The Magehound   ::   Каннингем Элейн

Laughing and chattering, the people hurried away to enjoy the evening's festivities, most of which revolved around having their fortunes told. Some went to the temples to joyous rites to the goddess of magic, while others sought counsel from diviners who read such signs through incantations. The common folk held parties for neighborhood wise women, who pieced together credible stories using bits of folk magic and a lifetime of experience with the people who sought their advice. Wherever they went, most people came away satisfied. Ill tidings on Lady Day were as rare as snow in the swamplands.

In the sky over the lake, the now-dark skyships prepared to return to port. Procopio Septus, the Lord Mayor of Halarahh and captain of the skyship fleet, nodded to his helmsman. Before the man could relay the orders to the crew, the scrying globe beside the helm began to pulse with light.

Procopio skimmed his fingertips over the smooth crystal. A face took shape on the surface of the globe, a round, cheerful, and distressingly familiar face. The wizard stifled a sigh as he regarded his friend and nemesis, Basel Indoulur.

"We conjured up a good show, eh what?"

"And a fine Lady Day to you, Basel," Procopio told his fellow wizard, ignoring the sly humor in the man's words. Basel Indoulur was a wizard of the conjuration school, which was not as highly regarded as divination, Procopio's discipline. But Basel never lost an opportunity to tease the diviner with the opinion that conjuring accomplished things, while divination merely nosed about in whatever other wizards were doing or were likely to do.

Nor was their school of magic the only difference between them. Procopio was a small man with a prodigious beak of a nose and strong, blunt hands. He wore his thick white hair clipped close to his head. His appearance was always meticulous, and his garments, though honoring Lady Day with the traditional red silk, were quietly fashionable. Basel Indoulur was a fat, jovial soul who was frank and vigorous in his enjoyment of Halruaa's finer things. He was brightly clad in a tunic of crimson silk with beaded trim and voluminous sleeves. As was his custom, his black hair had been dressed with fragrant oils and worked into scores of tiny braids. When he laughed, which was often, the beads at the tip of each braid set up an echoing twitter. Procopio did not measure Basel by his appearance but by his ambition. The conjurer had reached a high level of magical skill and was the Chief Elder of his home city of Halagard. It did not escape Procopio's attention that Basel lost few opportunities to attend events in King Zalathorm's court. Much good may it do him. King Zalathorm was a diviner, as were most ruling wizards. It was widely accepted that only a diviner had hope of ascending the wizard-king's throne.

"Lady Day was a great success. All went well, as I anticipated," Procopio added, getting in a subtle dig of his own.

"Deft riposte!" Basel threw back his head and laughed delightedly.

The compliment dampened the diviner's self-satisfaction, but not for long. Procopio had other ways of making his opinions and his powers known.

"A fine night," he said mildly. "A shame to take the sky-ships down so early."

The image of Basel pursed his lips, probably to avoid grinning like an urchin. "And there's a sprightly wind," he agreed. "Seems to me a good ship, well captained, could race a dragon on a night like this."

Procopio permitted himself a smile. "You read my intentions. Figuratively speaking, of course. Shall we wager, say, a thousand skie?"

It was a princely sum, for the electrum coins were as dear as gold, but Basel did not blink. "Past the western banks of the River Malar," he suggested. "First man to the green obelisk takes it."

Procopio nodded, accepting the daring wager. The night winds were capricious, and the ships could not venture far out over the turbulent lake. Moreover, the junction of river with lake was a common site of wind tunnels. Here the river water, cooled by melting snows from the mountains, met the steamy air that seeped northward from the swamp. It was a volatile mix at the best of times and especially risky in the spring.

"Captain?" the helmsman said hesitantly.

The wizard waited until Basel's image faded from the globe, then gave a sly wink. "Hard astern, on my mark."

The helmsman picked up the horn and shouted orders to the crew, then repeated Procopio's count. He turned the wheel hard, and the starship began to trace a slow, wide arc in the sky. Her sails fluttered, then snapped tight as they filled with wind.

"There be twisters tonight, m'lord?" the helmsman asked with studious calm. "You looked ahead to see, so to speak?"

Procopio turned to regard the man. "Would I have accepted Lord Basel's wager if I had not? There will be a bit of weather as we pass the city's storm break, however. Basel's apprentices plan to cast spells of wind summoning. Could be nasty to someone whose ship or crew are ill prepared." He paused for a small, cool smile. "Pity about poor Basel's aft mast."

* * * * *

As if in response to the diviner's words, the third mast of the Avariel, Basel Indoulur's skyship, began to groan in the gathering wind. The conjurer turned and regarded it with mild puzzlement. The wood was flexible, taken from the date palms that lined the stormy Bay of Taertal. Spells of binding kept the masts firm, and Farrah Noor, one of his most competent apprentices, had been charged with renewing the enchantment.

The wizard shrugged and turned back to the grinning trio of apprentices that awaited his command. "Ready to cast the wind charm?"

They nodded and began to chant in unison, their hands moving through the graceful gestures that summoned and shaped the magic. Basel left them to the task and turned his face into the wind, enjoying the bracing rush.

Suddenly a powerful gust caught the ship and sent it listing dangerously to one side. The spellcasting wizards stumbled to the deck and slid, smashing into the side of the ship in a tangle of limbs. Wood began to creak alarmingly and the sails flapped thunderously. Basel braced his feet wide and seized the control rod himself, chanting as he struggled with magic and skill to right the Avariel.

The ship fought him like a panicked mare, and the aft mast began to creak and splinter. Resignedly Basel knew what must be done. Reaching out with a spell of unbinding, he magically severed the ropes that fastened the sails to the masts. The heavy canvas whipped away, and at last the ship came upright. They were safe, but hopelessly becalmed.

Basel watched as his apprentices rose to their feet and brushed at their crimson finery.