The Wizardwar (27 page)

“I have an annoying habit of being blind,” Matteo said.

Tzigone pulled away and propped her fists on her hips. “You want to repeat that for people who don’t speak jordaini?”

“Andris was right-those who pass the veil see themselves as never before. I didn’t realize how large a part pride played in my life. Now I see it at every turn, and it is not an attractive sight.”

“You’re proud,” she agreed, “and that’s like saying Sinestra Belajoon, one of the most beautiful women in Halruaa, is vain. The way I see it, you’re both entitled.”

“Pride directs the focus inward. I look to Halruaan lore for answers. You are much more flexible than I. Without your quick thinking, we might not have fought our way through the dark fairies.”

Her eyes went wide. “Who showed me how to recover memories? That came in very handy. Who was it who told me I was a wizard and urged me to learn about my magic?”

Matteo sighed. “You would have found your way to these things in time.”

“I’ll bet you tell a corpse the same thing. ‘Don’t worry about this minor defeat, my good fellow-I’m sure you would have picked up that sword sooner or later.’” She gave a wickedly precise imitation of Matteo’s speech. “Would it salve your jordaini pride if I played the part of a swooning maiden?” she asked in her own voice.

The image was so ludicrous that Matteo couldn’t help but smile. “It might.”

“Well, forget it. Now that we’re back, what are you? Still a jordain?”

He considered that. The sharp contrast between the shadowy plane and the world he knew had muted his perception. The ability to see magic had faded, yet there was something….

“I suppose that depends upon your definition,” he said.

“Jordain,” she recited helpfully. “A prissy, arrogant know-it-all who can drone on about any subject at all until his listeners start bleeding from both ears. Someone who couldn’t bend a law in a gale. An old maid who only knows enough about fun to keep me from having any.”

Matteo’s lips quirked. “That does sound familiar,” he agreed.

Tzigone nodded and returned to his arms. “Then tell me this: Why am I so glad to be back?”

Sunrise colors painted the sky as Avariel flew swiftly toward Halarahh and the modest villa that Basel kept in the king’s city. The skyship swept over the city, slowing and settling as it approached the small tower.

Tzigone, who had bathed and dressed in blissfully clean garments, stood at the rail, taking in the vivid scene as if the heat of the Halruaan sun and the brilliant colors of sea and city could burn away memories of a grim, gray place. Suddenly she leaned over the rail and pointed.

“What in the Nine bloody Hells is that?”

A faint pollen-yellow aura surrounded the wizard’s tower.

“The building had been magically sealed,” Basel explained, his face suddenly somber. “With all that has happened, I did not have a chance to tell you of Farrah Noor’s death. Mason has been accused. Since there is some uncertainty in the testing, he is allowed to remain in the relative freedom of my tower.”

Tzigone’s brown eyes went enormous with shock. “That can’t be true! Mason would never hurt Farrah. They were lovers, you know. He was insanely giddy over her.”

“If you are called to speak for him in court, I would suggest choosing different words to express their mutual affection,” Matteo advised.

“Farrah’s dead,” she repeated, trying to take this in. “That doesn’t seem possible. How did it happen?”

“From what I understand, she was killed with a knife, which was later found in Mason’s room.”

“That’s thin,” Tzigone scoffed. “What do the magehounds say?”

“Mason remembers nothing at all about her death, and they can’t retrieve memories he doesn’t have. He will be held in the tower until the more puzzling aspects of the situation can be resolved.”

“Such as the militia, Lord Basel?” inquired Matteo, pointing to the guards at the gate.

The wizard grimaced as he took in the detachment of uniformed soldiers encircling the tower grounds. “We haven’t men to spare on such foolishness.”

They landed Avariel at the nearby skypond-one of the shallow, man-made lakes that provided convenient docking for the flying ships-and hastened on foot to Basel’s villa. To their astonishment, the militia captain signaled to his men, and the guards barred the gates with crossed halberds.

“My apprentice shows considerable talent for wizardry, but at his current level of skill he hardly merits this level of security,” Basel said coldly. “It is neither law nor custom to isolate a man held in house arrest. You have no reason to hold me from my own tower on Mason’s behalf.”

The captain bowed. “This does not concern your apprentice, Lord Basel. Begging your pardon, lord, but I have a writ for your arrest.”

The wizard took the parchment and studied the runes. After a moment he rolled it up and handed it to the guard. “Very well. This is my apprentice, Tzigone. She is to be given free access to my tower, to come and go as she pleases.”

“As you say.” The captain signaled again, and two guards flanked the wizard.

Matteo stepped in and held the captain’s gaze with an imperious stare. “Is Lord Basel to be taken in without benefit of counsel?”

After a moment, the man stepped aside and motioned his men to do the same.

“What can I do to help?” Matteo asked Basel softly.

“You’ve more important things on your plate. I’ll send to Halar for one of my own jordaini counselors.”

“At least tell me the charge!”

The wizard glanced at Tzigone. “I am accused of Sinestra Belajoon’s murder.”

The girl’s jaw fell slack with astonishment. She snapped it shut and quickly caught up. “Sinestra is dead, too? How? Where?”

“I can’t answer how, but the where is plain enough. She was in my tower, searching your room.”

“Of course she was,” Tzigone said clearly and distinctly. “Sinestra and I were friends, and she was looking for me. But of course you knew that. It’s not as if you would mistake her for a thief, or anything like that.”

Basel leaned closer. “Child, this is not the time to spring to my defense. Say no more until we have opportunity to speak. There are things about Sinestra you should know.”

“Tell me now,” she urged.

The wizard glanced toward the guards, who were becoming visibly restless. “Sinestra was once Keturah’s servant,” he said, speaking softly and quickly. “I knew her. We helped your mother escape after she was condemned as a murderer. You cannot afford to become entangled in this. Now, go back to the tower. We will speak when we can.”

Basel stepped back and motioned to the guards. They reformed ranks, and he fell into step with them. Tzigone watched him go, her face stunned.

“Not good,” Matteo fretted. “This gives Basel an apparent motive.”

She spun and stalked back toward the tower. “Basel didn’t do it. He wouldn’t do anything remotely illegal.”

“Well,” Matteo hedged. At Tzigone’s prodding, he told her that he and Basel had slipped into Dhamari’s tower and had taken from it a number of valuable spells and books.

“But he got them for me, right?” Tzigone persisted. “To research the spell that freed me?”

“So?”

“Then he did no wrong. The tower was Keturah’s before Dhamari stole it. I’m Keturah’s daughter and heir. Whatever Basel took was mine. He didn’t do anything wrong, ever, and I’ll tell that to everyone who’ll listen. Let’s go.”

She changed directions again, hurrying toward the city palace. Matteo matched her pace. “Tzigone, you will never get into the council chamber!”

“Why not? Who’s going to stop the queen’s jordain?”

“I am counselor to Zalathorm now,” he corrected.

“Even better!”

Matteo sighed and pulled her to a stop. “I will bring you on one condition: You listen and say nothing. Until all is known, your tendency to add interesting facts to the truth could create complications.”

She gave grumbling assent. They walked in silence to the pink marble palace and walked unhindered into the council hall.

The vaulted room was dominated by a vast marble table shaped like a half moon. Thirteen members of the Council of Elders sat around the table’s curve, their faces grave at the prospect of hearing charges against one of their own.

Matteo and Tzigone found a seat in an empty upper balcony and watched as an Inquisitor of Azuth began the spells of testing.

The magehound was a tall, black-haired woman, fussily clad in the green and yellow robes of an Azuthan inquisitor and decorated with far too many gems. No doubt she wished to appear important and grand. Even her gestures had a theatrical extravagance that set Matteo’s teeth on edge. He could imagine the vicious satire Tzigone would enact after the trial!

With a flourish, the magehound took out a silver rod and placed it against Basel’s forehead. “The charge brought by Uriah Belajoon is true,” she announced in ringing tones. “Basel Indoulur was the man who touched Sinestra and triggered Lord Belajoon’s spell.”

“That may be so,” Basel said evenly, “but I merely closed the woman’s eyes. She was already dead, slain by magic I did not cast.”

Tzigone leaned out over the railing, her eyes fixed upon the man seated in the very center of the group of Elders. “Damn! There’s old Snow Hawk. That can’t be good.”

Procopio Septus fit the description in every particular. He wore his prematurely white hair cropped close, which drew attention to a strong curved nose and black eyes like those of a hunting hawk. Matteo knew there was no love lost between Procopio and the accused wizard.

“He is the lord mayor of the king’s city,” Matteo reminded her. “He often hears accusations and sits in judgment. If there is to be a trial, it will go to the full Council of Elders.”

Tzigone sent him a look of incredulity. “There will be a trial, all right. He hates Basel.”

Matteo wasn’t so sure. Procopio was a canny man. He was unlikely to remand a case to the Council of Elders unless he was certain it could be won.

He watched his former patron with great interest. Procopio listened gravely as the magehound cast spells that would recreate the last moments of Sinestra’s life. She spoke of Sinestra and Basel talking in a tower chamber, Sinestra overcome by a spell, dying in terrible convulsions.

“Did Lord Basel create that spell?” asked Procopio.

The magehound hesitated. “That is impossible to say, since the object of the spell cannot be tested. Basel touched her, and she melted away.”

“Was he the man who killed her?”

“I cannot say,” she repeated, speaking with exaggerated precision. “The vision is not conclusive. Lord Basel was responsible for triggering the spell. That much I can tell you. The rest you must learn by other means.”

Procopio Septus rose. “Let us review what little we know. Sinestra Belajoon came to Lord Basel’s tower. She was killed by some malevolent magic, the author of which remains unknown. Lord Basel closed her eyes, and his touch triggered a spell that removed her to her own home. Her husband, Uriah Belajoon, conducted the funeral rites before bringing accusation against Lord Basel. Does that fit the particulars?”

He glanced from Basel to the magehound to the aging, portly man who sat in the accuser’s chair. All nodded.

“Very well then, Lord Basel is free to go.” He lifted one hand to cut short the Belajoon wizard’s protests. “Halruaan law is very clear on this matter. When murder is suspected, magical inquiry must be conducted at once. After the body is destroyed, it is impossible to question the dead.”

Uriah Belajoon’s face turned purple with wrath, but he chopped his head once in curt acceptance of the sentence. He watched as Lord Basel walked from the chamber, his eyes burning with hatred.

“Old Snow Hawk is up to something,” Tzigone mused. In a single, swift movement she rose from her seat and headed for one of the tapestries decorating the walls.

Matteo lunged for her and got a handful of air for his efforts. He peeled back the edge of the tapestry and looked up. She was climbing it, finding handholds in the weave. Her passage would be unnoticed from the other side, for the tapestry hung a bit away from the wall, attached at the top to a marble ledge. This ledge ran the length of the corridor and down several halls. It was wide enough to provide Tzigone a pathway, and high enough to hide her as long as she kept low.

With a sigh, Matteo abandoned thought of pursuit. He would, however, mention this possible security lapse to the palace guards. Most likely, they would laugh behind his back at the seeming absurdity of it.

That, he mused, was precisely why Tzigone had survived as long as she had.

Tzigone edged along the marble ledge, wiggling her way like a serpent. From this vantage, she could see the entire hall and most of the exits. Procopio Septus left through the south hall, on the heels of a throng intent upon finding shade and refreshment before the sun rose high and the sunsleep hours started.

She followed him through increasingly narrow city streets, moving like a shadow. Finally she tired of this and climbed a rose trellis to the roof above. She ran lightly over the roofs and dropped back down several houses ahead.

Procopio slipped into a dark doorway. After a slight hesitation, Tzigone followed. The door locked behind her with a sharp click, though no hand touched the bolt. She threw herself under a richly draped table just as a chandelier flared to life. A rainbow of colors filled the room as light streamed through the multicolored crystals that draped the ornate lamp.

The wizard gestured, and the rope holding the chandeliers lengthened, lowering it to his height. He considered it for a moment, then plucked a yellow crystal. This he tossed into the air.

The gem hung for a moment, then swiftly grew into a large, translucent bubble, slightly golden in hue. Its surface rippled slightly, and Dhamari Exchelsor stepped into the room.

Tzigone gritted her teeth to hold back an exclamation of dismay. The emerging wizard looked no more pleased than she.

“You have broken the terms of our agreement,” Dhamari said.

Procopio extended his hands, palms up. “How so? You requested a place of concealment. What better than your own demi-plane? No wizard will find you there.”