Tzigone broke off her song at last, for it was impossible to sing and curse at the same time. She squared her shoulders as she muttered a few arcane words and then flung out one hand, throwing one of the few wizard spells she knew.
A huge fireball streaked toward the elf woman, arching over the laraken's head and trailing light like a comet. As Tzigone expected, much of the fireball's power was siphoned off by the magic-draining monster. It fell toward Kiva, fading and shrinking dramatically until it was no larger or brighter than an orange.
But it was large enough for Tzigone's purpose. The diminished fireball splashed into the bucket with a searing hiss. Steam rose, and water bubbled over the rim.
The elf woman shrieked and dropped the bucket, shaking her scalded hands. She whirled toward Tzigone's tree, her wild eyes searching for her attacker. The wemic came to her side, standing ready for whatever command she gave.
Tzigone began to sing again, calling the swamp creatures to her aid. A score or so of stirges answered her call and dived at the elf woman, humming in their droning voices, a grim harmony to Tzigone's song.
Kiva set her feet wide and delivered a series of fireballs. Each of the glowing missiles divided again and again as it flew, and the shards took off in search of the darting stirges. Giant mosquitoes sizzled and popped as the seeking fireballs found their targets. The surviving stirges scattered in frantic flight, closely pursued by balls of killing flame.
Kiva retaliated with a swift, angry gesture. A glowing arrow sizzled toward Tzigone. But it could not strike. It was no true arrow, but magical energy shaped into a bolt. It stopped short of its target, so suddenly that it seemed to splat against an invisible wall. Now shaped more like a plate than an arrow, the missile fell to the ground and seared the earth beneath it as it cooled.
Tzigone kept singing. A pair of centaurs came to her call, their thundering hooves echoing above the sound of battle. She grimaced. These creatures had little to do with men and were more likely to side with the beleaguered elf. But the centaurs took one look at the men engaging the laraken and decided that the foes of their foes were worth supporting. Leveling wooden staffs at the elf and her wemic guard, they charged forward like jousting knights.
Mbatu reached over his shoulder for his great broadsword. He thrust Kiva aside and stepped into the line of attack. With a roar, he swept his sword up in a rising circle, catching the oncoming staff and forcing it up. He reared, raking at the centaur's chest with his forepaws.
But the centaur also reared, and his hoofs slashed and pounded at the wemic. Both combatants dropped their weapons, grappling like wrestlers with their manlike arms while pounding and lashing at each other with the weapons of lion and steed.
Mbatu leaped up, digging his hind claws deep into the centaur's belly and pulling the massive creature down with him. The snap of the centaur's leg sent a surge of triumph through him, and he ignored the heavy impact. He rolled aside and seized his discarded sword. As he rose beside the struggling centaur, he slashed the creature hard across its throat with one forepaw. Four deep lines opened and welled with blood.
A heavy thud jolted Mbatu. Dimly he recognized that this wasn't the first such blow, and he whirled to face the second centaur, his sword lifted to attack.
But there was no power to his blow. Mbatu felt strangely weak, and he struggled to draw air into his aching chest. The centaur swung his staff again and smacked Mbatu hard against his flank. The wemic spat at the centaur's hooves in defiance and noticed that his spittle was thick and red.
The wemic lifted his hand to his face. His mane was sodden with blood. The centaur's hooves had left a deep slash on the left side of his head and removed most of one ear. In his battle lust, Mbatu hadn't noticed.
But there had been other wounds, and he felt them now as he and the centaur circled each other warily. Several ribs had been cracked. One had pierced a lung. He was drowning in his own blood even as he fought.
But fight he did, as best as he could, while Kiva hurled spell after spell at the small woman in the tree.
A flicker of fear went through the wemic as he considered the probable result of the spell battle. As he feared, the laraken reared up, sniffing the air like a tired wolf who scents an easy meal. The creature turned away from the fighters and began to wade toward Kiva.
Mbatu roared in protest and leaped directly at the laraken's throat. He held on with his leonine fangs and his claws, not expecting to deal a death blow but hoping to hold the creature off long enough to allow Kiva to escape.
But the laraken plucked the wemic from its throat and gave its latest tormenter a single hard shake. Mbatu's spine snapped with an audible crunch. The laraken tossed him aside and advanced on the elf woman and her nourishing magic. As it moved closer, its many wounds started to heal and spears dropped away as knitting tissue expelled them.
Kiva's fireball spell fizzled into smoke as the creature drew near. Her hands faltered, and her copper face began to pale as the laraken drank in her magic. In a heartbeat, she was weaving on her feet, her eyes fixed on the approaching creature as a mouse might eye a swooping hawk.
Matteo saw the course of battle reversing before his eyes. If the laraken regained strength, they could not destroy it. Again he ran up the spine of the laraken. Desperate now, he flung one arm around the creature's neck. Pulling his dagger, he reached around and pulled the dagger hard toward the laraken's face. He steeled himself for the crush of those lethal fangs.
But his aim was true, and the dagger plunged deep into the laraken's eye with a sickening pop and a hot gush of fluid.
The laraken roared, twitching and pawing at its head. Claws raked Matteo's arm, slashing through sinew and grating on bone. Bright pain darted through his arm and exploded behind his eyes. He let go and fell, rolling aside and barely escaping the pounding feet of the frantic laraken.
The creature rushed instinctively toward the spring, brushing past Kiva in its desperation to feed and heal. The elf woman was tossed aside like a leaf in the wind. She came up on her hands and knees and began to chant.
Instantly the stream began to boil, and bubbles as large as men rose from the water. The laraken dived into one of the bubbles and disappeared.
Kiva, pale as death, lurched to her feet and staggered toward the spring, brandishing a square of dark silk. She tossed this over the bubbling water. The silk turned dark as water soaked it, then sank into the spring. Water and silk disappeared, leaving a bed dry and empty except for a few fish that gasped and floundered in the thin air. Kiva sank to her knees, wavered, and then fell heavily onto her face.
Tzigone slid down the tree and raced over to Matteo's side. He struggled to a sitting position and she dropped to her knees beside him. For a long moment, she regarded the deep gashes that ran from wrist to elbow.
"Well, that's pretty disgusting," she announced.
Matteo chuckled weakly. "Get Andris. He knows how to clean and stitch wounds."
She rose and looked around for the tall jordain. Andris was bent over one of the wounded men, his touch deft and sure as he bandaged a wound. He, too, had suffered from the attack. His form still retained its distinctive colors, but it was translucent. Looking at him was like looking at a rainbow in human form.
Tzigone hurried over and grasped his elbow, relieved to find that he still felt solid. "Matteo needs you."
Andris quickly finished his work and came to his friend's side. His expression was somber as he examined the wound. He took out needle and fine gut thread and began to stitch. Tzigone paced as he worked.
"Well?" she demanded.
"Deep, but clean. There is little tearing across the muscle. Fortunately the talons on that creature were sharp as knives."
"How lucky can a man get?" she muttered. "Will he be all right? I know how quickly a wound can turn bad in a swamp."
"He'll be fine," Andris assured her in a soothing voice.
Tzigone stopped and prodded the translucent jordain with her foot. "Don't lie to me," she warned him. "I can see right through you."
"Tzigone," Matteo said wearily. "Go check on Kiva." That struck her as an excellent idea. She went over to the elf, seized one of her limp coppery hands, and jerked her over onto her back. Stooping, Tzigone placed her fingers against Kiva's throat.
"She still lives," she said in a flat voice, and then she pulled a knife from her boot and lifted it high.
Andris darted forward and seized the girl's wrist in a translucent hand. "No," he said softly. "I will not argue that she deserves to live, but consider the good of the land."
"He's right," Matteo agreed. He rose painfully and made his way carefully through the tangle of fallen men. "Kiva didn't close the gate. She merely moved it. We must find out where. Let her live, under the guard of the church of Azuth, until she recovers enough to submit to Inquisition. If it is vengeance you seek, her own kind will deal with her less kindly than you would."
Tzigone gave him a baleful look. "Is that true?"
"I swear it. Magehounds are seldom merciful, even to their own kind."
"Hmmm." She considered this and then nodded. "Maybe I could get to like magehounds after all."
But Matteo noticed that she still gripped the knife, and she eyed Kiva with a fury than went beyond hatred. He gently took her wrist and eased the blade from her fingers.
"Our task is done," Matteo said softly. "The swamp has been contained, the laraken is gone. There is a balance in that. Halruaa is well served."
"But what about us?" Tzigone said passionately. "Who among us have been well served?"
Matteo looked at his friends and at the men whom Kiva had tricked or conscripted into service. Even the brave wemic who died defending her had no doubt been stolen as a cub and trained to Kiva's service. He considered what had been taken from all of them. And try as he might, he could not hold Kiva solely guilty.
"I'm not saying that what Kiva did was right or justified," he said softly. "But who knows what wrongs she sought to avenge? If such grim measures were taken to mold the jordaini, what else might Halruaa's wizards have done? What evils gave birth to what we have fought today? This is something we must know."