The Floodgate

When it was Procopio's turn to come before the king, Zalathorm enumerated the wizard's accomplishments and asked what reward he desired. Procopio spoke clearly, his voice soaring through the enhancement spells that carried the ceremony throughout the city. "I ask only that I might continue to serve the land as a master of divination, my king, as you yourself have done these many long years."

The people erupted into cheers and huzzahs. Farther down the line of battle heroes, Basel Indoulur observed this with a faint, guarded smile, and Matteo with a face carefully schooled to reveal nothing. On the surface of things, the lord mayor's request was admirably humble, but the challenge was not deeply buried.

"So the seed is planted," Basel murmured. "Did you by chance mark the seeming familiarity between Procopio's storm elemental and his windy opponent?"

"It occurred to me that they were acquainted," Matteo responded. "In general, Lord Procopio was exceedingly well prepared. He studied the battle tactics of the Crinti, and he has an astonishing grasp of Mulhorandi magic."

"Yes, I noticed that as well," Basel said. "He bears watching. Halruaa borders have been secured, but I suspect that Halruaa has more to fear from her own wizards."

The applause for Procopio finally died, and the king's herald called the next name. When Basel's turn came, he inclined his head toward Matteo. "You see my request before you, sire. I petition for the jordain's service."

King Zalathorm's gaze shifted from the wizard to Matteo and then back. "I am afraid I cannot grant that request, old friend. But I will found a school for conjuration in your home city, as you have long requested."

Matteo's throat tightened. Did the king truly value straight and honest speech, or did he have in mind some sort of reprisal for Matteo's part against the queen's arrest?

The king regarded Matteo somberly. "And you, jordain. Will you enter my service, as reward for your part in this battle?"

"It is not quite the punishment I expected, sire," he said softly, speaking below the reach of the enhancement spells, "but neither is it my idea of a reward."

Zalathorm's lips twitched in an ironic little smile. "Well, then, you understand the task ahead far better than most." Lifting his voice, he proclaimed, "So shall it be. The jordain Matteo shall be known as the king's counselor."

He gestured to the herald, signaling the next interview. Matteo and Basel bowed and walked from the dais.

The conjurer sent Matteo a rueful smile. "The king will have need of good counsel in the days to come. I expect you will be quite busy."

"What of you, my lord?"

Basel took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "I will study the lore of the Unseelie folk. If there is a way to bring Tzigone out of that place, I will find it."

A small flicker of hope flared in Matteo's heart. "You will call me if I can do anything to help?"

"You will be the first to know. Expect to hear from me soon, for there are things between us that must be said. Mystra's blessing upon you, my son."

This address was often used between a man of Basel's years and one of Matteo's. Perhaps it meant nothing. Perhaps everything. It was one more thing that a jordain could not know.

"Mystra's blessing," he echoed softly.

After the festivities were over, Matteo went to his new chambers in the king's quarter. To his surprise, Zalathorm awaited him, sprawled wearily in one of the chairs that Cassia, Matteo's predecessor, had scattered cozily about the room.

"I have need of your counsel, jordain," the king said, his voice faint and scratchy from overuse.

Matteo nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"Before we discuss this matter, a question. Near battle's end, before the skeletons arose, you were about to give me advice that you thought I would not like to hear."

"There is no need for it now," Matteo said, frowning. "For that matter, there was no need for it then! You saw what was needed and took action without waiting for my counsel. It is grim work to raise skeleton warriors, and all Halruaa is grateful that you took this task upon yourself."

"Did you observe me cast that spell?"

The jordain hesitated. "No, but none of your necromancers have come forth to take credit for it, so I assume it was a prepared spell, unleashed from some magical device."

Zalathorm did not offer comment on this observation. "This celebration will last a tenday. After that, the queen will come to trial. If she is condemned, she will be executed under the light of a gibbous moon. You have twenty days to prove her innocence."

With great difficulty, Matteo kept his face impassive. "Forgive me my presumption, sire, but I know what it is to lose a loved one. The two best friends I ever knew are lost to me, and I cannot yet accept the reality of it."

"What would you do to save those friends?"

Matteo envisioned the veil between the worlds, and the glowing eyes of the dark fairies beyond. "If I could, I would follow them through hell."