Элейн Каннингем - The Floodgate

With difficulty he brought his attention back to the discussion of the floodgate. "When the time is right, we will unleash creatures that might even challenge Shanair," Kiva went on.

The Crinti's laugh rang with scorn at this notion, and anticipation lit her strange blue eyes. "May that day come soon, elf-sister! Tell us how to prepare."

"To begin with, you might want to improve your swimming skills."

The females shared a dark chuckle, and neither of them noticed that the ghostly human in their midst did not share their amusement.

Andris woke the next morning to the splashing of water and the thud and clash of weapons. He belted on his sword and followed the sound to a stream not far from the Crinti encampment.

Several of the elfbloods were training in water past their waists. He had perceived Kiva's comment about swimming as a jest, but apparently the Crinti were more literal of mind.

For a long time Andris stood on the banks watching the Crinti warriors. They were good-among the finest fighters he had ever seen-but weighted down by their leather armor and heavy weapons. The water stole their strength and halved their speed. In light of last night's revelation, that presented a serious problem.

The creature whose skull Shanair took would not be hampered by water or weapons. Andris had seen such a creature etched in a lore book detailing creatures from the Plane of Water. He had seen the laraken slip through the crack in the floodgate. He suspected that the slaughtered monster had been a response in kind. Last night, for the first time, Andris had begun to believe that Akhlaur was still alive. He doubted that the wizard's minions were limited to a single monster.

Perhaps the Crinti's precautions were not so far-fetched, after all.

Andris unbuckled his sword belt and hung it on a tree limb. He stripped off his tunic and trews, leaving only his linen undergarment He would fight better in water if he were completely naked, but given the Crinti attitude toward males, he saw little wisdom in presenting them with a convenient and obvious target.

He waded into the stream, armed with his jordaini daggers. One of the Crinti took note of him and elbowed a sister warrior, a well-fleshed woman who was by far the biggest of the lot. This woman snorted and called out an incomprehensible but clearly derisive comment.

Andris decided she would provide as good an example as any.

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.