Элейн Каннингем - The Magehound

Basel watched as his apprentices rose to their feet and brushed at their crimson finery. All three of them looked rumpled and rattled, but the expression of puzzlement on Farrah's pretty face confirmed Basel's growing suspicions. He gestured the young woman to his side.

"Let me see the gestures to the wind spell," he said mildly. "Leave out the chant, if you please."

The apprentice went through half the spell before she flushed and faltered. "I seem to have forgotten the third quatrain," she admitted. "Only this morning I knew it perfectly. On my life, Lord Basel, I do not know how this thing could have happened!"

Actually, Basel had a fairly good idea. "And the enchantment of the mast? You spoke the spell of binding this morning, as you were bade?"

An expression of complete befuddlement crossed Farrah's face. "You gave me this task? My lord, I have no memory of this."

The conjurer nodded. Loss of memory was a common side effect of magical inquiry. Most likely Procopio had had his servants follow Basel's apprentices during the day's festival and had cast spells of divination upon the first one they'd found. Unfortunately for the Avariel, it had been Farrah.

Basel swallowed his anger, lest his stricken apprentice think it was directed at her. "Did you bring your flying carpet, Farrah? Fine! Calm yourself and take a bit of wine, then ask the ship's steward to pack a thousand skie in a sack. Follow Lord Procopio to the green obelisk and pay him his winnings."

"But my lord, the law says you need not pay a crooked wager," protested Mason, a commoner with uncommon talent and a habit of speaking plainly. "I practiced the spell with Farrah this morn. Nay, more than practiced: She all but taught it to me. As Mystra lives, Farrah did not forget the wind charm."

"Of course she didn't," Basel replied evenly. "I know what you imply, but have you any idea how difficult it would be to prove your suspicions?"

The young man folded his arms and glowered. "Not so hard. After a goose is stolen, you look for the man who's eating eggs."

"No doubt that's a useful proverb in many circumstance," the wizard said. "But you cannot charge Procopio Septus with divination. That would be like accusing birds of flight. Perhaps he bent the edges of tradition, but he broke no laws. Complaining would make us appear ridiculous. No, worse than ridiculous, for who was it who attempted to win a race by conjuring a wind charm?"

"So we do nothing?" the youth said incredulously.

Basel's smile was as bland as a cherub's, but his eyes turned flat and hard. "If that is all you see, perhaps you should spend less time eyeing Farrah and more time observing your fellow wizards. Halruaa is more than spells and skyships. Did you think that you came to me to learn nothing but magic?

"Watch," he concluded in an uncharacteristically grim tone. "Procopio Septus has larger ambitions than winning a race, and if he succeeds, we've more to lose than a skyship."

* * * * *

An ancient elf stood on the deck of Starsnake, watching as the events foretold by his patron played out. "A small ship approaches," he said mildly, pointing to the craft leaving the damaged Avariel. "It would seem that Basel Indoulur is a man who honors his wagers."

If Procopio Septus heard the rebuke in the elf's voice, he gave no indication. "That is not a ship but a flying carpet Your eyes begin to fail you, Zephyr. How reassuring for both of us that your counsel has not."

The elf did not miss the implied threat "You are pleased with the new jordain I selected? Rualli is doing well?"

Procopio smiled thinly. "Not so well that I intend to replace you, if that's what you're asking. But let's speak of your recruitment efforts."

For a moment Zephyr's heart thudded painfully, then he realized that his patron could not possibly know of Kiva and Zephyr's secret efforts on her behalf.

"There are several promising students at the Jordaini College," Zephyr said mildly. "Tell me more about what you desire in your new counselors, so that I might make a closer match. For that matter, I could serve you better if I understood why you wished to hire so many. Most wizards content themselves with the counsel of a single jordain."

Procopio nodded toward the approaching carpet and the small woman seated on it. "He who lives by the sword dies by it. The same could be said of magic. You have seen the problems that occur when a wizard surrounds himself with mages of lesser skill. It creates vulnerability. That I cannot have."

The elf understood this, for he himself was a jordain, a superbly trained counselor chosen not only for his keen mind, but also for his utter lack of magical ability. The jordaini were highly resistant to magic and bounded by a multitude of rules that kept them separate from the normal flow of Halruaan life. They underwent rigorous training and took sacred vows: service to the land, their wizard patron, and truth. Death was the penalty for using magic or speaking untruth. Harsh, to be sure, but it was one of many things that kept the jordaini honest. Infractions were rare. Zephyr did not know of a single living jordain who flouted these rules-save for himself.

"It is a comfort to speak plainly," Procopio said. "No one can take my secrets from your mind. A man in my position can afford to surround himself with any comfort he desires."

"That is at best a partial truth, my lord," the elf said sternly. "You hire jordaini who are outstanding in the art of warfare. Why? You are lord mayor of this city and captain of its skyship fleet, but King Zalathorm directs the military."

The wizard turned to face Zephyr. "As will he who rules after Zalathorm."

For a moment they stood in silence. "So there it is," the elf said softly.

"There it is," Procopio agreed. "I would be king. Tell me how. You have lived long and seen kingdoms rise and fall."

"Indeed," Zephyr murmured. He marveled that the wizard did not hear the bitterness in his voice.

"I am greatly skilled in the art of divination," Procopio went on, too absorbed in his own dreams to consider any nightmares his jordain might have lived. "But many wizards can captain a skyship as well as I, and military science is not my discipline. I need men who know it as well as I know my own business, and," he added with a sly smile, "that of Basel Indoulur."

Zephyr nodded thoughtfully, putting aside his own whirling thoughts to concentrate on his patron's situation. "Then you will need a master of horse to replace Iago. Regretfully, the outpost militia stationed in the Nath region found no trace of him. We assume he was carried off by raiders. There have been recent sightings of Crinti shadow amazons in the foothills," he said, referring to the race of gray-skinned, gray-haired horsewomen who ruled the land of Dambrath and haunted the wild eastern borders of Halruaa.

The wizard grunted. "Then we've seen the last of that jordain. Did we lose all the horses he purchased?"

"Only one, my lord. It would seem that Iago took a promising stallion out for a run and was not seen again."

"Pity. What of his replacement?"

"Several promising candidates, my lord. In this year's class, I would recommend Andris, whose grasp of military strategy is quite astonishing. Matteo is skilled with weapons and rides extremely well. Both are promising leaders. Either would do admirably."

Procopio considered this. "But do I really want another green jordain? What of those who are already in service to a wizard lord? Why not hire a seasoned counselor out from under his current patron? It's done all the time."

“True, but the practice holds risks," the elf cautioned. "You are not the only wizard to employ more than one jordain, but if you concentrate too blatantly on gathering a military council, it will not be long before your rivals perceive the pattern. The young men I mentioned have other skills that will distract the eye from your main purpose for them."