The Magehound

Matteo drew his daggers and prepared to deflect the magical attack. As he expected, the sun arrow spell took deadly form and spun toward him. He formed the classic defense with a smooth, practiced movement.

But the boy was quicker still. His small hand flashed out, holding a shining bit of glass. Before Matteo could thrust the lad aside, the bolt struck the proffered target. It hit the small mirror squarely and bounced back at a declining angle toward the wizard.

There was a moment of stunned silence. The wizard let out a small, high-pitched whimper and began to topple slowly to one side, clutching with both hands at the smoking robes covering his groin.

Matteo sent an incredulous stare at the lad. The urchin shrugged and lifted the mirror to his own face, preening a bit and combing his cap of short brown hair with surprisingly delicate fingers.

"You told a deliberate lie," Matteo marveled.

It was the urchin's turn to be surprised. "I did a lot of things. That's the one that caught your fancy?"

Matteo glanced at the man writhing on the cobblestone and remembered the boy's deft and dangerous performance in the tavern. There was something to the lad's logic. But his next words, when he spoke, surprised him.

"What do they say about the jordaini?" he demanded.

The lad's laughter was rich and merry. "Many things, no doubt! I spoke of your ability to fight wizards. Why do you ask?"

"That wizard said much the same when I remarked that you had talent."

A knowing glint kindled in the urchin's eyes. "Repeat your exact words."

Matteo blinked, puzzled by the request but not confounded. He could repeat entire conversations verbatim. This was an important part of his training. "I merely said of your performance, 'The lad has talent. Nothing more."

"Oh. Well, that explains it."

He folded his arms. "Not to me, it doesn't."

With a grin, the «lad» shrugged off a loose brown over-tunic to reveal a shirt of thin linen and the slender but unmistakably female form beneath.

"They say that jordaini have little experience with women." She winked and thrust out a hand. "I'm Tzigone, and I'm here to change all that."

Dazed into rote compliance with protocol, Matteo took the offered hand. He balked, however, at accepting what the handclasp seemed to offer. "You are gravely mistaken. There is no place for a woman in my life."

"Make one," she said adamantly. "You just saved my skin. That creates a debt, and whether you like it or not, I'll be around until that debt is paid."

"I assure you, that is most unnecessary."

She glanced back toward the tavern and then took his arm. "Wrong again. Looks like I'll be paying the first installment sooner than expected."

Matteo followed the line of her gaze. The wemic reeled out into the alley and began to pad unsteadily toward them in a weaving but deliberate path. With each step, the creature seemed to gather strength and purpose.

Tzigone stamped her foot impatiently and tugged at his arm. "Are you going to stand there and shout 'Here, kitty! until that thing pounces? Come on, before this gets worse!"

He remembered the dark, avid glee on the magehound's face as she condemned Andris to death. Yes, things could definitely get worse.

With a sigh, he turned and followed his new companion out into the street.

Chapter Five

Matteo soon learned that following Tzigone was no easy task. The lad-no, he corrected himself, not lad but maiden-could run like a lizard and climb nearly as well.

They were running full out down Sultan Street, batting away the filmy silk banners that served as shop signs, when Tzigone suddenly disappeared. In two more steps, Matteo saw where she had gone: a narrow alley, shaded by tall buildings on either side and almost obscured by the thick flowering vines that twined up the walls. He skidded to a stop and darted in after her.

Too late. As he rounded the corner, he heard the wemic's voice lifted in a sound that was half snarl, half guttural chuckle, and utterly triumphant.

Tzigone heard it, too. She cast a baleful look over her shoulder at Matteo and began to climb the vine-covered walls. "At least try to hurry," she muttered.

Matteo tested a handful of the fragrant vines and found that they would hold his weight. The rough stones on the wall beneath provided footholds. It was not unlike some of his training exercises, and he managed to almost keep pace with Tzigone.

The roof was smooth and broad. Tzigone rolled to her feet and started off at a trot. She pointed toward the public garden in the midst of the city. "Going roof to roof, we can reach the bilboa tree from here. Once we're in the tree, Mbatu will never find us."

Matteo was momentarily startled to hear her speak the wemic's name. "You have had dealings with this wemic?"

She tossed a glance back at him. "How many lion-men have you seen in this part of the world? Stories are told, and I have ears to listen."

"Ah. Rumors."