The Magehound (3 page)

The image of Basel pursed his lips, probably to avoid grinning like an urchin. “And there’s a sprightly wind,” he agreed. “Seems to me a good ship, well captained, could race a dragon on a night like this.”

Procopio permitted himself a smile. “You read my intentions. Figuratively speaking, of course. Shall we wager, say, a thousand skie?”

It was a princely sum, for the electrum coins were as dear as gold, but Basel did not blink. “Past the western banks of the River Malar,” he suggested. “First man to the green obelisk takes it.”

Procopio nodded, accepting the daring wager. The night winds were capricious, and the ships could not venture far out over the turbulent lake. Moreover, the junction of river with lake was a common site of wind tunnels. Here the river water, cooled by melting snows from the mountains, met the steamy air that seeped northward from the swamp. It was a volatile mix at the best of times and especially risky in the spring.

“Captain?” the helmsman said hesitantly.

The wizard waited until Basel’s image faded from the globe, then gave a sly wink. “Hard astern, on my mark.”

The helmsman picked up the horn and shouted orders to the crew, then repeated Procopio’s count. He turned the wheel hard, and the starship began to trace a slow, wide arc in the sky. Her sails fluttered, then snapped tight as they filled with wind.

“There be twisters tonight, m’lord?” the helmsman asked with studious calm. “You looked ahead to see, so to speak?”

Procopio turned to regard the man. “Would I have accepted Lord Basel’s wager if I had not? There will be a bit of weather as we pass the city’s storm break, however. Basel’s apprentices plan to cast spells of wind summoning. Could be nasty to someone whose ship or crew are ill prepared.” He paused for a small, cool smile. “Pity about poor Basel’s aft mast.”

As if in response to the diviner’s words, the third mast of the Avariel, Basel Indoulur’s skyship, began to groan in the gathering wind. The conjurer turned and regarded it with mild puzzlement. The wood was flexible, taken from the date palms that lined the stormy Bay of Taertal. Spells of binding kept the masts firm, and Farrah Noor, one of his most competent apprentices, had been charged with renewing the enchantment.

The wizard shrugged and turned back to the grinning trio of apprentices that awaited his command. “Ready to cast the wind charm?”

They nodded and began to chant in unison, their hands moving through the graceful gestures that summoned and shaped the magic. Basel left them to the task and turned his face into the wind, enjoying the bracing rush.

Suddenly a powerful gust caught the ship and sent it listing dangerously to one side. The spellcasting wizards stumbled to the deck and slid, smashing into the side of the ship in a tangle of limbs. Wood began to creak alarmingly and the sails flapped thunderously. Basel braced his feet wide and seized the control rod himself, chanting as he struggled with magic and skill to right the Avariel.

The ship fought him like a panicked mare, and the aft mast began to creak and splinter. Resignedly Basel knew what must be done. Reaching out with a spell of unbinding, he magically severed the ropes that fastened the sails to the masts. The heavy canvas whipped away, and at last the ship came upright. They were safe, but hopelessly becalmed.

Basel watched as his apprentices rose to their feet and brushed at their crimson finery. All three of them looked rumpled and rattled, but the expression of puzzlement on Farrah’s pretty face confirmed Basel’s growing suspicions. He gestured the young woman to his side.

“Let me see the gestures to the wind spell,” he said mildly. “Leave out the chant, if you please.”

The apprentice went through half the spell before she flushed and faltered. “I seem to have forgotten the third quatrain,” she admitted. “Only this morning I knew it perfectly. On my life, Lord Basel, I do not know how this thing could have happened!”

Actually, Basel had a fairly good idea. “And the enchantment of the mast? You spoke the spell of binding this morning, as you were bade?”

An expression of complete befuddlement crossed Farrah’s face. “You gave me this task? My lord, I have no memory of this.”

The conjurer nodded. Loss of memory was a common side effect of magical inquiry. Most likely Procopio had had his servants follow Basel’s apprentices during the day’s festival and had cast spells of divination upon the first one they’d found. Unfortunately for the Avariel, it had been Farrah.

Basel swallowed his anger, lest his stricken apprentice think it was directed at her. “Did you bring your flying carpet, Farrah? Fine! Calm yourself and take a bit of wine, then ask the ship’s steward to pack a thousand skie in a sack. Follow Lord Procopio to the green obelisk and pay him his winnings.”

“But my lord, the law says you need not pay a crooked wager,” protested Mason, a commoner with uncommon talent and a habit of speaking plainly. “I practiced the spell with Farrah this morn. Nay, more than practiced: She all but taught it to me. As Mystra lives, Farrah did not forget the wind charm.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Basel replied evenly. “I know what you imply, but have you any idea how difficult it would be to prove your suspicions?”

The young man folded his arms and glowered. “Not so hard. After a goose is stolen, you look for the man who’s eating eggs.”

“No doubt that’s a useful proverb in many circumstance,” the wizard said. “But you cannot charge Procopio Septus with divination. That would be like accusing birds of flight. Perhaps he bent the edges of tradition, but he broke no laws. Complaining would make us appear ridiculous. No, worse than ridiculous, for who was it who attempted to win a race by conjuring a wind charm?”

“So we do nothing?” the youth said incredulously.

Basel’s smile was as bland as a cherub’s, but his eyes turned flat and hard. “If that is all you see, perhaps you should spend less time eyeing Farrah and more time observing your fellow wizards. Halruaa is more than spells and skyships. Did you think that you came to me to learn nothing but magic?

“Watch,” he concluded in an uncharacteristically grim tone. “Procopio Septus has larger ambitions than winning a race, and if he succeeds, we’ve more to lose than a skyship.”

An ancient elf stood on the deck of Starsnake, watching as the events foretold by his patron played out. “A small ship approaches,” he said mildly, pointing to the craft leaving the damaged Avariel. “It would seem that Basel Indoulur is a man who honors his wagers.”

If Procopio Septus heard the rebuke in the elf’s voice, he gave no indication. “That is not a ship but a flying carpet Your eyes begin to fail you, Zephyr. How reassuring for both of us that your counsel has not.”

The elf did not miss the implied threat “You are pleased with the new jordain I selected? Rualli is doing well?”

Procopio smiled thinly. “Not so well that I intend to replace you, if that’s what you’re asking. But let’s speak of your recruitment efforts.”

For a moment Zephyr’s heart thudded painfully, then he realized that his patron could not possibly know of Kiva and Zephyr’s secret efforts on her behalf.

“There are several promising students at the Jordaini College,” Zephyr said mildly. “Tell me more about what you desire in your new counselors, so that I might make a closer match. For that matter, I could serve you better if I understood why you wished to hire so many. Most wizards content themselves with the counsel of a single jordain.”

Procopio nodded toward the approaching carpet and the small woman seated on it. “He who lives by the sword dies by it. The same could be said of magic. You have seen the problems that occur when a wizard surrounds himself with mages of lesser skill. It creates vulnerability. That I cannot have.”

The elf understood this, for he himself was a jordain, a superbly trained counselor chosen not only for his keen mind, but also for his utter lack of magical ability. The jordaini were highly resistant to magic and bounded by a multitude of rules that kept them separate from the normal flow of Halruaan life. They underwent rigorous training and took sacred vows: service to the land, their wizard patron, and truth. Death was the penalty for using magic or speaking untruth. Harsh, to be sure, but it was one of many things that kept the jordaini honest. Infractions were rare. Zephyr did not know of a single living jordain who flouted these rules-save for himself.

“It is a comfort to speak plainly,” Procopio said. “No one can take my secrets from your mind. A man in my position can afford to surround himself with any comfort he desires.”

“That is at best a partial truth, my lord,” the elf said sternly. “You hire jordaini who are outstanding in the art of warfare. Why? You are lord mayor of this city and captain of its skyship fleet, but King Zalathorm directs the military.”

The wizard turned to face Zephyr. “As will he who rules after Zalathorm.”

For a moment they stood in silence. “So there it is,” the elf said softly.

“There it is,” Procopio agreed. “I would be king. Tell me how. You have lived long and seen kingdoms rise and fall.”

“Indeed,” Zephyr murmured. He marveled that the wizard did not hear the bitterness in his voice.

“I am greatly skilled in the art of divination,” Procopio went on, too absorbed in his own dreams to consider any nightmares his jordain might have lived. “But many wizards can captain a skyship as well as I, and military science is not my discipline. I need men who know it as well as I know my own business, and,” he added with a sly smile, “that of Basel Indoulur.”

Zephyr nodded thoughtfully, putting aside his own whirling thoughts to concentrate on his patron’s situation. “Then you will need a master of horse to replace Iago. Regretfully, the outpost militia stationed in the Nath region found no trace of him. We assume he was carried off by raiders. There have been recent sightings of Crinti shadow amazons in the foothills,” he said, referring to the race of gray-skinned, gray-haired horsewomen who ruled the land of Dambrath and haunted the wild eastern borders of Halruaa.

The wizard grunted. “Then we’ve seen the last of that jordain. Did we lose all the horses he purchased?”

“Only one, my lord. It would seem that Iago took a promising stallion out for a run and was not seen again.”

“Pity. What of his replacement?”

“Several promising candidates, my lord. In this year’s class, I would recommend Andris, whose grasp of military strategy is quite astonishing. Matteo is skilled with weapons and rides extremely well. Both are promising leaders. Either would do admirably.”

Procopio considered this. “But do I really want another green jordain? What of those who are already in service to a wizard lord? Why not hire a seasoned counselor out from under his current patron? It’s done all the time.”

“True, but the practice holds risks,” the elf cautioned. “You are not the only wizard to employ more than one jordain, but if you concentrate too blatantly on gathering a military council, it will not be long before your rivals perceive the pattern. The young men I mentioned have other skills that will distract the eye from your main purpose for them.”

“Wise advice,” the wizard mused. “Very well, then, see to it. Pick whichever one you think best.”

The elf bowed. “I will send messengers to the Jordaini College as soon as we reach the villa. It is prudent to bid early for the services of the most talented students.”

In truth, Zephyr started the process long before the skyship reached land. He took his leave from his patron and shut himself in his tiny cabin below decks. Once the door was barred, he moved a loose plank from the floor and took from its hiding place a small milky sphere. He blew gently on it. The swirling clouds parted to reveal the face of a beautiful forest elf.

“Lady Kiva,” he said softly.

Her jade-colored brows furrowed. “Speak up. What’s wrong? Are you alone?”

“Would any jordain use a magical device if he were not? It could mean my life if someone found me speaking with you.” The ancient elf smiled sadly. “And I have not endured these many years to leave our lifework undone.”

Kiva inclined her head in a single nod, a gesture of agreement and solidarity. “What do you have for me?”

“I have recommended two jordaini to Procopio. Either will suit him. I have to make a few more inquiries before I know which one will best suit your purposes.”

“Why don’t I take both?” Kiva suggested. “Certainly I could use them.”

“Too risky,” the old elf cautioned. “One of the group you can take, and the rest will be glad that your eye fell upon someone else. But there will be talk if two of the most promising students disappear. Your religious order might start an inquiry.”

“The Church of Azuth?” she said with scorn. But she saw his point. She shrugged and moved on. “You will contact me when you know which of these jordaini will best serve.”

“Of course. How is Iago working out?”

“He is resistant, even for a jordain,” the elf woman admitted. “Can you get me another?”

“It seems unlikely that Procopio will believe that two of his jordaini counselors were abducted by the Crinti,” Zephyr said dryly. “Have you no hope of working with Iago?”

“Very little. He remains unconvinced that my claims he was recruited by a great wizard for the service of the land and truth. That is the problem with the jordaini-they are so damnably hard to turn! Magic does not work on them. They cannot be bribed or threatened. They have brilliant minds as humans measure such things, but no passions. What I need,” she mused, “is a jordain with a weakness. Find me one.”

“You would do better to say, ‘Find me another,’” Zephyr commented.

Kiva’s eyes turned almost gentle. “A desire for vengeance is no weakness, my old friend,” she told him. “We are getting closer to our goal, I promise you. We will make things right.”

“You have found the secret?” Zephyr asked eagerly. “You know how the laraken might be destroyed?”

For a moment the elf woman did not answer. “I know how to make things right,” she repeated. Her face abruptly vanished from the globe.

Zephyr quickly returned the scrying globe to its hiding place and began to prepare the letters to the Jordaini College. Not until the skyship touched down at the docks did he think about the laraken. He wondered if his life’s quest and Kiva’s were truly one and the same.