The Wizardwar - Elaine Cunningham [106]
"He was responsible, all right," Tzigone agreed. "He asked a question she couldn't answer. Apparently she tried, even though there was a spell of silence upon her."
"Go on," said Zalathorm.
"I tried to divine that spell, trace it back. There is a protective veil surrounding the caster. I couldn't get past it, but 1 recognized it. It had the feel of my mother's talisman. Dhamari Exchelsor is wearing it."
"That is impossible," Procopio said flatly. "Dhamari Exchelsor disappeared into the Unseelie realm!"
"So did I," responded Tzigone, "yet, here I am."
For a long moment, she and the powerful wizard locked stares.
Zalathorm looked to his scribe. "According to law, Dhamari's tower would be warded against intrusion. Is there record of his return?"
The scribe cast a quick cantrip and picked up a big ledger. The pages rippled swiftly, flipping first one way and then the other, then the book snapped closed.
"None, sire."
Matteo noted the faint smirk that lifted one side of the diviner's lips. "If you have evidence of Dhamari Exchelsor's return, please share it," invited Procopio politely. "Until then, do not besmirch a wizard's name with accusations you cannot support!"
Tzigone swept a hand wide in a gesture that included the crowd. "Isn't that what we're doing here? Three people have died in Basel's tower: Sinestra Belajoon, Farrah Noor, and Uriah Belajoon. Basel knew them all, and he loved Farrah like a daughter. He tried to save Lord Uriah when the old man's heart faltered. These deaths are his tragedy, not his crime."
She lifted her chin, and her sweeping gaze seemed to capture every pair of eyes and lock them to hers.
Matteo drew in a quick, startled breath. In that gesture, he saw a shadow of Zalathorm's commanding presence. He glanced at the king, but Zalathorm's thoughtful gaze was fixed upon his unacknowledged daughter.
"Basel is innocent. This I swear this to you," Tzigone said, giving each word the weight of a royal pronouncement, "by Lady and Lord, by wind and word.
Let any who wish to prove me false do the same."
No one spoke. No one moved. It didn't seem to occur to anyone that the challenge just thrown down had come from a waif with shorn tresses and an apprentice's blue robes. She took her seat, and the decision to release Basel was swiftly endorsed by a subdued council.
Matteo marveled at the irony of this. Had this taken place in a tavern, the patrons would have applauded and ordered another round. The wizards didn't seem to realize that Tzigone's persona was nothing more than a non-magical illusion cast by a talented street performer.
Or was it? He and Tzigone had just returned from a place where illusion and reality had no clear boundaries. Perhaps, he mused, things were not so different on this side of the veil.
Later that day, Procopio Septus made his way to the shop of a behir tinker, an artisan who made fanciful objects from a behir's colored, crystalline fangs. He listened with barely concealed impatience as the man demonstrated a musical instrument fashioned so that its strings were plucked by plectrums fashioned from multicolored fangs, enspelled so that the resulting sound could imitate nearly anything the musician wished.
"A marvelous toy, but I have no time for music," Procopio said flatly.
The tinker nodded and reached for a set of tiny, exquisitely carved spoons.
"Perhaps a gift for a lady? These are in great demand."
"Yet you seem to have so many of them," the wizard said dryly. "Not quite the thing. A lamp, perhaps?"
The shopkeeper's brow furrowed. Before he could admit that he had none, Procopio nodded toward the crystal chandelier that hung in the rear corner of the room. The man's eyes widened in astonishment.
"I'll take that one," the wizard announced.
"Two hundred skie," the tinker suggested without missing a step. "A bargain."
Procopio dickered a bit, as custom demanded. The tinker settled on a price that might have been considered fair, had the lamp truly been his to sell.
The wizard examined his purchase, surreptitiously