JК
The Floodgate :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 45 из 212It seems likely that Zephyr, his jordaini counselor, betrayed you to Kiva, but Zephyr did not give you directly into the elf woman's hand."
Iago's olive skin paled. "That is true."
"Perhaps we should trace the path between. It led to Kiva once. It might again."
The small jordain rode in silence for several moments. "Three days I spent in the Crinti camps," Iago said softly. "By the end of that time, I was grateful to be sold as a slave."
Matteo acknowledged this with a somber nod. "Did the Crinti deal directly with Kiva?"
"Yes. They spared me the indignity of a slave market, if nothing else. Understand this, Matteo: the rumors of the shadow amazons fall far short of the reality."
Themo cast him a disgusted look. "If you don't like the plan, just say so."
"I didn't say it wouldn't work," Iago said slowly. "If I could think of a better one, I'd be swift to speak it."
"Dangerous, is it?"
"I would rather leap naked into a pit of molten tar than return to that hell."
Iago spoke with a stillness that chilled Matteo, but Themo nodded as if this pronouncement confirmed a dearly held hope. "There'll be fighting involved?"
"I can almost guarantee it," Iago murmured. As he spoke, his eyes went cold and hard.
Themo noted the change in his friend's expression and hooted with approval. He slapped the reins on the lizard's neck, his good spirits fully restored. "Well then, what are we sitting around here for?"
Chapter Six
A small, bedraggled figure crept through the jungle, staggering from tree to tree, clinging to each as if she took strength from it. Kiva, the once-powerful magehound, walked barefoot, clad only in the plain gray tunic of an Azuthan penitent. Long, jade-green hair hung about her face. The only magic in her hands was that which rippled through the mazganut tree she clutched for support. Kiva sensed the forest's teeming pulse, heard the soft music of the Weave, but faintly, as if from a great distance.
So frail was Kiva that she felt a disturbing kinship to her own shadow. Her strength had been stolen in battle with the laraken, her wizardly magic siphoned away. For days, only pride had kept her going. Now even that was gone. All Kiva could call upon were ancient memories and the vendetta born of them. Whenever her vision began to blur, she closed her eyes and whispered, "Akhlaur!"
Hatred focused her, strengthened her. She had not trained and plotted and fought for two centuries to die now, her vengeance incomplete!
Kiva pushed away from the tree and stumbled onward.
Iago's olive skin paled. "That is true."
"Perhaps we should trace the path between. It led to Kiva once. It might again."
The small jordain rode in silence for several moments. "Three days I spent in the Crinti camps," Iago said softly. "By the end of that time, I was grateful to be sold as a slave."
Matteo acknowledged this with a somber nod. "Did the Crinti deal directly with Kiva?"
"Yes. They spared me the indignity of a slave market, if nothing else. Understand this, Matteo: the rumors of the shadow amazons fall far short of the reality."
Themo cast him a disgusted look. "If you don't like the plan, just say so."
"I didn't say it wouldn't work," Iago said slowly. "If I could think of a better one, I'd be swift to speak it."
"Dangerous, is it?"
"I would rather leap naked into a pit of molten tar than return to that hell."
Iago spoke with a stillness that chilled Matteo, but Themo nodded as if this pronouncement confirmed a dearly held hope. "There'll be fighting involved?"
"I can almost guarantee it," Iago murmured. As he spoke, his eyes went cold and hard.
Themo noted the change in his friend's expression and hooted with approval. He slapped the reins on the lizard's neck, his good spirits fully restored. "Well then, what are we sitting around here for?"
Chapter Six
A small, bedraggled figure crept through the jungle, staggering from tree to tree, clinging to each as if she took strength from it. Kiva, the once-powerful magehound, walked barefoot, clad only in the plain gray tunic of an Azuthan penitent. Long, jade-green hair hung about her face. The only magic in her hands was that which rippled through the mazganut tree she clutched for support. Kiva sensed the forest's teeming pulse, heard the soft music of the Weave, but faintly, as if from a great distance.
So frail was Kiva that she felt a disturbing kinship to her own shadow. Her strength had been stolen in battle with the laraken, her wizardly magic siphoned away. For days, only pride had kept her going. Now even that was gone. All Kiva could call upon were ancient memories and the vendetta born of them. Whenever her vision began to blur, she closed her eyes and whispered, "Akhlaur!"
Hatred focused her, strengthened her. She had not trained and plotted and fought for two centuries to die now, her vengeance incomplete!
Kiva pushed away from the tree and stumbled onward.