The Siege

CHAPTER TWO

28 Tarsakh, the Year of Wild Magic

The city appeared just before dusk, hovering low over a rosy desert butte, a distant diamond of umbral murk silhouetted against the purple twilight of the eastern sky. As usual, it was surrounded by wisps of black fog, giving it the appearance of a storm cloud, a mirage, or an angry djinn. The V-shaped specks of a hundred or so vultures wheeled in lazy circles beneath the city, chasing the constant rain of garbage that dropped from its refuse chutes. "There," Galaeron said.

Though it had been two days since he'd completed the Splicing, the icy tingle of shadow magic still permeated his body-and he hungered for more, longed to cast spells until he was numb and cold from head to foot, until he was filled with the power of shadow and beyond mortal frailty. Instead, he pointed at the floating city and said, "See it?" "So far?" Malik complained.

A pudgy little man with a moon-shaped face and bug eyes, Malik el Sami yn Nasser was the Seraph of Lies, a favored servant of the evil god Cyric and an oddly stalwart traveling companion who had saved Galaeron's life more than once.

"I apologize for my accursed luck," the little man said. "It has always been its nature that just when I think matters could seem no worse, a turn of bad fortune comes along to prove me wrong."

"In this desert, things look farther than they are," Vala said. Limping a little from her wounded thigh, she started down the dry wash at their backs. "We'd better get moving, or we'll lose sight of it when dark really falls."

Nodding, Galaeron turned to follow. As a precaution against attack, Shade Enclave appeared only briefly each evening and always in a different place. Given that Escanor's company had failed to finish the Splicing and raise the shadowshell at the appointed time, it made sense to put some distance between the floating city and the Sharaedim battlefields. Assuming they were lucky enough to reach the city before it vanished again, Galaeron only hoped they would not fall victim to any new defenses intended for the phaerimm.

In the bottom of the wash, they found the Shadovar survivors preparing the company's mounts for departure. Though most of the shadow lords had already recovered from the cavern battle, Escanor had taken an egg when he was impaled and remained incoherent with fever. The longer it stayed inside him, the harder it would be to remove, but his chances were far better than those of most humans would have been. Shadovar were fast healers. Most of their wounds had closed within an hour after the battle, so it seemed likely that the prince would survive even a difficult extraction.

Galaeron followed Vala over to the nominal leader of the group in Escanor's incapacity, a ruby-eyed lord so swarthy that he looked more like an obsidian statue than a live man. "Lord Rapha," Vala said, "we've located the enclave."

"That is well." Rapha did not look up. He was looping a length of shadow strand around the hands of a dead comrade, using it to secure the man in his saddle. "We'll soon be ready."

Galaeron and his companions waited for Rapha to ask where or how far off the enclave was, or to give some indication that he was concerned about getting Escanor to the city quickly. Rapha ignored them.

Finally, Galaeron said, "The enclave is a long way off. You might want to send Escanor ahead."

The Shadovar fixed his ruby eyes on Galaeron. "Concerned for the prince, are we?" "Of course," Vala said.

"Most concerned," Malik agreed. He hesitated for a moment, then was unable to keep from adding, "But we are even more concerned for ourselves. We know who will be blamed if he dies."

This drew a sour smile from the shadow lord. Like everyone in the company, Rapha knew that Malik had been cursed by the goddess Mystra to speak only the truth or not all. It was an irony in which Shadovar seemed to take special delight.

Rapha clapped a hand on the little man's shoulder. "You have nothing to fear, my stubby friend. You were not even at the Splicing."

"But››0M were," Galaeron said, wondering what Rapha was playing at. "You know I meant no harm to the prince."

"I know what I saw," Rapha said. "You used a shadow snare to keep the thornback trapped beside the prince."

"Had I let the thing teleport away, the shadowshell would be no prison at all," Galaeron retorted. "Those phaerimm were there to learn its secret, and what they discovered was important, or they would have attacked us long before I found them."

Rapha considered this, then his voice grew quiet and menacing. "How is it you know so much about the phaerimm, elf? Why could you find them when twenty shadow lords could not?"

Galaeron glanced away. "I can't say why," he admitted. "It just seemed right that they would be there." "It just seemed right," Rapha echoed dubiously.

"I think his shadow knew," Vala said. "He didn't say anything about them until his shadow self asserted itself."

Rapha shook his head impatiently. "The shadow self is only an absence of what a person is, a darker image of himself that he creates simply by being what he is. It cannot know more than its creator, any more than its creator can know it."

Galaeron shrugged. "Then I can't explain it," he said. "I just had a feeling they would be there-and I was right"

"And risking Prince Escanor's life?" Rapha asked. "You just had a feeling about that?"

"I had to do it to save the shell," Galaeron said. "I knew that, just like I knew the phaerimm would try to teleport away."

Rapha shook his head. "You can't be sure," he insisted. "Your shadow self has you in its grasp. Your thinking could have been subverted-"

"But I can be sure that he needs a healer-and soon," Galaeron interrupted. This Rapha was a sly one, accusing Galaeron of trying to harm the prince-and wasting valuable time. "Unless you have some reason for delaying? Perhaps you'd like to see Escanor hatch a thorn-back egg?"

Rapha's eyes flared from ruby to white-orange. "I have nothing but love for all the princes of Shade, elf."

"Then wouldn't it be wise to have someone return him to the enclave at once?"

"It would, had Prince Escanor been lucid enough to tell us today's word of passing," Rapha said. "As it is, anyone who tries to enter through the shadows will find himself plummeting through to the Barrens of Doom and Despair."

"So we must return the slow way," Vala said, placing herself between Galaeron and Rapha to cut off further argument. "Can Escanor ride?"

"It would be better if he didn't," Rapha said. "Perhaps your friend would be kind enough to take a passenger."

The shadow lord motioned across the wash, to where a grim-faced stone giant with sad gray eyes was kneeling over a ten-foot block of quartzite. He was clinking away with his sculptor's tools, fashioning a life-sized model of the struggle between Escanor and the phaerimm that had wounded him. Though the work was still rough, it was obvious by the snaking forms and undulating hollows that he had captured not only the details, but the spirit and swiftness of the battle-and from little more than a description of the events.

"I am confident Aris would be pleased to be of some small service to the prince," Malik said. "While we were watching the camp, he said many times-if once can be considered many-that he wished he were small enough to accompany the rest of the company into the Underdark and do his part to seal the fate of the phaerimm."

"Good. Will you be kind enough to ask him for me? Ill have the prince brought over directly." Rapha waved Malik toward Aris, then turned to Galaeron and Vala. "You can tell which mounts are yours? Well be leaving shortly."

"We'll be fine," Vala said. "I banded a leg on each of ours."

The precaution was not a frivolous one. The Shadovar's flying mounts-veserabs-were odd, furless creatures that had no faces and uniform midnight-blue skin. With four spindly legs, fan-shaped ears, and a pair of gargoyle-like wings folded alongside their tubular bodies, they looked like an unfortunate cross between bats and earthworms. Once they impressed on a rider, their devotion was absolute-to the point that they would spit noxious fumes into the face of anyone else who tried to mount them.

Galaeron followed her down the draw until they found a trio of veserabs wearing copper bands on their legs. Vala pointed to one with a band on its right foreleg. Galaeron gave the wing joint a tentative squeeze and slipped a foot into the stirrup. The creature did not react until he lowered his full weight into the saddle, when- much to his relief-an undulation of pleasure ran down its long body.

A few moments later, Malik returned and climbed into his saddle, and Rapha signaled the departure. The veserabs charged down the wash until they gathered enough speed, then spread their wings and rose into the air in flawless formation. Many of the shadow lords were tied across their saddles, but only Escanor's mount was riderless. The company had recovered all of its casualties and carried them through fifty twining Underdark miles back to the surface.

As they climbed out of the wash, a huge dome of darkness rose into view over their shoulders at Anauroch's western edge. Even from a dozen miles into the desert, the barrier was immense, curving away high into the sky and stretching north and south as far as the eye could see. Through its black translucency, Galaeron could just make out the stacked crests of the foothills of the Desert Border South and, looming behind, the familiar crags of High Sharaedim itself. He could not help thinking of what lay beyond those peaks, the vale and city of Evereska-and his sister, Keya, safe within the city's protective mythal. He knew better than to think that his warrior father had been lucky enough to survive his duties to return to her side, but Lord Aubric Nihmedu was as resourceful as he was brave, and there was no harm in praying it so.

Once the veserabs had ascended high enough to avoid being surprised by an attack from the ground, Aris rose into the air on an ancient Netherese flying disk. Though the bronze saucer was neither as swift nor as maneuverable as a veserab, it was capable of carrying not only the giant's weight but also that of the wounded prince, his campaign tent, and Aris's half-completed statue. Its one drawback was that Aris could not defend himself in an air battle. The disks had been designed as battle platforms for Netherese archwizards, not stone giant clerics.

As the company leveled off and fixed their course on the murky silhouette of Shade Enclave, the formation began to loosen, giving the veserabs room to relax and stretch their wings. The creatures did not fly so much as swim through the atmosphere, reaching forward to grab a piece of air, then pulling themselves past. The turbulence and slipstreams created by tight formations made it more difficult to stay aloft with this strange motion, so they usually divided into smaller groups and flew side by side when traveling long distances. Vala and Malik drew up on opposite sides of Galaeron, spacing themselves about thirty feet apart.

Even had they been close enough to speak comfortably, the pounding veserab wings would have made it impossible to hear. They continued toward the dusk with only their own thoughts for company, leaving it to their mounts to steer a course toward the enclave while they watched their assigned slice of sky. Though most of the phaerimm were trapped inside the shadowshell, their hosts of servants and slaves remained free and apt to attack at any time. Twice, Rapha dispatched fliers to chase down and slay asabi lizardmen lest they were scouting for a larger company, and once they themselves had to swing into the shadows beneath a long line of cliffs when Vala spied the flea-sized spheres of a distant beholder troop bobbing across the moon's face.

Galaeron spent most of the trip brooding over the bitter words that had passed between him and Rapha. When they reached Shade Enclave, the lord clearly intended to blame him for what had befallen Escanor, and part of Galaeron even wondered if that could be justified. His shadow self was as insidious as it was dark, always working to make him see dishonorable motives in the actions of everyone around him, and for some time he had been growing angry about the hungry look in Escanor's eyes whenever he addressed Vala. Was it possible that Galaeron had sent the phaerimm to Escanor not because he wanted to be certain of killing it, but because his shadow self wanted to see the prince harmed instead?

The thought sent a shiver down Galaeron's spine, for it meant that the darkness had begun to invade his actions as well as his perceptions. The idea was driven from his mind as quickly as it had arrived, though. The prince had already killed one phaerimm and was about to slay the second, so it just seemed wisest to send him the third as well. Besides, if he really thought about it, Escanor deserved what had happened. Had he listened to Galaeron in the first place, the company would have been ready for the attack, and" No."

Galaeron spoke the word aloud and, alarmed at how powerful his shadow was growing, shook his head clear. The rationalization had come so smoothly, felt so natural that he had almost accepted the reasoning as his own. He would have to speak with his friends about this as soon as they landed. Aris had suggested that the best way to combat the influence of his shadow self was to be completely open about what he was thinking and feeling and let the opinions of his friends guide him. So far-as long as he didn't listen to Malik-the stone giant's strategy had not only worked, it had kept Galaeron more or less in control of himself. It had also brought him closer to Vala than was probably wise, considering the fleeting and intense nature of human lives.

Galaeron's thoughts came to an end when the veserabs let out a single high-pitched screech and abruptly started to climb. Night had fallen and it was so dark that he could see clearly no more than sixty feet in front of his face, but the light of the stars above was being blocked by Shade Enclave's looming form. It was not long before a few bats from the growing colony on the enclave's underside began to flit about their heads. Rapha called the company back into a tight formation, and the shadowy crags of a capsized mountaintop appeared over their heads. They circled the funnel-shaped peak in an ever-growing spiral, exchanging silent salutes with the jewel-eyed sentries watching from hidden nooks and crannies. Finally, they came to the Cave Gate, hidden in the deep shadows beneath a massive overhang and all but invisible even to Galaeron's dark sight.

The veserabs climbed so close to the roof that the riders had to lean forward and press tight against the creatures' fleshy backs. Then, one after the other, the veserabs gave short screeches, folded their wings tight against their bodies, and dived through a square of nothingness so dark that Galaeron could not tell it from the black gates themselves. He felt his sleeve brush against one edge of the wicket gate, then the air grew muggy and warm and he knew they had entered the vast Wing Court.

His mount spiraled downward into a dimly lit mezzanine area and landed in formation, six places behind Rapha and between Vala and Malik. Galaeron was astonished to see the Princes Rivalen, Brennus, and Lamorak standing at the head of the landing yard with a full company of shadow warriors.

Following the lead of Rapha and the rest of the Shadovar, Galaeron slipped off his veserab and kneeled on the floor, pressing his forehead to the cold stone. He cast an apprehensive glance in Vala's direction and saw her looking at him just as nervously, but neither dared to speak the question on their minds.

When the rest of the riders had dismounted and assumed similar positions, Galaeron sensed the princes and their guards coming across the floor. There was no sound-no tramping feet or clinking armor, nor even the whisper of boots scuffing cold stone-only a growing sense of stillness and apprehension.

Finally, Prince Rivalen's deep voice sounded not ten paces ahead. "Who is in command here?" "I am," answered Rapha's quavering voice.

He stood and gasped softly, then described what had occurred at the underground lake, making clear what he had observed with his own eyes and what had been reported to him by others. When Rapha came to the attack on Prince Escanor, he took care to relay only the facts, though his acid tone made clear-at least to Galaeron-where he was trying to lay the blame. The shadow lord finished by reporting the successful completion of the Splicing and venturing the opinion that the phaerimm trapped within the Sharaedim would perish within a few months.

"And what of Escanor?" The voice that asked this was sibilant and pervasive, like a whisper echoing into the chamber from some distant passage. "Where is he now?"

"On the flying disk with the native giant," Rapha reported. like Aris himself, the flying disk was too large for the wicket door that opened into the passage leading down to the Wing Court. The stone giant would have to wait outside the Cave Gate until it was opened, then land on the great Marshaling Plaza itself.

"Most High," Prince Brennus said, "I'll summon a healer and see to our brother."

If there was a response, Galaeron did not hear it. The air grew chill and motionless, and he sensed someone standing above him.

"You are the one who held the phaerimm beside Escanor?" asked the same wispy voice that had spoken before.

Galaeron started to lift his head, then-after a hissed, "Are you mad?" from Malik-thought better of it and pressed his brow back to the floor. "I am, Most High."

"And you did this why?" The voice seemed more interested than angry.

"To prevent it from escaping with the secret of the shell." Galaeron did not enjoy speaking to the floor, and he could not keep his irritation from creeping into his voice. "That was why the phaerimm were there, to learn how to defeat the shell so they could take Shade Enclave unawares later." "Truly? And how do you know this?"

"The same way I knew they were there in the first place," Galaeron replied. "To tell the truth, I don't understand myself. All I can say is that I knew." The voice remained silent.

"It just made sense," Galaeron said, as confident that the voice desired further explanation as he was of his fate if he failed to provide it. "They had to know what we were doing, and they couldn't allow that. They had to be planning something."

"That explains why you held the phaerimm beside Escanor?" the voice said.

Galaeron started to agree, then realized that was not what the voice wanted. There was still a question to be answered.

"The prince had just killed one phaerimm," Galaeron explained. "I thought it would be easy for him to kill another one, especially when it was teleport dazed." Again, the silence.

"The only other place to send it was at Vala," Galaeron said. "I thought if it did kill someone, better Escanor than her."

"Stupid elf." Malik shrieked, forgetting himself and raising his head. "Think what you are saying, before you get-"

The objection ended with the dull thump of a halberd butt striking Malik's cloth-swaddled head. Galaeron glanced over and found the little man sprawled unconscious but still breathing.

The voice asked, "You are struggling with your shadow, are you not, elf?"

"Losing, I think," Galaeron said. This time, he needed only the hint of a silence before realizing that he was to continue. "Prince Escanor has been looking at Vala. I didn't like it." "Ah."

Galaeron felt the weight of Vala's stare and tried to keep his eyes fixed on the floor, but the voice remained silent, and eventually he felt compelled to peer in her direction. He found her returning his gaze as best as she was able, a look of surprise and triumph in her emerald eyes.

"It is nothing to be concerned about." The voice sounded amused. "Shadows are by nature unconquerable and unknowable. You can defeat them only by defeating yourself."

More silence, but this time Galaeron did not feel compelled to speak. The air grew muggy and less still, and Galaeron felt as though he could dare breathe again.

When the voice spoke this time, it was farther away. "Hadrhune will see to it that you and your companions are lodged near the palace. If I am to avoid losing any more of my princes, it seems I must teach you how to live with your shadow."

Uncertain of whether that was a good thing, but hoping it was, Galaeron started to raise his head-and felt the butt of a halberd on the back of his neck. He touched his head to the floor again.

The voice asked, "That will meet with your approval, will it not, eh?"

"Of course," Galaeron said. His heart was pounding- whether with joy or fear remained to be seen, but definitely with excitement. "Thank you." Silence, heavy and expectant. "And, of course, I'll repay you any way I can." "Good, Galaeron," said the voice. "Now we understand each other."

Though the month of Tarsakh had nearly passed and the Greengrass festival was fast approaching in Water-deep, a fierce blizzard was roaring in from the east, battering the window panes with its angry winds and dropping more snow on a city already buried to the doorknockers. Nor was this the wet slosh that blew in from the sea early every Greening. This was needle-snow, tiny spears of ice crystals formed over the High Ice and swept across the continent in howling walls of frostbite.

There was no prospect of it melting any time soon. Melting required warm breezes and bright sun, and the closest thing to either that Waterdeep had seen in three months was the steady flow of pearl-colored storm clouds sweeping across the sky. Matters had grown so bad that the city guard had covered the frozen harbor in mountains of excess snow, the woodcutters were finding it impossible to keep smoke in the city's chimneys, and the area farmers had yet to till their frozen fields. In short, Waterdeep was facing a natural disaster of the worst proportions, which was what made the news Prince Aglarel brought so fortuitous — suspiciously so, at least to anyone who knew how such things worked.

The Shadovar stood before Piergeiron Paladinson and seven of the Masked Lords of Waterdeep, his eyes glowing silver and his ceremonial fangs flashing white as he addressed the imposing assembly in the marble-walled majesty of the palace's Court Hall. In addition to Piergeiron and the Masked Lords, the gathering included the Silver-hand sisters Storm and Laeral, Lord Tereal Dyndaryl from the isle of Evermeet, Lord Gervas Imesfor of Evereska, and the inevitable host of gawkers that could be expected whenever such a group of dignitaries came together.

If Aglarel was aware of the power and influence of those whom he addressed, his easy manner and confident voice betrayed no sign of the knowledge. Huge and dark, with a blocky face and long ebony hair, he wore a flowing black cape and purple tabard that almost gave him the appearance of floating as he strode back and forth behind the podium, now and again emphasizing a point by stabbing the air with a black talon that looked more like a shard of obsidian than a human fingernail.

"The Sharaedim has become the prison of the phaerimm," the prince was saying. "Now that my people have completed the shadowshell, the wisest thing to do is to wait and let it do its work."

"Wisest for you humans, perhaps," said Lord Imesfor. Though a powerful, well-respected lord in Evereska, he was a withered and disheartened husk of an elf whose fingers had been so badly mangled by a group of phaerimm captors that he could barely dress himself, much less cast a spell. "What of the elves still trapped in Evereska? What of our lands?"

"The enemy has already ravaged your lands. The shell will do nothing to change that," Aglarel answered. "As for your elves besieged in Evereska, we can only hope we reach them before the phaerimm do."

"We will reach no one hiding behind this shadowshell of yours," Tereal Dyndaryl said. Relatively tall for even a Gold elf, he had a gaunt face that made his already sour countenance seem absolutely bitter. "We don't have time to starve the phaerimm out. We must carry the fight to them!"

"You know how to do that, Lord Dyndaryl?" Aglarel asked. Considering the accusatory tone Dyndaryl had employed, the prince's voice remained surprisingly cordial. "If the elves have a faster way to defeat the phaerimm, the Shadovar are eager to help."

Dyndaryl's flaxen cheeks darkened to amber. "We are working on a few ideas, but nothing I can share at the moment."

"When the time comes, then," Aglarel said, without a trace of disbelief. "For now, the shell remains our best choice. Please advise your commanders to give it a wide berth. Those coming into contact with it will lose whatever touches it, and anyone using Mystra's magic on it will accomplish nothing and may well regret the results." "And why would that be?" demanded Storm Silverhand.

A striking, silver-tressed woman who stood more than six feet tall, Storm was garbed in form-fitting leather armor and armed for battle. Though she lived half a continent away and had arrived at the meeting uninvited, Piergeiron had nevertheless welcomed her attendance. When dealing with one of Mystra's Chosen, it was usually the wise thing to do.

"No one here cares for your Shadovar threats," added Storm.

"You misunderstand, Lady Silverhand," Aglarel said. He probably meant his smile to seem forbearing, but the line of fang tips hanging down behind his black lip made it look rather more sinister. "The Shadovar are not threatening anyone. I am merely informing Lords Piergeiron and Dyndaryl of the shell's dangers."

What are those dangers? whispered Deliah the White, one of the Masked Lords of Waterdeep. Like the other masked lords, her identity was concealed beneath a magic cloak, helm, and mask, and her words could be heard only by Piergeiron and her fellows on the council. Knowing of these dangers does us little good unless we also know what they are.

"What, exactly, is the nature of these dangers?" Piergeiron asked. As the Open Lord, it was his duty to serve as the council's common face and speak for the others in public. "It does us little good to know of them without knowing what they are."

Aglarel cast a meaningful glance over his shoulder at the gawkers in the public gallery. "It wouldn't be wise to reveal the shadowshell's nature at present," he said. "Suffice it to say that we all know what happened when a mere Tomb Guard's magic hit a shadow spell."

Along with Deliah the White and several others, Piergeiron found himself nodding. This whole mess had started when a patrol of Evereskan Tomb Guards interrupted a rendezvous between a powerful Shadovar wizard and what the elves took to be a company of human tomb robbers. A phaerimm had been drawn to the sound of the resulting turmoil, and during the terrible battle that followed, the patrol leader's Weave-based magic had clashed with the Shadovar's shadow-based magic. Nobody really understood what had happened next, except that the result had torn a hole in the mystic barrier that had kept the phaerimm imprisoned beneath Anauroch for over fifteen hundred years.

After allowing his audience a moment to contemplate his words, Aglarel continued, "Can you imagine the consequences if that spell had been loosed by one of Water-deep's battle wizards?" He glanced at Gervas Imesfor. "Or perhaps a high mage from Evereska?"

"There is no need to imagine," Storm said darkly. "We all know what happened at Shadowdale-which is why I am finding your concern for our welfare so difficult to believe now."

"What happened at Shadowdale was a misunderstanding," Aglarel countered, "and it was your attack that opened the Hell breach. We lost one of our own to it as well." "A small price to be rid of Elminster," Storm spat.

"That was never our intention," Aglarel said. "Rivalen and the others were there to talk-"

"Perhaps you forget that I was there, Prince," Storm warned. "I saw what your brothers did."

Before the lightning that flashed in her eyes became bolts flying from her fingers, Piergeiron raised a hand and said, "As concerned as we all are about Elminster's fate, that is not the matter before this council."

He could not allow Storm to turn this discussion into a quarrel over who had caused Elminster's disappearance. The argument was a sore one, and growing more so since the Simbul had turned up missing as well. There were some who suggested she had already recovered Elminster and spirited him off to some other dimension to recuperate. But Storm insisted on holding the Shadovar responsible for Elminster's continued absence, and she never missed an opportunity to rebuke them over the matter.

Piergeiron did not know what to believe-he had heard convincing evidence that supported both sides- and it really didn't matter to him. His only goal was to keep the matter from erupting into a full-blown magic duel anywhere within a hundred leagues of Waterdeep- much less within the walls of his own palace.

He locked gazes with Storm and said, "Whatever happened that day in Shadowdale, the last thing Evereska- or Faerыn itself-needs is war with the Shadovar, too."

"Whatever happened?" Storm fumed. "I have told you what happened! The Shadovar are as bad as the-"

"Come now, Sister," Laeral said. Almost as tall as Storm, she had the same silver hair but emerald eyes instead of blue. "Exaggeration serves no one, and I have seen for myself what the Shadovar can do against the phaerimm. We need all the help they can provide."

"Help from a nest of vipers will prove poison in the end," Storm retorted.

"We are asking for no more than was Netheril's in the days of our fathers," Aglarel said. "Leave us to Anauroch, and no one on Faerыn need fear Shade Enclave."

"Anauroch is not Waterdeep's to grant or deny," Piergeiron said, trying to guide the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Just as Evereska is not the Shadovar's to quarantine."

"I could not agree with you more, Lord Piergeiron," Aglarel replied. "Which is only one of the reasons we should establish a coordinating council. I'm sure we can all agree that it would be in Evereska's best interest if our nations shared in the responsibility of making these sorts of decisions."

"A magnanimous gesture, Prince Aglarel, considering that the Shadovar have dealt the phaerimm the few losses they have suffered in this war," Laeral said warmly. She knew whereof she spoke; her beloved Khelben "Black-staff Arunsun had vanished during a battle early in the war, and she was spending much of her time at the front trying to determine what had become of him. "I am certain Lord Imesfor would welcome such a council."

Before the elf could voice his approval or disapproval, Storm asked, "Who would lead this council? The Shadovar?"

Aglarel nodded without hesitation. "For now," he said, "it appears we are best equipped to assume that duty."

When dragons kneel before halflings! scoffed Brian the Swordmaster. As one of the Masked Lords of Waterdeep, his words came to Piergeiron as a barely audible whisper. They're trying to take control of the war zone. Aglarel cast a brief glance in Brian's direction, then looked back to Piergeiron and said, "If the Lords of Waterdeep find our leadership uncomfortable, we would not be adverse to naming Lord Imesfor master of the council. It is, after all, his home that is in peril."

Piergeiron was almost too astonished to reply. The discussions between the masked lords were shielded by the same magic that protected their identities, yet Aglarel had plainly heard what Brian had said.

"The lords will discuss the council you propose later-in private," Piergeiron said, "but we do appreciate your suggestion."

Many of the spectators in the hall would be mystified as to why he did not immediately agree to name Lord Imesfor the council leader, but they had not seen how the elf trembled at the slightest sound or heard the screams that echoed through the palace halls whenever he retired to his room to attempt the Reverie, Gervas Imesfor was in no condition to lead a horse, much less a political and military alliance of this magnitude. Piergeiron felt quite certain that Aglarel had known that when he proposed it.

I'm sure our deliberations would be more meaningful if we knew more about the nature of the shadowshell, Deliah said, still pressing for details. Like nearly every respectable wizard on Faerыn, she seemed more alarmed by the Shadovar's mysterious magic than by the evil of the phaerimm. If the prince is concerned about spies, perhaps we could meet later "I am at liberty to reveal the nature of the shell only to our declared allies," Aglarel said, drawing an audible gasp from three of the lords who had not previously realized he was listening in on their private conversations. "However, it is difficult to predict how the phaerimm will respond. It really would be better to establish the coordinating council at once."

"You have doubts that the shell will hold?" Lord Dyndaryl asked.

"Not at all. The shell will hold." Aglarel deliberately looked at Imesfor and said, "It is Evereska we are concerned about. We do not understand the mythal well enough to know how long it can withstand a sustained assault."

"It's still up?" The relief in Imesfor's voice was obvious. "You know that?"

The phaerimm had enclosed the entire Sharaedim within a magic deadwall that prevented any sort of travel to or communication with Evereska, and he was not the only one in the room who had been wondering if the city was still in elf hands.

Aglarel hesitated a moment, then gave a nod so slight it was barely perceptible. "Thank Corellon!" Imesfor gasped.

"Then you are in contact with the city?" It was Laeral Silverhand who asked this. "Do you know if Khelben is there?"

Aglarel looked away. "Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to answer your questions, Lady Silverhand." He managed to sound genuinely apologetic. "That information would be available only to our allies."

"To your allies?" Laeral fumed. "Who do you think has been fighting at your side-"

"Were the choice mine, Lady Silverhand, I would tell you," he said. "Your contributions have not gone unnoticed by our Most High, but your allegiance is obviously to Waterdeep, and Waterdeep has not declared itself our ally."

Nor are we like to, said Brian. Waterdeep won't yield to strong-arm tactics. Never!

Aglarel looked directly at Brian. "This isn't strong-arming. How many of its secrets would Waterdeep reveal to a city that refuses to call itself an ally?"

"We are not asking for any of your secrets," Laeral said, straining to sound patient "Only the simple courtesy of-"

"The Shadovar are showing you every courtesy, Lady Silverhand," Aglarel said. "That is what I'm doing here. It is Waterdeep that is being discourteous, that receives information given in good faith with suspicion, that rebukes our offer of friendship with high-handed accusations of coercion, that allows a visitor under its palace roof to call Shade Enclave a den of liars and vipers."

Aglarel allowed his gaze to linger on Storm Silverhand for a moment, then looked back to Piergeiron. "You have been advised of the shadowshell's danger. It is not our intent to interfere with any of your own missions. Should any of your forces wish to pass through, we will be happy to send an escort along to make that possible."

The arrogant devils! Brian ranted, either forgetting or ignoring the fact that the prince could obviously hear every word. They're claiming control of the war zone whether we like it or not!

Aglarel shot a glance in Brian's direction but chose to ignore the outburst. "While we regret that it will not be possible to coordinate our efforts, Shade Enclave does thank you for this audience."

The Shadovar bowed deeply, then turned toward the door to leave. Though Piergeiron could feel the gazes of the elves and the Silverhand sisters burning into his brow, it was what he knew his fellow lords were leaving unsaid that weighed most heavily on his mind. As usual, Brian the Swordmaster had cut straight to the heart of the matter. Whether Waterdeep and the elves liked it or not, the Shadovar had taken control of the war zone. What Piergeiron didn't understand was why they had bothered to send an envoy to announce an already obvious fact Were they really hoping to establish an alliance, or was there something more, something broader and more nefarious?

There was only one way to find out. Piergeiron drew himself up to his full height, then called, "Prince Aglarel!"

To his credit, Aglarel looked properly shocked as he stopped and turned. "Yes, Lord Paladinson?" "I did not dismiss you."

The prince looked as though he were biting a smile back. "Of course." He inclined his head. "I apologize."

Piergeiron resisted the temptation to let the Shadovar remain in the deferential position. The point had been made. "Prince Aglarel, Waterdeep has not rejected your offer."

This seemed to catch the prince by surprise. "Then you have accepted it?" "As I said earlier, the lords will discuss the matter later."

"That is the same as rejecting it," Aglarel said. "As 7 said earlier, the council needs to be established at once."

"Then you must be expecting something to happen soon," Piergeiron said. "Perhaps Waterdeep and Evereska should withdraw our armies."

Finally, Aglarel's silver eyes flashed in surprise. "Withdraw?"

"At once," Piergeiron confirmed. "We certainly wouldn't want to interfere with your city's plans."

Aglarel considered this for a moment, then lowered his gaze. "It is not our intention to drive you from the field," he said. "Let me consult with the enclave."

Piergeiron smiled. "Of course." He dismissed the prince with a gracious wave. "Take all the time you need. We will." "Yes," Aglarel said, "I am quite sure you will."

The prince returned the Open Lord's smile, then bowed again and, with a courteous flourish of his dark cape, turned to leave.