The Magehound (9 page)

Dazed into rote compliance with protocol, Matteo took the offered hand. He balked, however, at accepting what the handclasp seemed to offer. “You are gravely mistaken. There is no place for a woman in my life.”

“Make one,” she said adamantly. “You just saved my skin. That creates a debt, and whether you like it or not, I’ll be around until that debt is paid.”

“I assure you, that is most unnecessary.”

She glanced back toward the tavern and then took his arm. “Wrong again. Looks like I’ll be paying the first installment sooner than expected.”

Matteo followed the line of her gaze. The wemic reeled out into the alley and began to pad unsteadily toward them in a weaving but deliberate path. With each step, the creature seemed to gather strength and purpose.

Tzigone stamped her foot impatiently and tugged at his arm. “Are you going to stand there and shout ‘Here, kitty!’ until that thing pounces? Come on, before this gets worse!”

He remembered the dark, avid glee on the magehound’s face as she condemned Andris to death. Yes, things could definitely get worse.

With a sigh, he turned and followed his new companion out into the street.

Matteo soon learned that following Tzigone was no easy task. The lad-no, he corrected himself, not lad but maiden-could run like a lizard and climb nearly as well.

They were running full out down Sultan Street, batting away the filmy silk banners that served as shop signs, when Tzigone suddenly disappeared. In two more steps, Matteo saw where she had gone: a narrow alley, shaded by tall buildings on either side and almost obscured by the thick flowering vines that twined up the walls. He skidded to a stop and darted in after her.

Too late. As he rounded the corner, he heard the wemic’s voice lifted in a sound that was half snarl, half guttural chuckle, and utterly triumphant.

Tzigone heard it, too. She cast a baleful look over her shoulder at Matteo and began to climb the vine-covered walls. “At least try to hurry,” she muttered.

Matteo tested a handful of the fragrant vines and found that they would hold his weight. The rough stones on the wall beneath provided footholds. It was not unlike some of his training exercises, and he managed to almost keep pace with Tzigone.

The roof was smooth and broad. Tzigone rolled to her feet and started off at a trot. She pointed toward the public garden in the midst of the city. “Going roof to roof, we can reach the bilboa tree from here. Once we’re in the tree, Mbatu will never find us.”

Matteo was momentarily startled to hear her speak the wemic’s name. “You have had dealings with this wemic?”

She tossed a glance back at him. “How many lion-men have you seen in this part of the world? Stories are told, and I have ears to listen.”

“Ah. Rumors.”

“They’ve kept me alive so far,” she retorted. She turned and planted her fists on her narrow hips. “Why are you just standing there? Are you coming or not?”

“Not.” He folded his arms and leveled a steady gaze upon the incredulous Tzigone. “Do not think me ungrateful for your help, but I have had enough of flight. Go your way and leave me to mine.”

“Which is?”

“I will confront the wemic in battle,” he said simply.

The girl hissed with exasperation. “Did you see the wemic’s baldric? The sword slung over his shoulder?” she said grimly.

Matteo sent her a puzzled look. He could recall both precisely: the baldric was a broad leather strap, tanned a light tawny hue, slanted across the wemic’s great chest and joined to the belt that encircled his humanoid torso. The baldric held a scabbard that slanted over the wemic’s back, fastened tightly at the top and secured at the bottom by a short strap so that the scabbard could tilt outward when the wemic drew his sword-a necessary adjustment, given the length of the blade. Otherwise the creature would have to reach behind his head to draw the sword, exposing the pit of his arm to his enemy’s blades. No seasoned warrior would make himself vulnerable in this way. A quick stab or a thrown dagger could pierce the lungs and drown the wemic in his own blood. With the addition of the bottom strap, the wemic could simply reach over his shoulder and seize the hilt, thus drawing his weapon in half the time and with a fraction of the risk. All this Matteo had taken in with a glance.

“Yes, of course I noted baldric and sword. Why?”

“Why?” she demanded incredulously. “The sword’s hilt rose above Mbatu’s shoulder, and the blade crossed the breadth of his back. The wemic’s reach is already longer than yours without that weapon. I don’t care how good you think you are. You won’t last long against him if all you’ve got is those daggers.”

Her words smarted, but he couldn’t deny her logic. “That may be, but I have no sword.”

“I do. Follow me.”

She took off, running down the length of the building and then leaping out over a narrow divide to a roof garden on a neighboring villa.

Matteo followed her to the edge of the wall. He glanced down and immediately wished he hadn’t. He backed up a few paces, set his jaw and took the jump. He landed squarely in a patch of herbs. Mint filled the air with fragrant protest as he took off after Tzigone.

When she reached the edge of the roof garden, she uncoiled the rope at her belt and quickly tied on a small three-pronged hook. “Stand back,” she warned, then she briefly twirled and let fly.

The rope spun out toward the outermost branches of the great bilboa tree. It struck the limb, wrapped around twice, and caught firmly. Tzigone tested the rope and then nodded. “Help me pull it in.”

Matteo seized the rope and tugged until the limb was within reach. They both got a handhold and then, on Tzigone’s count, dropped off the edge of the roof.

The limb dipped so low that Matteo would have sworn that it would break under their combined weight As they began the upward swing, he glanced down. The wemic was directly beneath them, twisting his tawny body in midair in an attempt to get his feet beneath him. Obviously he had leaped up in an attempt to seize one or both of them. Matteo was chilled by the realization of how close the wemic had come to succeeding.

For several moments the limb bobbed up and down, each dip considerably more shallow than the last. When Tzigone decreed it was safe to move on, they began to pull themselves hand over hand toward the trunk. After a hundred feet or so, the limb grew broad enough to walk upon. Tzigone easily pulled herself up and extended a hand to help Matteo.

They edged along until they reached the massive trunk. As Matteo studied the odd arrangement of branches, he realized that the limbs grew in layers, like floors in a tall building. The next tier formed a roof about ten feet over their heads. The limbs were thickly entwined, and the leaves formed an apparently unpenetrable barrier. Tzigone was right about one thing: Mbatu would not find them easily.

Matteo glanced down. The wemic paced beneath the tree, frustration and fury etched upon his golden face.

“A tree seems an unlikely refuge from any sort of cat,” he remarked.

Tzigone sniffed. “Wemics are fast when they’re on all fours, but they’re no good at climbing. Too many limbs, too big from the waist up. The balance is all off.”

He considered this and decided that she was probably right. What he did not entirely credit, however, was her claim to ownership of a sword. There were strict rules on what type of weapon each class could carry, and although he was hard pressed to define the girl’s precise status, he doubted that she was either nobility, military, or militia.

Also dubious was her choice of hiding place for such a weapon. She had spoken a deliberate lie to get him out of the tavern. Quite likely she had done so again to lure him away from battle and into the safety of the massive tree. “You hid a sword in a tree?” he said skeptically. She dug her hands into the bark and began to climb.

“Many things are hidden in this tree. If you follow me closely and keep your eyes open, you’ll survive most of them.”

The trunk was thicker around than many a wizard’s tower, and the bark formed raised patterns of ridges and whorls. Matteo found that climbing the sheer wall was not as difficult as he’d anticipated. After several moments they hauled themselves up onto a large limb.

Matteo stood and looked about him in wonder. The limbs were broad, the upper sides almost flat. They intertwined, forming a network of passages and nearly level platforms. Several paces away, several boards spanned the gap between two limbs. A bit of torn sailcloth formed a remarkably snug tent. Though sunset was still hours away, two pairs of booted feet protruded from it.

“They work at night,” Tzigone said matter-of-factly as she began to climb again.

They passed several more small dwellings on the next tier, some established on the tree’s branches and some carved into the larger limbs and in hollows in the trunk. Matteo marveled at the sheer variety of plant and animal life that took refuge in the bilboa tree. Tiny spiders, transparent as glass and invisible but for a faint rosy gleam within their bodies, spun delicate webs of red silk-webs that were unique to Halruaa, and much prized by wizards as spell components. Brilliantly colored birds roosted on the branches, some of which Matteo had never encountered in book or legend. A winged cat groomed itself, and insects bustled about with the importance of message boys.

Matteo wondered how many creatures found a home here. Here and there a limb had been torn away by storms, leaving small, snug rooms large enough to accommodate a small family of tree-dwelling creatures. Matteo would not be surprised if Tzigone herself found refuge in such places from time to time. She seemed as at ease among the limbs of the vast tree as she did in the city below. Indeed, the tree was like a small community within the city, teeming with life beyond the expected birds and insects. Matteo made a note to look into the possibilities presented by the arboreal cities. This could be useful knowledge.

“Careful coming around this bend. Don’t touch the big web,” Tzigone cautioned.

As Matteo maneuvered around a massive limb, he saw what she meant. A deep, narrow hollow was covered with a spider web that still glistened with dew. Some of the drops glittered silver and red and blue, reflecting the treasure hidden inside. Matteo noted the wistful look that Tzigone sent the trove, but she wisely did not attempt to despoil it The spider that stood guard was as big as Matteo’s palm. He recognized the breed as one developed by some wayward wizard who had been exiled long ago when his creations escaped into the wild. This creature was larger and more fearsome than common spiders. Its thick body was not furry but covered with incredibly strong, tiny scales. Despite its armor, the spider was exceedingly quick, and its bite was deadly poison.

“I begin to see why you would entrust a sword to this place,” Matteo commented. “Have we much farther to go?”

Tzigone shrugged and kept climbing. Her lack of response deepened Matteo’s suspicions, but he followed her as she ran across a broad limb to the far side of the tree. She counted off the side branches and then nodded in satisfaction.

“This is where we get off. Watch, then do as I do.”

She leaped off the limb and seized the narrow branch. The strong, flexible wood bent under her weight, slowing just as her feet touched the wall that bordered the north side of the city garden. When she released the branch it snapped back up into place. She motioned impatiently for Matteo to follow.

He considered the situation and at once perceived a problem. With his greater weight, he would either hit the wall with great force or miss it entirely. Quickly he estimated the difference in mass between his tightly muscled body and Tzigone’s slender, wiry frame, then he ciphered the angle and tensile strength of branches on either side of her chosen limb.

Fortunately the branches were close enough for him to grasp both. He dropped between them, and his hands closed lightly around them.

The branches slid through his hands as he fell. He ignored the scrape of the bark against his palms, then gripped tightly when he reached the chosen spot. His calculations proved right on the mark. He dropped precisely as he intended and landed lightly beside the openmouthed girl.

She looked at him with new respect. “Huzzah!”

“It’s a good thing that one of us considered the weight difference,” Matteo commented.

She dismissed this with a light shrug. “It’s been a while since I had to concern myself with someone else. Amazing how fast you get out of practice.”

“Is there truly a sword?” Matteo demanded.

“Truly,” she said, imitating his tone to perfection. His exasperated sigh amused her, and she chuckled as she walked along the wall of the public garden.

They climbed down onto Reef Street. Matteo couldn’t help but stare as they walked down its length. Though this part of the city was well inland, the scent of the sea was strong. Aqueducts brought seawater in from the bay, and with the seawater came the creatures that constructed the houses and shops.

All the buildings on this street were fashioned from coral, and they ranged in color from pale sandy pink to a deep dusky rose. Sea motifs were much in evidence, from the wavelike patterns in the iron fences to the flowering topiaries carved in the shape of fish and merfolk. The gate of one particularly imposing shop was framed by a pair of stone sahuagin, hideous fish-men who stood guard with braced tridents and shark-toothed snarls. Matteo had heard that sailors considered this sort of decoration to be in terrible taste. Elves were more likely to mar the serenity of their temples with statues of drow raiders than seamen were to seek reminders of sahuagin.

Despite the occasional lapse in taste, such buildings were popular among the wealthy commoners. Growing a coral building took many years and an enormous amount of expensive magic. A new building was in the birthing process, and Matteo took great interest in observing firsthand how it was done.

A stout timber frame formed the skeleton, but the building grew from the top down. The city’s artificers provided pumps-small marvels constructed of metal and magic-that lifted seawater through pipes to the roof, where it cascaded down into the cistern moat below. Tiny coral animals, summoned by magic, had risen with the water and over time had built a reef that reached almost halfway to the ground. Several artisans were at work framing in the lower windows and door with timber. A wizard hovered in the air, gesturing broadly and tossing fistfuls of odd substances into the portals that had already been framed. The debris vanished as it passed in, leaving some sort of magical ward in the windows that kept coral from filling them in. The magic they cast was as translucent as fine glass and far stronger.