When he was yet a few paces away, he took a deep breath and dived toward the big Crinti and her sparring partner. His translucent form all but disappeared. The water began to roil frantically as the two women stabbed at their unseen foe. He held back out of reach until the right moment, then seized the gray hands that drove a sword into the water. He worked with the Crinti's movement, adding his strength to push the blade deep into the stream bed. The extra «help» threw the elf off balance. Andris kicked out hard, catching her leg just above the knee. He burst out of the water, dancing away in time to see the woman flop facedown into the water, her ample, leather-clad rump followed by her flailing boots.
"A breaching whale," Andris mocked. He turned to the downed woman's companion, who held her sword above the water in lunge position. "Next, I suppose, comes the narwhal."
The Crinti woman came on hard but did not anticipate the full impact of the water's resistance. Andris ducked under the water. He caught the woman by her hips, just under her center of balance, and pushed up hard as he rose. The precisely timed movement sent the Crinti into brief and impromptu flight. She splashed down and skimmed the water, like a leaping swordfish.
Andris spoke into ominous silence. "The whale and the narwhal are creatures I know. For the wise warrior, knowing comes before fighting."
The light broke over the big Crinti's wet, gray face. "You know the creatures of this water world?"
Andris gave a succinct description of the mantinarg, the creature whose skull Shanair had displayed with such pride.
The big Crinti nodded. "Yes, that is the beast we fought. Tell us of others."
The warriors gathered around as Andris told them what he knew. He started with tritons, powerful blue-skinned warriors with fins for feet. The Crinti scoffed at the idea of fighting against tridents, equating these pronged weapons with the pitiful defense mounted by human farmers. Andris fashioned a crude trident from a tree limb to prove them wrong. After he dropped three Crinti on their muscled backsides, the others were willing to take him seriously.
Andris slipped once again into the role of battle leader-showing the Crinti new attacks, offering suggestions to pairs of sparring warriors, keenly observing the strengths and limitations of his troops and building a battle strategy. After the intense inner conflict of the past few days, it was an enormous relief to be engaged in something he understood.
From a distance, Kiva watched with an approving smile. Andris, like the laraken, was proving useful beyond his original purpose. His elf heritage had nearly killed him in Akhlaur's swamp, yet it had welded him to her cause. He obviously struggled with the grim realities of his chosen path, but he would not turn back. Andris was hers. She had read this knowledge in his eyes when he realized his kinship to the Mhair elves.
The power of kinship was strong, even in the humans. Family was destiny-Kiva believed this to the depths of her soul. Perhaps that was why she stumbled over the three direct descendants of Akhlaur and his conspirators at nearly every turn. Perhaps they, too, had a destiny.
The globe in Kiva's lap began to glow. Puzzled, she placed one hand on the cool moonstone. The magic that hummed from the globe was Zephyr's signature enchantment familiar, but subtly changed.
She carefully opened the magical pathway. A face appeared in the globe-a misty face, gray as a Crinti's and without form or feature. The wizard could have been old or young, male or female, elf or orc. But Kiva had spent long years collecting scrying devices and researching their properties. She cast a counterspell and watched as the mist peeled back to discern the true form of her "visitor." Reflected in the glove was the face of a human male with sharp black eyes and a scimitar nose.
Her throat tightened with dread as she recognized Procopio Septus, the wizard who had employed Zephyr. If the man knew enough to bring him here, she had better take the full measure of his knowledge.
She greeted him by name.
The wizard blinked, momentarily nonplused. He promptly returned the courtesy, even giving Kiva her lost title of inquisatrix, and then started in with the usual string of meaningless formalities that Halruaans thought necessary to every occasion.
Kiva sharply cuffed the globe, startling the wizard into silence. "State your purpose."
"Perhaps I simply wish to gloat," Procopio's image suggested "You took Zephyr from me, but I managed to recover another misplaced jordain. You recall Iago, my master of horse? He is quite the hero after the battle of Akhlaur's Swamp. His fame adds luster to my household. So perhaps I also wish to thank you."
Perhaps, Kiva noted grimly, the wizard was a flatulent bag of wind. She responded with an innocuous remark. "Iago is an able man."
"Very able," Procopio agreed. "He is an excellent tracker and possesses a fine memory. The maps he has made of his travels are quite remarkable. He was riding the Nath when the Crinti raiders took him. Terrible experience, I would imagine. I hear that few sounds can curdle the blood like a Crinti battle yell." He 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.