Free The Wizardwar by Elaine Cunningham Page B

into impenetrable blackness. He moved forward several paces until he found a crack in the stone paving, then eased the table down and wedged it into the crack. Letting the table lean toward him, he put his shoulder to it and waited.
    His keen ears caught the sound of a light-footed man running barefoot. He braced himself just before someone hit the tabletop at a dead run.
    Immediately Matteo threw the table forward and hurled himself with it. Despite the double impact, the table jounced as a man pinned beneath struggled to free himself. Matteo’s seeking hands found the man’s throat
    “Be still, Andris. Don’t make this worse than it already is.” There was a moment’s silence, then a raspy voice inquired, “Matteo?”
    “Who else would guess that you’d be counting off paces in the dark?”
    A moment of silence passed, and Andris let out a muted chuckle. Matteo released his grip and rolled off the table. He tossed it aside and helped the winded prisoner to his feet. “Eighty-seven paces,” Andris said. “Another five, and I would have slowed down for the door. You couldn’t have backed up just a little, I suppose.”
    “The thought crossed my mind. Briefly.” Matteo threw open the door, and faint light filtered in. Andris’s translucent form was nearly invisible in the gloom, and he looked more ghostly than ever. His face, always angular, was gaunt and drawn.
    He’s slipping away, Matteo realized. The grief and dismay this realization brought surprised him. By now, he thought he’d be inured to the pain of losing his friend. He swallowed his dismay and leveled a stern look at the former jordain.
    “Why were you attempting escape?”
    “It’s not what it seems. Though this might be difficult to believe, I was looking for you.”
    Matteo folded his arms. “Here I am. Here I would be, had you merely asked the guards to summon me.”
    “Do you think I didn’t try?” Andris retorted. “They insisted the king’s counselor has better things to do than listen to a traitor’s prattle.”
    Matteo could see the logic in that. “I should have left instructions with the guards.”
    Andris shrugged. “You’re here now. By the way, congratulations on your new office. I can think of no man more worthy of the honor.”
    “Please, keep repeating that thought,” Matteo said dryly. “If words truly have power, they might turn that sentiment into reality. Now, what did you want to tell me?”
    “I heard the guards speak of the battle against the Mulhorandi invaders,” Andris began. “Was it true, what they said about the necromantic spells?”
    “They could hardly have exaggerated.”
    “Who cast them?”
    Matteo’s brow furrowed. “To the best of my knowledge, the king did.”
    “Has he said so?”
    The jordain considered this. “He hasn’t denied it.”
    Andris gripped Matteo’s arm. “What I’m about to say might be difficult to believe, but hear me out. Before I left the Jordaini College to rejoin Kiva, someone sent a blink bird to alert me to books hidden in my chamber. One of these books dealt with jordaini ancestry. I learned the name of my elven forebear. A name you know well.”
    “Kiva,” Matteo said slowly. “She could be hundreds of years old, a living ancestor. That was why you cast in with her!”
    “It was one of the reasons, yes, but that is a tale for another time. The other book was a grimoire, the spellbook of Akhlaur. Akhlaur the necromancer.”
    “Gods above! Are you saying that spell was in the book? That it was a spell of Akhlaur’s creation?”
    “That and more. Matteo, Akhlaur is alive. He is back.”
    Matteo stared at him in silence. “How is that possible?”
    “I don’t know, but it’s the only logical explanation. Kiva had the spellbook for a while, but she was gone before the spell was cast. Any Halruaan wizard would be quick to claim such a feat. Zalathorm has neither claimed nor denied it. I suspect he has come to the same conclusion I have. He’s allowing