The Magehound

The tiny shadow amazons that came in from the flank positions halted their charge. Chaos swept over them like an evil wind. The horses reared and pitched. Some of them, riderless, milled frantically about. In moments the warriors and their horses were gone, melting off into the hills and leaving exposed the central band of Crinti, who were panicked into utter disarray, too far from the hills for retreat The Halruaan soldiers charged and easily overtook the advance band. In short order, the table was littered with the tiny gray corpses of the shadow amazons.

Procopio smiled and nodded. He made a quick gesture with one hand, and the figures, both victors and vanquished, disappeared from the table.

"Who would have thought a song-no, a mere illusion of a song! — would have such power against those she-demons? Fascinating how so simple a ploy could turn the tide of battle! Have you more Crinti secrets to teach me?" Procopio spoke eagerly, and his animated face betrayed a more than casual interest.

A suspicion that had been growing in Matteo's mind for some time began to take solid and disturbing form. "A few," he said slowly. "I begin to see why you bid for my services. You are most avidly fond of strategy games, and as a master of games, I was first in my form."

"There is that," the wizard said in neutral tones.

Matteo pressed on. "We jordaini believe that such games train the mind and character, for a truly responsible man understands that every action prompts a reaction."

There was an edge to Procopio's smile that acknowledged the subtle layers in Matteo's comment. "I am in training, that is certainly true. He who would command must understand the art of war. It is no secret that games provide preparation. Kittens stalk imaginary prey, and small boys whack each other with sticks in anticipation of their first swords. What we do here is not so different."

Matteo shifted uneasily. "You speak plainly. I will do the same. Action prompts reaction. I know enough of history to understand that men who prepare so assiduously for battle seldom fail to find one."

"But the land is at peace, and has been for many years. Do you think that would be true if no one was prepared for battle? Why do you think our enemies stay away? The Crinti elf-breeds and their Dambraii subjects, and the Mhair savages, and the barbarians of the Shaar desert, and the wizards of Thay and Unther and Mulhorand, and Mystra only knows where else? Because we remain strong," Procopio concluded in a tone that rang with certainty.

Matteo had heard this argument many times before. It was a difficult one, for the line between a strong defense and a strong nation inclined toward offensive action was thin and nebulous. He couldn't help but wonder how this passion for military strategy fit into Procopio's personal goals. If the wizard deemed that the best way to ascend Zalathorm's throne was as a war hero, how far might he go to ensure his goal?

The wizard seemed to sense his counselor's unease, for he broke off the session and strode over to his desk. He opened a drawer and took from it a small scroll.

"I would have you take a message for me to Xavierlyn. You know of her?"

Matteo nodded. Zephyr had described in great detail all the wizards of the city's Council of Elders. Xavierlyn was a powerful diviner, a distant relative of King Zalathorm, and touted by many as his probable successor. As such, she was Procopio's most obvious rival.

"I have met Frando, her jordain counselor. It is his habit to speak in the Arbor Square before the sunsleep hours."

"No doubt many come to listen in preparation for midday slumber," Procopio said dryly. "I have heard the man. His lectures induce slumber more effectively than charms and potions."

Matteo's lips twitched, but he refrained from agreeing with his patron's assessment of a fellow jordain. He took the scroll Procopio handed him and scanned the writing upon it, then handed back the scroll and repeated the message word for word. The wizard nodded, satisfied, and Matteo went his way.

He set a brisk pace and reached Arbor Square shortly before highsun. It was a pretty place, cobbled with pink and green stone and surrounded by elaborate iron trellises and arches. The air was rich with the scent of ripening grapes, as well as the savory odors that wafted from the nearby market. Chairs and small tables had been scattered about so that passersby could take advantage of the shade.

In the center of the square was a raised platform, which was variously used for town criers, street musicians, and wizardly exhibitions. Frando, a dark, thick-bodied man some fifteen years Matteo's senior, was currently holding forth on the topic of pirate raids. With an alchemist's skill and a pompous voice, Frando transformed that exciting topic into a sleep-inducing drone. Matteo settled down under an arbor of pink grapes and tried to look politely interested.