The Wizardwar (7 page)

Keturah leaped up from the table and looked around frantically for the scrap of parchment-important evidence if Kiva’s ambitious were to be curtailed. The elf woman was a fledgling magehound. Keturah was not so young and idealistic to believe the Azuthans would rule against one of their own on her word alone. The clerics of Azuth, Lord of Wizards, were a minority in a land devoted to Mystra and were jealous guardians of their god’s prestige and position. Most Azuthan priests were good men and women, but when faced with wizardly interference they became as defensive as cornered wolves.

Keturah’s eyes fell upon the brown-edged scrap, nearly lost in a tangle of wilting vines. It had fallen from the table while she worked her spells of inquiry. She dropped to her knees and reached for the parchment.

Her fingers closed around a puff of green mist. It swirled through her fingers and wafted up to touch her face, and with it came a deep, green scent that was all too familiar. The mist abruptly disappeared, leaving Kiva’s perfume lingering in the air like mocking laughter….

The wizard responded with a shriek of agony. Tzigone muttered a phrase she’d picked up on the streets and stooped beside him. Quickly she tucked her mother’s talisman back into his hand. His screams immediately subsided to a pathetic whimper.

“I want you to survive,” she told him. Her voice was cold and her eyes utterly devoid of the playful humor that had become both her trademark and her shield. “I’ll find a way out of this place for both of us-and when this is all over, I’m going to kill you myself.”

Tzigone dragged herself from the vision and glared at the writhing, cowering Dhamari. Because illusion had such power in this place, she swore she could still smell the elf woman’s perfume and the stench of sulfur in Dhamari’s clothes.

She shook the wizard, shouting at him in an attempt to raise him from his self-inflicted torpor. He only shied away from her, flailing his hands ineffectually and pleading with her not to impale him with her horns.

“Horns,” she muttered as she rose her feet.

For a long moment she watched the wretched man, a terrible person caught in a swamp of his own misdeeds. The urge to kick him was strong, but she shook it off.

“Grow a backbone, Dhamari! Thanks to you and Kiva, I can tell you from experience that it’s possible to survive almost anything.”

The waning moon rose unnoticed over the streets of Halarahh, its light shrouded by somber clouds rising from the pyres. Two dark-clad men slipped through the darkness to the wall surrounding the green-marble tower.

Matteo followed as Basel Indoulur-a powerful conjurer and the lord mayor of Halar, Halarahh’s sister city-moved confidently up the wall. The portly wizard climbed as nimbly as a lad, finding handholds and crevices in the smooth marble that the jordain’s younger eyes could not perceive. But then, Basel had known Keturah very well, and probably had reason to know the tower’s secrets. What surprised Matteo was how well the man could climb and how much pleasure he seemed to take in this small adventure despite the seriousness of their purpose.

For the first time, Matteo saw a similarity between the wizard and Tzigone, who had been Basel’s apprentice-and who was perhaps also his daughter. Matteo suspected that Basel might be his father, as well. Raised at the Jordaini College with no experience of family, Matteo nonetheless felt a bond between himself and these two disparate rogues, a bond as binding upon his heart as truth itself.

The two men clambered over the wall and walked with quick-footed stealth through gardens fragrant with herbs. Dhamari, who had taken over the tower after Keturah’s exile, had been a master of potions, and the narrow paths leading to the tower were nearly obscured by dense growth. The intruders made their way to the base of the tower without incident and stood for a moment eyeing the vines that seemed to erupt from the green-veined marble.

Basel caught Matteo’s eye. With a rueful smile, he dropped his gaze pointedly to his own rounded belly.

“I’m twice the man I was last time I climbed this tower. Unfortunately, I mean that quite literally. Are you sure we can’t use the front door? What place in all Halruaa is denied to the king’s counselor?”

“None, provided I wish to have my actions scrutinized by the city council. Dhamari is a casualty of war. He named Tzigone as successor to his tower, but she is also missing, and she has not named an heir. Until the Council of Elders rules on this matter, the tower will be sealed against magical intrusion. If we disturb the wards on the doors or attempt to enter the tower through magical means, Procopio Septus will hear of it.”

“Ah.” Basel’s face hardened. “Better a knife at my throat than that man looking over my shoulder.” He glanced at Matteo. “I know he was your patron.”

“Never apologize for speaking truth. For what it’s worth, Tzigone held a similar opinion of our lord mayor. She called him ‘Old Snowhawk.’”

“Among other things, no doubt. Well, let’s get this over with.” Basel began the chant and gestures of a spell.

Matteo had seen wizards employ cloaking spells before, but this was the first time he’d seen years peeled away by magic. Basel’s face narrowed and firmed. Jowls lifted and disappeared, and the ravages cause by middle-aged resignation and too much good living faded away. But his twinkling black eyes were unchanged by the removal of a few lines, and his black hair was still plaited into dozens of tiny, bead-decked braids.

Basel winked at the staring jordain. “Dashing, wasn’t I?”

Matteo responded with a wan grin. In truth, he had been searching the wizard’s younger countenance for some reflection of his own face. Basel’s features were rounded, while the jordain’s face had been fashioned with bolder strokes: sharply defined brows, a determined chin, and a narrow nose with a decidedly convex curve. Matteo’s hair was lighter, too-an unusual deep chestnut with flashes of red. At nearly six feet, he was tall for a Halruaan and considerably taller than Basel. Only their builds were somewhat similar: broad through the shoulders, with deep chests and well-muscled limbs.

The jordain was not the only one to note this resemblance. Basel winked again. “Let this be a lesson to you. See what can happen when you stop your daily weapons training? For good measure, I’d suggest you stay away from aged cheeses, red wines, and sugared figs.”

Matteo tugged experimentally at the thick tangle of flowering vines. “If this venture fails, shall I include that advice in your eulogy?”

Basel snorted. “Since when was sarcasm included in a jordain’s rhetorical studies?”

The young man shrugged and began to climb. Wizards’ towers were protected by magical wards, but as Matteo had learned from Tzigone, mundane methods often proved more effective than counter spells. Even so, the method of entry into Keturah’s former tower grated on his conscience. There was little about his friendship with Tzigone that did not.

By Halruaan law, Tzigone was a wizard’s bastard, an unwitting crime that brought disgrace or even death. She was also a thief and a rogue, yet Matteo, who was sworn to uphold Halruaa’s laws, shielded her at every turn.

Women, it would seem, tended to complicate life on a rather grand scale.

Basel hauled himself through an open third-floor window and dusted off his hands. “No sense climbing any higher. The place is deserted.”

“Dhamari’s servants don’t seem particularly loyal,” Matteo observed.

Basel’s artificially young face turned grim. “With very good reason. Come.”

He led the way up tower stairs to Dhamari’s study. Matteo entered and scanned the vast chamber. It was like most other wizards’ workrooms, but for an enormous cork-board stretched along one wall-a butterfly collection, from the looks of it. He went closer, and as he studied the creatures pinned to the wall, his distaste deepened to horror.

Dhamari had not drawn the line at butterflies. Tiny chameleon bats were neatly displayed alongside a desiccated fairy dragon and a tiny, mummified sprite. Several empty pins were thrust into the cork. Matteo pulled one and studied the fleck of translucent, papery blue that clung to it.

He showed it to Basel. “This looks like a scale from a starsnake’s discarded skin.”

The wizard muttered an oath. “I would give ten years off my life to know when and how Dhamari got that skin.”

Matteo nodded, understanding the wizard’s point. Twenty years ago, Keturah had been condemned as a murderer for her ability to summon these dangerous creatures. It was a rare ability, and after she fled, no one had thought to look for guilt elsewhere.

“How could both Tzigone and I have misjudged him so thoroughly?”

Basel reached into a small bag at his belt and took from it the talisman Dhamari had given Tzigone. “I’ve done a number of magical tests, and discovered that this is not Keturah’s talisman but a copy-a very good copy, but one entirely lacking magic. At first, I thought the magic had faded after Keturah’s death.”

A logical assumption, except Keturah was not dead. Noting the bleak expression in the wizard’s eyes, Matteo heartily wished he were free to tell Basel all.

“The original holds a permanent spell, very powerful, which protected the wearer from a particular person and all those who worked in his behalf,” the wizard concluded.

“In Keturah’s case, that would be Dhamari,” Matteo mused. “Is it possible Dhamari kept the original talisman, using it as protection against himself?”

Basel whistled softly. “I wouldn’t have thought the little weasel capable of such cunning, but that would explain how he concealed his real character and motivations.”

“Why?”

“Ambition,” Basel said shortly. “Shortly after Keturah took on Dhamari as an apprentice, she overheard him boasting that he would become both an Elder and an archmage. She told me this because she found it rather odd and quite out of character. Dhamari was a man of modest talent, and he seemed to understand and accept this. But enough talk. Let’s find out how he got as far as he did.”

They fell to work, searching the workshop and libraries for anything that might shed light on the spell Dhamari had given Tzigone-the spell that had hurled them both into the Unseelie Court.

Matteo quickly discarded scrolls describing poisons and transforming potion, lingering instead over anything that dealt with elven magic. This seemed prudent, as Kiva had played a part in Dhamari’s goals, or perhaps vice versa. Finally, in the very bottom of a deep chest, he unearthed a moldering tome embossed with slashing, angular runes.

His heart danced wildly as he realized the significance of those runes. He strode over to Basel, carrying the spellbook with the same care and repugnance he would show a deadly viper.

“Ilythiiri,” he said, handing the book to the wizard. “I have read legends of Halruaa’s dark elves, but I never imagined that artifacts, even spellbooks, might have survived so long.”

Basel placed the fragile tome on a reading table and began to page through it. After a few minutes, he drew a small parchment roll from his tunic and began to copy the dark elven spells.

“Is that wise?”

The wizard glanced up. “Is it wise to drink snake venom in hope of curing another snake’s bite? If the ancestors of drow elves and Crinti bandits can help me counteract what Dhamari has done, I’ll hand my entire fortune over to their accursed descendants!”

Matteo thought of Andris, imprisoned for aiding the treasonous Kiva. “Can any good come of evil?”

Basel sniffed and kept copying. “I could stick my head in the sand and pretend evil doesn’t exist, but all that would do is present my arse as a convenient target.”

“But-“

The wizard glanced up, his eyes sharp. “Do you want to help Tzigone, or don’t you?”

As Matteo held the challenging gaze, his own stern conscience mocked him. “I’m coming to realize moral choices are often difficult and seldom clear-cut,” he said at last.

Basel grunted. “I値l take that as a yes. Why don’t you keep looking while I copy these spells.”

Matteo held his ground, determined to tell the wizard what little he could. “Queen Beatrix will stand trial at the new moon. Did you know King Zalathorm has charged me with her defense?”

The wizard’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I heard. Why do you mention this now?”

“Since we are working together to free Tzigone, it seemed reasonable to ask your advice in this other matter.”

“I don’t envy you your task,” Basel said bluntly. “Some of the artisans who built the clockwork creatures came forward to identify the ruins. Magical inquiry determined that all of these artisans worked for the queen and no one else.”

“Yes.” This was one of many disturbing facts Matteo’s search had turned up.

“Perhaps you can prove Queen Beatrix intended no harm, no treason.”

“I’m not sure ‘intent’ is relevant here. In recent years, the queen has not shown herself capable of logical thought. Also, any defense of this sort will be countered with stories of madmen and their acts of destruction. Halruaan history has its share of such tales. None of these insane villains escaped justice, nor will Beatrix if this argument is presented as her only defense.”

“Perhaps you can prove her work was misused. Under Halruaan law, if a wizard creates a spell and a destructive spell variation is created and cast by a second wizard, the first wizard is held blameless. Beatrix made the clockwork creatures, but Kiva took them away and used them as warriors. If Beatrix had no understanding of Kiva’s intentions-and it is likely she did not-perhaps she is protected by this law.”

“If Kiva were available for magical questioning, this might be a reasonable defense.”

Basel thought for a moment. “Have you considered the possibility that Beatrix’s state of mind is the result of an enchantment?”

Matteo remembered the look on King Zalathorm’s face when Beatrix said that she’d been enchanted-not by a who, but a what.

“This will be difficult to prove,” he murmured, thinking of the oaths that bound Zalathorm to silence.

“Has the queen been examined by magehounds? By diviners?”

“She has. They can find nothing either to condemn or exonerate her. There seems to be a magical veil over the queen blocking any sort of inquiry.”