The Magehound - Elaine Cunningham [111]
He quickly followed the line of her reasoning. But impersonating a jordain was a serious offense, even if one jordain pretended to be another. "Is this truly necessary?"
"Depends. How attached are you to the idea of living? Personally, I'm quite fond of the notion."
Matteo nodded in acceptance. He rose and took the position she had indicated, his daggers at the ready.
Tzigone rose and walked to the door.
"Guards!" she demanded in a peremptory tone. Cassia's voice rang from her throat, strong and commanding. "Open this door at once."
The guard came over to the door, glanced at the jordain in the shadows, and made the assumption Tzigone had anticipated. He dug the key from his bag and bent to unlock the door.
Tzigone seized his hair with both hands and yanked his head into the iron bars. He fell senseless. The key remained in the lock, twisted in a half turn.
Nimbly she reached around and finished the task. Motioning for Matteo to follow, she darted toward the narrow winding steps that traced the interior wall of the tower.
Matteo followed her up the steep flight, knowing full well what he was leaving behind. Saving Tzigone's life had only one possible result. He could never return to the only life he knew.
He acknowledged that this wasn't a new choice. He had merely taken another step along the path he set upon the day he stepped between Tzigone and the deadly wemic. The day that Andris had died. The day, he realized suddenly, that his unwavering faith in the jordaini order had been shaken beyond repair.
A strange desolation assailed him as he followed Tzigone out of the tower.
He was a jordain, sworn to the service of truth and to Halruaa and her wizard lords. This had been his whole life, it was all he knew. He couldn't conceive of anything that could replace it.
But first, survival. They raced to the top of the tower and then squeezed out the window and climbed down the vines that somehow found purchase on the smooth marble walls. From there they moved to the curtain walls, and from there to the branches of the first of several trees. But they didn't speak until they reached the leafy sanctuary of Tzigone's bilboa tree.
Matteo watched as Tzigone took dried rations and a flask of water from a hidden cache. "Do you know every such tree in the land?"
"One or two in every city and main village," she said. "I move around a lot. I doubt I need to explain why."
"In truth, an explanation would be in order," Matteo said. "For what are you searching? What is worth the risks that you've taken?"
For once Tzigone gave a straight and simple answer. "I'm looking for my ancestry."
Matteo's brow furrowed. "This is so important?"
"I can see why you wouldn't think so. You've never known family."
"All jordaini are taken to the school shortly after birth," he agreed. "It is the traditional way."
"But haven't you ever wondered who your family were?"
He gave that careful thought. "From time to time, I have wondered who might have given me birth. But the jordaini are my brothers, and I have known no real lack. Your situation is different, I take it?"
"Yes," she said shortly. "I had a mother, and I won't rest until I find her. Don't you ever wonder what happened to yours?"
"She was a woman grown when she gave birth. I understand that jordaini births are usually predicted by the matchmakers, so she knew from the onset that she would bear a child only to give it up. This is done willingly, for the good of the land. The parents are well compensated, as they have no children to care for them in their old age, and they are greatly honored for their sacrifice."
Tzigone stared at him for a long moment. "Come with me," she said abruptly and began to slide down the tree.
Less than two hours later, they stood in the doorway of a one-room cottage, one of several such cottages, all