purpose. She ignored him until finally his importuning ignited her temper. Raising furious golden eyes from the page, she flung out one hand. Gouts of flame flashed toward him.
Instinctively Andris ducked-not away from the flame, but
The arcane missile caught his shoulder and sizzled off, dissipated into smoke. Andris felt the impact but not the heat The jolt knocked him from his uncertain perch. He hit the rock-strewn ground and rolled away from his unnerved horse. Andris rose and glared at the elf. 'What was that for?'
'Practice,' she responded with a cool smile.
He captured the horse's reins, then hauled himself into the saddle. He was reaching into his bag for a salve when a sudden movement caught his eye. He looked up, and reached for his sword instead.
A steep cliff rose along the path. Up ahead, not more than a dozen paces, was a shallow cave. Shadows collected there like rainwater in a ditch, but the shadows breathed, and moved, and came forward to claim substance. The battle-trained jordain's mouth went dry.
Three warriors, deadly females armed with curved swords and spiked flails, paced steadily toward them. All were tall, beautifully formed, and formidably muscled. Аll wore leather armor, all had wild mops of curly gray hair and large almond-shaped eyes in angular faces the color of smoke.
'Crinti!' he shouted as he drew his sword. He reached out to slap the flat of it against the flank of Kiva's steed, hoping the horse would run and carry the elf to safety.
The horse merely snuffled indignantly. Kiva glanced at the shadowy trio, then back at Andris. 'So they are. Greetings, Shanair,' she called out.
To Andris's astonishment, all three warriors dropped to one knee before Kiva. The tallest elf balled her right fist and pounded it once against her left shoulder.
'Shanair reports,' she said in a curiously harsh, sibilant voice. 'The foothills are ours, the treasure is great.'
'What of the gate?' Kiva said anxiously.
In response, Shanair removed a leather thong from around her neck and held it up for inspection. A dozen bone-colored objects hung from it, long and curved and as barbed as fishhooks. After a moment Andris realized that they were talons.
'When the Crinti guard,' Shanair said with fierce pride, 'nothing passes.'
Kiva slid down from her mount and accepted the gruesome tribute. For a long moment she studied it with an unreadable face. Andris watched as the ghost of a smile touched her lips, and the unmistakable light of battle lit her amber eyes. What that meant, he could not begin to say.
She gestured for the three Crinti to rise. 'Nothing passes,' she echoed, then she smiled and added, 'Nothing we elves cannot handle.'
The Crinti leader threw back her head and laughed with wild joy. She threw her arms around Kiva, nearly crushing the delicate elf in her strong embrace.
'Come, elf-sister,' she said when they fell apart. 'My warriors and I will take you to the floodgate.'
Throughout that morning, Procopio Septus received supplicants, read reports-many of which brought disturbing news from diverse corners of the land-and presided over meetings. However, his recent conversation with Matteo insistently played through his mind.
When the sunsleep hours put a halt to city business, Procopio returned to his tower to send a message to Ymani Gold, a priest of Azuth.
The diviner locked and warded the door of his most private room and settled into a comfortable chair. He began the chant that would put him deep into a wizard's trance and send his sentient image to the priest's study.
Procopio's vision went black, then slowly brightened into swirling gray mist. The scene took on shape and substance, if not color, and settled into an austere chamber suitable to an Azuthan priest.
The entire room was a study in gray. Cedar paneled the walls, aged to a silvery sheen. The writing table was carved from somber marble, the chairs padded with smoke-colored silk. Even the carpet was patterned in shades of gray. Procopio noted, however, that it was a fine Calimshan carpet, a work of art that would cost most men a year's wages.
Ymani Gold sat behind his table, absently decimating a pile of sugared figs as he read a messenger's scroll. His plump hand moved steadily between plate and mouth, and the plodding movements of his jaw brought to Procopio's mind the image of a cud-chewing rothe cow. The priest was not yet in midlife, but his bulbous nose was a map of broken veins, and deeply shadowed skin sagged in tired crescents beneath his eyes. He wore beautifully embroidered gray silk, cut in flowing layers to conceal his bulk. In short, Ymani Gold was visibly fond of fine things. Procopio knew of other, less readily apparent indulgences. Since a priest's wages could hardly begin to satisfy Ymani's various appetites, Procopio found that Ymani was quite willing to serve the lord mayor of Halarahh-for a price.
Procopio quickly cast a spell of divination, hoping to 11 the scroll's message from Ymani's mind before the priest discerned his presence. The pilfered news startled an involuntary gasp from him, which he covered by pointedly clearing his throat.
Ymani Gold leaped to his feet, noisily upending his chair. The befuddlement on his face would have cheered Procopio considerably, had not the stolen information been so grim.
'Greetings, priest, and peace to this house. I pledge not to work any magic within these walls unbidden.' Any
Ymani gathered his composure and settled back in his chair. 'Lord Procopio,' he said in a fluting, nasal tenor. 'What brings so great an honor to my door?'
Procopio arranged himself in room's best chair before speaking. 'We have a mutual problem. Kiva the magehound has escaped.'
The priest blinked in surprise. A flicker of suspicion crossed his face. 'You are well informed. I just learned of this myself.'
Procopio reasoned that the best way to cover one misdeed was to focus upon another. 'It is difficult to hide such matters from a diviner, although the church of Azuth has certainly tried.'
'Apparently we have not done well enough, if you learned of it.' A sour expression crossed his face. 'Don't bother telling me what a powerful diviner you are, how nothing is hidden from you. The truth, now! How did you come by this knowledge?'
'I had a visit from a jordain who was once in my service, a youth known as Matteo.'
Ymani's eyes took on a malicious gleam. 'I have heard that name. His masters call him a shining example of everything his breed purports to be. They claimed that since he was instructed to keep his counsel on this matter, he would never speak of it. It is gratifying to know that such a paragon is capable of indiscretion and that the so- called jordaini masters are as fallible as other men.'
'The jordaini masters were more right about this than they know,' the wizard grumbled. 'Matteo is persistent, dedicated, and honorable.'
The priest narrowed his eyes. 'Am I to conclude that you have some power over this jordain that enabled you to divine this news from him?'
Procopio saw where this was going. 'An unsound conclusion.'
Undaunted, the priest continued. 'Only the inquisitors of Azuth have the ability to enter a jordaini mind. You may have promise. If you'd like to apply as a temple acolyte, I would sponsor your petition.'
The diviner let Ymani have his fun but noted the price of it for later reckoning. 'The question remains: What's to be done about Kiva?'
The priest's smirk faded. He helped himself to another fig. 'This is a grave matter but not the usual province of Halarahh's lord mayor.'
'I have a personal stake in this,' the wizard said bluntly. 'An elf jordain in my employ was in league with the traitor. I do not appreciate any stain upon my name, however small. I intend to see that the elf woman does nothing that might cause this stain to spread.'
'Most understandable. What would you have me do?'
'I want the magehound who examined Kiva before her escape. Bring him to Halarahh on some pretext, and I
