The Floodgate - Elaine Cunningham [5]
Suddenly Andris shifted the dagger slightly. The line of red light split into two beams, one of which leaped up to nip keenly at Matteo's arm.
Matteo yelped with surprise and jumped back. He quickly recovered and came in hard, catching the tall jordain’s lunging sword under his and bearing it down to the ground. He leaned forward, using his weight to drive the point of his sword into the dirt, pinning Andris's weapon beneath it. With his free hand he seized the wrist of Andris's dagger hand. Andris might be nearly a head taller, but Matteo outmatched him in mass and muscle. With a quick twist, he relieved the taller man of his dagger. Another twist brought Andris stumbling to one knee.
"You're mine," Matteo said triumphantly.
"I think not." The tall jordain gazed pointedly at Matteo's arm.
Matteo glanced down, and his lips twisted in a wry smile. The daggercaptured sunlight had burned a rune onto his skin-the rune for Andris's name.
"It would appear that I am branded," he admitted. He slid his sword into its scabbard and then tugged Andris to his feet, congratulating him with a hearty slap on the back. "And since the rothe cow is butchered and not the farmer, my claim to victory rings false! You have grown devious."
The comment was meant in sincere admiration, but Andris's sly grin dropped off his face so abruptly that Matteo expected to hear it shatter on the hardpacked ground.
"Better a devious mind than arrogant certainty," he said.
"We jordaini wish to believe that everything is simple and nothing is beyond grasp."
The bleak expression in Andris's translucent hazel eyes surprised Matteo.
"Many strange events have happened of late," he agreed, "but at the heart of things, our goals are much as they ever were."
The tall jordain shrugged. "Perhaps."
Matteo's sense of unease deepened. Hearing his own doubts spoken in another man's voice lent them shape and substance. On the other hand, why should they not speak openly? Perhaps between the two of them, they might find some resolution.
"Tell me what has changed," Matteo invited.
Andris tossed his sun-heated dagger into a trough of water and watched the steam rise and dissipate before he spoke his mind.
"You know that I have elf blood."
Matteo blinked, surprised by this unexpected turn. "Yes. So?"
"So that changes everything. I don't mean the obvious thing," Andris clarified, gesturing toward his crystalline form. "My life's path would be different even if my appearance had not changed in the Swamp of Akhlaur."
They fell silent, remembering that terrible place.
Matteo spoke first. "Why should a distant elf heritage define your path?"
"Heritage is a powerful thing. Have you never wondered why jordaini are forbidden to seek the knowledge of our parents?"
A disturbing image flashed into Matteo's thoughts: the memory of a small, forlorn woman trapped in the prison of her mind. If Tzigone had-for once-told the unadorned truth, this sad woman was his birthmother. By some odd twist of fate, Tzigone had found Matteo's mother during a desperate search for her own.
Matteo did not understand her passionate need for family, but he recognized the same emotion in Andris's ghostly eyes.
"The jordaini order has its reasons," Matteo said, trying not to dwell on Tzigone's hints concerning the identity of his other parent "So you have elf blood.
Now that you know this, are you a different man than you were before?"
Andris spun away and strode to the neat pile of gear he'd left at the edge of the field. He stooped over a leather bag and took from it a small, sparkling object.
"Knowledge brings responsibility," he said as he held out his open hand.
In it lay an exquisite statue, a tiny winged sprite no longer than his palm. It appeared to be fashioned from crystal and was as perfect in every detail as a living creature-as indeed it once had been. Matteo marveled that Andris could hold it. In the Swamp of Akhlaur Matteo had accidentally bumped a crystalline elf, and found that it was not solid