The Floodgate

Tzigone flattened it out on her lap and studied it. It was a complicated spell, without doubt the most difficult she had ever seen. The incantation required elven intonations that would task her powers of mimicry. There was also an odd tablature that looked a bit like written music, indicating that the spell was to be sung. The melody, however, ranged down into the lowest depths of Tzigone's voice and soared into regions she had never attempted to explore. At first study, the markings that choreographed the hand gestures appeared to be less orderly than the footprints left by the last staggering sprint of a beheaded chicken. At least half the runes were totally unfamiliar to her. She suspected that they were taken from a magical tradition very different from that of Halruaa. As she studied, though, the spell's basic meaning emerged from the tangled mess.

Tzigone stared at the spell scroll in disbelief. Dhamari had just given her a spell to summon and banish the Unseelie folk!

She lifted an astonished gaze to his expectant face. "If you wanted me dead, you could have poisoned me before we left the city and saved us all some wear on our boot leather."

He blinked and then frowned. "I don't understand."

"The hell you don't! I'm just an apprentice. This spell would challenge a graybeard wizard."

"You have exceptional talent-"

"And astonishing beauty," she interrupted, mimicking his tone. "But for argument's sake, let's say I can cast this. What then? Wasn't the owlbear enough excitement for you? For them?" she concluded furiously, waving with one hand toward the surviving members of their guard.

Dhamari lifted a placating hand. "I do not intend for you to summon the dark fairies," he protested mildly. "That is not the point at all. It would not only be foolish but redundant. They are here already. Have you not heard them?"

She hesitated, then nodded. The strange, compelling song, distant and faint, had haunted the edges of night for three days.

"These hills are strange and fey," the wizard went on. 'The veils between the worlds are thin in Halruaa-few places in all the world provide more portals into distant places. The Unseelie folk are around us. Knowing that I have brought you into a dangerous area, it would ease my mind tremendously if you could cast the spell of banishment."

"Why is that necessary? Can't you do it?"

He sent her one of his small, wistful smiles. "I do not have Keturah's talent and defer to the wizard whose voice held the laraken."

Tzigone didn't like flattery, but neither could she deny the practicality of Dhamari's words. So she let him tutor her in the preliminary spell, one that would enable her to read the runes. He gave her a ring of translation so she would pronounce the strange elven words properly.

As she murmured the words over and over, the morning breeze seemed to grow colder. Her arms prickled with gooseflesh, and the warm cloak Dhamari had draped around her shoulders didn't help. Tzigone let him build up the campfire, but she didn't expect it to improve matters. She was not chilled by the relatively thin mountain air but by the sound of her own voice.

The spell frightened her, even at this early stage of its casting. Since it was meant as a banishing, this was, as Matteo would say, logical. Tzigone didn't suppose that the Unseelie folk could be cowed by some minor magic. The magic felt twisted, though, and somehow wrong.

Throughout that day and the next she studied the spell, though her vision swam and her head throbbed with the effort of wrapping her mind and her will around the convoluted magic.

By the second night, the flicker of the campfire made the runes dance on the page. Tzigone kept at it, spurred on by the faint, mocking echoes that tossed from hill to hill-the unholy music of the Unseelie folk.

* * * * *

Far to the south, Basel Indoulur paced the garden of his Halarahh home. He'd expected Tzigone back days ago, and he cursed himself for granting her permission to leave the city with Dhamari Exchelsor. Tzigone considered the wizard harmless, and Basel trusted her judgment. Her candor, however, was less than total.

Nor was Basel blameless on this score. He could have spoken to Tzigone of her mother, and he did not. He had not told her of Matteo's visit, or suggested that the young jordain had urged Tzigone to contact Dhamari as a means to save him, Basel, from the follies of fatherly instinct.

The irony-layers and layers of it-was almost overwhelming.

With a sigh, Basel left the garden and made his way up the tower's winding stairs to the apprentices' floor. He had given Mason and Farrah Noor a day's holiday from their studies. There was no one to ask why he felt compelled to stop by Tzigone's room.