The Summoning

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

28 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp

The scout and his hippogriff wheeled down out of the gray sky, a ghostly rider on a ghostly mount, almost impossible to see against the steely clouds even with detection magics fully raised. Khelben glanced over at Laerm Ryence, his counterpart and co-commander of the Swift Cavalry, and found the elf s silver eyes fixed on the trail ahead. Here they were, racing toward an army of phaerimm as fast as their spell-driven mounts could gallop, and the fool still had not bothered to cast his detection magic. Such negligence did not speak well for Evermeet's expeditionary company

The scout swept up alongside the column, his hippogriff's wings thrumming air as he slowed. Lord Ryence jumped visibly, his free hand dropping to his belt of wands, his neck craning to look over the wrong shoulder.

"No need for alarm," Khelben yelled, his voice falling into the rhythm of his galloping mount. He wrapped his reins around his saddle's pommel, then worked a spell to mute the thundering hooves of the four hundred horses behind him. "It's my scout."

Ryence's fingers finally flashed through a detection spell. "So… 1… see." like most of the elves, he seemed ill-at-ease on the powerful chargers Lord Piergeiron had selected for their journey. "I am not blind."

Ignoring the testy reply, Khelben turned to his scout. "What is your report?"

The rider, a long-faced man with a two-day growth of beard, said, "About two miles ahead, the Winding Water bends within an arrow's flight of the High Moor. Not a thousand paces beyond, the Serpent's Tail forks north and blocks your way." "A good place for an ambush?"

"The best. You'd be trapped against the Winding Water, with the Serpent's Tail blocking the way ahead."

Khelben glanced at the steep slope flanking them to the north. Though the escarpment rose only a hundred feet to the High Moor, its face was soggy and slick-difficult climbing under the best of circumstances, impossible with arrows and lightning bolts raining down from above. Opposite the moor lay the Winding Water, easily two hundred paces across, with a dark central channel purling between two banks of solid ice.

"Well need to cross." Khelben nodded toward the river. "I can bridge the distance with a space-folding door, but we'd have to feed riders through one at a time. It might be faster for your Selu'taar to fashion a good-sized bridge."

Ryence tried to look surprised. "What makes you think there are high mages here?"

"You try my patience, Lord Ryence," Khelben said darkly Were Laeral there, she would have been proud of him for not calling the elf a liar. "Now is a poor time to insist on polite little secrets."

It was Ryence's aide, a venerable Gold male named Bladuid, who answered, "A bridging spell would not be difficult. Half an hour would be sufficient."

'Too much time," grouched Ryence, annoyed that Bladuid had betrayed his identity. The elf commander pointed his chin toward the wall of snow-caked trees along the river's southern bank. "And we would only have to cross again, or have the Forest of Wyrms to worry us for the next hundred miles."

"Better to lose an hour or two crossing rivers than half a company fighting an ambush."

Ryence's eyes flashed white, and he looked to Khelben's scout. "Did you see any ambushers atop the moor?" Somewhat reluctantly, the rider shook his head.

"He wouldn't," said Khelben. "Not if the phaerimm are using their magic." "I'm willing to take that chance."

"I'm not," said Khelben. "There must be enough of us left to hold after we raise our end of the gate. If the phaerimm destroy it, it will take a month for the army to reach Evereska."

"I am not surprised to hear such talk from a human," said Ryence. "The phaerimm are not threatening one of your cities."

"It may not be a human city they are attacking, but plenty of human blood will be spilled defending it." Khelben struggled to conceal the full depth of his contempt for this elf. He had witnessed enough noble ambition to recognize a lord trying to make a name for himself, and he knew that such fools rarely had the good taste to get only themselves killed. "You'd do well not to waste it."

"No elf has asked you to waste anything," said Bladuid, urging his horse alongside Ryence's. "As far as we are concerned, this an elf matter."

Though Khelben was well aware of the disdain in which most Gold elves held humans, he was unaccustomed to feeling its sting himself. Drawing himself to his full height, he glared past Ryence at the high mage.

"Perhaps you have forgotten who I am. My father was Arun Maerdrym, noble son to House Maerdrym of Myth Drannor." What Khelben did not add-though it was obvious by his entirely human appearance-was that Arun had been a half-elf, and as such the first son of mixed race to be acknowledged by a noble house. "And I, personally, am one of the few-human, elf, or otherwise-who actually recalls living in Myth Drannor."

"Then you should know what happens when elves and humans mix," the high mage replied. "How long ago was it that Myth Drannor fell?"

"More recently than Aryvandaar," Khelben shot back. "And you can hardly blame humans for that."

The gibe drew an angry snarl from Ryence and a black glare from Bladuid. No elf-especially no Gold elf-liked to be reminded of how the Crown Wars had shattered the golden age of elven civilization.

Khelben softened his tone. "Fortunately, the spirit of Myth Drannor still lives in some-even in Evereska. I myself have always found a warm welcome in the vale."

"Yes. Perhaps if more humans risked their lives helping elves instead of robbing their tombs, they would receive the same welcome you did." The high mage was referring to the time-nearly a thousand years earlier-that Khelben had almost died saving three Evereskans from a phaerimm ambush. When the grateful elves took him home to recover from his wounds, he became the first human ever allowed to see Evereska.

"If 1 may be so bold," said Khelben's scout, still flying just above his shoulder, "we are trying to help now."

"How very noble of you," Bladuid said. "And your generosity has nothing to do with what will become of human lands if the phaerimm succeed?" "Waterdeep is a long way from Evereska, mage." The scout looked back to Khelben and pointed up the trail. "There's the bend, milord. If you're going to cross, you'd better do it soon."

Khelben looked over to Ryence. "What say you? Will you humor me this once?"

The elf lord considered his request only a second. "There's no need. We must be two hundred miles from Evereska. The phaerimm are not going to ambush us here."

"Then I wish you well," said Khelben, pulling his horse out of line. Ryence's eyes widened. "What are you…"

That was all Khelben heard before Ryence was carried out of earshot. He raised his hand to call Waterdeep's riders to him, then watched with a heavy heart as the elf warriors streaked past, their heads swinging around to look in his direction. He would have felt better, had their expressions had been less indignant and more perplexed.

The scout landed beside Khelben, keeping a tight rein on his hippogriff so it did not try to snack on the gathering horses.

"A wise choice, milord." In the thickening cloud of steaming horse breath, the scout's invisible form was barely discernible even to Khelben. "That elf is too eager to find his death."

"Let us hope he finds it later rather than sooner. Ryence may be a fool and Bladuid a bigot, but their warriors are brave and worthy, else they would not have traveled so far to fight someone else's battle." Khelben looked away from the elves and fixed his attention on the scout. "Shandar, is it not?" "An excellent memory, Lord Blackstaff."

"There are only a dozen of you," said Khelben, dismissing the compliment with a wave of his hand. 'Tell me how the moor looked when you flew over it. Can a horse cross it?"

"The ground looked frozen enough, but it was too broken. I fear we'd cripple as many as we didn't." The last of the elf riders passed by, leaving the archmage alone with his company of volunteers — barely a hundred warriors and a quarter that many battle mages. The men looked nervously from one to another, waiting in silence for their commander to explain why he had divided the Swift Cavalry. Khelben paid them no attention, convinced they would learn the reason soon enough, but hoping they would not.

Shantar finally grew impatient. "Lord Blackstaff? The river?"

Khelben looked across the Winding Water to the barren trees, knowing how difficult it would be to return across the river if the elves were ambushed.

"We can't chance the river." Khelben dismounted and passed his reins to a nearby rider, then drew his staff from its holster and started up the slope. "We'll have need of those elves."

The first hint of the village was the fruity reek of fireweed smoke, a stench that had led Galaeron to the camp of more than one shiftless, tomb-robbing wizard unable to forgo his indulgence for a few nights. This particular smoke happened to be especially foul, and he had a sudden vision of his mother and her friends squatting in the snow outside their storm-lodge, their hands cupped around white meerschaum bowls and their heads swaddled in clouds of brown fume. Wood elves were the most capricious of Tel'Quess, ever ready to test some new delight or enliven a party with a touch of intemperance, and he could easily imagine them becoming slaves to the pipe after seeing some human wizard blow smoke rings through a yellow-stained beard.

As Turlang led the small company deeper into the village, they heard a male voice singing a bawdy tale of one-night love. A rush of laughter punctuated each verse, and it was not long before Galaeron could identify his own mother's voice among them. As always, it stirred in him a youthful longing he had long thought past-and also deeper, angrier emotions upon which he dared not dwell if he meant to keep his shadow at bay.

Like most Sy'Tel'Quess settlements, the winter village of Rheitheillaethor was more of a camp than a town. On the ground stood rough huts of log and mud meant only to deceive intruders, while the elves' true homes sat high among the trees. Modest both in size and construction, the nestings were usually no more than a waxed leather tent covering a platform of dead-fall logs. Often, the walls were decorated with elaborate dye-work grisaille depicting winter scenes, usually rendered so that the art enhanced the camouflage. To spare the residents the effort of descending to the forest floor when they wanted to go somewhere, the entire hamlet was linked by an intricate network of catwalks and swing-ropes, all cleverly disguised as crisscrossing limbs and draping vines. With a fresh twilight snow on the ground, as there was now, a careless observer might easily cross all of Rheitheillathor and never see the real village.

Galaeron's companions were not careless observers. Vala and Melegaunt pretended not to notice the eyes peering down from the sentry hollows, but the care they took to avoid fields of fire suggested they knew exactly where Rheitheillaethor stationed its archers. Aris was not so subtle. The stone giant simply stomped from one tree to another, studying the grisaille and mumbling to himself as he admired the most inspiring of the works. If he noticed the startled elf mothers herding their wide-eyed children out the opposite sides of the nestings, he showed no sign.

At last, they reached the village center. Turlang stepped aside, revealing Rheitheillaethor's only permanent building, a white marble longhouse. Aris was instantly on his hands and knees, studying the sculpted frieze work ringing the building.

Fifty paces beyond the longhouse, a hundred Wood elves sat on snow-cushioned deadfall logs, swilling triplewild mead and listening to the bawdy song the companions had been hearing. The lyrics were being sung by a throaty-voiced human seated on the Honor Chair-a flat-topped boulder nestled in a crook along the bank of the Heartblood River. The fellow's face was thin and weathered, with dancing eyes and a flowing beard stained yellow around the mouth. One hand held a long-stemmed pipe that had single-handedly covered the clearing with a cloud of turquoise smoke, while the other was cupping the fanny of the laughing Wood elf woman who sat on his lap.

With amber eyes, waist-length hair as richly golden as honey, and a face so deeply copper it could only be called red, the Lady of the Wood looked as strikingly beautiful as ever, and it took Galaeron a moment to accept that it was actually his mother on the human's lap. Though Morgwais scorned humans even more than did most Wood elves-and the Wood elf abhorrence of humans was legendary-she did not seem to dislike this man. She had one arm wrapped around his neck and her bosom pressed to his cheek, and if she was troubled by the wrinkled hand on her behind, she hid the fact well.

Turlang waited while the human finished his song, then rustled his branches. "Forgive the intrusion, tree-friends."

At the sound of the treant's voice, Galaeron's mother smiled broadly and turned to look, the delight in her eyes bespeaking the regard all elves held for the forest master. 'Turlang?" "I have need of words, Lady Morgwais."

"Of course," Morgwais called. She jumped off the human's lap, then spread her arms wide and started forward. "Welcome." The treant dipped his leafy crown. "Always a joy."

"What brings you to Rheitheillaethor, my friend?" As she slipped past the other elves, she finally seemed to notice Aris kneeling beside the stormlodge. "And who is your tall friend?" "Aris is neither friend nor foe to me-yet." Turlang lowered a limb toward Galaeron. "He is companion to one claiming to be your son."

"Galaeron?" Morgwais's gaze shifted to where Galaeron stood beneath Turlang's shadowy boughs, and she slipped past the treant to embrace him. "I didn't feel you enter the wood!"

"No?" The comment caused Galaeron to feel strangely resentful, as though she were accusing him of trying to surprise her. He cast a bitter glance toward the white-bearded human, now trailing his mother forward like a hart after his hind. "Perhaps you were distracted by your man-friend."

Morgwais retreated to arm's length and cocked a chastening eyebrow. "Did Aubric send you to look in on my virtue? Because I am certain your father has more important things to worry about."

This drew a chorus of titters from the Wood elves, who considered jealousy perverse. Galaeron felt the heat rise to his cheeks and started to grow angry with his mother for embarrassing him, then realized he had brought the ridicule on himself. To Sy'Tel'Quess, flirtation was as much a part of a good life as savory food and abundant drink, and even his father would not have been upset to find Morgwais sitting on someone else's lap. The cause of Galaeron's indignation was not her behavior; it was something much deeper and darker.

"I apologize," said Galaeron. "I doubt Father even knows I'm here. I was just so astonished to find you keeping a human's company I didn't know what to think."

The smile that returned to Morgwais's lips was only half doubtful. She took Galaeron's hand and motioned the white-bearded man forward. "Elminster is no ordinary human."

"Elminster?" It was Melegaunt who gasped this. "Of Shadowdale?"

"The very" As the old man stepped to Morgwais's side, the twinkle in his eye turned fiery "And ye be Melegaunt Tanthul, I believe." Melegaunt's eyes narrowed, and his expression changed from one of concern to something between awe and terror. "I am he-but you know that already."

Elminster puffed his pipe. "Thy efforts have not gone unnoticed, lad. There is talk of all ye've done for Evereska."

"And that's why you are here?" Galaeron was as dazed by the idea that anyone would call Melegaunt "lad" as he was excited to hear that Elminster himself had taken notice of his home's plight. 'To help us?"

Elminster continued to look at Melegaunt. "That depends on what ye seek in Karse."

Melegaunt arched his brow. "What makes you think…?" He seemed to suddenly realize the answer, then said, "The stone giants, of course-and Lord Imesfor thinks I'm Netherese." "And I am not convinced he is wrong."

"Believe what you wish, but if you spoke to the stone giants, you must also know the phaerimm are desperate to stop us. That alone should convince you we serve the same goal."

Elminster's tone grew sharp. "I'd be more convinced, had there not been an illithid after Lord Imesfor's brain when he arrived at Khelben's. He said ye set a whole band on him."

"Then he is well." Though Melegaunt's reply was a statement, his audacity did not prevent him from cringing in the face of Elminster's ire. "Sometimes right and wrong are not so clear. Imesfor had to suffer that Evereska might live."

"Is that so?" Elminster's tone suggested it was not. "Had he arrived with no holes in his skull, methinks Khelben would have been on his way that much sooner."

"Khelben is going to Evereska?" Galaeron asked. "Khelben Arunsun?"

"Of course, lad. Did ye think he'd let the phaerimm take it?" The wizard pointed his pipe southward. "As we stand here talking, he's leading a company across the western plains to raise a translocational gate." "What kind of company?" There was alarm and sorrow in Melegaunt's voice. "You are only sending live men after dead."

Elminster's irritation showed in his eyes. "Ye should not underestimate Khelben Arunsun."

"Never, but he is no more a match for the phaerimm than the Evereskans." Melegaunt gestured to Galaeron. "And young Nihmedu will tell you what became of them."

Galaeron met Elminster's eye and nodded. "The tomb guard, the border guard, the spell guard-

"Yes, yes-and half the high mages as well." Elminster dismissed Galaeron's account with a wave of his pipe. "Imesfor told us all about it, but Khelben has certain, ah, resources unavailable even to thy high mages."

Galaeron did not ask the old wizard to elaborate. At least in Evereska, it was well known that like Elminster himself, Khelben was one of Mystra's "Chosen." Nobody knew exactly what being Chosen meant, but it seemed fairly well accepted that these individuals were invested with some of the goddess of magic's divine power. According to rumor, they were nearly immortal and could call upon the power they carried to perform fantastic feats of magic. Certainly, it was good to have the Chosen taking Evereska's side-but still Galaeron did not think one would be enough.

"Good mage, you'd do well to listen to Melegaunt in this," said Galaeron. "If it's not too late to contact Lord Kh-"

"There be few men as stubborn Khelben Arunsun." Elminster cocked his brow and fixed a questioning eye on Galaeron. "But it could be that 1 can call him off-if the reason be good enough."

"1 can only tell you that without Melegaunt Tanthul, Lord Imesfor would be hatching an egg for the phaerimm right now," said Galaeron. "Melegaunt is the only one who seems able to engage our enemies on an equal footing."

Elminster shook his head. "Khelben is a proud man, 1 fear. Perhaps if ye could tell me what ye seek in Karse." "Something to defeat the phaerimm." Galaeron looked to Melegaunt to elaborate, but the shadowmage kept his gaze fixed on Elminster and pretended not to notice. "That's all he's told me."

"Ye are a trusting spirit, lad," said Elminster. "It speaks well of thy own honesty-if not thy cunning wit."

"The phaerimm have been close on our trail the entire time," explained Melegaunt. "I thought it best to keep the plan to myself, lest bad come to worse."

"A wise precaution." Elminster stepped closer to Melegaunt and offered his ear. "But ye can tell me."

Melegaunt retreated, and Vala interposed herself between her master and his interrogator. Elminster might have missed the subtle tension that came to her body, but Galaeron did not

"I can handle matters here," said Melegaunt "If you truly want to do some good, you'll join Khelben in the south. A second hand flinging Mystra's silver fire would go far toward saving his company."

This drew a wry smile from Elminster. "Ye know more about me than I about thee… and 1 can see ye mean to keep it so."

"Your deeds have made a great name for you," said Melegaunt. "I have lived a quieter life, but Galaeron can tell you my intentions are good."

Elminster's voice turned hard. "I keep my own counsel about such things."

"That is your privilege," said Melegaunt. "Just as it is mine."

Elminster waited for him to elaborate, then finally sighed and shook his head. "Ah, well, 1 had hoped to do this a simpler way."

He slipped a hand into his pocket. Vala was instantly moving, one hand chopping for his throat and the other reaching for the offending arm.

A few hairs shy of his body, a blue aura flashed beneath her hands. She cried out in shock and pulled her arms back, then took one glance at her smoking fingertips and plunged them into the snow. Elminster gave her a bemused look, then pulled a small wad of fireweed out of his pocket and refilled his pipe.

"What'd ye think, girl? That I meant to enchant his secrets from him?" Elminster snapped his fingers, then held a small flame over the bowl of his pipe. "I've better ways than that."

The wizard puffed on his fireweed and glowered at Melegaunt through the awful-smelling smoke. The gaze Melegaunt returned was too nervous to be called a glare, but neither did he look away Galaeron and the others watched in tense silence, reassured by Turlang's presence-and the great boughs he stretched over the pair's heads-that the matter would not come to a duel of spells, yet worried enough that they hardly dared breathe for fear of touching off a fight. Even Aris tore himself away from the stormlodge to come loom over the standoff.

Galaeron did not know what to make of the situation. Elminster was, by all accounts, a loyal elf-friend and a man of character, yet he seemed to presume a great deal in the demands he made of Melegaunt On the other hand, Melegaunt had used Lord Imesfor to lure the illithids away-an act destined to be viewed in a dim light by anyone who did not understand how important their escape had been. Even knowing that Imesfor had survived, the thought still sent a guilty shudder down Galaeron's spine. How could Elminster, who had never seen Melegaunt risk his own life for others, react to the shadowmage's furtive nature with anything but suspicion?

Galaeron interposed himself between the mages. "It pains me to see you two off to such a bad start." He turned first to Elminster. "Given what happened to Lord Imesfor, your suspicions are reasonable, but Melegaunt did nothing wrong. Imesfor's life was Melegaunt's to do with as he pleased."

Elminster's were not the only human eyes to grow wide, but the mage was almost as quick as Lady Morgwais to take Galaeron's meaning.

The Rule of Saving?" Elminster said. "I haven't heard that invoked in five hundred years!"

"Handsome as you are, you are not an elf," said Morgwais. She sidled up to Elminster and gave his beard a meaningful tug. "If Melegaunt saved Imesfor's life…"

"And he did." Galaeron deliberately left out mention of his own part in the rescue. "I saw that much with my own eyes."

"You see? Melegaunt did nothing wrong!" Morgwais flashed Elminster a brilliant smile, then took him by the hand and started toward the river bank. "Let's go back to the party and drink this misunderstanding under."

Elminster flashed Melegaunt a scowl that said their meeting was far from over, but he was too well-mannered to refuse such a request from the Lady of the Wood. He allowed himself to be passed off to a young elf maiden and led back toward the Honor Chair. Morgwais turned to the treant.

"My thanks for bringing my son to Rheitheillaethor, Turlang. Do join us."

Turlang shook his leafy crown. "That cannot be. A magic-grub followed your son and these others into the forest, and 1 must return to watch it." He lowered a bough toward Galaeron. "I want only to be certain this one is who he claims. There is a darkness in him 1 do not trust, and 1 would know if you will vouchsafe his conduct, and that of his friends."

The light faded from Morgwais's face. "A darkness, you say?"

She took Galaeron's hand, then looked past his shoulder. Her gaze grew unfocused, as it would during the Reverie, and a single furrow appeared in her unblemished brow. She remained that way for several moments, then finally opened her eyes and nodded.

"It's true. You seem lost to me, child. It is as though you are…" She started to look away as though embarrassed, then hesitated and forced herself to look back. "It feels as though are asleep." The comment struck Galaeron like a blow, and he realized with a start that he did not feel the other elves either. The absence had seemed normal enough during his travels with the humans-especially given his trouble falling into the Reverie-but he should have sensed other elves as they traveled deeper into the High Forest. Instead, there had been nothing-no sense of welcome, no warmth, no safety. He had felt nothing-nothing but the anger and jealousy he had experienced upon seeing his mother on Elminster's lap.

Galaeron forced himself to meet his mother's gaze. "I have been through some trying times, and it may be that even I shouldn't trust myself." He gestured to Melegaunt and Vala and added, "But I do know I can trust these humans."

Morgwais studied the humans for several moments, her gaze lingering on Vala longer than on Melegaunt, then she finally cracked a melancholy smile and stepped toward Vala.

"Vala," said Vala, extending her hand. "Vala Thorsdotter." Unfamiliar with human customs, Morgwais stared in confusion at the out-thrust arm. "You will watch after Galaeron?"

Vala glanced briefly at Melegaunt, then gave a solemn nod. "That promise I have already made."

Morgwais shrugged and turned to Turlang. "I am Galaeron's mother." She glanced at Vala, then her smile broadened, and she said, "Of course, I will vouchsafe their conduct!"

She took Vala's hand and thrust it into Galaeron's, and that was when a svelte Wood elf in a brown Tomb Guard cloak pushed through the crowd. She had a familiar cupid's bow smile and a pair of doe-brown eyes Galaeron would have recognized through a keyhole. The instant she stepped to Morgwais's side, her gaze dropped to the hands clasped between Galaeron and Vala. T-Takari!" Galaeron gasped.

Takari's gaze rose, the light already fading from her eyes. Her face remained hollow-cheeked and sallow from her wound, and her cloak hung more loosely than usual on her bony shoulders.

"I really shouldn't be surprised," said Takari, looking Vala up and down. She sighed dramatically, then reached past the human to pull Galaeron to her lips. "But shell have to share!"