The Floodgate   ::   Каннингем Элейн

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 glass, but an elf-shaped void far colder than ice.

He placed a hand on his friend's translucent shoulder. "The elves in Akhlaur's Swamp and the sprite whose image you carry were freed by death, long before your birth. There is nothing more to be done. It is you who concern me, my friend. After the Azuthan priests do what they can, you must put this behind you and take up your duties as a jordain."

Andris shrugged and turned away, but not before Matteo glimpsed a world of turmoil in his eyes.

"You are dreading this inquisition," he observed.

"Wouldn't you?" his friend retorted.