Zephyr, Kiva, Akhlaur, the laraken, Keturah, and now her. And Matteo, and perhaps even his friend Andris. They were all connected somehow, but Tzigone could not perceive what pattern those intertwined threads might make.
She scrawled a quick copy of Zephyr's history and hurried to the palace, hoping that Matteo could do better. On the way, she «borrowed» some suitable clothing and gear and slipped into the queen's palace.
Despite the late hour, Matteo was not in his room. Tzigone, unnoticed, finally found him at the kitchen storerooms, collecting supplies for his trip. Nor was he alone. The kitchen buildings teamed with activity.
"Gods above," she muttered. "Don't palace servants ever sleep?"
A soft, quickly stifled giggle drew her attention to a nearby goat shed. A pail of fresh milk stood off to one side, not far from the ladder leading up to the loft. Tzigone climbed the ladder and found precisely what she'd anticipated: a pile of fresh hay, two people entirely oblivious to her presence, and some hastily discarded clothing. Tzigone quietly stripped off her chambermaid's gown and tugged the girl's short blue dress over her head.
Thus accoutered, she hurried back down to the abandoned bucket of goat's milk. She picked it up and staggered into Matteo's path, taking care to slop some of the contents of her bucket onto his boots.
He took in Tzigone's pert dairymaid costume without comment and managed not to roll his eyes while she apologized extravagantly in the rolling accents of the northland herders. And he followed her as she babbled and backed away. He deftly accepted the list she handed him during the distraction and tucked it into his belt.
By Mystra, she thought admiringly. There might be hope for him yet!
They worked their way to a quiet spot between the goat shed and the brewery. Matteo took the note from his belt, scanned it, and lifted grim eyes to her face. "Where did you get this?"
"There's a new tavern by the south gate," she began, still in her goat-girl voice. "The cook makes puff pastries that are hollow inside, then slits the crust and slips in a fortune or a small favor. I got an emerald ring, and traded it to the friend I was with for this list."
Matteo glared at her. "If you don't want to tell me, just say so."
"I don't want to tell you," she replied promptly. "What do you make of it?"
He handed back the parchment. "Zephyr was in service to Halruaa's wizards for well over two hundred years. He was one of the first jordaini. Perhaps Akhlaur had a hand in the order's creation."
Tzigone looked doubtful, "Jordaini and Akhlaur. Those two flavors don't belong in the same pot."
"So I would like to think, but Akhlaur was a powerful necromancer. Such wizards do not deal exclusively with death but alter the living to suit their purposes. When you get right down to it, how better to describe the jordaini than men altered to suit the purposes of wizards?"
She took this in. "How does Kiva fit in?"
"Elves live very long lives. Kiva may look no older than you and me, but it is possible that she knew Zephyr, and possibly Akhlaur, two centuries past."
"What does any of this have to do with my mother? With us?"
Matteo sighed. "You and I are much akin, Tzigone. We are both resistant to magic, we were forcibly separated from our families. Perhaps we were both 'made' to suit some wizard's purpose, as they might fashion a golem from iron or clay."
"Well, that's cheery!"
"What would you rather have-a grim truth or a cheerful lie?"
"Hmm. Do you need the answer right now?"
"Yes, and so do you," he said, turning her half-hearted jest back on her. "Talk with Dhamari Exchelsor."
She was silent for a long moment. "You know what, Matteo? I really, really hate it when you're right."
"In that case," he said somberly but with a suspicious glint in his dark eyes, "you should reconcile yourself to constant irritation."
His teasing sent an irrational mixture of exasperation and delight sweeping through Tzigone. "Constant irritation, is it? Well, I suppose I can live with that if you can." Before he could respond, Tzigone upended her bucket of goat's milk over his head. While her friend sputtered and swore, she darted out of the kitchen grinning like a gargoyle.
Yes, she concluded happily, there was definitely hope for Matteo.
Before leaving the city, Matteo visited Queen Beatrix once again. He did not relish the prospect of facing the royal madwoman, but neither could he leave without trying to make sense of her dire pronouncements.
The queen listened with an impassive face as he spoke of his plans to travel in search of knowledge important to the palace. Whether she cared or even understood, he could not say. It was getting harder and harder to enter the strange landscape of her mind. At last, he abandoned subtlety and reminded her that she'd predicted a coming war.
"Did I?" she said vaguely.
"Yes." He hesitated, then added, "I will be gone for quite some time. The Nath is a wild and dangerous place, and the paths are too rough for swift travel."
The Nath. Matteo felt cruel for mentioning the site of her great tragedy, but he needed to take some measure of her sanity. Perhaps she had spoken of some battle in the past, most likely the raid that had destroyed her family.
Matteo studied her face for the emotion this name might evoke. There was not even a flicker of recognition. The queen's detachment was chilling and nearly absolute.
He silently admitted failure but made one more request. "Before I leave, I must contact the headmaster of the Jordaini College. May I use the device that you employed to seek me out when I was last there?" The queen granted permission with an absent wave of her hand. "But I do not work magic," Matteo added, turning back suddenly. "I cannot use the globe without the aid of a wizard."
"A wizard," Beatrix repeated. It seemed to Matteo that there was an ironic edge in her usually flat voice. "Touch the globe. That is all it requires."
Matteo went to the small scrying chamber and shut the door. Globes hung from elaborately knotted slings, rested on pedestals, or bobbed in the air with no apparent support. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch the smooth, floating moonstone globe that matched the one in Ferris Grail's study. The device glowed to life. After a few moments, the cloudy surface of the stone cleared to reveal the face of the jordaini headmaster.
The headmaster's jaw fell slack as he discerned the identity of his caller. Matteo wondered if that surprise was due to this infraction of jordaini rules or because Ferris Grail had assumed that he'd fallen to the icehouse thugs.
Matteo put this question squarely on the table. "You didn't expect to see me, Lord Ferris, and not just because of the order's restraints."
The wizard's dark brows pulled down into a stern V. "If you've a question, speak it. I haven't leisure for games and puzzles."
"No doubt you are a very busy man, with the demands of landlord added to your duties at the college," Matteo retorted. "Imagine my surprise when I learned that your name is inscribed on the deed to an icehouse in the king's city."
"What of it?" Ferris demanded. "Though I am headmaster of the college, I am a wizard, not a jordain. No laws forbid me to own property."
"That is sophistry."
"That is practicality," the headmaster countered. "Most of Halruaa's wizard-lords amass fortunes. A headmaster's wages are sufficient for my current needs, but what of the future? I make such purchases as I feel will increase in value, so that I may live comfortably once I leave the college. Not that I need explain my business to you."