The Magehound

The two young men scrambled to their feet and hurried into position at the edge of the training field. Their fellow students gathered there, standing at respectful attention, feet at precise shoulder width, hands clasped behind their backs, and eyes level as they awaited the arrival of the visiting dignitary.

Life in Halruaa was orderly, governed by laws and customs that were detailed and precise. Protocol was an important part of any higher education, for each stratum of society was afforded certain privileges and honors. Wizards enjoyed the highest position, hence first honors. The posture assumed by the jordaini showed the respect that propriety demanded, but it also bespoke their own high status. Second in class only to the wizards, they were a highly trained elite. After all, they represented truth, a power quite different from magic but just as powerful in its sphere. Law and custom decreed that only a jordain could meet a wizard's eyes at all times. Those of lesser rank lowered their gaze respectfully before addressing a strange magic-wielder.

Matteo's eyes widened as the wizardly entourage swept into the compound. Quickly he schooled his face into a more seemly composure, but he couldn't help but stare at the unusual visitors.

A score of well-armed men marched into the field, following each other in two lines that framed two extraordinary creatures. The larger of these was a wemic, a centaur-like creature that appeared to be half man, half lion. The beast's body was massive, nearly the size of a small horse, and his golden-skinned torso was as thick and muscular as Themo's. Matteo made a note to compose a satire for his classmate on this theme at first opportunity.

The wemic's face would be considered handsome in a man, though his nose was larger and broader than human features were wont to be, and the pupils in his golden eyes were vertical, like a cat's. A thick mane of glossy black hair fell to his shoulders, and an earring set with a large red stone glittered in one rounded, leonine ear.

But it was the other being upon whom Matteo's eyes lingered longest. Elves were a rarity in Halruaa. A few elf folk, most of them half-blooded, were drawn to Halruaa by their love of magic. Some of them even advanced to the Council of Elders and were counted among the four hundred most regarded wizards of the land. But Matteo had never heard of an elf reaching the rank of inquisitor.

She was beautiful, in an exotic, alien fashion that tightened Matteo's throat with awe and evoked in him a strange and foreign longing. Her skin was a coppery hue, and the thick hair braided and coiled about her shapely head was a green deeper and more lustrous than fine jade. Her eyes were as golden as those of the wemic at her side and nearly as feline. Though her head rose no higher than Matteo's shoulder, he did not for a moment make the mistake of thinking her fragile. There was a fine coiled strength in her slender form, like the liquid steel of a cat's muscles. She wore the bright clear yellow that proclaimed her an inquisitor in the service of Azuth, the god of wizards, whose worship was slowly gaining credence among Halruaans, and the only god other than Mystra, Lady of Magic, whose worship was permitted in the land.

The elf woman's gaze swept down the line of young men. "I have heard good things of this year's form," she said in a peculiarly high, bell-like voice. "Although the time of your final testing is not yet come, I have been asked by several potential patrons to evaluate your battle skills.

"This is Mbatu," she said, gesturing toward the wemic. "He will test you in combat, according to a rank I will assign. I am Kiva, inquisitrix of Azuth." She smiled faintly. "Since we all know the common word by which such as I are named, let us speak it plainly. I am a magehound, and I prefer this title to the formal one. You have my permission to so address me."

She walked along the line, her head tipped back as she met the gaze of each jordain. Themo was third in line. He glanced down at the elf, but his gaze quickly returned to the fine sword the wemic wore over his shoulder. The expression on his face was that of a particularly hungry halfling regarding a pitcher of ale and a plateful of honey-cakes.

"You are first," she said. A flicker of anticipation danced through the big man's eyes. This seemed to please the elf. She reached up and patted his cheek as she might that of a child, then she continued down the line, passing by several men. She stopped when she stood before Matteo.

She regarded him for a long moment. "Second," she announced. The honor pleased Matteo, but he merely nodded his thanks. A student jordain might meet a strange wizard's eyes, but he did not speak unless prompted by invitation or dire need.