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The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 212 из 216Magehounds are seldom merciful, even to their own kind."
"Hmmm." She considered this and then nodded. "Maybe I could get to like magehounds after all."
But Matteo noticed that she still gripped the knife, and she eyed Kiva with a fury than went beyond hatred. He gently took her wrist and eased the blade from her fingers.
"Our task is done," Matteo said softly. "The swamp has been contained, the laraken is gone. There is a balance in that. Halruaa is well served."
"But what about us?" Tzigone said passionately. "Who among us have been well served?"
Matteo looked at his friends and at the men whom Kiva had tricked or conscripted into service. Even the brave wemic who died defending her had no doubt been stolen as a cub and trained to Kiva's service. He considered what had been taken from all of them. And try as he might, he could not hold Kiva solely guilty.
"I'm not saying that what Kiva did was right or justified," he said softly. "But who knows what wrongs she sought to avenge? If such grim measures were taken to mold the jordaini, what else might Halruaa's wizards have done? What evils gave birth to what we have fought today? This is something we must know."
Andris gathered up Kiva in his translucent arms. The tiny elf woman seemed almost to float. "That is no task for a jordain," he said. "It is our duty to serve Halruaa's wizards."
"It is our duty to seek truth," Matteo said with quiet determination. "From this day on, I will follow no other master."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kiva awakened to the chant of morning prayers. Moments passed before she realized she was in the care of the Temple of Azuth. Memory returned in a rush, dimming the pain that throbbed through her every bone and sinew. And worse still was the terrible void in her mind and soul.
She had been stripped of magic. Not entirely-no elf could be entirely devoid of magic and live-but her wizardly power was gone beyond recall. She wouldn't have felt half as bereft if she'd lost sight or hearing or touch. The elf lay back on her pillows and fought against her rising despair.
There might yet be something she could do. In fact, the loss of her magic made her quest for the treasures of Akhlaur even more imperative.
But she had few defenses now, and fewer allies. Who would rally to the cause of a magic-dead magehound? Mbatu was dead-Mbatu, who would have stood beside her if she had been halt and lame and hideous. Mbatu, at least, she had not betrayed. The wemic had gone into battle honestly, knowing the risks and accepting them for love of her.
"Hmmm." She considered this and then nodded. "Maybe I could get to like magehounds after all."
But Matteo noticed that she still gripped the knife, and she eyed Kiva with a fury than went beyond hatred. He gently took her wrist and eased the blade from her fingers.
"Our task is done," Matteo said softly. "The swamp has been contained, the laraken is gone. There is a balance in that. Halruaa is well served."
"But what about us?" Tzigone said passionately. "Who among us have been well served?"
Matteo looked at his friends and at the men whom Kiva had tricked or conscripted into service. Even the brave wemic who died defending her had no doubt been stolen as a cub and trained to Kiva's service. He considered what had been taken from all of them. And try as he might, he could not hold Kiva solely guilty.
"I'm not saying that what Kiva did was right or justified," he said softly. "But who knows what wrongs she sought to avenge? If such grim measures were taken to mold the jordaini, what else might Halruaa's wizards have done? What evils gave birth to what we have fought today? This is something we must know."
Andris gathered up Kiva in his translucent arms. The tiny elf woman seemed almost to float. "That is no task for a jordain," he said. "It is our duty to serve Halruaa's wizards."
"It is our duty to seek truth," Matteo said with quiet determination. "From this day on, I will follow no other master."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kiva awakened to the chant of morning prayers. Moments passed before she realized she was in the care of the Temple of Azuth. Memory returned in a rush, dimming the pain that throbbed through her every bone and sinew. And worse still was the terrible void in her mind and soul.
She had been stripped of magic. Not entirely-no elf could be entirely devoid of magic and live-but her wizardly power was gone beyond recall. She wouldn't have felt half as bereft if she'd lost sight or hearing or touch. The elf lay back on her pillows and fought against her rising despair.
There might yet be something she could do. In fact, the loss of her magic made her quest for the treasures of Akhlaur even more imperative.
But she had few defenses now, and fewer allies. Who would rally to the cause of a magic-dead magehound? Mbatu was dead-Mbatu, who would have stood beside her if she had been halt and lame and hideous. Mbatu, at least, she had not betrayed. The wemic had gone into battle honestly, knowing the risks and accepting them for love of her.