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The Wizardwar :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 61 из 208Hardly caring if the spell held or not, she stepped out into the wind...
* * * * *
Tzigone hit the ground facedown, landing with a spine-numbing jolt and a solid splat. She pushed herself off the mossy cushion and rose to her feet, wiping the moisture from her face. For a while she paced, waiting for the last lingering shadows of her vision to fade. When all she could see was the bleak expanse of rocky moor, she sat down with her back against one of the jagged standing stones that littered the dark fairies' realm.
So there it was-the beginning of her story. For years, Keturah had evaded Dhamari's pursuit, finally falling into the hands of Kiva, the elven magehound. Somewhere in between, Tzigone had been born.
That was interesting, but Tzigone didn't see how it could help her get free of this place. She would try again... later. Right now she was bone-weary, soul-weary.
Even so, she gathered her small remaining strength and sank back into recent memory. When she opened her eyes, a tall, solid figure stood over her, arms crossed and an expression of fond exasperation on his face. The illusion of Matteo was nearly as ghostly as the form of his friend Andris, but Tzigone took comfort from the illusion of his presence.
She raised her eyes to his shadowy face. "Good news, Matteo. Dhamari is not my father."
You're sure of this? inquired the illusion with typical jordaini skepticism.
"Positive. I saw it in one of those past memory trances you taught me to do. The little weasel never even made an attempt at fatherhood. You'd think all those wands and chalices and crystal balls that wizards have lying around would plant the idea. The man has no appreciation for symbolism! He never once cast a spell, if you follow."
Matteo's misty visage furrowed. No spells? But Dhamari is a wizard.
Tzigone groaned. "I'll put this in terms a scholar can appreciate: either there was no lead in Dhamari's stylus, or he was just never in the mood to write."
A faint flush suffused the illusion's face. You saw this?
"There wasn't much to see, praise Mystra." The amusement faded from her eyes, and she studied Matteo for a long moment. "None of this is real, you know. Nothing here is real, anyway, and I wouldn't bet on whatever's happening back in Halruaa. Life is mostly illusion and wishful thinking, isn't it?"
Yes.
"You're the only person I've ever known who is exactly what he seems." She grinned fleetingly. "I'm sorry for all those times I called you boring and predictable."
No you're not, Matteo's illusion responded.
* * * * *
Tzigone hit the ground facedown, landing with a spine-numbing jolt and a solid splat. She pushed herself off the mossy cushion and rose to her feet, wiping the moisture from her face. For a while she paced, waiting for the last lingering shadows of her vision to fade. When all she could see was the bleak expanse of rocky moor, she sat down with her back against one of the jagged standing stones that littered the dark fairies' realm.
So there it was-the beginning of her story. For years, Keturah had evaded Dhamari's pursuit, finally falling into the hands of Kiva, the elven magehound. Somewhere in between, Tzigone had been born.
That was interesting, but Tzigone didn't see how it could help her get free of this place. She would try again... later. Right now she was bone-weary, soul-weary.
Even so, she gathered her small remaining strength and sank back into recent memory. When she opened her eyes, a tall, solid figure stood over her, arms crossed and an expression of fond exasperation on his face. The illusion of Matteo was nearly as ghostly as the form of his friend Andris, but Tzigone took comfort from the illusion of his presence.
She raised her eyes to his shadowy face. "Good news, Matteo. Dhamari is not my father."
You're sure of this? inquired the illusion with typical jordaini skepticism.
"Positive. I saw it in one of those past memory trances you taught me to do. The little weasel never even made an attempt at fatherhood. You'd think all those wands and chalices and crystal balls that wizards have lying around would plant the idea. The man has no appreciation for symbolism! He never once cast a spell, if you follow."
Matteo's misty visage furrowed. No spells? But Dhamari is a wizard.
Tzigone groaned. "I'll put this in terms a scholar can appreciate: either there was no lead in Dhamari's stylus, or he was just never in the mood to write."
A faint flush suffused the illusion's face. You saw this?
"There wasn't much to see, praise Mystra." The amusement faded from her eyes, and she studied Matteo for a long moment. "None of this is real, you know. Nothing here is real, anyway, and I wouldn't bet on whatever's happening back in Halruaa. Life is mostly illusion and wishful thinking, isn't it?"
Yes.
"You're the only person I've ever known who is exactly what he seems." She grinned fleetingly. "I'm sorry for all those times I called you boring and predictable."
No you're not, Matteo's illusion responded.