Free The Floodgate by Elaine Cunningham Page A

were the only mounts that could traverse the jungle. While no one from the temple actually rode into the jungle, they stressed, if need arose the proper mounts were available.
    Finally the tolling of temple bells announced the approach of visitors. Matteo hastened to the gate to meet his friends.
    Themo was a mountain of a man with the bluff, cheery face of a mischievous boy, and a temperament to match. Although he was Matteo’s age, repeated infractions of jordaini rules forced Themo to repeat the fifth form before he could become a full-fledged counselor. Matteo suspected that Themo would not be heartbroken if this honor was never his to claim, for he was more suited to the battlefield than the council chamber. Iago was a slight, dark man with a sage’s introspective eyes. He was also among the best battlemasters the Jordaini College had produced, as well as a master of horse.
    Iago had also been one of Kiva’s captives and had nearly as much reason for vengeance as did Andris. He listened to Matteo’s story and readily agreed that Andris had gone in pursuit of Kiva. Themo, on the other hand, was eager to pursue this quest, or any other.
    The high priest himself accompanied them to the side gate, wishing them success and admonishing them to secrecy.
    “Success,” muttered Themo later that day, climbing back onto his lizard mount for at least the fifth time. “If I fall off this slimy excuse for a horse only twice more before sunset, I’ll call it a good day’s work.”
    “Wishing you were back at the college?” Iago asked.
    Themo looked genuinely surprised. “Nine Hells! A man can’t complain for love of hearing his own voice?”
    “A man can. A jordain shouldn’t. The measure of a man’s spirit is the distance between ordeal and adventure,” Iago pointed out, quoting a familiar proverb.
    “The college is an ordeal,” Themo grumbled. “As for adventure, I wish I’d been with you two in Akhlaur’s Swamp.”
    “No, you don’t,” Iago said with quiet certainty. “Consider what happened to Andris.”
    The big man conceded this with a shrug. “Poor bastard, Going through life looking like a glass sculpture isn’t my idea of fun. Makes people hesitate before taking a swing at you.”
    “Hold your sympathy until we find Andris and Kiva,” Matteo advised, giving voice for the first time to his reluctant suspicions.
    Iago sent him a considering stare, but Themo responded with an out-thrust tongue and a rude, moistly vibrating buzz.
    “You sound like the logic and rhetoric master, Matteo. Before that, therefore because of this,” Themo quoted in a derisive singsong. “One thing doesn’t always follow another, lined up like swimming ducklings. The elf is gone, and so is Andris, and what of it? Doesn’t mean Andris has thrown in with Kiva. Maybe he just didn’t want the Azuthans poking at him. Can’t say I blame him.”
    “Nor I.” A stab of guilt pricked at Matteo. Yes, Andris had misled him, but he had to assume that his friend had a good reason for doing so.
    They rode on, stopping frequently to search for the faint, subtle marks of Andris’s passing. The lizards moved soundlessly, finding passages through the thick vines and dense underbrush that none of the men could see.
    “We’re following Andris, but what the Nine bloody Hells is he following?” demanded Themo as he picked a leaf from his hair. “Besides the sun, that is.”
    “According to the temple lore, there is an elf village due west of the temple. Kiva was badly weakened by the laraken. She will need help. It is logical to assume that she would seek out others of her kind.”
    “I’m not sure which idea I like less,” the big man grumbled. “More jordaini logic, or the notion that there could be more at home like Kiva.” He suddenly brightened and pointed to a long, narrow clearing up ahead. “There’s a path. Going due west, too!”
    The “path” was an odd, cone-shaped swath cut into the jungle. No, Matteo noted