Элейн Каннингем - The Floodgate

"Yes, I have a good idea how Dhamari binds his servants. Speak to no one of what you have seen in this place, and you should be safe enough for the next tenday or so."

The gatekeeper nodded cautiously. "After that, my lord?"

"No law or spell can bind you to a dead man," Basel said bluntly,

The man's eyes widened, then turned luminous with gratitude. "Mystra speed you, my lord!"

Basel echoed that prayer as he returned to his Halarahh tower to order his skyship readied. He knew he could not track Tzigone-her uncanny resistance to magic had kept him from following her on the days she decided to slip away from her duties-but he would damn well find Dhamari.

And his old friend Procopio Septus was just the man to tell him how.

Procopio Septus stared at his new game table, committing the landscape to memory, contemplating the possibilities presented by gully and cliff and cave.

He had played wargames for years, reenacting famous battles and learning from the triumphs and mistakes of past wizard-lords, but this table depicted a sensitive part of the eastern border, as it now was. The army threading its way through mountain passes had been lured by his bargain with the Mulhorandi wizard. Procopio was the only wizard in Halruaa aware of the coming conflict.

A tiny figure, a warrior mounted on a winged horse, separated itself from the battle. It flew high above the table and buzzed around Procopio's head. Irritated, he swatted at the malfunctioning toy.

He barely connected, but the impact sizzled through him like a miniature bolt of lighting. Procopio snatched his hand away and stared with disbelief at the rapidly growing figure. In moments, a full-sized horse pranced on his Calimshan carpet. It folded room-spanning wings in a sweep that set the chandelier swaying and swept hundreds of tiny figures off the backfield.

The winged horse was a dappled bay, but its coloring was unlike anything Procopio had ever seen. Its coat was mottled brown and moss green, and the mane that hung nearly to its hoofs was the shade of mountain pines. The wings were feathered in soft shades of green and brown. It was the strangest steed he had ever seen, yet it suited the female mounted on its back.

She was a forest elf, with the coppery skin and amber eyes common to the folk of the Mhair. Her hair was long and braided, and a deep jade green in hue. Simply clad in a tunic and boots, she bore little resemblance to the elaborated coiffed and gowned magehound Procopio had glimpsed twice or thrice. Procopio was no expert on the ages of elves, but this female seemed to have aged the equivalent or two or even three human decades. Her skin looked thin and delicate. Tiny lines collected near the corners of her catlike eyes, and the hollows beneath her cheekbones were deep and shadowed. Even so, how many green-haired elves could there be in Halruaa?

Procopio greeted her by name. "This is a most unexpected pleasure. Would you care for a refreshment? Wine? Perhaps a bucket of oats?"

Kiva swung down from the horse and smacked its flank. The winged creature broke into a canter, taking perhaps four steps before it began rapidly diminishing in size and rising in the air. It shrank to the size of a bee and disappeared.

Never had it occurred to Procopio that someone might breach his tower's defenses through the gaming tables' magic. He was both chagrined and impressed. "I would pay well for a copy of that spell and the name of the wizard who developed it," the wizard observed.

The elf woman smirked. "If I sold it, I wouldn't bet a wooden skie against the man's chances of surviving the new moon."

Procopio grunted. "Let us move to the matter at hand. Iago, my former counselor, affirms that you purchased him from a band of Crinti raiders. You have an alliance with the Crinti, or at least some sort of dealings with them."

"And you have a particular fascination with the shadow amazons," Kiva countered. "More importantly, you have shown yourself willing to trade information for information. Your comment about activities beyond the eastern wall led to some interesting possibilities. What else can you give me?"

"What do you want?" Procopio asked bluntly.

Kiva blinked, as if unaccustomed to such directness from a Halruaan wizard. "Many things. Perhaps foremost, the destruction of the Cabal."

It was Procopio's turn to be astonished. "How might that be accomplished?"

"Help me remove Zalathorm from power, and I will show you."

No answer could have pleased him more. On the other hand, it seemed too convenient that his purpose and the elf's dovetailed so perfectly.

He painted a disapproving scowl on his face. "Let's assume that I wished to pursue such a foolish and treasonous course. The only incentive large enough would be Zalathorm's crown. What reason would you have to support me?"

"None in the world." She shrugged. "I don't care whose arse warms Halruaa's throne. You have something I want and Zalathorm does not."

"What is that?" he asked warily.

"You know the Crinti," she said, gesturing to one of his older tables. "Once they were useful to me, but they have become too numerous, too bold. They are coming into the Nath by the scores through the caves and mountain passes."

"Why should that concern me?"

"This activity might well draw eyes eastward. If your fellow wizards learn of the coming Mulhorandi invasion, you lose the opportunity to predict a threat that Zalathorm did not perceive. Help me with the Crinti, and you serve yourself."

Procopio carefully hid his elation. To do battle against Crinti warriors! He had dreamed of such battles hundreds of times. He had planned strategies and tested the results. This opportunity was one he had desired for a very long time! Yet he kept his voice level, his face skeptical. "What, precisely, would you like me to do?"

"You are the lord mayor of this city. Surely you have some militia under your command. Claim your great powers of divination have perceived a threat from the Crinti, and argue that because of your studies, you are better prepared to counter this threat than any other man. I will tell you where many of their camps and caves are hidden. You will win fame for this victory, and when you predict the coming of Mulhorandi troops, people will take notice."

"A compelling argument," Procopio conceded. "And if the militia requires some substantiation?"

"Two of your former jordaini travel the Nath. Report to the king your concern for these young men, the troubling visions you have received. I will use my influence with the Crinti to have the jordaini captured. Send a scouting party to 'rescue' them. When they return to the king's city spouting tales of Crinti atrocities, you will appear to be a true prophet."

"Agreed," Procopio said promptly, "but I warn you, I have studied every possible variation of battle strategy in the northern hills. Your Crinti cannot trick me, and you had better not attempt to betray me."

"Why would I?" she countered. "You wish to prove yourself in battle, I wish to see the Crinti banished. You wish to replace Zalathorm, and you will need the chaos I have proven myself capable of providing. And I wish to dance on Zalathorm's grave."

Never had Procopio heard words infused with such venom or seen such hatred as that shining in Kiva's eyes. "Perhaps I have reason to trust you, after all."

“Test me and see!"

The elf woman planted her feet wide and squeezed her amber eyes closed. Procopio quickly cast a small spell of divination to probe her motives.

Instantly he was engulfed by an icy storm of emotion, a glacier of resolve. So intense was Kiva's passion for vengeance that Procopio experienced it as a physical blow. A violent chill shuddered through him, and he stumbled back on legs suddenly stiff and numb.

"Why?" he managed.