The Floodgate - Elaine Cunningham [123]
His lips thinned in puzzlement as he regarded the creature kneeling before him. This was not what he had expected. The elf woman had every reason for vengeance, but she did him proper homage, and she offered him not a weapon but the long-desired key to his freedom.
"What is this, little elf?" he demanded.
Kiva raised her amber eyes to his. "The land is in disarray, Lord Akhlaur. The Lady's Mirror has been plundered, the Crinti invade the northlands in large numbers, and the Unseelie folk have found a way to pass through their hollow hills. Armies of the Mulhorandi march on the eastern borders. Even the queen turns against her people, unleashing metal monsters upon them."
Akhlaur bit back a chuckle of delight. "All this is very interesting, of course, but what has it to do with me?"
The elf still held the gem out. "I can take us both back to Halruaa. The need is great, my lord. The land will be destroyed, and all in it." As she spoke, her tone changed to gloating, and the light of madness touched her catlike eyes.
The necromancer was beginning to see the light of day. "And who better to urge this destruction along than your old master."
"Will you come with me?"
Akhlaur studied her. "What will you do with this chaos? Revel in it, like some moon-mad Azuthan dancing amid wild magic? Or is there a shape and purpose to your actions?"
"There is, my lord," she said firmly. "I want to break the Cabal."
The years slipped away. Akhlaur remembered the creation of that great artifact, the friends who had shared in its shaping-and the betrayals that had led to his exile. Hatred washed through him in great waves. He let none of it enter his voice or show in his face.
"Ah, yes. An interesting experiment, that, but long past its usefulness. Tell me, little elf, who holds the heart of Halruaa?"
This time there was no mistaking the feline glint in her eyes and smile. "Your old friend Zalathorm rules as wizard-king."
This time Akhlaur could not hold back the crow of laughter. This was too rich!
Zalathorm lived and ruled, and by the power of the Cabal!
"He is considered to be the most powerful wizard in the land."
"We shall see about that," the necromancer said, reaching for the emerald in Kiva's hand. "Take me to the battle at once."
*****
Matteo rubbed the grit from his eyes and rose slowly from the ground.
Instinctively he extended a hand to Andris, who was also stumbling back into consciousness. They clung together, wavering unsteadily as they struggled to remember where they were and how they came to be here.
Memory returned to Andris's eyes, and with it came a bitter chill. He wrenched free of Matteo's grasp and made his way unsteadily over to the spring.
He dropped to one knee beside it. After a moment his shoulders slumped, and his head dropped to his chest.
Silence shrouded the mountains. After the tumult of battle and magic, the quiet was eerie. Even the clamor from the valley below had faded to a murmur of steel and voice. Matteo looked about for Tzigone. The veil was gone, and the song of the dark fairies silenced. Tentatively he placed his palm up as if to touch the place where the veil had hung, and where his friend had disappeared.
Nothing remained of the dark fairies or the girl who had banished them.
"Why, Tzigone?" he murmured.
From long habit, he turned to Andris for answers. The jordain still knelt at the mouth of the stream. No more water flowed. The spring was gone.
The floodgate was closed.
Beginning to understand, Matteo felt for the strap that tied a bag to his back.
The bag was gone, and with it the magical devices that Basel had given him, the ones Matteo would have cast into the spring so Basel could trigger a powerful implosion. They had not been certain this could close