The Magehound   ::   Каннингем Элейн

As it moved closer, its many wounds started to heal and spears dropped away as knitting tissue expelled them.

Kiva's fireball spell fizzled into smoke as the creature drew near. Her hands faltered, and her copper face began to pale as the laraken drank in her magic. In a heartbeat, she was weaving on her feet, her eyes fixed on the approaching creature as a mouse might eye a swooping hawk.

Matteo saw the course of battle reversing before his eyes. If the laraken regained strength, they could not destroy it. Again he ran up the spine of the laraken. Desperate now, he flung one arm around the creature's neck. Pulling his dagger, he reached around and pulled the dagger hard toward the laraken's face. He steeled himself for the crush of those lethal fangs.

But his aim was true, and the dagger plunged deep into the laraken's eye with a sickening pop and a hot gush of fluid.

The laraken roared, twitching and pawing at its head. Claws raked Matteo's arm, slashing through sinew and grating on bone. Bright pain darted through his arm and exploded behind his eyes. He let go and fell, rolling aside and barely escaping the pounding feet of the frantic laraken.

The creature rushed instinctively toward the spring, brushing past Kiva in its desperation to feed and heal. The elf woman was tossed aside like a leaf in the wind. She came up on her hands and knees and began to chant.

Instantly the stream began to boil, and bubbles as large as men rose from the water. The laraken dived into one of the bubbles and disappeared.

Kiva, pale as death, lurched to her feet and staggered toward the spring, brandishing a square of dark silk. She tossed this over the bubbling water. The silk turned dark as water soaked it, then sank into the spring. Water and silk disappeared, leaving a bed dry and empty except for a few fish that gasped and floundered in the thin air. Kiva sank to her knees, wavered, and then fell heavily onto her face.

Tzigone slid down the tree and raced over to Matteo's side. He struggled to a sitting position and she dropped to her knees beside him. For a long moment, she regarded the deep gashes that ran from wrist to elbow.

"Well, that's pretty disgusting," she announced.

Matteo chuckled weakly. "Get Andris. He knows how to clean and stitch wounds."

She rose and looked around for the tall jordain. Andris was bent over one of the wounded men, his touch deft and sure as he bandaged a wound. He, too, had suffered from the attack. His form still retained its distinctive colors, but it was translucent. Looking at him was like looking at a rainbow in human form.

Tzigone hurried over and grasped his elbow, relieved to find that he still felt solid. "Matteo needs you."

Andris quickly finished his work and came to his friend's side. His expression was somber as he examined the wound. He took out needle and fine gut thread and began to stitch. Tzigone paced as he worked.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Deep, but clean. There is little tearing across the muscle. Fortunately the talons on that creature were sharp as knives."

"How lucky can a man get?" she muttered. "Will he be all right? I know how quickly a wound can turn bad in a swamp."

"He'll be fine," Andris assured her in a soothing voice.

Tzigone stopped and prodded the translucent jordain with her foot. "Don't lie to me," she warned him. "I can see right through you."

"Tzigone," Matteo said wearily. "Go check on Kiva." That struck her as an excellent idea. She went over to the elf, seized one of her limp coppery hands, and jerked her over onto her back. Stooping, Tzigone placed her fingers against Kiva's throat.

"She still lives," she said in a flat voice, and then she pulled a knife from her boot and lifted it high.

Andris darted forward and seized the girl's wrist in a translucent hand. "No," he said softly. "I will not argue that she deserves to live, but consider the good of the land."

"He's right," Matteo agreed. He rose painfully and made his way carefully through the tangle of fallen men. "Kiva didn't close the gate. She merely moved it. We must find out where. Let her live, under the guard of the church of Azuth, until she recovers enough to submit to Inquisition. If it is vengeance you seek, her own kind will deal with her less kindly than you would."

Tzigone gave him a baleful look. "Is that true?"

"I swear it. Magehounds are seldom merciful, even to their own kind."

"Hmmm." She considered this and then nodded. "Maybe I could get to like magehounds after all."

But Matteo noticed that she still gripped the knife, and she eyed Kiva with a fury than went beyond hatred. He gently took her wrist and eased the blade from her fingers.

"Our task is done," Matteo said softly. "The swamp has been contained, the laraken is gone. There is a balance in that. Halruaa is well served."

"But what about us?" Tzigone said passionately. "Who among us have been well served?"

Matteo looked at his friends and at the men whom Kiva had tricked or conscripted into service. Even the brave wemic who died defending her had no doubt been stolen as a cub and trained to Kiva's service. He considered what had been taken from all of them. And try as he might, he could not hold Kiva solely guilty.

"I'm not saying that what Kiva did was right or justified," he said softly. "But who knows what wrongs she sought to avenge? If such grim measures were taken to mold the jordaini, what else might Halruaa's wizards have done? What evils gave birth to what we have fought today? This is something we must know."

Andris gathered up Kiva in his translucent arms. The tiny elf woman seemed almost to float. "That is no task for a jordain," he said. "It is our duty to serve Halruaa's wizards."

"It is our duty to seek truth," Matteo said with quiet determination. "From this day on, I will follow no other master."



Chapter Twenty-Two



Kiva awakened to the chant of morning prayers. Moments passed before she realized she was in the care of the Temple of Azuth. Memory returned in a rush, dimming the pain that throbbed through her every bone and sinew. And worse still was the terrible void in her mind and soul.

She had been stripped of magic. Not entirely-no elf could be entirely devoid of magic and live-but her wizardly power was gone beyond recall. She wouldn't have felt half as bereft if she'd lost sight or hearing or touch. The elf lay back on her pillows and fought against her rising despair.

There might yet be something she could do. In fact, the loss of her magic made her quest for the treasures of Akhlaur even more imperative.

But she had few defenses now, and fewer allies.