Элейн Каннингем - The Floodgate

Procopio smiled reassuringly. "I noted your performance on Avariel. Quite daring."

She shrugged, eyeing him and waiting for him to get to the point. He came closer, and with one hand he surreptitiously traced the gestures for a simple spell that measured the general shape of a person's magical power and moral inclinations. A simple spell, but an enormous breach of hospitality. A wizard simply did not intrude upon a guest in this manner.

To his astonishment, the spell simply dissipated. Either the girl was powerful enough to resist his Art, or she was as magic-dead as clay.

Intrigued, the diviner called to mind a more powerful spell and probed harder, deeper, employing magic that could thrust aside the mind's resistance and plunder at will. So intrusive was this spell that a Halruaan woman would be less offended if a stranger were to thrust his hand between her thighs. Even this puissant spell proved futile.

Futile, but not unnoticed. The girl's big eyes went molten with fury. "Back off," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "Poke at me again, and I'll take your hand off at the elbow and shove it up your… spell bag."

Despite his own misdeeds, Procopio was not about to accept such disrespect. He drew himself up. "You over-speak yourself, wench! I never expected to see the day when a green apprentice dared to address a master wizard in such fashion!"

"Is that so?" she inquired through gritted teeth. "Then this is going to come as a real surprise!"

Before Procopio could react, she clenched a small, ink-stained hand and drove it into his face.

His magical shields were in place. He was certain of that. Then why was he lying on his back, his head throbbing from sharp contact with the cobblestone and his entire face throbbing like a giant toothache?

No answer to this mystery emerged from the blurring whirl that his thoughts had become. After a moment Procopio hauled himself into a sitting position. He lifted one hand to his jaw and worked it experimentally.

Basel bustled over, his plump face twitching with emotion. "I am shocked, my friend! Astounded! Most thoroughly disconcerted! By wind and word, I swear that I shall deal with my apprentice swiftly and appropriately."

The diviner waved away the pudgy, beringed hand that Basel offered and rose unaided, clinging to the jasmine-cloaked trellis for support. When the garden stopped spinning, he turned to regard his unlikely attacker.

The girl stood as taut and ready as a drawn bow, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, her fisted hands held low but ready. Despite the gravity of her situation, she looked as if she'd like nothing better than to take a second shot at him.

Procopio tamped down his temper and salved his bruised pride. The little bastard would pay in time, after she'd been dealt as a card in his long-running game with Basel Indoulur. Meanwhile, Basel was bound by wizard-word to deal harshly with her. Since attacking a wizard was among the most serious crimes in the land, Basel would be hard pressed to come up with a punishment short of death or dismemberment.

Procopio dismissed them all with a wave of his hand. "Take the wench, and deal with her according to her deeds. You are so sworn."

Basel bowed low and took Tzigone by the arm, drawing her out of the courtyard and into the street.

Now you've done it, she thought, her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach. What had possessed her, that she'd thought she could live within the staid confines of a wizard's tower, and the endless rules and niceties expected of a Halruaan wizard? Tzigone was no more suited to this life than was a half-feral griffon kitten. Sooner or later, something like this was destined to happen. Now Basel, despite his indulgent good humor, was obliged to take action. Tzigone considered trying to break and run, but the tip of a rowan wand peeking out of Basel's crimson sleeve convinced her otherwise. For such a lighthearted soul, Basel carried an extraordinary amount of magical weaponry.

They walked in silence down several streets, Mason and Farrah trailing miserably behind. Tzigone did not think it wise to ask why they did not go directly to the skyship.

At last they paused before a row of fine shops. Basel released Tzigone's arm and pointed to the goods in the window before them. "Tell me, do these please you?"

She glanced at the window, then did an astonished double take. Displayed against draping folds of black velvet was a collection of the finest weapons she had ever seen.

The shopkeeper bustled out, beaming. "Just the thing for prudent wizards to carry, lords and ladies! Not a sword, dagger or knife among these will hold a spell. No one can trace them, enspell them, or turn them against you. Of course, you'll have to sharpen them-they won't magically hold an edge, either." He chuckled at his little joke. "But we sell whetstones for that purpose," he added, lest there be any hesitation on that account.

Tzigone studied the fine weapons. Why was Basel dangling them before her like this? She didn't have the coins to buy one, and she doubted that he intended for her to demonstrate her thieving skills. If he meant to have her killed or marked-and if her understanding of Halruaan law was correct, he had the right to do either-why have her choose the weapon? He had never struck her as a sadistic man.

"Do any of these please you?" Basel repeated patiently.

Tzigone cleared her throat. "I've never seen better."

"They are quite fine. They're also overpriced, but what can I say? I am bound by my wizard-word oath to act promptly. Choose one."

She sent him an inquiring look. To her vast relief, Basel's disturbingly calm expression gave way to a wide grin.

"You knocked Lord Procopio on his scrawny excuse for an arse. I swore that you would be dealt with appropriately. I'd say an extravagant gift is in order." He turned to his apprentices. "Mason? Farrah?"

"Highly appropriate," Mason agreed with a relieved smile. Farrah Noor laughed delightedly and clapped her jeweled hands.

"There is more to this than you know," Basel said, suddenly serious. "Spells of divination are as common in Halruaa as rain during the monsoon, but there are rules and limits. Lord Procopio skirts them. A hungry urchin risks losing a hand when he cuts a rich man's purse strings, yet the most powerful of wizards can raid another man's mind with impunity. Procopio has intruded upon one of my apprentices before," Basel said, glancing at Farrah Noor, "and I suspected that he could not resist the challenge you present. He was due for a gentle reminder that not everyone will tolerate his arrogance."

The wizard's mood darkened still more. "Forgive me, child, for subjecting you to such indignity. I never suspected that Procopio would go so far. I should have, knowing him as I do."

Tzigone heaved a sigh of profound relief and enfolded Basel in a quick hug. She reached for a length of gleaming silver-a long slim knife, perfectly balanced for fighting or throwing. "I knew I should have followed that punch with a knee to the groin."

"I'm just as glad you didn't," Basel told her, his black eyes twinkling with unholy glee as he counted out the needed coins. "Had you done so, I would have felt compelled to sign Avariel over to you."

Matteo's pursuit of Andris took much longer than he had anticipated. His eager stallion ran hard the first day, and Matteo suspected that Cyric would have run through the night had not Matteo called a halt. On the second day, heavy rains slowed his progress and blurred the trail. Matteo was a strong tracker, but had he not known Andris so well, he would have missed the trail entirely. It was not the trail sign, but the small tricks and diversions that the jordain left to cover his path that Matteo found and read.