The Floodgate

hero of Akhlaur's Swamp.

Stories of that battle were spreading like spilled wine, All who heard these tales glowed with pride, from the most magic-dead rothe herder to the mightiest of wizards. Such is the magic of Halruaa, that even a street waif untrained in the Art can subdue a terrible monster! Ballads to that effect were sung in the square, in the festhalls, in the palaces. He had even heard this tale intoned in the plainsong of Azuthan clerics!

Procopio wondered how Basel would respond if he knew that his new apprentice was a thief, a vagabond, and, worst of all, a wizard's bastard.

It was a delightful image to contemplate.

The skyship slowed as it neared the docking gate atop Procopio's southernmost wall. The girl pulled herself down the mooring line hand over hand, shortening the rope as she sank so that she would land on the skyship deck. Basel and his apprentice darted forward to catch her. She plowed into them, and all three tumbled onto the deck, laughing like ninnies.

With a disgusted sigh, Procopio put down the glass and went to his courtyard to await his 'distinguished guests.'

Basel came first, his black eyes still twinkling with fun. 'Greetings to you, Lord Procopio. We come in peace and friendship and will work no magic unbidden within these walls.' He glanced back at his apprentices.

There were three of them: a stunningly pretty girl from the Noor family, a commoner named for some sweaty trade or other, and Keturah's bastard. The first two repeated the traditional pledge. Basel looked pointedly at the windblown little bastard, who shrugged and offered, 'Fine. What they said.'

Basel shook his head and lifted his eyes skyward as if in supplication. 'Lord Procopio, you have met Farrah Noor and Mason. This is Tzigone, the newest of my apprentices. I pray she will serve Halruaa as faithfully as you yourself have done.'

'May Mystra grant it. With such a master to inspire her, how could she do less?' Procopio said, offering the proper response to Basel's traditional words with a straight face, a dry tone, and a great deal of private irony.

For several moments he and Basel managed to exchange formulaic pleasantries without once choking on them. When servants came with goblets of iced wine and chilled fruits, Procopio suggested that the apprentices might wander the garden as they wished. Not surprisingly, Tzigone seemed most eager to leave his presence. Procopio knew that people who harbored secrets tended to avoid powerful diviners, and with good reason. Within the hour, the darkest corners of the girl's soul would be his to know. Procopio quickly lifted his wine goblet to his lips to hide the smile he could not quite contain.

'I trust your new apprentice is living up to expectations?'

Basel responded with a dry chuckle. 'She's coming along nicely, but after her success with the laraken, she'd have to arm-wrestle a red dragon to meet expectations.'

'Ah yes, the laraken,' Procopio said. 'I would like to hear that tale from the girl's own lips, without an audience at hand to tempt her into embroidering it. With your permission, of course.'

Basel could hardly refuse his host's request without violating at least a dozen rules of protocol. Of course, Procopio skirted the edges of propriety as well, but Basel could hardly point that out. Instead he placed his fingertips on his temples in a parody of a charlatan fortuneteller. 'I see an arm-wrestling match between my apprentice and a red dragon. And-by Mystra! — I see Tzigone wearing a new pair of dragonhide boots!'

'I am forewarned,' the diviner said in a bone-dry tone.

He strode over to the trellis where Tzigone stood, arms folded, glaring at the climbing jasmine as if she held a special grudge against it.

He studied her closely, trying to remember Keturah's face and searching the girl's for anything that might jog his memory. She turned to meet his scrutiny. A wary glint flashed in her eyes-the canny, instinctual caution of an animal that scents a predator.

Procopio smiled reassuringly. 'I noted your performance on Avariel. Quite daring.'

She shrugged, eyeing him and waiting for him to get to the point. He came closer, and with one hand he surreptitiously traced the gestures for a simple spell that measured the general shape of a person's magical power and moral inclinations. A simple spell, but an enormous breach of hospitality. A wizard simply did not intrude upon a guest in this manner.

To his astonishment, the spell simply dissipated. Either the girl was powerful enough to resist his Art, or she was as magic-dead as clay.

Intrigued, the diviner called to mind a more powerful spell and probed harder, deeper, employing magic that could thrust aside the mind's resistance and plunder at will. So intrusive was this spell that a Halruaan woman would be less offended if a stranger were to thrust his hand between her thighs. Even this puissant spell proved futile.

Futile, but not unnoticed. The girl's big eyes went molten with fury. 'Back off,' she said in a low, dangerous voice. 'Poke at me again, and I'll take your hand off at the elbow and shove it up your… spell bag.'

Despite his own misdeeds, Procopio was not about to accept such disrespect. He drew himself up. 'You over-speak yourself, wench! I never expected to see the day when a green apprentice dared to address a master wizard in such fashion!'

'Is that so?' she inquired through gritted teeth. 'Then this is going to come as a real surprise!'

Before Procopio could react, she clenched a small, ink-stained hand and drove it into his face.

His magical shields were in place. He was certain of that. Then why was he lying on his back, his head throbbing from sharp contact with the cobblestone and his entire face throbbing like a giant toothache?

No answer to this mystery emerged from the blurring whirl that his thoughts had become. After a moment Procopio hauled himself into a sitting position. He lifted one hand to his jaw and worked it experimentally.

Basel bustled over, his plump face twitching with emotion. 'I am shocked, my friend! Astounded! Most thoroughly disconcerted! By wind and word, I swear that I shall deal with my apprentice swiftly and appropriately.'

The diviner waved away the pudgy, beringed hand that Basel offered and rose unaided, clinging to the jasmine-cloaked trellis for support. When the garden stopped spinning, he turned to regard his unlikely attacker.

The girl stood as taut and ready as a drawn bow, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, her fisted hands held low but ready. Despite the gravity of her situation, she looked as if she'd like nothing better than to take a second shot at him.

Procopio tamped down his temper and salved his bruised pride. The little bastard would pay in time, after she'd been dealt as a card in his long-running game with Basel Indoulur. Meanwhile, Basel was bound by wizard- word to deal harshly with her. Since attacking a wizard was among the most serious crimes in the land, Basel would be hard pressed to come up with a punishment short of death or dismemberment.

Procopio dismissed them all with a wave of his hand. 'Take the wench, and deal with her according to her deeds. You are so sworn.'

Basel bowed low and took Tzigone by the arm, drawing her out of the courtyard and into the street.

Now you've done it, she thought, her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach. What had possessed her, that she'd thought she could live within the staid confines of a wizard's tower, and the endless rules and niceties expected of a Halruaan wizard? Tzigone was no more suited to this life than was a half- feral griffon kitten. Sooner or later, something like this was destined to happen. Now Basel, despite his indulgent good humor, was obliged to take action. Tzigone considered trying to break and run, but the tip of a rowan wand peeking out of Basel's crimson sleeve convinced her otherwise. For such a lighthearted soul, Basel carried an extraordinary amount of magical weaponry.

They walked in silence down several streets, Mason and Farrah trailing miserably behind. Tzigone did not think it wise to ask why they did not go directly to the skyship.

At last they paused before a row of fine shops. Basel released Tzigone's arm and pointed to the goods in the window before them. 'Tell me, do these please you?'

She glanced at the window, then did an astonished double take. Displayed against draping folds of black velvet was a collection of the finest weapons she had ever seen.

The shopkeeper bustled out, beaming. 'Just the thing for prudent wizards to carry, lords and ladies! Not a