The Magehound   ::   Каннингем Элейн

"

The wemic frowned, misunderstanding. "You thought he would succeed? That he could free the laraken from the swamp?"

Kiva's laughter rang out like crystal chimes. "Never a chance of it! That is our task, dear Mbatu. But with each wizard we entice into the swamps, we learn a bit more."

Her companion nodded, and his golden eyes flamed at the prospect of battle. "We go into Akhlaur soon?"

The elf's face clouded. "Not yet. Zilgorn proved… disappointing. A necromancer's magic offers no better protection from the laraken than that of any other wizard. We must find another way."

"So this last expedition was money and effort wasted," Mbatu concluded, gesturing to the scrying bowl.

Kiva's smile held an edge that could have cut diamonds. "Not a waste," she said softly. "Never that. I would pay any price to bring death to Halruaa's wizards, and count it a bargain."



Chapter One



If asked, many of Halruaa's people would swear that the world ended in a circle of snow and sky. This proverb referred to the Walls of Halruaa, the nearly impassable mountain ranges that encircled their land like a gigantic horseshoe. Such words were spoken with great pride, and only partly in jest.

It was harder for Halruaans to dismiss the seas beyond their southern border and the ships and merchants that came and went with the tides, but trade was regarded as an exchange of goods and not of culture. Halruaans purchased luxuries such as silk from the far-eastern lands and musical instruments crafted in the distant city of Silverymoon. They sold their potent golden wine and the trade bars of electrum taken from the dwarf-mined tunnels that honeycombed the foothills. But the best of Halruaa they kept fiercely to themselves. Theirs was a magic-rich land, a kingdom ruled by wizards, and a living legend whose reality far exceeded the tavern tales brought home by awestruck merchants.

To be sure, most of these merchants had little true understanding of Halruaa's wonders, and the wizards of Halruaa went to considerable pains to keep them unenlightened. Foreigners were confined to the port cities and carefully monitored both by magic and militia. Many well-traveled visitors considered Halruaa to have the least accessible culture and most suspicious people they had ever encountered. If that was so, it was not without reason. Halruaa's history was that of an oft-besieged castle, for many of her neighbors saw the land as a treasure trove of unique spells and incomparable magical artifacts.

Dangers from within-dangers spawned by magical failures or wildly ambitious successes-were just as deadly as the threat offered by pirates or dragons or the drow-spawned Crinti raiders that prowled the wastes beyond the northeastern mountains. The ruling wizards understood that only hard choices and constant vigilance kept Halruaa from going the way of lost Netheril, and Myth Drannor, and a hundred other legendary lands that lived only in bards' tales.

That was not to say that life in Halruaa was grim. Far from it! The clime was soft and balmy, the soil yielded a succession of abundant crops in every season, the wilderness provided adventure for those who desired it, and the cities offered luxury for those who did not. And magic was everywhere.

Nowhere was that so true as in Halarahh, the capital city and home of the wizard-king Zalathorm. The skies were full of curving towers resembling graceful dancers frozen against the clouds, structures too fantastic to stand without magic. Exotic beasts known nowhere else roamed the public gardens and graced the homes of wizards and wealthy merchants. Shopkeepers casually displayed rare spell ingredients, as well as magical items that could shame a dragon's hoard and reduce most northern wizards to tears of despairing envy. Many of the common folk could boast of a magical item or two, practical things that aided in daily chores or provided a bit of simple luxury or whimsy. Even those who had neither the talent to wield magic nor the means to purchase it could join with the elite to enjoy the city's frequent spectacles.

They gathered this night at the shores of Lake Halruaa to celebrate the spring regatta. As the rains and storm winds of the winter season abated, the skyships once again took flight. It was a sight that never failed to coax sighs from jaded archmages and swell the hearts of the common folk with awe and pride.

No magical secret was more jealously guarded than that of Halruaa's flying ships. At first glance, a ship in dry dock or tied at port appeared to be nothing more than a mundane sailing vessel, broad-beamed and carrying three masts. The skyships were not particularly maneuverable, and they could not lift high enough into the air to clear the mountains. Skyships required constant magical renewal, and they were too slow and clumsy for aerial combat. None of this mattered at all, and reminding a Halruaan of these details would be as pointless as criticizing the artistic merit of a family coat of arms. The skyships were a legacy from their ancestors, the wizards of ancient Netheril, and as such they were a potent symbol of what it meant to be Halruaan.

The launching of the skyships came at the end of Lady Day, a spring festival honoring the goddess Mystra. Everyone donned festive red garments, lending the crowd at lakeside the appearance of a vast field of scarlet flowers. As the sun set, the music of street musicians faded away and the cheerful clamor of voices dimmed to an expectant hum. Every eye turned toward the waters of Lake Halruaa.

Slowly, slowly the great ships began to rise from the lake. Starlight seemed to gather in their white sails, gaining brilliance as the sky darkened and the skyships rose. There were ten of them, moving into perfect formation: nine ships forming a circle of starlight around a central ship, the great vessel owned and occasionally flown by King Zalathorm himself.

Suddenly Zalathorm's ship appeared to burst into crimson flame. The starlight captured by the attending ships began to blink on and off in a pattern that made it appear that the circle of ships was moving faster and faster until giant stars seemed to spin around the dancing flame-Mystra's symbol, and therefore that of Halruaa.

The crowd responded with huzzahs, stamping their feet in quickening rhythm, dancing and holding their arms out toward the light The display ended in a brilliant burst, and a cloud of sparkling motes descended upon the cheering people. These tiny lights would cling to their red garments until the sun returned, forming patterns that, according to tradition, spoke of Mystra's favor.