The Magehound   ::   Каннингем Элейн

The proud necromancer's last thought was one of relief, for without a voice, hecould not die screaming, and there was no one to witness his final defeat.

He was wrong on both counts.

In a tower room that overlooked Halruaa's western mountains, a place far from the Swamp of Akhlaur, an elf woman bent over a low, round scrying bowl. The death of Zilgorn played out before her in all its detail, and her sharp ears caught the new note in the laraken's roar: the necromancer's trained voice, raised in a final keening shriek of pain and terror.

When the magical vision ended, the elf woman leaned back and brushed a glossy green curl from her face. She glanced at the wemic, a lion-like centaur, who crouched in watchful silence by her side.

Neither elves nor wemics were common in Halruaa, and together they were as oddly matched as any two companions in all the land. Kiva, the elf woman, was of wild elf blood, and her coloring was common among forest folk in the southern lands. Her abundant hair was deep green in hue and her skin a rich coppery shade. Her face was beautiful but disturbing, for there was no gentleness in its sharp lines, and her eyes were as golden and enigmatic as a cat's. She was resplendent in a gown of yellow silk and overdress of gold-embroidered green. Emeralds flashed on her fingers and at her throat. The wemic, in sharp contract, was clad only in his own tawny hide. He was a massive creature, with the lower body of a lion and the brawny, golden-skinned torso of a man. A thick mane of black hair fell to his shoulders, and his eyes, like the elf woman's, were a feline shade of amber. His only ornaments were the ruby earring fastened in one leonine ear and the massive broadsword slung over his shoulder.

"Zilgorn was the best of the lot," Kiva mused in a singularly clear, bell-like voice. "I thought he'd make a better showing for himself."

The wemic frowned, misunderstanding. "You thought he would succeed? That he could free the laraken from the swamp?"

Kiva's laughter rang out like crystal chimes. "Never a chance of it! That is our task, dear Mbatu. But with each wizard we entice into the swamps, we learn a bit more."

Her companion nodded, and his golden eyes flamed at the prospect of battle. "We go into Akhlaur soon?"

The elf's face clouded. "Not yet. Zilgorn proved… disappointing. A necromancer's magic offers no better protection from the laraken than that of any other wizard. We must find another way."

"So this last expedition was money and effort wasted," Mbatu concluded, gesturing to the scrying bowl.

Kiva's smile held an edge that could have cut diamonds. "Not a waste," she said softly.