The Magehound

That morning the magehound broke her fast with tea and fruit on the piazza, a tiled courtyard encircled by gardens. An elaborate iron trellis curved over the breakfast table, providing shade and lending support for the profusion of grapevines that entwined it. Bunches of grapes, some yellow and some a soft, sunrise pink, hung in fragrant clusters overhead. The morning rain had come before dawn with a sudden bursting of clouds, and moisture still hung thick in the air. The air, despite the heavy perfume of the garden and the braziers of scented smoke that kept away the insects, was fetid with the scent of the nearby swamp-the Kilmaruu Swamp, and the origin of the paradox that Andris had been brough there to solve.

Kiva heard the soft tap of approaching footsteps and watched as the tall jordain walked onto the piazza. For many days he had lain in deep slumber. Since magic had little effect upon the jordaini, Kiva had resorted to burning in his room incense made from powerful herbs and giving him sips of strong herbal infusions. Though she had been tapering off the dosage so that he might awaken, she had given him enough over the past several days to leave him disorientated and confused.

She studied the tall young man as he approached. His auburn hair was still damp from the baths, but he had not made use of the razor that had been left for him. This was telling. The jordaini custom was for men to be meticulously clean-shaven.

She gestured him to take the seat across from her. "You look well, Andris. Your long sleep seems to have agreed with you."

"I was given no opportunity to disagree," he pointed out

"True enough." She put down her cup and folded her hands on the table. "I must apologize for the way you were brought here. You have been chosen for an important task, as counselor to a hidden lord."

"Counselor?" The young man eyed her warily. "I am no longer jordain. No man tainted by magic can hold that office."

"And do you have this 'taint, Andris?"

"So you say. I myself have seen no sign of it."

Kiva rose and walked over to a small table. She took something from a carved wooden box and returned to him. "This is a test given to the children of Halruaa. Light is the first and simplest of magical energies. It moves more swiftly than heat or sound or substance. Read this scroll and imitate the gesture written upon it."

The bit of parchment was the simplest of spell scrolls, suitable for children who could not yet read. On it was sketched a small curved pattern.

"Hold your hand so, fingers all together so that the tips touch your thumb, and trace this pattern in the air before you. Begin at the red dot and move toward the blue."

Andris did as he was bade. A ball of faint greenish light appeared, bobbing listlessly over the breakfast table. He dropped his hand onto the table and regarded the enchantment with bleak eyes.

"You have produced light," Kiva pointed out. "You don't look pleased."

"Should I be? There are fish and fungi that can do as much."

Kiva chuckled. "Now that you mention it. But you can also do many other things, and do them well."

"Nothing that matters. Nothing for which I am trained. I am disgraced, dead in the eyes of my brothers."

"Your death was a necessary illusion. Your new patron required it," she said softly. She settled back in her chair. "But let us speak of more pleasant things. There is in your training much that interests me. Tell me of the Kilmaruu Paradox."

A spark of interest lit the man's hazel eyes. "You know the problem as well as I. The Kilmaruu Swamp is a hive of undead. Many wizards and adventuring parties have sought to clear the swamp, but they only seem to strengthen the creatures. Each incursion into the swamp brings a retaliatory strike on the villages and farmlands beyond. On the other hand, if nothing is done to contain the undead, they slip into the harbor and scuttle the ships."

"And how would you solve this problem?"

Andris leaned forward. "In Zalasuu, there is a proverb: 'The swamp helps keep the number of fools in town low. That is truth, but invert the statement and another truth is revealed. Increase the number of fools in the town, and we could keep the number of undead in the swamp low. Do you know the etymology for the word 'jordain'?"

"All too well," she said dryly. "In Old Netherese, the language from which Halruaan descended, it was the word for 'fool. At that time the word had a meaning more elevated than it now enjoys. A fool was a counselor to kings and wizards, a bard of sorts who entertained and advised through satirical songs. I suppose this charming little history has a point?"

"In time. Permit me to explain one step at a time," Andris said, his animation increasing with each word. "What element is common to all who enter the swamp to explore and conquer? What weapons do they employ?"

"Magic, of course."