The Magehound   ::   Каннингем Элейн

The magehound waved a hand over the bowl to dispel the image and rose from the table. She went over to the cot and bent over her captive, lifting the lids on his hazel-green eyes and looking deep within, ensuring that his sleep was both safe and deep.

She quickly chanted a spell, one that would take her to the quiet street where Mbatu lay sleeping. When she emerged from the magical transport, she took from her bag a small square of black silk, which she unfolded again and again until it was many times its original size. This she dropped over the wemic. The gossamer veil floated down, draped over Mbatu's great form, and then sank again until it lay flat against the cobblestone.

Kiva snatched up the scarf and held it high, spinning in a quick circle and then letting it fly. The thin silk whispered around her as it fell, and she felt the quick, sure pull of the magic that drew her back to her rented room. At the last moment, she seized the corner of the portal with practiced ease, bringing the priceless device with her.

She tossed the silken portal aside and strode to the locked box she had left on her bedside table. Mbatu would fold the silk later, once he recovered from Tzigone's casting as well as from the magical inquisition that was to come.

Kiva took from the box a small rod-not the ornate, bejeweled toy she had brandished to confound the jordaini and their masters, but the real instrument of her office. Slim and silvery, it was no metal to be wrested from soil and rock, but captured lightning, pure energy converted to solid form. She knew of nothing that conducted magic so well-not water, not amber, not even moonstone. If there was a trace of magic in a living creature, she would know. The rod could reveal other useful and important things, but Kiva seldom used it. Lightning was never easy to hold, and the process was as painful to the magehound as it was enlightening.

She completed the spell that released the wemic from Tzigone's casting. Mbatu stirred and stretched painfully. His amber eyes opened, then narrowed as they focused upon the wand in Kiva's hand.

"The scrying bowl did not work?" he asked in a sleep-scratchy growl.

"It worked, but I need to know more. I need to know everything."

The wemic regarded her for a long moment He shifted into a sitting position, folding his forepaws under him and using his humanoid arms to brace himself for the coming ordeal. It apparently did not occur to him to ask if the magical inquisition was necessary. If Kiva thought the pain was worth bearing, he could do no less.