Read Online The Floodgate by Elaine Cunningham - Free Book Online
Authors: Elaine Cunningham
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“She’s coming along nicely, but after her success with the laraken, she’d have to arm-wrestle a red dragon to meet expectations.”
“Ah yes, the laraken,” Procopio said. “I would like to hear that tale from the girl’s own lips, without an audience at hand to tempt her into embroidering it. With your permission, of course.”
Basel could hardly refuse his host’s request without violating at least a dozen rules of protocol. Of course, Procopio skirted the edges of propriety as well, but Basel could hardly point that out. Instead he placed his fingertips on his temples in a parody of a charlatan fortuneteller. “I see an arm-wrestling match between my apprentice and a red dragon. And-by Mystra!-I see Tzigone wearing a new pair of dragonhide boots!”
“I am forewarned,” the diviner said in a bone-dry tone.
He strode over to the trellis where Tzigone stood, arms folded, glaring at the climbing jasmine as if she held a special grudge against it.
He studied her closely, trying to remember Keturah’s face and searching the girl’s for anything that might jog his memory. She turned to meet his scrutiny. A wary glint flashed in her eyes-the canny, instinctual caution of an animal that scents a predator.
Procopio smiled reassuringly. “I noted your performance on Avariel. Quite daring.”
She shrugged, eyeing him and waiting for him to get to the point. He came closer, and with one hand he surreptitiously traced the gestures for a simple spell that measured the general shape of a person’s magical power and moral inclinations. A simple spell, but an enormous breach of hospitality. A wizard simply did not intrude upon a guest in this manner.
To his astonishment, the spell simply dissipated. Either the girl was powerful enough to resist his Art, or she was as magic-dead as clay.
Intrigued, the diviner called to mind a more powerful spell and probed harder, deeper, employing magic that could thrust aside the mind’s resistance and plunder at will. So intrusive was this spell that a Halruaan woman would be less offended if a stranger were to thrust his hand between her thighs. Even this puissant spell proved futile.
Futile, but not unnoticed. The girl’s big eyes went molten with fury. “Back off,” she said in a low, dangerous voice. “Poke at me again, and I’ll take your hand off at the elbow and shove it up your… spell bag.”
Despite his own misdeeds, Procopio was not about to accept such disrespect. He drew himself up. “You over-speak yourself, wench! I never expected to see the day when a green apprentice dared to address a master wizard in such fashion!”
“Is that so?” she inquired through gritted teeth. “Then this is going to come as a real surprise!”
Before Procopio could react, she clenched a small, ink-stained hand and drove it into his face.
His magical shields were in place. He was certain of that. Then why was he lying on his back, his head throbbing from sharp contact with the cobblestone and his entire face throbbing like a giant toothache?
No answer to this mystery emerged from the blurring whirl that his thoughts had become. After a moment Procopio hauled himself into a sitting position. He lifted one hand to his jaw and worked it experimentally.
Basel bustled over, his plump face twitching with emotion. “I am shocked, my friend! Astounded! Most thoroughly disconcerted! By wind and word, I swear that I shall deal with my apprentice swiftly and appropriately.”
The diviner waved away the pudgy, beringed hand that Basel offered and rose unaided, clinging to the jasmine-cloaked trellis for support. When the garden stopped spinning, he turned to regard his unlikely attacker.
The girl stood as taut and ready as a drawn bow, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, her fisted hands held low but ready. Despite the gravity of her situation, she looked as if she’d like nothing better than to take a second shot at him.
Procopio tamped down his temper and salved
“Ah yes, the laraken,” Procopio said. “I would like to hear that tale from the girl’s own lips, without an audience at hand to tempt her into embroidering it. With your permission, of course.”
Basel could hardly refuse his host’s request without violating at least a dozen rules of protocol. Of course, Procopio skirted the edges of propriety as well, but Basel could hardly point that out. Instead he placed his fingertips on his temples in a parody of a charlatan fortuneteller. “I see an arm-wrestling match between my apprentice and a red dragon. And-by Mystra!-I see Tzigone wearing a new pair of dragonhide boots!”
“I am forewarned,” the diviner said in a bone-dry tone.
He strode over to the trellis where Tzigone stood, arms folded, glaring at the climbing jasmine as if she held a special grudge against it.
He studied her closely, trying to remember Keturah’s face and searching the girl’s for anything that might jog his memory. She turned to meet his scrutiny. A wary glint flashed in her eyes-the canny, instinctual caution of an animal that scents a predator.
Procopio smiled reassuringly. “I noted your performance on Avariel. Quite daring.”
She shrugged, eyeing him and waiting for him to get to the point. He came closer, and with one hand he surreptitiously traced the gestures for a simple spell that measured the general shape of a person’s magical power and moral inclinations. A simple spell, but an enormous breach of hospitality. A wizard simply did not intrude upon a guest in this manner.
To his astonishment, the spell simply dissipated. Either the girl was powerful enough to resist his Art, or she was as magic-dead as clay.
Intrigued, the diviner called to mind a more powerful spell and probed harder, deeper, employing magic that could thrust aside the mind’s resistance and plunder at will. So intrusive was this spell that a Halruaan woman would be less offended if a stranger were to thrust his hand between her thighs. Even this puissant spell proved futile.
Futile, but not unnoticed. The girl’s big eyes went molten with fury. “Back off,” she said in a low, dangerous voice. “Poke at me again, and I’ll take your hand off at the elbow and shove it up your… spell bag.”
Despite his own misdeeds, Procopio was not about to accept such disrespect. He drew himself up. “You over-speak yourself, wench! I never expected to see the day when a green apprentice dared to address a master wizard in such fashion!”
“Is that so?” she inquired through gritted teeth. “Then this is going to come as a real surprise!”
Before Procopio could react, she clenched a small, ink-stained hand and drove it into his face.
His magical shields were in place. He was certain of that. Then why was he lying on his back, his head throbbing from sharp contact with the cobblestone and his entire face throbbing like a giant toothache?
No answer to this mystery emerged from the blurring whirl that his thoughts had become. After a moment Procopio hauled himself into a sitting position. He lifted one hand to his jaw and worked it experimentally.
Basel bustled over, his plump face twitching with emotion. “I am shocked, my friend! Astounded! Most thoroughly disconcerted! By wind and word, I swear that I shall deal with my apprentice swiftly and appropriately.”
The diviner waved away the pudgy, beringed hand that Basel offered and rose unaided, clinging to the jasmine-cloaked trellis for support. When the garden stopped spinning, he turned to regard his unlikely attacker.
The girl stood as taut and ready as a drawn bow, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, her fisted hands held low but ready. Despite the gravity of her situation, she looked as if she’d like nothing better than to take a second shot at him.
Procopio tamped down his temper and salved
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