The Magehound by Elaine Cunningham Read Free Book Online Page A

hands. “This won’t be bringing ‘em back, but ain’t it fine as frog’s hair! I’ll take it off’n your hands, girlie. And,” she added shrewdly, “I’ll not tell any who might ask where it come from.”
    Tzigone nodded and started to move off, but the woman seized the hem of her tunic, her face suddenly animated. “What of the stars, girl? Did the stars of Mystra what lighted up this gown foretell good fortune or ill? Mind you, I’ll not be wearing an evil omen.”
    Tzigone painted a reassuring smile on her face. “Don’t worry, grandmother. My fortune was the same as always.”
    This seemed to content the crone, for she hauled herself to her feet and hurried off, clutching her treasure.
    For once Tzigone had spoken no more than the unadorned truth. Magic slid off her like water off a swan.
    The tiny magical lights that rained from the sky at the close of the Lady’s Day festival had refused to touch her. She closed her eyes and sighed as she remembered how people had fallen back from her, their own red clothes glittering with Mystra’s stars and their faces holding the somber, shuttered expression usually reserved for funerals. And why not? No stars, no future. “You’re dead,” their eyes had said. “You just don’t know it yet.”
    “Don’t rush me,” Tzigone muttered.
    What bothered her more than the crowd’s reaction was her own small lapse. She’d quietly borrowed a red gown from a local garment shop so that she could move unnoticed through the crowd, forgetting what would happen at the festival’s end, not thinking how her starless gown might draw the attention of the wemic who of late had been stalking her.
    And that was the problem. She had survived this long because she forgot nothing. That was the law that ruled her days. Never did a slight go unavenged. No kindness, no matter how casual or even unintentional, went unrewarded. But for her, sleep had always been the true time of remembrance. Sometimes, when she was deep in dreams, she could almost remember her real name and her mother’s face.
    Sleep beckoned her, and she found her way through the narrow back streets to one of her favorite hidden spots. She sank into slumber as soon as she settled down.
    Despite her exhaustion, she fell at once into dreaming. The dream was a familiar one, poignant with the sights and sensations of childhood. It was twilight, and the breeze had the rich, silken feel that came when night lured the winds inland from Lake Halruaa, making the humid summer air flow and swirl like a mage queen’s skirts. The breeze was especially pleasant on the rooftops overlooking the port city of Khaerbaal. On the tiled roof of a portside inn, the girl and her mother chased floating balls of light that dipped and danced against the purple sky.
    Many Halruaan children her age could conjure lights, but hers were special: gem-colored and almost sentient, they eluded pursuit like canny fireflies.
    “That one!” she shrieked happily, pointing toward a brilliant orange globe-a miniature harvest moon.
    Obligingly her mother hiked up her skirts and ran after it. The child laughed and clapped her hands as the globe cleverly evaded capture, but her eyes lingered longer on the woman than on the dancing light.
    Mother was her world. To the child’s eyes, the small, dark woman was the greatest beauty and the wisest wizard in all of Halruaa. Her mother’s laughter was music and fairy song, and as she ran, her long brown hair streamed behind her like a silken shadow.
    No other children had ever joined their game, but the girl did not really miss them. In the city below, children were being led through chanted prayers to Mystra and then tucked beneath insect netting for a night’s sleep. Seldom did the wizard’s daughter envy them or wish to join them.
    She had never lacked for companionship, for all creatures came to her mother’s call. Just this morning she had romped with a winged kitten, and she’d eaten her mid-day meal in