The Floodgate

"Is this my fate, then?" she murmured. "Am I to be haunted by all those whom I have killed?"

"If that's so, you will never lack company," Andris responded. "Perhaps the others will be along presently, but I am no ghost."

Even as he spoke, she saw it was true. The tall jordain was translucent, but he retained color, like delicately tinted glass. The jungle grasses bent beneath his feet and parted before him as he came toward her.

Her first response, honed by dozens of years among Halruaa's wizards, was to hurl a spell. None came to her call. She pulled her only remaining weapon-a broken boar's tusk, long as a dagger and nearly as sharp-and slashed at the approaching human.

Andris easily dodged and seized her wrist. The elf tried to twist away, but her captor's grip was surprisingly firm and strong. She quickly realized the futility of struggle and forced herself to meet his eyes. To her relief and puzzlement, her death was not written in them.

"How is this possible?" she demanded, her gaze traveling his translucent form.

"The laraken did this. I carry elf blood, the gift of a distant ancestor. 'Distant' only in terms of time," he added pointedly. Understanding touched the elf's golden eyes, bringing light but no warmth. Andris felt an illogical stab of disappointment.

At loss for words, he handed Kiva the necromancer's tome. She paged through the ancient book, her face deathly pale and her lips set in a tight line. "Is this true?" Andris asked gently. Kiva slammed the book shut. "As far as it goes, yes. There is much left unsaid."

Andris whistled softly. "If that is true, I am glad for the omission."

"You should be." Her voice was faint, and memories haunted her eyes.

After a few moments, Andris ventured, "This book explained many things. I've wondered how you, a full-blooded elf, could face the laraken and live."

His question jolted her back into the present moment "Do I?" The elf spat out the words. "The laraken and its creator-" she punctuated this by hurling the book back at Andris-"have taken from me everything of value. I breathe, I speak and move. I hate! But do I live? Such things the sages debate!"

Andris recognized the bitterness in her voice and heard the insanity. Neither changed his chosen path. "You will resolve the question for them if you stay here much longer. You are weak, Kiva. You cannot survive alone."

Her chin lifted. "I have allies."

"You had better find them, and soon."

She was about to respond when they caught the distant sound of underbrush rustling and a faint, grating snuffle. A boar, Andris noted grimly. In her hunger, Kiva had apparently forgotten that the scent of truffles might lure one of the dangerous beasts.

Kiva's eyes darted toward the sound, then to the ghostly sword on the jordain's hip. "I can help you," Andris said softly as he eased his weapon free. "With the boar and with other things."

The elf managed a scornful little laugh. "At what price?"

"Tell me how the Cabal can be destroyed."

This Kiva had clearly not expected. She regarded the jordain with curiosity. "Only idiots and elves believe in the Cabal. You spoke truth when you claimed elf blood?"

Andris noted that she spoke only of race, not of kinship. "Did I speak truth? Lady, I am a jordain," he said, self-mockery sharp in his eyes.

She let this pass. For the first time she looked at him, and there was something approaching kinship in her amber eyes. "You saw the captured elves of Kilmaruu, you read Akhlaur's journal," she said in a soft but steely voice. "You know who we are and what we must do. So be it."

Andris met the elf woman's eyes and saw there a destiny that encompassed them both. He responded with a grim nod.

There was no time for anything more. The underbrush exploded into a sudden fury of sound and motion. Andris whirled to face the charging beast-an enormous black sow, her belly swinging slack from a recent litter and her red eyes gleaming with desperate knowledge of her piglets' hunger. He judged the creature as nearly half the mass of a war-horse, with thrice the fight and fury.

Kiva touched Andris on the back, just below the shoulder blades. "Here," she said tersely. "Strike hard."

He acknowledged this with a curt nod and then pushed her aside, holding his ground as the wild pig charged in, its snout tucked like a charging bull. At the last moment Andris sidestepped, spun, and drove the sword home.

The blade sank into the hump of fat that was the wild pig's most vulnerable spot. Andris felt the sword grate against ribs before it was wrenched from his grasp. Even so, the great sow took several more steps before she stumbled and went down.

"Careful," the elf cautioned as Andris closed in. "The sow could still gut you with a nod of her head."

The wounded pig managed to get her feet beneath her and a tree at her back. At bay, she swung her massive head as if daring Andris to attack. The jordain stood his ground, battle-poised but patient.