Элейн Каннингем - The Wizardwar

"I think you'd better tell me everything you know."

Andris nodded. "Years ago, before Akhlaur began his rise to power, three young wizards, friends from boyhood, created a powerful artifact. This artifact was a symbol of their friendship. It joined them, lending the strength of all to each. This they did in response to dangerous times, for all three were active in Halruaa's defense. In youthful arrogance they called themselves the Heart of Halruaa. The artifact would protect them and their descendants, creating a legacy of guardianship."

Matteo jolted as he recalled a conversation with Zalathorm in which the king had hinted of powerful magic protecting the "Heart of Halruaa."

Andris noted this response. "What is it?"

"Not long ago, Tzigone and I were attacked by thugs and taken to an icehouse. Between us, we dispatched most of the men. The dead and wounded simply faded away. King Zalathorm told me that when the Heart of Halruaa is concerned, either the threat or the threatened are removed from danger. A similar thing happened when clockwork monsters went amok in the queen's workshop."

The ghostly jordain's eyes went wide. Matteo lifted an inquiring brow, but Andris shook his head.

"Never mind-a fleeting and unformed thought, not worth speaking. I suspect you came here to ask me to help you retrace Kiva's steps, to determine what role she played in the queen's downfall."

"That is true."

"I’ll help you. In exchange, you must help me destroy the Cabal."

A burst of startled laughter escaped Matteo. "As if the two impossible tasks currently before me were not sufficient! Andris, I don't even know what the Cabal is!"

"I just told you."

Matteo sobered. "The artifact? The Heart of Halruaa?"

"Well, it's good to know that palace life hasn't made your wits less nimble," Andris said dryly.

"That does make a certain macabre sense," the jordain mused. "Yet all my life I've heard tales of a secret group of wizards who supported and controlled the Halruaan government in mysterious ways. You're saying there's no truth to these tales?"

Andris's faint smile held a world of bitterness. "Sometimes truth can be found only in layers of irony."

"If that's not a jordaini proverb, it should be," Matteo retorted. "How do you know these things?"

"I read Akhlaur's grimoire," he reminded Matteo. "I know why the artifact was created, and I know what it became. It must be destroyed."

Matteo regarded his friend for a long moment "Once, I would have taken any course of action on your word alone. Forgive me, but those days have passed."

The ghostly jordain nodded. "Fair enough. You saw how the laraken drained the life force-the magical essence-of all the elves it encountered."

Matteo averted his eyes from Andris's translucent form. "Yes."

"Where did that magic go?"

He blinked, then frowned. "I assumed the laraken consumed it, as we do food."

Andris shook his head. "The laraken was only a conduit. The stolen life-forces are contained in the heart of an ancient, magic-storing gem."

"You're sure of this?" Matteo pressed.

"I saw a similar gem in the Khaerbaal Swamp. I brought it to Kiva. She shattered it. I saw the elven spirits, captive for centuries, released. Never have I seen such joy! Whenever following Kiva weighed heavily on me, I thought of that moment and my part in it."

Matteo nodded, understanding at last what had motivated his friend.

"Will you help me?" Andris pressed.

Still he hesitated. "You wish to destroy an artifact that supports King Zalathorm's reign."

"Why not? Wasn't it you who told me that no good can come of alliance with evil? You also spoke of conflict between a jordaini's three masters: truth, Halruaa, and the wizard-lords. It is time for the truth to be told, and you may have to choose between your patron and the good of Halruaa."

Perhaps this, Matteo mused, was what Zalathorm had intended. Perhaps this Cabal was the mysterious "what" that held Beatrix under enchantment.

"I will consider," he agreed. "In exchange, give me your word that you will not escape. Swear this upon your elven honor."

Something bleak and cold thawed in Andris's eyes. "I didn't think you understood what that meant to me."

"I don't, entirely, but I'm learning the importance of heritage."

He extended his hand, and they clasped wrists like comrades never parted. "You won't come to regret this," Andris vowed.

"No need. I regret it already," his friend retorted, only half in jest.

The corridor ended in a locked gate. Matteo raised his voice to hail the guards. A small battalion promptly clattered up. Matteo singled out the man wearing a commander's insignia.

"You will release this man," he stated.

The guard bristled. "On what authority?"

Matteo merely lifted one brow, an imperious gesture that prompted Andris to swallow a smirk. The guard dipped his head in a nervous bow. "I do not presume to argue with the king's counselor, but this man just tried to escape!"

"I obtained his word that he will not escape from me. Did you?"

The guard opened his mouth, then closed it in a thin-lipped grimace. "No," he said after a moment.

Matteo nodded pointedly at the door. The guards set about unchaining the locks and removing the magical wards.

"You do that very well," Andris murmured as they strode down the corridor. A hint of his old twinkle had returned to his translucent hazel eyes, and shades of their former camaraderie added an amused edge to his voice.

Matteo sent him a sidelong glance. "My skills seem to be improving. I never thought the day would come when I could outsmart Andris. And with a trestle table! It is said that a man is equal to the weapon that fells him."

The ghostly jordain snorted. "Go ahead. Enjoy the moment."

"I intend to! At this rate, I will soon be able to best you in battle."

Andris's smile returned in full. "As a wise man recently observed, keep repeating that thought. If words truly have power, they might eventually turn into reality."

The aroma of strange herbs filled the air, and the soft music of reed flutes and long-necked stringed instruments followed Matteo down the corridor of the greenmage's domain, a wing of the palace where the palace servants and courtiers sought healing.

Matteo paused at an open door and gazed for a long time at the big man who lay, propped up with pillows, in a narrow bed. Themo, Matteo's jordaini friend and classmate, was finally awake after a long and unnaturally deep slumber. His eyes were open and focused, and he gazed out the window with a reflective air.

Matteo tapped on the doorframe. "The king's counselor, come to call," Themo said without looking over.

A smile pulled at the corners of the jordain's lips. "How did you know?"

"You're the only one who knocks. The green-mages burst in at all hours like rampaging orcs."

"At least you haven't lacked for company." Matteo came in and set his gift, a small bottle of golden haerlu wine, on the bedside table.

Themo seized the bottle and pulled out the cork with his teeth, then took a long pull. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"You were speaking of orcs and their manners?" Matteo teased in a dry tone.

The big jordain shrugged. "I'd better hammer while the forge burns and the iron is hot. You know how the jordaini masters can be about wine."

Matteo sat down in the room's only chair. "You seem resigned to returning to the Jordaini College."

"Have I any choice?"

The question was rhetorical, but Matteo answered it anyway. "Follow your heart, and become a warrior rather than a counselor."

Surprise widened Themo's eyes. "This is possible?"

"It is uncommon, but not entirely unknown. A dispensation from Zalathorm would free you from your vows." Matteo looked keenly at the somber-faced man. "I thought you would be pleased by this prospect."