The Floodgate

Chapter Thirteen

Andris sat alone beyond the light of the campfires, watching in disbelief as Kiva gleefully received the treasure the Crinti bandits had gathered for her. She lifted a moonstone globe in both hands, cooing over it like a fond young mother admiring her babe.

Sternly Andris reminded himself of the importance of their quest. The Cabal was a rot at the very heart of Halruaa. He had to destroy it, not only because of his elf heritage but because he was still a jordain, sworn to serve Halruaa. Kiva was his only ally, his only chance to right this wrong.

All this he told himself. The phrases were as well practiced as a priest's sunrise chants. Unlike the Azuthan prayers, though, his silent words seemed hollow and false.

He watched the Crinti shower the elf woman with pilfered wealth and grisly trophies. They were particularly proud of a huge skull that looked a bit like a giant sahuagin. Their demeanor was oddly like that of children who courted a parent's approval but did not expect to get it.

Andris understood all too well that elves shunned and disdained those of mixed blood. Kiva exploited this fact. The simple gift of her presence made her a queen among the Crinti, and her feigned acceptance they embraced as a longed-for sisterhood. They were deceived by Kiva because they wanted to believe.

How well, he wondered, did that also describe him?

Kiva, enthroned on a fur-draped rock near the campfire, was vaguely aware of Andris's unease, but she was too absorbed in her new treasure to spare much concern. The scrying globe particularly pleased her. She stroked the moonstone, attuning it to her personal power.

Shanair watched with a proud smile. "It is enough?"

"It's a wonderful treasure," Kiva assured her. "I will require some time to explore it."

The Crinti gestured toward the massive skull. "This was fine sport. Will more of these come through the floodgate?"

Andris sat up abruptly, startled by the implication of Shanair's words. His gaze shot toward the trophy. Firelight danced along the ridges and hollows, making the fanged jaws gleam like a demon's snarl. It was not a sahuagin nor any creature known to his world!

"The gate will open in time," Kiva assured her. "This monster is just a taste of what will come."

Andris leaped to his feet and strode forward. Five Crinti blades halted his progress. Five gray-faced warriors regarded him with searing blue eyes, like small flames amid the ash.

"Kiva has not called for you," one of them said, eyeing Andris as if he were something she had just scraped off her boot. "Know your place, and return to it."

"Let him speak," Kiva decreed.

Andris brushed his way past the warriors and crouched at Kiva's side. Leaning in close so that the watchful Crinti could not hear his words, he said urgently, "You cannot mean to open the gate. The Cabal must be destroyed, but not all Halruaa with it!"

The elf's golden eyes narrowed and burned. "Need I remind you of the elf city in the Kilmaruu Swamp, drowned by the wizard Akhlaur and two of his cohorts? If Halarahh sank beneath sea and swampland, would you call that an injustice?"

"Is that your intent?"

Kiva was silent for a moment. "No," she said softly. "Justice demands that the wizards pay for what they have done. It does not demand that I destroy more of my ancestors' lands."

"Your friends seem to think otherwise."

She rose to her feet. "My friends honor their elf ancestors and destroy those who do not." Her voice rang out clear and strong, and her gaze included not just Andris but the battle-ready Crinti warriors.

Shanair caught the implication, and she looked at Andris with a bit more respect. "The male is elfblooded?"

"Would I deal with him if he were not?" Kiva retorted.

The bandit turned to her band and issued a sharp, guttural order. They put away their blades with obvious reluctance and returned to the campfire.

It occurred to Andris that Kiva was telling the Crinti what they expected to hear-as she had the forest elves and the jordaini who had fought for her in the swamps of Kilmaruu and Akhlaur. As, no doubt, she was doing with him. Andris was surprised at how painful this realization was. He thought himself well beyond the sting of betrayal and half-truths.

With difficulty he brought his attention back to the discussion of the floodgate. "When the time is right, we will unleash creatures that might even challenge Shanair," Kiva went on.

The Crinti's laugh rang with scorn at this notion, and anticipation lit her strange blue eyes. "May that day come soon, elf-sister! Tell us how to prepare."

"To begin with, you might want to improve your swimming skills."

The females shared a dark chuckle, and neither of them noticed that the ghostly human in their midst did not share their amusement.

Andris woke the next morning to the splashing of water and the thud and clash of weapons. He belted on his sword and followed the sound to a stream not far from the Crinti encampment.

Several of the elfbloods were training in water past their waists. He had perceived Kiva's comment about swimming as a jest, but apparently the Crinti were more literal of mind.

For a long time Andris stood on the banks watching the Crinti warriors. They were good-among the finest fighters he had ever seen-but weighted down by their leather armor and heavy weapons. The water stole their strength and halved their speed. In light of last night's revelation, that presented a serious problem.

The creature whose skull Shanair took would not be hampered by water or weapons. Andris had seen such a creature etched in a lore book detailing creatures from the Plane of Water. He had seen the laraken slip through the crack in the floodgate. He suspected that the slaughtered monster had been a response in kind. Last night, for the first time, Andris had begun to believe that Akhlaur was still alive. He doubted that the wizard's minions were limited to a single monster.

Perhaps the Crinti's precautions were not so far-fetched, after all.

Andris unbuckled his sword belt and hung it on a tree limb. He stripped off his tunic and trews, leaving only his linen undergarment He would fight better in water if he were completely naked, but given the Crinti attitude toward males, he saw little wisdom in presenting them with a convenient and obvious target.

He waded into the stream, armed with his jordaini daggers. One of the Crinti took note of him and elbowed a sister warrior, a well-fleshed woman who was by far the biggest of the lot. This woman snorted and called out an incomprehensible but clearly derisive comment.

Andris decided she would provide as good an example as any.

When he was yet a few paces away, he took a deep breath and dived toward the big Crinti and her sparring partner. His translucent form all but disappeared. The water began to roil frantically as the two women stabbed at their unseen foe. He held back out of reach until the right moment, then seized the gray hands that drove a sword into the water. He worked with the Crinti's movement, adding his strength to push the blade deep into the stream bed. The extra «help» threw the elf off balance. Andris kicked out hard, catching her leg just above the knee. He burst out of the water, dancing away in time to see the woman flop facedown into the water, her ample, leather-clad rump followed by her flailing boots.

"A breaching whale," Andris mocked. He turned to the downed woman's companion, who held her sword above the water in lunge position. "Next, I suppose, comes the narwhal."

The Crinti woman came on hard but did not anticipate the full impact of the water's resistance. Andris ducked under the water. He caught the woman by her hips, just under her center of balance, and pushed up hard as he rose. The precisely timed movement sent the Crinti into brief and impromptu flight. She splashed down and skimmed the water, like a leaping swordfish.

Andris spoke into ominous silence. "The whale and the narwhal are creatures I know. For the wise warrior, knowing comes before fighting."

The light broke over the big Crinti's wet, gray face. "You know the creatures of this water world?"

Andris gave a succinct description of the mantinarg, the creature whose skull Shanair had displayed with such pride.

The big Crinti nodded. "Yes, that is the beast we fought. Tell us of others."

The warriors gathered around as Andris told them what he knew. He started with tritons, powerful blue-skinned warriors with fins for feet. The Crinti scoffed at the idea of fighting against tridents, equating these pronged weapons with the pitiful defense mounted by human farmers. Andris fashioned a crude trident from a tree limb to prove them wrong. After he dropped three Crinti on their muscled backsides, the others were willing to take him seriously.

Andris slipped once again into the role of battle leader-showing the Crinti new attacks, offering suggestions to pairs of sparring warriors, keenly observing the strengths and limitations of his troops and building a battle strategy. After the intense inner conflict of the past few days, it was an enormous relief to be engaged in something he understood.

From a distance, Kiva watched with an approving smile. Andris, like the laraken, was proving useful beyond his original purpose. His elf heritage had nearly killed him in Akhlaur's swamp, yet it had welded him to her cause. He obviously struggled with the grim realities of his chosen path, but he would not turn back. Andris was hers. She had read this knowledge in his eyes when he realized his kinship to the Mhair elves.

The power of kinship was strong, even in the humans. Family was destiny-Kiva believed this to the depths of her soul. Perhaps that was why she stumbled over the three direct descendants of Akhlaur and his conspirators at nearly every turn. Perhaps they, too, had a destiny.

The globe in Kiva's lap began to glow. Puzzled, she placed one hand on the cool moonstone. The magic that hummed from the globe was Zephyr's signature enchantment familiar, but subtly changed.

She carefully opened the magical pathway. A face appeared in the globe-a misty face, gray as a Crinti's and without form or feature. The wizard could have been old or young, male or female, elf or orc. But Kiva had spent long years collecting scrying devices and researching their properties. She cast a counterspell and watched as the mist peeled back to discern the true form of her "visitor." Reflected in the glove was the face of a human male with sharp black eyes and a scimitar nose.

Her throat tightened with dread as she recognized Procopio Septus, the wizard who had employed Zephyr. If the man knew enough to bring him here, she had better take the full measure of his knowledge.

She greeted him by name.

The wizard blinked, momentarily nonplused. He promptly returned the courtesy, even giving Kiva her lost title of inquisatrix, and then started in with the usual string of meaningless formalities that Halruaans thought necessary to every occasion.

Kiva sharply cuffed the globe, startling the wizard into silence. "State your purpose."

"Perhaps I simply wish to gloat," Procopio's image suggested "You took Zephyr from me, but I managed to recover another misplaced jordain. You recall Iago, my master of horse? He is quite the hero after the battle of Akhlaur's Swamp. His fame adds luster to my household. So perhaps I also wish to thank you."

Perhaps, Kiva noted grimly, the wizard was a flatulent bag of wind. She responded with an innocuous remark. "Iago is an able man."

"Very able," Procopio agreed. "He is an excellent tracker and possesses a fine memory. The maps he has made of his travels are quite remarkable. He was riding the Nath when the Crinti raiders took him. Terrible experience, I would imagine. I hear that few sounds can curdle the blood like a Crinti battle yell." He tipped his head to one side, as if he were listening to the shouts and curses coming from the nearby stream.

Not a bag of wind, Kiva realized, but a dangerous man. Nevertheless, she would not be toyed with in such fashion. "What do you want?" she demanded bluntly.

The wizard smiled. "Tell me, Inquisatrix, what news of the far northlands?"

"What makes you think I would know?"

Procopio's white brows rose. "I am willing to share information, even if you are not. I recently had a visit from Matteo. He is looking for you."

"How frightening," Kiva observed blandly. "Perhaps later today, I'll faint."

"He is a persistent young man," Procopio continued as if he hadn't heard her. "He is trying to persuade Queen Beatrix to request Iago's hire. Since Zalathorm's moon-mad queen has no more use for another jordain than a cat has for a second tail, we can assume that Matteo has a task in mind for my jordain-and for his maps and memories."

"You seem to have trouble keeping your counselors," Kiva observed coolly, giving away nothing of the unease building within.

"Indeed. You have been raiding my henhouse quite regularly, Kiva. I would like to know why."

"I am a wizard," she reminded him. "I would not be the first wizard to find a use for magic-resistant servants."

"If you're thinking to use Matteo, perhaps you should reconsider. I never found him a particularly docile tool."

"Neither is his father, but I find him useful all the same."

A silence fell as Procopio considered this truth disguised as falsehood. The jordaini were the offspring of wizards, and no Halruaan would believe that any of their wizards could be subject to an elf woman. "On whose behalf do you act?" asked Procopio, predictably enough.

Kiva laughed scornfully. "No wizard holds my leash. I command myself."

To her surprise, relief flickered in Procopio's eyes-not the patronizing incredulity that she anticipated.

"How much can you expect to gain from any wizard weak enough to yield to your control? A partnership between near equals, however, could be of great benefit to both."

"What could you possibly give me?" Her tone was scornful but not so scathing that it couldn't be interpreted as genuine inquiry.

Procopio caught the nuance. "A spell that would enable you to scry the lands beyond the eastern outposts."

"Such riches," she scoffed. "I have such spells. What wizard does not?"

"Use them, and tell me what you see."

After a moment's hesitation, she did as Procopio suggested. Instantly the scene in the globe changed, showing in detailed miniature the sweeping mountains to the east and the livid sunset colors gathering over the vast and empty plains of Dambrath.

Kiva dismissed the image with an impatient flick of her fingers and glared into Procopio's smug face. "I see nothing."

"Which is what every other wizard in Halruaa sees. Look deeper, and not with magic. We will speak again."

The wizard's visage disappeared from the globe. Puzzled, Kiva called over Shanair and asked what the Crinti knew about Halruaa's eastern frontier.

"Warriors come," she said with satisfaction. "Mulhorandi foot soldiers, cavalry, and wizards, marching toward Halruaa. A good army, even if they are males."

Kiva hissed with rage. This she had not expected! Not that she was averse to bringing another weapon against Halruaa, but only if it was part of a coordinated attack!

"These humans march over Dambrath lands. Why have your people not stopped them?"

Shanair looked astonished. "We believed it part of your invasion. If it were not, would we let their feet soil our land?" Suddenly she spat and then swore. "By the legs of Lolth! We kept our weapons dry for no reason?"

"They will soon be wet with Halruaan blood," Kiva assured her.

Too soon, the elf woman added grimly. The battle was approaching, spurred by events she did not control. She saw little choice but to work with Procopio Septus. Later, he would pay for forcing her to act before a time of her choosing. A pivotal part of her plan was not yet in place. Before the battle could begin, she had to return to Akhlaur. Not just to the swamp but to Akhlaur himself.