's message from Ymani's mind before the priest discerned his presence. The pilfered news startled an involuntary gasp from him, which he covered by pointedly clearing his throat.

Ymani Gold leaped to his feet, noisily upending his chair. The befuddlement on his face would have cheered Procopio considerably, had not the stolen information been so grim.

"Greetings, priest, and peace to this house. I pledge not to work any magic within these walls unbidden." Any further magic, he added silently.

Ymani gathered his composure and settled back in his chair. "Lord Procopio," he said in a fluting, nasal tenor. "What brings so great an honor to my door?"

Procopio arranged himself in room's best chair before speaking. "We have a mutual problem. Kiva the magehound has escaped."

The priest blinked in surprise. A flicker of suspicion crossed his face. "You are well informed. I just learned of this myself."

Procopio reasoned that the best way to cover one misdeed was to focus upon another. "It is difficult to hide such matters from a diviner, although the church of Azuth has certainly tried."

"Apparently we have not done well enough, if you learned of it." A sour expression crossed his face. "Don't bother telling me what a powerful diviner you are, how nothing is hidden from you. The truth, now! How did you come by this knowledge?"

"I had a visit from a jordain who was once in my service, a youth known as Matteo."

Ymani's eyes took on a malicious gleam. "I have heard that name. His masters call him a shining example of everything his breed purports to be. They claimed that since he was instructed to keep his counsel on this matter, he would never speak of it. It is gratifying to know that such a paragon is capable of indiscretion and that the so-called jordaini masters are as fallible as other men."

"The jordaini masters were more right about this than they know," the wizard grumbled. "Matteo is persistent, dedicated, and honorable."

The priest narrowed his eyes. "Am I to conclude that you have some power over this jordain that enabled you to divine this news from him?"

Procopio saw where this was going. "An unsound conclusion."

Undaunted, the priest continued. "Only the inquisitors of Azuth have the ability to enter a jordaini mind. You may have promise. If you'd like to apply as a temple acolyte, I would sponsor your petition."

The diviner let Ymani have his fun but noted the price of it for later reckoning. "The question remains: What's to be done about Kiva?"

The priest's smirk faded. He helped himself to another fig. "This is a grave matter but not the usual province of Halarahh's lord mayor."

"I have a personal stake in this," the wizard said bluntly. "An elf jordain in my employ was in league with the traitor. I do not appreciate any stain upon my name, however small. I intend to see that the elf woman does nothing that might cause this stain to spread."

"Most understandable. What would you have me do?"

"I want the magehound who examined Kiva before her escape. Bring him to Halarahh on some pretext, and I will take from his mind the details of his findings. Perhaps some small bit of information might be a trail marker."

"If such existed, surely my fellow Azuthans would have found and followed it," Ymani protested. "Partisanship aside, such spells are hideously illegal. I cannot be part of this!"

The wizard sniffed. "The Azuthans let a traitor to king and country slip between their fingers. Worse, you kept silent, valuing your reputation over the security of the land. You and I stand aboard the same skyship, my friend. We fly or fall together. Find a way to bring this man to me, and soon."

"You are most persuasive. Of course, I will do what I can." Ymani lifted one hand and formed the Azuthan blessing.

Usually Procopio would be insulted by so blatant a dismissal, but he had already spent too much time on the fat priest. He eased himself away from his projected image, pulling back along the threads of magic to his tower.

Procopio returned to his spell chamber to a body grown painfully stiff and chilled. Cursing himself for tarrying too long, he struggled from his chair and shuffled over to the hearth like a toothless old peasant. A quick spell conjured a blaze, and he chafed his icy hands as he considered the problem before him.

Kiva's disappearance cast a grim light upon other, recent events. Just this morning he'd received word of the raid on the Lady's Mirror. There were no survivors, but magical inquiry revealed that the attackers were wild elves. The Mhair savages had kept to their forests for over five human generations. Penalties for breaking the treaty would be harsh. Something unusual-or someone powerful and persuasive-must have urged the elves into this suicidal course. Elves scorned other races, so most likely their leader was one of their own kind. Yet who but a Halruaan-trained wizard knew the value of the stolen books and scrolls? The best use the elves could make of them would be to rip them up for privy conveniences, and Mystra knew they had leaves aplenty for that purpose! By Procopio's reckoning, the person behind the raid was a wild elf and a wizard, someone who had an urgent need of magic, someone with very little to lose.

In short, Kiva. The thought that a former magehound possessed the treasures of the Lady's Mirror and the possible uses she could make of this magic made Procopio's mind spin.

He considered the reports of raids upon isolated monasteries and towers and caravans. The hills were always plagued by bandits, and it was generally accepted that these were random events, but what if they were not? Kiva had spent years quietly building an army of magic-resistant warriors for her assault on Akhlaur's Swamp. What if she had also been stockpiling magical treasure? The result would be a staggering fortune, as well as more magical fire-power than most northern mages might see throughout a lifetime and a lichdom. What could one malevolent and undoubtedly insane elf wench do with such power?

It was a chilling thought.

It was also purest speculation, but Procopio was a diviner, and he felt the familiar prickle of premonition. Even if he were not correct in all the particulars, he was certain something dire was afoot.

He hurried up to Zephyr's spartan room and flashed through the gestures of a seek-magic spell. No telltale azure glow resulted. Irritated, he doubled the power of his casting with no more success.

The wizard spun to stalk from the bedchamber. He was almost to the door when he saw threads of blue light outlining a portion of the wooden floor.

Excited now, he dropped to his knees and took a fine-bladed knife from his belt. He slipped it into the glowing crack and pried up a trapdoor. In a compartment beneath was a small crystal globe.

"Blessed be Mystra," he breathed as he lifted the sphere. It was a scrying globe, of a sort used for private communication. Even a commoner or a magic-dead jordain could use such globes, which were attuned to one person and required no more magic than a touch. Surely this was Zephyr's link to Kiva!

Procopio cupped the globe in his hands. He cleared his mind and quieted his heart. Few diviners had achieved his level of skill, but men such as he could perceive the magic that clung to certain objects like scent to a flower. He listened for the faint echoes of the attunement spell with wizard-trained senses as keen as a hunting hound's nose.

A triumphant smile curved his lips when the spell was his. He quickly chanted the words and gazed deeply, expectantly, into the globe.

Clouds gathered deep within the crystal and swirled about like wheeling gulls, but they did not part to reveal an elf face. The magic was there, of that Procopio had no doubt, and the message sent, but there was no magic on the other end to complete the link.

Bitter disappointment assailed the wizard. Of course Kiva would not answer! If she had brought the twin to Zephyr's globe into the swamp, the magic would have gone to feed the laraken. By all reports, she had been stripped of wizardly spells. She possessed no more power than a human toddler. Procopio considered the magical items taken from the Lady's Mirror and the use that Kiva might make of them. The elf would learn quickly. Meanwhile, he had other inquiries to make, even riskier than speech with a treacherous elf.

Returning to his study, Procopio unlocked a hidden cabinet and took from it an exquisite bottle of transparent green glass. Within it was a luxurious room, and a tiny woman in the garb of a Calimshan harem girl.

The wizard took a bit of parchment and scratched a few runes. He rolled it into a small scroll, uncorked the bottle, and dropped it in. As it fell, it shrank to the scale of the room.

The tiny woman picked up the scroll and unrolled it Her head went back in a burst of delighted laughter, and she disappeared in a burst of glowing smoke.

Procopio removed a golden ring from the neck of the bottle, which he firmly re-corked. He slipped the ring onto his finger and closed his eyes.

The scent of anise and sandalwood and roses filled the air. Procopio opened his eyes to find himself in a world filled with green light. The bottle was not the abode of a genie servant but a window into another dimension, one Procopio had spent long years creating. The «genie» was actually a courtesan with a small talent for magic and a powerful hunger for adventure. She relished the challenge of luring men into this world at Procopio's behest.

He poured himself a goblet of fruit nectar and settled down to await his guest. Perhaps an hour passed before mist began to rise like steam from the silk cushions heaped in a curtained alcove. The mist intensified, taking the form of a portly, black-bearded man entwined with Procopio's servant.

The wizard cleared his throat. His «guest» sat up abruptly, eyes wide as he took in his new surroundings. The woman disentangled herself, adjusted her veils, and glided out into the garden.

"Greetings, Ameer Tukephremo," Procopio said. "This is indeed an occasion. I seldom have occasion to entertain a wizard of Mulhorand."

The wizard gathered himself and brushed aside the curtain, adjusting the belt of his robe as he stood. "What is this place?"

Procopio nodded his approval. "Not where, but what. This is a dimensional portal, my good man, a plane unknown to all but the greatest masters of the Art."

"Ah." The bearded wizard smiled thinly. "By the accent and the modesty of your speech, I know you as a Halruaan. May I also know your name?"

"It is better you do not. Would you care for a refreshment?"

"Most gracious of you."

Procopio gestured, and porcelain cups appeared, suspended in the air. Fragrant steam rose in delicate wisps.

The Mulhorandi took a sip. "Green tea with honey and ginger, and something more…"

"Haerlu brandy. A fine Halruaan spirit."

"Exceptional."

They sipped and exchanged pleasantries for several moments before Ameer got down to business. "You did not invite me into your home. In my land, this would be considered an insult."

"In my land, it would be considered a crime," the Halruaan countered. "My fellow wizard-lords frown upon the idea of consorting with a Mulhorandi wizard."

Ameer let loose a burst of belly-shaking laughter. "Frown on it? They would cut you down like a rabid dog! You take large risks to deal with me. You must expect a large reward."

Not from you, Procopio noted silently, carefully masking his distaste at the Mulhorandi's smug expression. The man was clearly delighted that a Halruaan wizard would come to him for anything. Procopio's countrymen scorned the magic of their eastern neighbors as hardly worthy of notice.

That attitude was precisely what Procopio was counting on.

"You Mulhorandi have spells of cloaking to keep others from prying into your affairs. Some of these spells require materials not available in Halruaa."

The man blinked and set his cup down with a sharp click. "If you know so much, these cloaking spells are not as good as yours."

"We know of them. There is a difference."

Understanding began to dawn in Ameer's eyes, and a sly smile curved his lips. "You wish to hide some of your activities from your fellow wizards. A spell cast with materials unique to Mulhorand, a family spell treasured from one generation to the next, would accomplish this. Do you know what is needed for such a spell?"

"The finely ground remains of a mummified Mulhorandi wizard. Preferably an ancestor."

Ameer nodded solemnly. He placed his hand, fingers splayed, over his heart in a dramatic gesture. "You ask much of me, Halruaan. What price should a man put upon his heritage? Upon the sacred honor of his ancestors?"

"What price would you pay for a Halruaan spellbook?" Procopio countered.

The wizard's hand unconsciously fisted, crushing the embroidered silk of his robe. "You would sell me Halruaan secrets? That would be death to you!"

"I do not intend to sell you Halruaan magic. What I will do is enhance the meager spell you give me. I will alter it, give it the weight and power and authority of Halruaan cloaking magic and use it to place a second, secret ward upon Halruaa's eastern boundaries."

Since his guest still looked dubious, Procopio led the way to a curtained alcove. He pulled back the silk draperies to reveal a large, oval window. On the other side was a bedchamber resembling a rose garden in full bloom. Pink silks swathed the windows and covered the vast bed, upon which sprawled a raven-haired woman. A large wine bottle lay on its side on the low table nearby, as well as a pair of goblets.

Procopio clicked his tongue reprovingly. "It would appear that Miohari had yet another late night. Even so, it is time she awoke." He tapped sharply on the glass.

The woman stirred and sat up, looking around muzzily. After a moment she shrugged and rose. She came over to the window and sat in a small chair that faced it. Picking up a pot of tinted ointment from the small table before her, she leaned forward and began to daub at her face. There was no sign that she saw the two men, though to all appearances she was but a hand's breadth from them.

"A former mistress," Procopio said negligently. "Beautiful but not gifted in the Art. To her the portal is but a gilded mirror. She sees only what she expects to see. But you and I perceive both the magic and the reality beyond."

"Fascinating," Ameer murmured. His black eyes shifted from the lovely woman to his host. "You make your point well, my lord Halruaan."

"The wizards of Halruaa will see what they expect to see. What actually goes on beyond the Eastern Wall is entirely up to you. I will be aware of it, of course, but I will keep my own counsel until I see fit."

"You would compromise the security of your own borders?" the Mulhorandi said wonderingly.

Procopio's laughter was tinged with scorn. "Oh, I think we will survive whatever you may bring against us!"

"Then why do this thing?"

"It is quite simple. Our king, Zalathorm, rose to power as a battle wizard, and he kept his throne these many years because he foresaw and averted every major threat since that day."

"Ah! Who knows what might happen if he should miss a threat and another wizard does not?" Ameer said shrewdly.

The diviner spread his hands, palms up, in a parody of modest disclaimer. "Who am I to say what will be? History has seasons that fade and then return."

The Mulhorandi nodded and lifted one hand in an absentminded gesture. A smoking pipe appeared in the air beside him. He took it up and sucked thoughtfully for a moment, then blew several rings of smoke-rings that encircled elaborate, rune-marked designs. No doubt they were minor spells of some sort, probably to veil his thoughts and intentions. The technique was interesting, the diversion subtle, but Procopio had little inclination to learn the trick. He could blow smoke in a rival's face without blackening his own teeth or shortening his breath.

"I am not completely unfamiliar with your history," Ameer said at last "I know that all who have attacked Halruaa have been defeated."

"Victory and defeat are not absolute terms. Come."

Procopio led his guest to a side room, which held a gaming table similar to those housed in his villa, a detailed landscape in miniature with jagged mountains and rock-strewn passes. He drew a wand from his sleeve and tapped the edge of the table. Drawers flew open along all four sides. Out leaped hundreds of tiny, magically animated toys: foot soldiers, cavalry, griffon riders, and even a trio of tiny wizards buzzing about upon flying carpets. Ameer grinned like a lad beholding a wondrous new toy.

'This is a reenactment of the battle of Starsnake Pass," Procopio said. "Watch and learn."

The tiny figures threw themselves into warfare. Sparks danced in the air above the battlefield as spells were hurled, and a miniature river ran red as charging troops went down under a storm of pin-sized arrows.

"Those are Crinti!" Ameer exclaimed, pointing to a wave of tiny, mounted warriors thundering into the valley.

"These as well," the diviner said as he reached over and took the top from a mountain. Inside was a maze of caves and passages. A band of warriors crept through, coming around behind the Halruaan nobles at the rear of the battle. The Crinti burst out from cover suddenly, and the slaughter that followed was swift and brutal. The shadow amazons fled as quickly as they came, carrying a treasure hoard of enchanted weapons and spell-filled artifacts.

Ameer smiled and nodded. "A clever move. They will win this game, I think."

"Yes, but not in the manner you might suppose. Watch."

The Crinti raiders ran back through the passages and emerged on the far side of the mountain, far from the battle. They mounted the horses tethered there and thundered off toward the grasslands of their barbarian homeland. Behind them, trapped in the steep-sided pass as they waited for reinforcements that would never come, their gray-skinned sisters died by the score at the hands of the Halruaan battle wizards.

When at last the scene was played out, Procopio tapped the table again. The still-moving figures melted away, leaving the battlefield eerily silent and littered with tiny corpses.

"Who remembers the foot soldiers who molder where they fall? It is the wizards, their spells, their legacy-these are the tales that fill the lorebooks."

An avaricious light began to dawn in the Mulhorandi's eyes. Encouraged, Procopio went on. "A single Halruaan spellbook would ensure your fame. Halruaan bards will sing of an invasion repelled. The Mulhorandi might sing of a daring raid. Amazing, how the same tale can be sung to many a tune."

Ameer took another long pull at his pipe before answering. "You think that I might stumble upon such a book?"

"Who can say?" Procopio said with a shrug. "The fortunes of war take curious turns."

It was all the confirmation the Mulhorandi expected to get. "I will get you the spell and the dust of my ancestors," he said. "You to your betrayal, me to mine. May Lady Mystra judge between us."

"Oh, come now," Procopio chided. "We are neither of us priests or paladins! Magic is not right or wrong: It simply is. We need not think of judgment, only of skill."

Ameer Tukephremo smiled grimly. "A comforting thought, I'm sure. For both our sakes, lord Halruaan, I hope you are right."