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The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 171 из 216Not since his days at the Jordain College and his long discussions and arguments with Matteo had he encountered anyone who shared his passion for tactics and strategy.
But doubt, once planted, grows quickly and dies hard. He studied the softly glowing globe, which Kiva kept with her, cradling in her lap like a beloved cat.
"You seem to take scant interest in this victory. What is your true purpose? What comes next?"
She smiled at him. "You are quick, Andris. I suppose I need not tell you that Kilmaruu was little more than a test."
The weary jordain let out a small, dry chuckle. "Next you'll be telling me that fighting a red dragon is nothing but battle training. I may regret asking, but for what did Kilmaruu prepare us?"
Kiva poured more wine into his cup before answering. "What do you know of the Swamp of Akhlaur?"
The jordain choked on his sip of wine. He coughed and put the goblet down with a sharp thunk. "It is an ancient swamp with a relatively new name. Known in ages past as the Swamp of Ghalagar, it was renamed for Akhlaur, an infamous necromancer who reputedly built a tower there. The swamp grows slowly, advancing some hundred feet or so each year. No one seems to know why, and the wizards who venture into the swamp to seek answers do not return."
"Wizards," she emphasized. "Your men will do better."
Andris thought this over. "We went into Kilmaruu with a purpose. I won't risk these men's lives again without knowing that there is just cause."
The elf woman sat silent for a long moment as if in private debate. Then she rose abruptly, the glowing sphere in her hands. Raising it aloft, she began to sing.
Never had Andris heard anything like that elven song. Naming it music would be a disservice, he would sooner refer to the finest wine as spoiled grape juice! Kiva's song was magic and starlight and wind and every emotion he had ever felt or imagined. The keen of a funeral dirge was in that song, and the exhilaration of a battle yell, and the sweetness of a first kiss.
Her bell-like voice enchanted the globe as surely as it did him. The light deepened, and glowing forms began to swirl within. Finally Kiva finished the song on a clear, ringing note. Before the sound died away, she flung the globe to the floor.
There was no explosion, no tinkle of breaking crystal. But suddenly the room was crowded with softly translucent shadows, all of them elves, all of them regarding him and Kiva with profound joy and gratitude.
Motes of lights shimmered in the ghostly forms, which began to slowly dissolve. The lights drifted through the open window and rose into the night. Andris could have sworn that the stars shone brighter.
But doubt, once planted, grows quickly and dies hard. He studied the softly glowing globe, which Kiva kept with her, cradling in her lap like a beloved cat.
"You seem to take scant interest in this victory. What is your true purpose? What comes next?"
She smiled at him. "You are quick, Andris. I suppose I need not tell you that Kilmaruu was little more than a test."
The weary jordain let out a small, dry chuckle. "Next you'll be telling me that fighting a red dragon is nothing but battle training. I may regret asking, but for what did Kilmaruu prepare us?"
Kiva poured more wine into his cup before answering. "What do you know of the Swamp of Akhlaur?"
The jordain choked on his sip of wine. He coughed and put the goblet down with a sharp thunk. "It is an ancient swamp with a relatively new name. Known in ages past as the Swamp of Ghalagar, it was renamed for Akhlaur, an infamous necromancer who reputedly built a tower there. The swamp grows slowly, advancing some hundred feet or so each year. No one seems to know why, and the wizards who venture into the swamp to seek answers do not return."
"Wizards," she emphasized. "Your men will do better."
Andris thought this over. "We went into Kilmaruu with a purpose. I won't risk these men's lives again without knowing that there is just cause."
The elf woman sat silent for a long moment as if in private debate. Then she rose abruptly, the glowing sphere in her hands. Raising it aloft, she began to sing.
Never had Andris heard anything like that elven song. Naming it music would be a disservice, he would sooner refer to the finest wine as spoiled grape juice! Kiva's song was magic and starlight and wind and every emotion he had ever felt or imagined. The keen of a funeral dirge was in that song, and the exhilaration of a battle yell, and the sweetness of a first kiss.
Her bell-like voice enchanted the globe as surely as it did him. The light deepened, and glowing forms began to swirl within. Finally Kiva finished the song on a clear, ringing note. Before the sound died away, she flung the globe to the floor.
There was no explosion, no tinkle of breaking crystal. But suddenly the room was crowded with softly translucent shadows, all of them elves, all of them regarding him and Kiva with profound joy and gratitude.
Motes of lights shimmered in the ghostly forms, which began to slowly dissolve. The lights drifted through the open window and rose into the night. Andris could have sworn that the stars shone brighter.