Элейн Каннингем - The Floodgate

Zalathorm's eyes narrowed. "You heard this spell? How did you happen to be in the queen's chambers when this occurred?"

"I was not. This device was."

He showed the king the magic mouth bottle, then pulled the cork. Procopio suppressed a snort of laughter when he recognized the carved visage of one of the northland's great wizards. It was said that the Old Sage cast a long shadow, but all the way to Halruaa?

The echo of Kiva's elven soprano filled the room with magic-rich chant, and Procopio forgot everything else. When the spell was complete, Matteo replaced the cork.

The king's face was grim. "Very well. The city must be fortified and secured. The battle wizard Lhamadas will command the city militia."

"There is yet another threat," Matteo said in a heartsick voice. "One within the palace itself."

He pulled the cork again. The voice of Queen Beatrix answered Kiva's questions. The entire Council of Elders heard Kiva commending Beatrix for a job well done.

For many moments, profound silence ruled the council chamber. "If I could have spared you this, sire," Matteo said softly, "I would have done it."

The king met his gaze. "You did your duty, jordain. I will do mine."

Procopio stepped forward to seize the moment, and, Mystra willing, the throne itself. "Your Majesty, none can deny that Beatrix is guilty of high treason. By law, the sentence is death, to be carried out immediately."

For the first time, Matteo saw the weight of long years in Zalathorm's eyes. His heart ached for the king, and for the strange, sad woman whom Zalathorm loved.

"Every Halruaan is entitled to magical examination," the wizard-king said coldly. "Surely the queen has the same rights as a fisherwoman!"

Before Procopio could protest, Matteo stepped forward. "The king is caught between two necessities. How can he defend both his queen and his country? Let this matter rest until our borders are secure."

"Halruaan justice is swift," Procopio reminded him.

"If it is too swift, it may not be justice at all," Matteo retorted.

A murmur of agreement moved through the room. "I suggest a compromise," said a tall, flame-haired woman. "The queen must be imprisoned until the invasion is repelled and this other matter given proper attention."

Zalathorm nodded slowly. "That is fair. Take her to the palace towers and place around her spells of binding. That is all. Now go-all of you know what must be done. May Mystra grant us strength."

In a quiet voice, one that barely reached the ears of the jordain at his side, the king whispered, "May Keturah forgive me."

Matteo started at the familiar name. His gaze leaped to Zalathorm's face, and read confirmation in the king's sad brown eyes.

There was no time for questions. He bowed to his king, then turned away to follow Procopio's quick, staccato retreat.

In the very heart of Akhlaur's Swamp, the undine lay panting on the edge of the deep pool, her black tresses hanging lank about her too-pale face. Gems lay in bright heaps beside her, treasures from the sunken tower.

These riches were hard won. Strange magic lurked in the waters of Akhlaur's swamp, power sufficient to raise Andris's slain comrades into zombie guardians. The undine had apparently run into other guardians. Her arms were a map of angry red welts, and a thin tentacle, still twitching, tangled in her hair.

Andris picked it out carefully, self-consciously. His own fingers were nearly as translucent as this remnant of a jellyfish. "A man-of-war," he said. "The poison will kill a man. I don't know how much damage it will deal a creature of water and air."

"Enough," Nadage said sternly. "The undine must rest until tomorrow."

"One more try," Kiva insisted. She described to the undine the gem that must be retrieved, its possible location within the tower. "This will open the floodgate. I swear it! Find it, and the plunder of Akhlaur's tower will be complete."

The elves exchanged glances. "It is for the undine to say."

The exhausted sprite nodded and dived deep. Time passed, and the shadows of night began to creep over the swamp. Finally one of the elves gasped and pointed.

A limp form floated amid a swath of black lilies. Andris dived in and pulled the undine to shore. The elf shaman bent over the fey creature, then shook her head. "She lives, but not for long."

Kiva stooped and jerked the bag from the dying creature's belt. She tugged open the string and spilled the contents onto her open palm. A large, perfect emerald caught the last rays of the dying day. A smile of satisfaction crossed the elf's face, and her eyes went utterly cold.

Chanting a spell, she dropped to her knees. She placed a tiny vial on the undine's chest and then fisted both hands in the delicate white feathers that framed the creature's shoulders. With a quick, vicious tug she wrenched them free.

The undine's entire body buckled in a spasm of agony, and she was gone. Nothing remained of her but the feathers in Kiva's hands and the glowing vial on the shore.

The elves stood in shocked horror. Kiva ignored them and tipped the vial to her lips. The glowing liquid disappeared, as wings sprouted from Kiva's shoulders. Andris had never seen such a spell, but it was not difficult to understand what Kiva had done. She had stolen the undine's life-force, and, at least for a time, the ability of the creature to live in the water.

Elven steel hissed free, and every blade pointed at Kiva's heart. She spat out a trigger word, and instantly the weapons flamed red with heat. With startled cries, the elves dropped their blades to sizzle and steam where they fell. They thrust their burned hands into the cooling water.

Kiva turned to Andris. "Kill them."

Andris shook his head.

"What of the Cabal?" she taunted him. "What price is too large to pay to see it destroyed?"

"This one," he said softly.

Kiva's hand came up and spat blue fire. Lighting flared into the water, skittering across the surface to sizzle into the elves' already burned hands. Before Andris could stop her, before he could speak a single word of protest their companions lay dead.

"No price too large," she said firmly.

Dhamari Exchelsor sat in his tower window, watching the brightly painted Avariel sail northward in the company of a dozen other skyships. Of course Basel would go northward, despite his long-standing feud with Procopio Septus, for Tzigone would wish to fight at her jordain's side. If Basel were not so obliging, Dhamari imagined that Tzigone would find another way.

The streets below resounded with the clash of the queen's clockwork army. Their numbers were most impressive. Mechanical warriors emerged from root cellars and privies, stables and guest chambers and gardens, attacking anyone in their path. According to Dhamari's spells of inquiry, small skirmishes were everywhere. He watched as two metal gnolls-hideous beastmen with heads resembling desert dingoes-clattered down the street, tossing a shrieking child between them like a toy. Dhamari's guards took off in pursuit, leaving his tower unprotected.

No matter. The wizard watched them go, fondling a small coin that would transport him to Tzigone's side as soon as the deadly spell was cast and the dark fairies summoned.

And call them she would. Kiva had made certain of that, whether she knew it or not.

Procopio had witnessed such battles a hundred times, played out in miniature. Why then, was he so unprepared for the slaughter?

As Kiva had forewarned, small bands of Crinti had taken position on the mountains, choosing perches higher than the skyships could climb. They were too firmly entrenched to give the airborne wizards a clear target or even a sense of their numbers, which, as Matteo had suggested, were greater than Kiva had admitted. In a broad valley below, a band of mercenaries under the command of the jordain Iago fought in bloody melee against the gray warriors.