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tipped his head to one side, as if he were listening to the shouts and curses
coming from the nearby stream.
Not a bag of wind, Kiva realized, but a dangerous man. Nevertheless, she
would not be toyed with in such fashion. "What do you want?" she demanded
bluntly.
The wizard smiled. "Tell me, Inquisatrix, what news of the far northlands?"
"What makes you think I would know?"
Procopio's white brows rose. "I am willing to share information, even if you
are not. I recently had a visit from Matteo. He is looking for you."
"How frightening," Kiva observed blandly. "Perhaps later today, I'll faint."
"He is a persistent young man," Procopio continued as if he hadn't heard her.
"He is trying to persuade Queen Beatrix to request Iago's hire. Since Zalathorm's
moon-mad queen has no more use for another jordain than a cat has for a
second tail, we can assume that Matteo has a task in mind for my jordain-and for
his maps and memories."
"You seem to have trouble keeping your counselors," Kiva observed coolly,
giving away nothing of the unease building within.
"Indeed. You have been raiding my henhouse quite regularly, Kiva. I would
like to know why."
"I am a wizard," she reminded him. "I would not be the first wizard to find a
use for magic-resistant servants."
"If you're thinking to use Matteo, perhaps you should reconsider. I never
found him a particularly docile tool."
"Neither is his father, but I find him useful all the same."
A silence fell as Procopio considered this truth disguised as falsehood. The
jordaini were the offspring of wizards, and no Halruaan would believe that any of
their wizards could be subject to an elf woman. "On whose behalf do you act?"
asked Procopio, predictably enough.
Kiva laughed scornfully. "No wizard holds my leash. I command myself."
To her surprise, relief flickered in Procopio's eyes-not the patronizing
incredulity that she anticipated.
"How much can you expect to gain from any wizard weak enough to yield to
your control? A partnership between near equals, however, could be of great
benefit to both."
"What could you possibly give me?" Her tone was scornful but not so
scathing that it couldn't be interpreted as genuine inquiry.
Procopio caught the nuance. "A spell that would enable you to scry the lands
beyond the eastern outposts."
"Such riches," she scoffed. "I have such spells. What wizard does not?"
"Use them, and tell me what you see."
After a moment's hesitation, she did as Procopio suggested. Instantly the
scene in the globe changed, showing in detailed miniature the sweeping
mountains to the east and the livid sunset colors gathering over the vast and
empty plains of Dambrath.
Kiva dismissed the image with an impatient flick of her fingers and glared
into Procopio's smug face. "I see nothing."
"Which is what every other wizard in Halruaa sees. Look deeper, and not
with magic. We will speak again."
The wizard's visage disappeared from the globe. Puzzled, Kiva called over
Shanair and asked what the Crinti knew about Halruaa's eastern frontier.
"Warriors come," she said with satisfaction. "Mulhorandi foot soldiers,
cavalry, and wizards, marching toward Halruaa. A good army, even if they are
males."
Kiva hissed with rage. This she had not expected! Not that she was averse
to bringing another weapon against Halruaa, but only if it was part of a
coordinated attack!
"These humans march over Dambrath lands. Why have your people not
stopped them?"
Shanair looked astonished. "We believed it part of your invasion. If it were
not, would we let their feet soil our land?" Suddenly she spat and then swore. "By
the legs of Lolth! We kept our weapons dry for no reason?"
"They will soon be wet with Halruaan blood," Kiva assured her.
Too soon, the elf woman added grimly. The battle was approaching, spurred
by events she did not control. She saw little choice but to work with Procopio
Septus. Later, he would pay for forcing her to act before a time of her choosing.
A pivotal part of her plan was not yet in place. Before the battle could begin, she
had to return to Akhlaur. Not just to the swamp but to Akhlaur himself.
Chapter Fourteen
Tzigone took a slow sip of the wine Matteo had chosen. It was marvelous-the
best she had ever tasted, bought, or stolen. Who would have thought the man
had taste?
In fact, everything about this lovely inn spoke of taste, elegance, and
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