The Magehound

"The Church of Azuth?" she said with scorn. But she saw his point. She shrugged and moved on. "You will contact me when you know which of these jordaini will best serve."

"Of course. How is Iago working out?"

"He is resistant, even for a jordain," the elf woman admitted. "Can you get me another?"

"It seems unlikely that Procopio will believe that two of his jordaini counselors were abducted by the Crinti," Zephyr said dryly. "Have you no hope of working with Iago?"

"Very little. He remains unconvinced that my claims he was recruited by a great wizard for the service of the land and truth. That is the problem with the jordaini-they are so damnably hard to turn! Magic does not work on them. They cannot be bribed or threatened. They have brilliant minds as humans measure such things, but no passions. What I need," she mused, "is a jordain with a weakness. Find me one."

"You would do better to say, 'Find me another, " Zephyr commented.

Kiva's eyes turned almost gentle. "A desire for vengeance is no weakness, my old friend," she told him. "We are getting closer to our goal, I promise you. We will make things right."

"You have found the secret?" Zephyr asked eagerly. "You know how the laraken might be destroyed?"

For a moment the elf woman did not answer. "I know how to make things right," she repeated. Her face abruptly vanished from the globe.

Zephyr quickly returned the scrying globe to its hiding place and began to prepare the letters to the Jordaini College. Not until the skyship touched down at the docks did he think about the laraken. He wondered if his life's quest and Kiva's were truly one and the same.

Chapter Two

The battle wizard smirked and made a circular open-handed gesture. A miniature sun appeared in the air above his upturned palm. It promptly exploded, sending an arrow of brilliant liquid fire racing toward Matteo.

The young man shifted his stance wider to absorb the impact and lifted his matched daggers into a gleaming X. The bolt of magic hurled itself against the crux of gleaming silver, then skittered along the daggers, dissipating in scattered motes that sparkled off the razor-sharp edges of the blades.

Matteo followed the classic parry with the recommended attack. With one smooth, practiced movement he flipped one dagger into the air, caught it by the tip, and hurled it toward his opponent.

The older man's eyes widened as the blade whirled toward him, but he stood his ground and began to gesture frantically. Matteo kicked into a run, not waiting to see the outcome of either attack or counter spell. He heard the metallic click of steel upon stone and shielded his eyes against the quick flare of sparks, but still he came on.

At the last moment, he dropped to the ground and spun, sweeping one leg out wide and hard at the wizard's ankles. Matteo grimaced as his shin met seemingly solid stone, but he sucked up the pain and quickly got his throbbing leg back under him. He leaped toward the fallen wizard and seized one of the man's stone-hard ankles. With his remaining dagger, he slashed at the sole of the wizard's foot. The silver blade sliced through the leather and drew a yelp of surprise from the downed man.

The stoneskin spell was a common defense, but like most spells it was not invulnerable. Its creator had overlooked a common manifestation of the natural magical world: like repels like. The natural stone beneath the wizard's feet rebuffed the flattery of the stoneskin spell's imitation, leaving the soles of the caster's feet vulnerable. Learning the weaknesses of each spell, parrying and countering close-in magical attacks-these were some of the most important fighting strategies a jordain learned in his training. Matteo couldn't help feeling a surge of satisfaction as he rose to his feet and held out a hand to his fallen master.

But the wizard sat cross-legged on the packed earth of the training field, holding his insulted foot and regarding his sliced shoe dolefully.

"Was that last bit truly necessary, lad? You can make your point without actually using it."

"Always wield the sword of truth, for it is the keenest weapon," Matteo quoted blithely.

"And the leg of stone is the hardest one," said a wry voice behind him.

With a grin, Matteo whirled to face his closest friend. Andris was a fifth-level jordain, a student in the same form as Matteo. They were both due to graduate at summer's end. Classmates and friends since infancy, they competed in all things like fond and contentious brothers.

No observer would take the two men as natural brothers, however, for they were as unlike physically as two men could be. Andris was tall and lean and exceedingly fair for a Halruaan. His narrow eyes were a greenish hazel, and his long, braided hair a dark auburn. No amount of sun could turn his skin the rich golden brown common to the dozen or so other jordaini who practiced on the training field, shirtless and sweating and gleaming like chiseled bronze in the hot sun.