The Magehound

These men of Zhentil Keep.

They kill off all the women,

For they much prefer the sheep.”

"The men don't eat their ill-got treat.

Not one of them's a glutton.

So isn't it a marvel

That they always smell of mutton?"

She declaimed the verse in ringing metered speech, much as a classically trained bard might deliver news of battle or recite an epic of long-dead heroes. The combination of her cultured tone with the bawdy verse had Matteo shaking his head in amazement.

"Wherever did you hear such a thing?"

"Great songs endure, but bad ones travel," she informed him with a grin.

He chuckled. "I'm not familiar with that proverb, but it seems to hold true."

"Proverb?" A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, but she quickly shrugged it aside. "So what shall we do now?"

Matteo knew the answer but found that he didn't relish speaking it. "I'm afraid we part ways," he said with genuine regret as he prepared to drop her burlap bag at her feet.

Her eyes widened in alarm, and she flung out a hand to stop him. "Don't put that down!"

Suspicion bloomed anew, and with it came a sharp, painful stab of self-reproach. Jordaini had a strong resistance to magic, including all means of magical inquiry. Since they could seldom be seen through scrying devices or seeking spells, they were natural couriers. Elaborate protocols ensured that they could not be used as such, even by their patrons. They carried only what they could place in the leather bags at their belt, and they memorized messages rather than carry scrolls. By accepting the bag from Tzigone, Matteo had gone against tradition and broken several core rules. And in not questioning her intent in handing him the sack, he had proven himself to be as naive as she had named him.

"What's in here?" he demanded.

Not waiting for an answer, he jerked open the sack and thrust one hand into it. His fingers closed around a smooth, hard cylinder. He drew it out, his heart pounding as he regarded the wood and leather scroll case.

"It's a spell book," he said incredulously. "You told me that you were no wizard."

"You don't need to be a wizard to know the price of such things," Tzigone retorted. "It'll bring a good profit in the markets, provided I sell it after dark and well away from this part of the city."

Relief swept through Matteo. The reaction surprised him, as did the realization that it was easier for him to deal with Tzigone as a thief than as a wizard. Surely he did not approve of thievery, but in his world, wizards could play only two roles: patrons to be served, or enemies to be outwitted and defeated.

The thought of battle prompted him to glance at the arcane markings on the case, looking for some indication of the school and the power of the wizard who owned the scroll. This was important. Battle was to be avoided if possible, but he doubted that the cheated wizard would allow him time for explanation.

After a moment's study, he found what he sought. Lightly etched into the dark wood was the outline of a raven perched upon the point of a triangle. These were the symbols of death and the renewal that death offered, so it seemed likely that this had been the property of a necromancer.

Matteo grimaced and dropped the scroll case back into the sack. Necromancers were not considered the most honored or powerful of Halruaa's wizards, but he disliked dealing with them.

"What's wrong?" Tzigone asked quickly.

"Apart from the fact that once again you've had me carry stolen property?" he retorted.

She looked at him keenly. "No offense, but you don't seem all that bothered by theft. When I told you that I acquired this spell scroll with resale in mind, you looked positively relieved. So I take it I've stepped on one of your precious jordaini rules."

For a troubling moment, Matteo considered that perhaps he was more concerned with the rules of his order than with simple matters of right and wrong. Theft, in his opinion, was wrong, while, strictly speaking, magic was not. But although consorting with thieves was hardly the accepted thing, friendship with a wizard could get him censured or even slain. This seemed oddly out of balance.

He made a note to consider this at a later time, and he explained the matter to Tzigone as best he could.

"A jordain may not use magic or pay for it to be used on his behalf. He cannot own or use magical items. He cannot have personal dealings with wizards. Even handling magical items is suspect. The purity of the order is rigorously ensured by the magehounds and the Jordaini Council, and the penalties for violating any of these rules are stern."

Tzigone made a wry face. "As bad as all that, is it? Well, don't concern yourself. I'll be rid of this by dawn," she said as she reached for the sack.