"We haven't enough weapons to waste one so promising. Command the firebird to drop the elemental on the Mulhorandi cavalry."
The king shot a quick, astonished look at Matteo, then nodded. "Tell me when." He began the spell and held it until the jordain gave the signal.
Powerful magic, once unleashed, was not easily recalled. The fiery roc let out a ringing squawk of protest, but it changed the direction of its flight and winged back, captive to the call of Halruaa's wizard-king. The roc dropped the elemental and dissipated into the sky like festival fireworks.
The elemental tumbled end over end, looking from this distance like a man falling out of a skyship. Though the elemental had much diminished in size, it was still nearly the length of a full-grown dragon.
The liquid monster hit and shattered like a broken water skin. Men and horses went down screaming under the impact, and water mingled with blood flowed over the barren plain. The hoofs of panicked equines quickly churned the ground to mud.
Matteo was sickened by the death that had come at his bidding, but he gave his report. "The elemental appears to have taken out nearly a third of the cavalry."
"Send in the foot soldiers," the king commanded. The order was relayed, and the sound of horns winded across the plain. Halruaan troops raced in on both sides, pinning the larger numbers down. Some of the mounted Mulhorandi tried to flee, but their horses floundered in the mud.
Even so, men on foot were at a great disadvantage over mounted fighters. After the first wild rush, the battle began to turn once again to the invaders.
"What is your counsel, jordain?" demanded Zalathorm.
Matteo grimaced. "You are not going to like it."
"I haven't liked any of this," the king retorted, "but if you say it's for the good of Halruaa, I'll believe you. And may Mystra save us all."
Akhlaur applauded, his long, webbed hands rasping together. "Excellently done! I wouldn't have credited Zalathorm with that particular spell. His forces on the ground are not faring so well, though."
"He will lose," Kiva said with satisfaction.
"Not yet, and not here."
A clatter filled the air. Thousands of skeletons created by the necromancer's first attack rose from the ground. An army of skeletons clattered toward their former comrades, inexorable as a plague of locusts. They swept over the struggling cavalry, dragged the Mulhorandi down from their horses, tearing man and beast apart.
"No spell should have but a single purpose," Akhlaur said. "Water from the living, warriors from thе dead. There is a certain elegance to this, don't you think?"
Below them, streams of colored light poured from the wizard-king's skyship. They flowed over the battlefield like delicate, glowing ribbons, entwining the undead soldiers and releasing them from their battle lust.
"Grant them rest and respect," Akhlaur murmured with scorn. Kiva remembered hearing Zalathorm speak these very words long ago, and her lips twisted in a sneer that matched the necromancer's.
Zalathorm might have released the skeletons, but their work was done. The battered remnants of the Mulhorandi troops turned and fled toward the northern passes, in full retreat.
Halruaan horns sounded the call to attack, but there were few left to join in the pursuit.
The battlefield was carpeted with dead. The living staggered about, too dazed to realize that the battle was won. Groans and shrieks of the wounded and dying filled the air. Then a single triumphant roar rose from the battlefield, a ringing wordless shout of victory that soared like a phoenix from a fire. Like a spark, it caught and flamed.
Singly and in pairs, standing tall or leaning on comrades for support the surviving Halruaans raised their fists and their swords and screamed their triumph to the skies.
"So once again, Halruaans have secured their homeland from outside threats," Kiva said. "Once again, the cycle comes around."
The necromancer turned his gaze to her. "You are generous today, little elf. First you bring me the key to my freedom, then you present me with this fine entertainment, and now you offer a puzzle?"
"It is not a puzzle to those who watch the turning wheel of history. Halruaa has often faced dangers from without. Strong leaders rise to face them. Thus did Zalathorm rise to power, and many years has he held the throne."
Akhlaur nodded, beginning to understand. "Other wizards performed well today. The one who called the storm elemental seems rather impressive."
"Don't be too impressed," Kiva retorted. "That one is no fox, but a rogue hen raiding its own hen house. He knew of the coming Mulhorandi attack, and of shields that kept other Halruaan wizards from seeing the troops massing on their border."
"So he perceived this coming threat where Zalathorm did not. A clever ploy!"
The elf grimaced. "It could have done even better. I had hoped this battle would discredit Zalathorm more thoroughly. It might have, had you not intervened on his behalf, but most Halruaans will believe that the king summoned the water elemental as well as the fire roc. The necromancers in his court will be quick to take credit for the skeletal army. It will be difficult to displace so powerful a hero."
"You fail to see the salient point."
"Indeed, I do! I intended to weaken Zalathorm, giving ambitious wizards enough hope of replacing him to set them upon each other! I planned to light a spark that would blaze into another wizardwar!"
"So you have. Think, little elf, and tell me the most important point."
After a moment, Kiva nodded slowly. "Despite what anyone else might think, Zalathorm knows he did not cast that spell."
"Well done. Knowing Zalathorm as you and I do, what do you suppose he will do next?"
The elf's eyes caught flame. "He will not rest until he knows who did cast it. Once he knows, he will come after you!"
Akhlaur gazed out over the carnage. "This was a most diverting entertainment, little elf, but I think you and I can arrange a better one."
Chapter Twenty-Four
The celebration began the day after the battle. Music filled the city, and proud displays of magic took place on every corner. When night fell, fireworks exploded overhead, many of them forming into the silhouette of a giant bird. The image of the fiery roc was everywhere-embroidered on banners, tattooed on the arms of warriors, in beds of flame-colored flowers that appeared overnight. Zalathorm was a hero, and the firebird the proud new symbol of the wizard-king's might.
Yet whispers against the king swept quietly through the land, along with word of the queen's arrest and coming trial. Many had died fighting her clockwork creatures. Questions passed from mouth to mouth about how the king could have overlooked this danger in his very palace. For that matter, people then asked, how could the king fail to foresee the Mulhorandi invaders?
Despite these doubts, all Halarahh gathered that night in the vast public square to honor their heroes. High among them stood Procopio Septus, who had sent the Crinti into retreat, and beat back the cloud avatars of the Mulhorandi. This was not a Halruaan spell, and the people of Halarahh were pleased and proud that their lord mayor was vigilant enough to learn the magic of their enemies.
When it was Procopio's turn to come before the king, Zalathorm enumerated the wizard's accomplishments and asked what reward he desired. Procopio spoke clearly, his voice soaring through the enhancement spells that carried the ceremony throughout the city. "I ask only that I might continue to serve the land as a master of divination, my king, as you yourself have done these many long years."