Tzigone sent him a quizzical look.
"That tall man," he said quietly, pointing. "He is very like my friend Andris." A terrible thought occurred to him. "Or an undead creature that was once Andris! I saw the wemic kill him the very day we met."
He spoke softly, just above a whisper, and then fell silent. But some magical ward captured his words and repeated them in an echo that thrummed through the forest.
The fighters stopped and turned toward their hiding place, weapons leveled.
But Andris's face broke into a joyful grin. He made a quick, impatient gesture, as if he were tearing aside an insect netting. "Trust your eyes, my friend," he said in a clear, carrying voice. "I'm alive and well and happier than I've ever been! Come into camp, and I'll tell you everything."
“It's a trap," Tzigone said flatly.
Matteo hesitated, uncertain whether to believe what his eyes told him. "Andris was my dearest friend. I can't walk away from him without a word. I'll understand if you don't wish to follow me, but I must go."
She thought this over and shrugged. Matteo stepped out into the clearing. After a moment, he heard Tzigone's light step behind him.
Andris strode to meet him, and the friends fell into a back-thumping embrace. Finally Matteo put Andris out at arms' length and regarded him. Andris had gained color from much time in the sun, as well as a bit more muscle on his lean frame.
"You're looking remarkably well for a dead man."
Genuine regret crossed the man's face. "My 'death' was a ruse to bring me to this cause. I have often wished I could send you word, but doing so would compromise the coming battle."
"Battle?" Matteo said incredulously. "Here, in this foul swamp? Andris, what are you thinking? How many people have survived Akhlaur? Do you have any idea what you're going up against?"
"A laraken," the man said easily. "It is a creature that drains magic. But none of these men possess any magical ability or weapons. We fight as jordaini fight against wizards, with wits and weapons."
"Wits and weapons?" echoed Tzigone. She strode over to Andris and eyed the daggers strapped to his side. "Hmm. Weapons. Looks like you're half right."
Andris lifted an eyebrow and glanced inquiringly at Matteo.
"This is Tzigone," he said simply. "Lured here by Kiva. Believe me, the laraken is not your only foe."
"Kiva is no foe," Andris said quietly. "I lead these men, but I follow the elf woman."
"Andris, there are things that Kiva hasn't told you. There are things about her that you don't know."
"No doubt. Can you claim to know every secret of the wizards you have served?"
"I'm reasonably sure that neither of them murdered Cassia," Matteo said sharply.
His friend's expression turned grave. "Cassia dead, at Kiva's hand? Are you certain of this? Beyond doubt? Has Kiva been magically tested?"
"Not yet."
"Then wait until that time to make accusations. Kiva has been traveling with us for many days. We have never gone to the city of Halarahh. She could not have killed Cassia."
Tzigone rolled her eyes. "Kiva's a wizard, isn't she? Do you think her fastest means of travel is a good horse or a quick ship?"
Andris considered this, then shrugged and turned back to Matteo. "Let me tell you what we plan to do. Listen to what Kiva has done, what she wishes to accomplish, before you judge her."
"I can't think of much that would justify taking these men into Akhlaur! This is not a fight you can win."
"We won in Kilmaruu," Andris stated. "We resolved the Kilmaruu Paradox, just as I told you."
Matteo stared at him. "So that's why Kiva took you. But how could she know of your studies of Kilmaruu? Did you tell anyone other than me and the jordaini masters?"
"No one."
"Then how did she know?"
Both men fell silent as they considered this disturbing puzzle.
"I can answer that," Tzigone said with obvious reluctance. "You told the jordaini masters, right? Well, there you go. One of them passed information along to Kiva."
"That's impossible," Andris said flatly.
"A year ago, I would have agreed," Matteo said, his face thoughtful and troubled. He turned to Tzigone. "Are you suggesting a possibility, or do you know this for truth?"
Tzigone squirmed. "Let's say that maybe one of the masters has a secret he'd just as soon not hear spoken aloud. Kiva knows this secret, and she trades silence for information. She wanted a battlemaster, right? Who were her best choices?"
"Andris and I stood nearly equal in most of our studies," Matteo said.
"Well, that explains why Kiva chose Andris. I'm guessing the master gave up without a word of protest. He probably figured better Andris than you."
"What is this secret?" Matteo said quietly.
She was silent for a long moment. "Knowing what you do, how would you respond if you knew that one of your jordaini masters was your true father? How long before you ferreted out the secrets of the jordaini class, before you found your mother? And how long before your brothers started similar searches? The entire order would be in, well, disorder."
Matteo considered this. "One of my masters sired me. And the woman you showed me. She was in fact my mother?"
"Yes."
He nodded, his face set and grim. "Then the wizard had reason to keep his secret. I would have killed him for what was done to her. I may still. You know his name, don't you?"
Tzigone hesitated, then shook her head. "I've always searched for my mother. When I saw your lineage, my eye went right to your mother's name. I read everything written about her, but I paid scant attention to the father's information. He's a wizard at the Jordaini College, that's all I know for sure."
Andris listened to this exchange with an increasingly incredulous expression. "Matteo, this is absurd! Surely you don't believe this boy's tall tales! The jordaini order has come to a sad state when the lads give in to open falsehood."
"Watch who you're calling a jordain!" Tzigone fumed, jabbing her forefinger into Andris's chest. "Don't start with me, unless you want to hear a few things about yourself that you won't like knowing."
Despite himself, the tall man looked intrigued. "A jordain’s ancestry is not important."
"You look real convinced of that," she said dryly. "So let's leave it at this: You're elf-blooded. It's back a few generations, but trust me, it's there."
Andris stared at her as if she'd run a sword through his gut. Matteo sighed and turned to Tzigone, who had apparently forgotten that she was wearing the «borrowed» vestments of the jordaini order. "Was that really necessary?"
"I've been into the swamp," she said grimly. "Not far into it, but far enough. Trust me, it's necessary. No one with a drop of elf blood ought to go near that place."