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Authors: Elaine Cunningham
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the vines that seemed to erupt from the green-veined marble.
Basel caught Matteo’s eye. With a rueful smile, he dropped his gaze pointedly to his own rounded belly.
“I’m twice the man I was last time I climbed this tower. Unfortunately, I mean that quite literally. Are you sure we can’t use the front door? What place in all Halruaa is denied to the king’s counselor?”
“None, provided I wish to have my actions scrutinized by the city council. Dhamari is a casualty of war. He named Tzigone as successor to his tower, but she is also missing, and she has not named an heir. Until the Council of Elders rules on this matter, the tower will be sealed against magical intrusion. If we disturb the wards on the doors or attempt to enter the tower through magical means, Procopio Septus will hear of it.”
“Ah.” Basel’s face hardened. “Better a knife at my throat than that man looking over my shoulder.” He glanced at Matteo. “I know he was your patron.”
“Never apologize for speaking truth. For what it’s worth, Tzigone held a similar opinion of our lord mayor. She called him ‘Old Snowhawk.’”
“Among other things, no doubt. Well, let’s get this over with.” Basel began the chant and gestures of a spell.
Matteo had seen wizards employ cloaking spells before, but this was the first time he’d seen years peeled away by magic. Basel’s face narrowed and firmed. Jowls lifted and disappeared, and the ravages cause by middle-aged resignation and too much good living faded away. But his twinkling black eyes were unchanged by the removal of a few lines, and his black hair was still plaited into dozens of tiny, bead-decked braids.
Basel winked at the staring jordain. “Dashing, wasn’t I?”
Matteo responded with a wan grin. In truth, he had been searching the wizard’s younger countenance for some reflection of his own face. Basel’s features were rounded, while the jordain’s face had been fashioned with bolder strokes: sharply defined brows, a determined chin, and a narrow nose with a decidedly convex curve. Matteo’s hair was lighter, too-an unusual deep chestnut with flashes of red. At nearly six feet, he was tall for a Halruaan and considerably taller than Basel. Only their builds were somewhat similar: broad through the shoulders, with deep chests and well-muscled limbs.
The jordain was not the only one to note this resemblance. Basel winked again. “Let this be a lesson to you. See what can happen when you stop your daily weapons training? For good measure, I’d suggest you stay away from aged cheeses, red wines, and sugared figs.”
Matteo tugged experimentally at the thick tangle of flowering vines. “If this venture fails, shall I include that advice in your eulogy?”
Basel snorted. “Since when was sarcasm included in a jordain’s rhetorical studies?”
The young man shrugged and began to climb. Wizards’ towers were protected by magical wards, but as Matteo had learned from Tzigone, mundane methods often proved more effective than counter spells. Even so, the method of entry into Keturah’s former tower grated on his conscience. There was little about his friendship with Tzigone that did not.
By Halruaan law, Tzigone was a wizard’s bastard, an unwitting crime that brought disgrace or even death. She was also a thief and a rogue, yet Matteo, who was sworn to uphold Halruaa’s laws, shielded her at every turn.
Women, it would seem, tended to complicate life on a rather grand scale.
Basel hauled himself through an open third-floor window and dusted off his hands. “No sense climbing any higher. The place is deserted.”
“Dhamari’s servants don’t seem particularly loyal,” Matteo observed.
Basel’s artificially young face turned grim. “With very good reason. Come.”
He led the way up tower stairs to Dhamari’s study. Matteo entered and scanned the vast chamber. It was like most other wizards’ workrooms, but for an enormous cork-board stretched along
Basel caught Matteo’s eye. With a rueful smile, he dropped his gaze pointedly to his own rounded belly.
“I’m twice the man I was last time I climbed this tower. Unfortunately, I mean that quite literally. Are you sure we can’t use the front door? What place in all Halruaa is denied to the king’s counselor?”
“None, provided I wish to have my actions scrutinized by the city council. Dhamari is a casualty of war. He named Tzigone as successor to his tower, but she is also missing, and she has not named an heir. Until the Council of Elders rules on this matter, the tower will be sealed against magical intrusion. If we disturb the wards on the doors or attempt to enter the tower through magical means, Procopio Septus will hear of it.”
“Ah.” Basel’s face hardened. “Better a knife at my throat than that man looking over my shoulder.” He glanced at Matteo. “I know he was your patron.”
“Never apologize for speaking truth. For what it’s worth, Tzigone held a similar opinion of our lord mayor. She called him ‘Old Snowhawk.’”
“Among other things, no doubt. Well, let’s get this over with.” Basel began the chant and gestures of a spell.
Matteo had seen wizards employ cloaking spells before, but this was the first time he’d seen years peeled away by magic. Basel’s face narrowed and firmed. Jowls lifted and disappeared, and the ravages cause by middle-aged resignation and too much good living faded away. But his twinkling black eyes were unchanged by the removal of a few lines, and his black hair was still plaited into dozens of tiny, bead-decked braids.
Basel winked at the staring jordain. “Dashing, wasn’t I?”
Matteo responded with a wan grin. In truth, he had been searching the wizard’s younger countenance for some reflection of his own face. Basel’s features were rounded, while the jordain’s face had been fashioned with bolder strokes: sharply defined brows, a determined chin, and a narrow nose with a decidedly convex curve. Matteo’s hair was lighter, too-an unusual deep chestnut with flashes of red. At nearly six feet, he was tall for a Halruaan and considerably taller than Basel. Only their builds were somewhat similar: broad through the shoulders, with deep chests and well-muscled limbs.
The jordain was not the only one to note this resemblance. Basel winked again. “Let this be a lesson to you. See what can happen when you stop your daily weapons training? For good measure, I’d suggest you stay away from aged cheeses, red wines, and sugared figs.”
Matteo tugged experimentally at the thick tangle of flowering vines. “If this venture fails, shall I include that advice in your eulogy?”
Basel snorted. “Since when was sarcasm included in a jordain’s rhetorical studies?”
The young man shrugged and began to climb. Wizards’ towers were protected by magical wards, but as Matteo had learned from Tzigone, mundane methods often proved more effective than counter spells. Even so, the method of entry into Keturah’s former tower grated on his conscience. There was little about his friendship with Tzigone that did not.
By Halruaan law, Tzigone was a wizard’s bastard, an unwitting crime that brought disgrace or even death. She was also a thief and a rogue, yet Matteo, who was sworn to uphold Halruaa’s laws, shielded her at every turn.
Women, it would seem, tended to complicate life on a rather grand scale.
Basel hauled himself through an open third-floor window and dusted off his hands. “No sense climbing any higher. The place is deserted.”
“Dhamari’s servants don’t seem particularly loyal,” Matteo observed.
Basel’s artificially young face turned grim. “With very good reason. Come.”
He led the way up tower stairs to Dhamari’s study. Matteo entered and scanned the vast chamber. It was like most other wizards’ workrooms, but for an enormous cork-board stretched along
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