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But the old man would not be deterred. "What of Matteo? You are a high
servant of Azuth, you know the hidden mysteries of this land. He cannot be
excused from this ritual. I need not remind you of what can happen when the
jordaini breed."
In response, she handed him a small jeweled token. No bigger than the nail
of her small finger, it was a tiny pellet studded with scales the colors of topaz and
garnet and filled with magic. It was the token of the queen, and it carried both
sentence and decree.
"I have my orders," Kiva said evenly, "and now you have yours."
For a long moment the man regarded the jeweled pill, and not because he
wished to contemplate its beauty. Then he quickly swallowed it. He knew that
from this moment, to speak of what was done this day would mean his death.
"Come along," he said harshly. "Let's get this travesty done and over with."
The magehound shook her head. "I must return to the city on business. You
can handle this from here, I trust. Oh, and one thing more. I've brought with me a
black stallion, Matteo's chosen mount. Take the beast back with you to complete
the subterfuge. You may board my mare at your stables for several moons and
keep the foal that the stallion has most likely got on her while we spoke," she
said generously. "The foal is likely to be quite valuable and will provide some
recompense."
"Recompense for what?" the man snapped. "My honor? This poor man's
virility? Or perhaps Matteo's life? Where is the boy? What has become of him?"
"That is the very business I must attend. You see, Matteo was detained in the
city. Some unpleasantness surrounding the big jordain known as Themo, I
believe. A tavern brawl with unfortunate consequences," she said, invoking a
half-truth that the master was certain to accept.
The man sighed. "You can bring Matteo back to us? What of this so-called
'unpleasantness?' Is this a matter that you can handle?"
"Of course. Though it would be best that your student knows nothing of what
passed between you and me."
"It is unlikely that he will know any of it! The jordaini are told of the
purification rite, but most think that it is nothing but a time of solitary
contemplation. Afterward they are sworn to silence. So far none has broken oath.
And so far," he said pointedly, "none has birthed or fathered children that the
entire land must fear. Think carefully upon what you do."
Kiva's lips twisted in a sneer. "Do not attempt to take the moral high ground.
You couldn't find it with a map and a ranger to guide you! How dare you lecture
me! You, who would rather see your own son castrated than see harm done to a
peasant whose name you need never know."
The wizard paled. "The parentage of a jordain is a secret thing, never to be
spoken of lightly."
"Then do as I say, and we need never speak of it at all," Kiva said
implacably. "Matteo need never learn of what was done to assure his impressive
talents and high status. I have seen how he took the death of his friend. How
would he receive the truth about his mother? How would he regard the man who
had a part in such a thing?"
For a long moment silence filled the room. "Go," the man said in a choked
voice. "As always, everything will be done as you say."
* * * * *
Matteo slumped against the cold stone wall and stared out the single window
in the door of his cell as he tried to take it all in. Andris was dead. Mystra only
knew what had become of Themo. And he, Matteo, was imprisoned on a charge
of carrying a weapon that was not only proscribed but also stolen.
He sighed and surveyed his prison. The hold was a rarity in Halruaa, a land
of swift justice and very few prisons. The port city of Khaerbaal was more rough-
and-tumble than most, and though a few minor offenders were sentenced to a
few days of confinement, for the most part the hold was a place to store criminals
until the resident mage could attend to his or her case. Guilt was quickly
determined through magical inquiry and the sentence carried out according to
law.
Matteo had no fear of the outcome. His innocence would be determined by
the prison magehound. Even so, the temporary disgrace carried a crushing
weight.
A shadow passed by the small, barred window, silhouetted against the
flickering light of torches thrust into metal brackets on the walls outside. Matteo
gave an impassive glance toward what he thought was the guard, then leaped to
his feet. The light was dim and uncertain, but Tzigone's face was forever burned
into his memory and he would know her anyplace.
"You!" he declared in a tone that dripped with wrath as he pointed an
accusing finger at the young woman.
Tzigone rolled her eyes. "And I thought Gio's performance was overwrought.
Save the drama for the supper crowd. Right now let's think about getting you out
of here."
If possible, the mention of rescue only served to increase Matteo's ire. "I am
jordaini, bound by the laws of the land. You insult me by suggesting that I would
attempt to escape justice."
"Justice?" she repeated incredulously. "Is that what you think happens
around here? I know the magehound who works the hold. He's an ugly little
monkey of a man who holds a grudge against anyone better favored than he.
One look at that handsome face of yours and he'll be howling for an Inquisition. If
I were you, I wouldn't bet my future on the outcome."
Matteo's first impulse was to protest this as blasphemous. A magehound's
word was final and fair. This was the underlying premise of his culture, the
assurance of the jordain s status and power.
Yet he himself had harbored such thoughts. How could he not? Andris was
dead. Andris, who was his dearest friend and the best of them all. It was enough
to make any man lose faith.
Faced with such a dark and unfathomable void, Matteo clung to what he
knew. "I do not fear the magehound's judgment. Truth is a sword that cuts all
bonds."
She threw up her hands. The 'truth' is that you were caught with a weapon
crafted by Zanfeld Yemandi, the city's premier swordsmith."
"You said the sword was yours!' he protested.
"Mine, his," she said impatiently. "I had need of it at the moment and Zanfeld
did not. Who had the better claim to it?"
Matteo groaned and buried his head in his hands. Though Tzigone obviously
intended to aid him, her words condemned him as surely as they informed him.
When the magical inquiry was done, it would be discovered that he knew beyond
doubt at the time of inquisition that the sword was stolen.
"I an undone," he muttered, slumping lower against the wall.
"Then get off the floor and do yourself back up," she said tartly. "I'll get you
out of this. Trust me."
He sent her a quick incredulous glance. "Need I remind you that it was you
who got me into this?"
She shrugged away his words with the same impatient unconcern that she
might have in dismissing a comment about the political situation in distant
Cormyr. The expression on her face clearly proclaimed, What has one thing to do
with another?
Tzigone cast her eyes toward the ceiling. Then, with the air of someone who
has better things to do than engage in meaningless chat, she dropped out of
sight. Metallic whispers gave witness to picks and knives being employed on the
lock.
Matteo walked over to the door. "I will not go with you," he said with calm [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]