The Magehound

Several people in the crowd gasped. Tzigone nodded. "Yes. The jordain responded in much the same way when he heard this. He demanded to know what happened next. 'Why, the only logical thing, said the lady. 'The man pulled down his leggings.

" 'And what happened next? Tell me everything! " Tzigone spoke the words with breathless eagerness, leering as a salacious jordain might have done. Matteo noted that her expression was identical to that on Frando's face.

Before he could catch himself, he laughed aloud. Tzigone caught his eye and winked.

"The lady jordain looked her companion in the eye. 'The only logical thing happened. A lady with her skirts up can run much faster than a man with his breeches down. »

The unexpected ending brought a round of laughter and then applause. Frando, however, was tight-lipped with rage. He shouldered his way through the crowd with as much dignity as he could muster. As he passed Matteo, he leaned in close.

"We will finish this another time. I am certain that my patron will support my wish to challenge you to a public debate."

Zephyr's warnings flooded into Matteo's mind, and he understood the smug gleam in the other jordain's eyes. Frando's patron, Xavierlyn, was the Chief Elder of the city of Halarahh. She was one of the few wizards that Procopio Septus held in esteem, and the last person he would wish to challenge. Yet a debate between jordaini was the equivalent of a wizard's duel between their patrons-indeed, they were sometimes considered to be duels by proxy. Matteo watched as Frando sauntered off, no doubt dreaming of his coming vengeance.

Tzigone hopped off the dais and breezed through the crowd to his side. "No need to thank me," she said cheerfully.

"On that we are in accord," Matteo said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Have you any idea what you've done?"

She frowned. "Distracted a challenger? Stopped a fight? Made a few coins?" She jingled her bag. "Come on. I'll buy ale and sweet bread for us both."

Matteo took her arm and drew her to the far side of the market square. They stopped in the vine-covered shadows of a thick, high wall.

"Frando was not my friend. Now he is my enemy," he said tersely. "He challenged me to public debate to avenge the insult you dealt him. Win or lose, this will utterly destroy the hopes of my patron. Procopio Septus will not thank me for this day's work. My position with the lord mayor is as good as ended."

Tzigone took this in. She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "That's easy enough to resolve. Find a new patron." She snapped her fingers. "I know just how to go about it. That ought to settle things between us for once and all!"

"Thank you for the kind thought, but, please, no more 'help, " Matteo said earnestly.

Tzigone wasn't listening. She busily scanned the market. Her eyes lit up suddenly and a smile curved her lips. "Wait here," she said happily and dropped to the ground. She wriggled through the thick, flowering vines and disappeared from sight.

Like the crowd, Matteo was suddenly suspicious of magic surreptitiously used. He bent down and parted the bushes, but there was no sign of Tzigone or her escape route. He searched for quite some time before he found an explanation. Behind the vine, the stone wall had crumbled, leaving a hole big enough for a child or very small woman to crawl through.

"You have lost something, other than your judgment and your dignity?"

The rounded alto tones struck a chord in Matteo's memory. He scrambled to his feet. There stood a tall, regal woman clad in a simple, elegant white gown that left her arms bare and draped low over her bosom. Her glossy black hair had been elaborately dressed and coiled about her shapely head, but her only ornament was the enameled pendant that proclaimed her position. Her long, narrow face would never be considered conventionally beautiful, but the intelligence in her dark eyes made it extraordinary.

"Lady Cassia." Matteo inclined his head in a respectful bow, giving honor to the most powerful jordain in all of Halruaa. "How might I serve you?"

The words were polite, but they brought a small, hard smile to the jordain's lips. "Badly, no doubt. Who is your patron?"

Matteo told her. Her ebony brows lifted in surprise. "And does Lord Procopio know that you consort with base entertainers? That you enjoy listening to the mockery of your fellow jordaini? Is this typical of your service?"

"I would like to think it is not, my lady."

"To the contrary, I would like to think that it is," she said slyly. "It is reported that Queen Beatrix is in need of counsel. If you were to serve her, most likely you would also serve me, provided you could survive long enough. Clockwork devices are so unreliable, and Beatrix is so fond of them. Such a pity, what happened to her last counselor. They intend to bury him with full honors just as soon as they gather up enough pieces."