The Magehound - Elaine Cunningham [60]
"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."
"And magic feeds the undead. The creatures seem to require it. Why else would they venture into the harbors to attack ships? I have made a study of the cargo lost to these attacks. Without exception, the ships carried a goodly number of spellcasters and magical items."
Kiva nodded thoughtfully. "I had not thought to seek a pattern there, but your reasoning seems sound to me."
"For reasons I do not completely understand, the undead in the swamp need magic to survive. The adventuring wizards and warriors and clerics armed with their magical weapons and holy artifacts feed the undead, like so many tavern wenches delivering hot trenchers of stew."
Kiva suppressed a smile at the analogy and noted at the faint disdain in the young man's voice. In time, he would come to regret both. "And your solution?"
"There are many in this land who possess no magical talent whatsoever. The jordaini are chief among them, but there are others. Gather them together and go against the undead denizens of Kilmaruu without magic."
The words hung in the air like a challenge, like a curse or foul blasphemy.
Both the elf and the man understood that this strategy flew in the face of every instinct and tradition of the land.
"And who would command this army of jordaini?"
"I would have done so gladly, were I still jordain." Andris glared at the fading magical light.
The magehound dispelled the globe with a flick of her coppery fingers and then picked up the scroll. She smoothed it and put it on the table before him.
"Cast the spell again, jordain."
Andris set his jaw and formed the gesture as before. This time no light came to his call. He lifted a puzzled stare to Kiva's face.
In response, she reached into the folds of her gown and retrieved the jeweled wand that had damned Andris. She touched it to the grape arbor that curved over the breakfast table. A high, ghostly note vibrated through the iron trellis.
Understanding, pained and incredulous and furious all at once, dawned in the jordain's eyes. Kiva nodded acknowledgment of his insight.
"Yes. The result would be much the same if I were to touch this wand to a stone, a toad, or a pile of goosedown. It finds magic in everything, whether there is any to find or not."
"My brothers think me dead," Andris said, speaking first of that which troubled him most.
"Would it comfort you to know that you will see and work with many of them again? That in doing so, you will be doing what you trained for? You and your jordaini brothers will attend powerful wizards, using both your talents and your resistance to magic for the good of the land."
Andris regarded her thoughtfully. "You make a powerful point. But why the deceit?"
"It was a necessary thing. Truth might be meat and drink to the jordaini, but most men order their lives by other impulses. There is great status in having jordaini servants, and the wizards clamor over you like hounds snarling over bones. A man of your talents was needed for this great task. Other opportunities would soon be offered to you. We could not entrust the outcome to fate."
"You could have told me of your plans outright. A jordain is free to choose among employments offered him."
Kiva smiled