The Siege

CHAPTER FIVE

14 Mirtul, the Year of Wild Magic

In the dark sky, the sun was but an ashen disk peering over Eastpeak's craggy shoulder, too weak to burn through the dusky mantle Evereska's enemies had drawn over the Sharaedim, too pale to feed the few light-starved buds dauntless enough to emerge on the scorched and withered stalks of the Vine Vale. Murky as the morning was, it was bright enough for Keya Nihmedu's elf eyes to make out the faint swirl of ash and dust drifting down the other side of the Meadow Wall. A couple of lance-lengths from her hiding tree, it was moving slowly, quietly and carefully, bouncing along Evereska's protective mythal, trying again and again to cross the boundary into the untouched fields beyond.

Every instinct screamed at Keya to throw off her camouflage and flee for the cliff gates. She stayed. The mythal would protect her, and she had promised to be there when Khelben and the Vaasans returned. If they returned. Keya looked at the pale disk in the sky and wondered if even the Chosen of Mystra could be that good. A full night among the phaerimm.

The swirl halted in front of Keya's tree, so faint she began to doubt she was seeing it. Perhaps the whorl had been just a breeze stirring up ash as it rolled down the Meadow Wall. Not every dust devil dancing down a scorched terrace was an invisible phaerimm-but a lot of them were. Had she been at her post inside one of the city towers, Keya could have waved a wand and known at once what she was looking at, but the thornbacks could see mystic energy the way dwarves saw body heat, and so the Long Watch did not use any magic-did not even carry it-this close to the boundary.

The swirl vanished, but Keya could still hear dead vine stalks stirring in the breeze and the distinct sibilation of air moving over the stones of the Meadow Wall, and she knew. The phaerimm were surrounded by an aura of moving air, which they used to communicate among themselves in a strange language of whistles and roars. There was not just one invisible thornback pausing on his circuit of the mythal-there were two, whispering quietly, lurking directly in front of Keya's tree-the same tree she had told Khelben Arunsun and the Vaasans to mark as their rendezvous point when they returned to the city.

Keya remained in her hollow in the linden's thick trunk, standing behind her screen of bark, hardly daring to breathe. She spent the next few minutes wondering why the phaerimm had picked this particular place on this particular morning to hold a conversation and what she was going to do if-when-Khelben and the Vaasans returned. She could not speak the word of passing with two thornbacks lurking outside-not even for one of the Chosen, not for her Vaasan friends, not even if her own brother Galaeron were to suddenly appear outside Meadow Wall. When an elf opened a gate in the mythal, she could not control who used it. Once the phaerimm were inside, it would take only a moment to cast the same life-draining magic that had already withered the vineyards of the Vine Vale and denuded the once-majestic spruce stands of the Upper Vale, and that was something Keya could not permit-not when the mythal was already growing weak.

It took Keya a moment to realize it when the phaerimm fell silent, for the difference between stillness and the sibilation of their whispering voices was no more than the flutter of a moth's wings. She thought for a moment the phaerimm had moved on, but when she looked along the Meadow Wall, she saw no swirling ash or any other sign of their departure. The thornbacks had fallen quiet for the same reason they were invisible, because they wanted to keep their presence secret, and their prey was close enough to hear them.

It had to be Khelben and the Vaasans, as invisible as the phaerimm, but walking into a trap. Keya knew Khelben would have his detection magic up and-assuming he was still with the group-see the enemy as soon as he came into range. The thornbacks would know that as well. The war around Evereska had become one of stealth and magic, with the combatants sneaking through the barren landscape, silent and invisible, searching for foes who were just as silent and just as invisible. More often than not, the victor was the one who detected his enemy first-and the phaerimm had obviously already detected Khelben and Vaasans.

Keya knew she could warn Khelben simply by speaking his name, for he had told her that the Chosen heard a few words whenever their names were spoken anywhere on Faerыn, but that was really not much different from a magic sending. She had to assume that the phaerimm would detect it just as easily. No, she needed to startle the thornbacks, to confuse them for just the half-second it would take Khelben and the others to discern the trap and react. Assuming they were really out there.

Keya wished she had her wand of seeing-really wished she had it. Instead, she fixed her eye on the Meadow Wall and grabbed the shaft of her spear. It was a plain one with an oak shaft and a head of mithral steel, and it weighed almost a third what she did. She whispered a prayer to Corellon Larethian, then kicked her screen of bark aside and burst from her hiding place.

Two swirls of ash and dust went up behind the Meadow Wall as the startled phaerimm reacted. She angled toward the one on the right for no other reason than it was half a step closer than the other. The thing reacted by instinct, spraying bolts of golden magic in Keya's direction and growing instantly visible. The bolts blossomed harmlessly against the mythal, then Keya was at the Meadow Wall, shoving her spear through the magic barrier to strike at the creature's scaly midsection.

The phaerimm's magic defenses turned her spear as easily as the mythal had turned its golden bolts. A ball of Khelben's silver spellfire exploded into the thing from behind, pinning it against the mythal and holding it there as it was incinerated by the special magic of the Chosen.

Shielding her eyes from the silver brilliance, Keya stumbled away and turned to see the other phaerimm coming apart beneath the Vaasans' darkswords. One of the black blades was emitting a sort of musical purr-a brisk tune that sounded almost like someone humming. The song sent a shiver down Keya's spine. She had heard Dexon's sword talking while he slept and seen Kuhl's grow pallid because he had neglected to plunge it into a vat of mead that day, but this was the eeriest oddity of all. The melody was joyful and light, as though the weapon enjoyed its bloody work.

The three Vaasans finished the phaerimm quickly, then cut off its tail barb and fell to arguing as only Vaasans could about who deserved the trophy. Khelben appeared behind the trio and silenced them with a sharp word before turning to Keya with a grateful bow.

"Quick wit and brave deeds, Keya Nihmedu," he said. Tall and dark-bearded, Khelben had a grim manner that lent a sullen dignity to even his simplest acts. "You have our gratitude."

"It was nothing." Keya spoke the word of passing, then motioned the wizard and the others over the Meadow Wall. "I was never in danger."

"But we were," said Dexon, the darkest of the dark and burly Vaasans. "They would surely have taken us by surprise. I could kiss you." This caused Keya to cock her brow. "Really?"

Weighing somewhat less than a rothй and possessed of a flashing white smile, Dexon was the handsomest of the Vaasans. She whispered the word of closing to seal the mythal behind them, then smiled up at the human. "Well, why don't you then?"

Dexon's jaw dropped, and he began to leer at her with that hungry look that seemed to come to the Vaasan eye at the slightest flash of skin. Though Keya knew her friends on the Long Watch were revolted by humans in general and by being ogled by them in particular, she did not withdraw her smile. The truth was that once a person got to know them, humans were really rather fun. She had even come to enjoy the glances that they cast her way-at least those Dexon cast her way-whenever they went to bathe in Dawnsglory Pond.

When the Vaasan seemed too shocked to do more than stare at Keya, Burlen stepped forward to take his place. "What's wrong with you, Dex? You can't keep our hostess waiting."

Burlen spread his burly arms wide and closed his eyes… and suddenly found himself holding a glowering Khelben.

"Keya is the one who deserves the reward, Burlen, not you."

Keya giggled at this, causing the archmage to turn his glower on her.

"And you, young lady, should be careful of baiting bears. I'm sure Lord Nihmedu would take a dim view of you kissing something with more wool on his face than a thkaerth."

Keya raised her chin. "I'm sure he would, Sir Black-staff, but Galaeron is neither here nor my keeper." She sneaked a glance at Dexon, then added, "Now, pray tell how your scouting mission went?"

Something like humor may have flashed in Khelben's dark eyes, but it was gone before Keya could be certain. Speaking over his shoulder, he turned and started across the meadow toward the cliff gates.

"Lord Duirsar has reason to be concerned about the shadow sky," he said. "The Vale is dying outside the mythal even faster than it is inside."

Keya stumbled and, were it not for the speed with which Dexon's hand leaped out to catch her, would have fallen. The life of the Vale, both inside the Meadow Wall and beyond it, was what sustained the mythal.

"We must find a way to tear that shadow from the sky, and quickly," Khelben continued, "or we will soon be fighting phaerimm in the streets of Evereska."

Galaeron stood in the cold stillness at the Most High's side, peering down into the world-window, watching a miles-long column of mixed volunteers trudge along the knee-deep mud trough that had once been the Trade Way. There were folk from ail over the northwest-Evermeetian elves, Adbarrim dwarves, Waterdhavian men- but only the Uthgardt barbarians seemed untroubled by the blizzards and constant downpours that had been plaguing western Faerыn all spring. The rest of the volunteers were coughing and staggering, so weakened by fever and fatigue that the army could barely slog three miles a day, much less join battle at the end of the march.

Yet fight they must. Telamont's cowled head looked toward the High Moor, and the scene in the world-window shifted to a horde of bugbears being herded through a waterfall of rain by a troop of beholder officers. Supporting them were two companies of illithids and another of Zhentilar battle mages-though why the enemy would need human spell-flingers with five phaerimm overseeing their attack was beyond Galaeron.

Telamont's gaze shifted again, this time to a rocky ridge of ground that stood along the Trade Way opposite the High Moor. Laeral Silverhand and her sister Storm already stood atop the ridge, their long tresses streaming in the gale wind as they laid magic traps. Though it was far from certain that their army would cover the mile and a half remaining to it before the phaerimm's bugbears covered the eight remaining to them, the ridge meant everything. The army that controlled it would have the advantages of both height and solid ground, while the one that did not would be forced to wade into battle through a muddy morass. Withdrawal was not an option for either force, not with the kind of magic that five phaerimm or two Chosen of Mystra could call down on an army mired in the mud. There would be a battle that evening, perhaps the fiercest of the war, one that would annihilate both sides no matter who remained alive to claim the field-and why?

Telamont's attention turned to the phaerimm themselves, and the scene shifted yet again. Accustomed to the Most High's rapid changes of focus, Galaeron turned his own attention to the thornbacks and began to let his thoughts wander over the question of why so many had gathered in one place. He had been coming to the palace every day since their initial meeting, spending most of that time peering into the world-window and trying to get in touch with whatever Melegaunt had passed on to him during those last few moments of life. Sometimes it worked, and he was able to divine the enemy's intentions in time to save a few dozen-or even a few hundred- lives. More often, he had no more to offer than anyone else.

Regardless, Telamont Tanthul spent part of each day-sometimes most of it-with Galaeron, never teaching him directly, but always approaching the subject obliquely, as if concentrating too bright a light on his shadow self would only send it into hiding. No matter how long these sessions lasted, Galaeron always returned to Villa Dusari exhausted, numb, and irritable- so much so that Vala was beginning to question whether Telamont was helping him control his shadow or the other way around. Though she was not allowed into the war room-even Escanor had not been able to prevail on the Most High to allow her inside-she insisted on coming to the palace each day and waiting out in the throne room's whispering murk. Given how peevish that was making her, Galaeron was beginning to think she was the one struggling with a shadow crisis.

Telamont stepped away from the rim of the world-window and fixed his platinum eyes on Galaeron, and- as always-Galaeron felt the question on the Most High's mind.

"I can't see the sense in forcing this battle," he admitted. "When we raised the shadowshell, there were only ten phaerimm outside-"

"The figure is now twelve," Hadrhune corrected from the other side of Telamont. "Our agents located one in Baldur's Gate, and another in… that little kingdom south of the Goblin Marches-" "Cormyr?" Galaeron asked.

Hadrhune nodded, his thumbnail digging into the deeply worn groove atop his ever-present staff. "In what was once the city of Arabel."

"Still, that is nearly half of their number outside the shell," Galaeron said. "Why risk so much to stop an army that may well die of the ague before it ever reaches the Sharaedim?" "To slay a pair of Chosen?" Hadrhune asked.

Galaeron shook his head. "The phaerimm know better than that," he said. "The Chosen can be defeated but not slain-at least not by Mystra's magic."

Eyes sparkling at this last correction, Telamont said, "Whatever their purpose, this is a battle we cannot permit." He turned to where Escanor and Rivalen had appeared without any apparent summons, then raised a murk-filled sleeve toward the world-window. "You will take your brothers and your best legions and save those sick fools if you can. Leave the phaerimm until we understand their game." "It shall be done."

Both princes placed their palms to their breasts, then turned and were gone.

Galaeron felt the weight of Telamont's unspoken question and knew that something was being demanded of him that had, until now, only been asked. He turned to the world-window and focused his attention on the High Moor, then on the horde of tiny figures swarming over it, then on the five figures drifting along behind it between the two companies of illithids. Each time, the window responded to his will, the image shifting and growing larger to show him what he wished to see.

When Galaeron was finally looking at only the thorn-backs themselves, he shifted from one to the other, studying each one in turn, looking for scars or scale patterns or anything that might trigger one of Melegaunt's memories. Had the world-window been capable of carrying sound, he would have cast the spell that Melegaunt had taught him to understand their languages, but even the Shadovar could not eavesdrop without sending a spy. The Most High had already made clear to Galaeron that until he grew adept enough with shadow magic to find and pass on the knowledge that Melegaunt had entrusted to him, he would not be allowed to risk his life in any manner. For a Tomb Guard princep accustomed to chasing cutthroat crypt breakers down narrow passages strewn with magic death traps, the restriction was not an easy one to observe.

After several minutes of allowing his thoughts to wander over the phaerimm, Galaeron finally looked away from the world-window. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't summon anything."

Telamont accepted the failure with a patience uncharacteristic toward anyone except Galaeron.

"Do not let it concern you," he said. "I'm sure it is just your shadow interfering. The harder you try to control it, the stronger it becomes."

"I'm not trying to control it," Galaeron said. "I'm just letting my mind wander."

Telamont's eyes twinkled beneath his cowl, and there was a flash of what might have been a white-fanged grin. "You are always trying to control your shadow, elf. You are the kind who must control what he fears."

"What I fear is becoming a monster," Galaeron insisted. "Of course I want to control my shadow."

"As I said," Telamont replied. His sleeve rose, then a cold weight settled on Galaeron's shoulder. "It is no matter. The princes have their orders."

The world-window filled with a foggy expanse, which gradually grew less hazy as the Most High brought into focus what he wanted to see. Even after the scene stopped shifting, it took Galaeron a moment to notice a series of faint bluish lines that he recognized as crevasses in the High Ice.

The crevasses broadened into the dagger-shaped ribbons of deep, icy canyons, and Galaeron began to notice an odd patchwork of vapor columns rising off some sections of the massive glacier. One of these columns expanded to fill the world-window, and a square plot of snow gradually darkened from white to gray to ebony as it continued to grow larger. Finally, Galaeron found himself looking at something that appeared to be a huge, black carpet being unrolled by a company of ant-sized Shadovar.

"A shadow blanket," Telamont explained, answering Galaeron's question sooner than he could voice it. "A square mile of pure shadowsilk."

Galaeron frowned, as puzzled by what the Shadovar were doing as why Telamont was showing it to him. At the end of the blanket already laid out, a thickening vapor haze was beginning to rise into the air, while tiny rivulets of crystal water were flowing out from beneath the edge, braiding themselves into sparkling streams that merged into broad creeks and vanished down the blue crevasses in silver horsetails of falling water. "You're melting it!" Galaeron gasped.

"Yes." If Telamont noticed the alarm in Galaeron's voice, his tone did not betray it. "The shadow blankets absorb all of the light that falls on them, then trap it below in the form of heat. We have already laid hundreds along the edge of the High Ice." "Hundreds?"

Galaeron concentrated on a larger area of the High Ice. Sensing his change of focus, Telamont yielded control of the world-window, and the scene drew back to show the hundreds of vapor columns rising off the ice. "You're changing Faerыn’s weather!"

"We are rejuvenating what the phaerimm destroyed," Telamont corrected.

The scene changed again, this time to the southern edge of the High Ice, where dozens of huge rivers were gushing out of blue-tinged caves in the base of a mountainous wall of snow and ice. The water was pouring into enormous basins that had been dry for a thousand years, recreating the lakes that had once lain along the northern fringes of Netheril.

"Cold air is rolling down from the High Ice and picking up moisture as it sweeps across the lakes and grows warm," Telamont explained. "As the effect grows stronger, the winds will carry rain and fog farther south into Anauroch, forcing the hot desert air to rise and draw more winds down from the High Ice. The system feeds on itself. We are already seeing showers as far south as the Columns of the Sky."

Though Galaeron had no idea where the Columns of the Sky were-the name had a Netherese ring-he needed no explanation of what the shadow blankets meant for western Faerыn. He had already seen it in the blizzards plaguing Waterdeep and the deluges that had turned most of the farms south of the Ardeep Forest into hip-deep marshes.

"That is well and good for Shade," he said, "but what about the rest of Faerыn?"

Telamont's gloom-cloaked shoulders rose and fell. "Every good thing has a bad side. For Shade to reclaim its birthright, others must suffer." "This is too much," Galaeron said.

He looked toward the west, and the scene shifted to Daggerford, where the River Delimbyr's frigid waters had risen into the streets, and residents kept boats tied outside their second-story windows.

"Surely, you could pursue a more gradual approach, one that would not force so many into homelessness and hunger."

Telamont seized control of the world-window from Galaeron, bringing the shadowy dome over the Sharaedim into view. "I thought your concern was for Evereska." "The two are hardly related," Galaeron said.

"Aren't they?" Telamont asked. "Shade must be strong if it is to prevail. So whose people do you want to save, elf? Yours, or theirs?"

"That isn't the choice," Galaeron said. "Even at the rate you're melting the High Ice, Anauroch will take decades to restore. Evereska will be saved or lost in a year."

Telamont's murk-filled cowl tipped down toward Galaeron. "It is the choice I have given you, elf. Which will perish-Evereska, or the West?"

"I–I can't believe you would ask me such a thing!" Galaeron stammered.

He thought he had to be misinterpreting what he was hearing, missing some important nuance that would make clear what the Most High was really asking of him.

Something cold and angry rose inside him, and he understood. The Shadovar were trying to trap him, trying to corrupt him, perhaps, or test him, or move the burden of all those deaths from their heads to his.

Galaeron shook his head. "I see your game, and it won't work on me."

"You think this is a game?" Telamont lifted a sleeve toward the world-window. "Look and think again."

The scene had returned to the High Moor, where the princes of Shade and their legions were just rising from the dusky ground, thousands upon thousands of silhouettes peeling themselves out of the shadows and growing whole as they charged, flinging spells of umbral death and waving weapons of indestructible black glass.

Caught from the rear and the flank, the bugbears were roaring in confusion and fighting their beholder masters with far more ferocity than they were the Shadovar. One company of illithids was already under the black sword, while the other was rushing to fan out behind their battle lines and find the most powerful spell-flingers to target with their mind blasts. The search was proving a difficult one, for most warriors of Shade Enclave fought with both spell and blade, often slipping from one to the other with a grace that even an elf bladesinger would envy.

No more eager to engage the princes than the princes were to engage them, the five phaerimm hung back, assailing their enemy's ranks with fireballs, lightning bolts, and sheets of burning light that felled whole ranks of Shadovar. Though this last spell was one that Galaeron had never seen before, it bore a semblance to certain elements of a prismatic wall, and he felt sure it was little more than a simple modification the thornbacks had developed especially for combat against shades. That was when it hit him. "This battle is a diversion."

"An army that large may be many things, but a diversion is not one of them," said Hadrhune. "A force that size requires resources that our agents assure us the phaerimm dare not waste lightly."

'Tour agents don't know the phaerimm well enough to make that judgment," Galaeron replied, somewhat surprised to discover he felt he did. He pointed at a flickering fan of azure light. "That spell is a new one, designed for battle against Shadovar."

"Even if you could know that," Hadrhune began, "I fail to see-"

"I can know it, and you do fail to see," Galaeron interrupted, confident of his judgment. "If the phaerimm were expecting to do combat with the Chosen, they would not clutter their minds with spells designed for Shadovar- and they would not announce their presence by floating into battle fully visible."

All of Anauroch and western Faerыn appeared in the world-window, clouds stripped away to reveal the swollen rivers beneath. "What are they trying to hide?" Telamont asked.

Galaeron studied the divination for several minutes, focusing on the area around the shadowshell, Rocnest, and the Greycloaks for the longest period. Finally, he shook his head. "I can't see it."

"Perhaps because there is nothing to see," Hadrhune said. "With these five in plain view, we know the locations of all twelve phaerimm who escaped the shadowshell." "Your knowledge is current?" Telamont asked.

Hadrhune's amber eyes vanished behind their dark lids for a moment, then he nodded. "The shadow-watchers have seen them all within the quarter hour. Five are visible at this moment."

Galaeron nodded. "Of course. They would know we're watching."

"Our watchers would know if they were simulacrums or magic images," Telamont said. "Perhaps this is no diversion, after all."

"We cannot know what the phaerimm make of the shadowshell," Hadrhune said, smirking down at Galaeron. "It may be that they fear it is the Chosen's doing, and this army is part of their plan."

"Or it may be that the Myth Drannor phaerimm have a part to play in this," said Lord Terxa, whom Galaeron had not even realized was listening from the shadows. "What remains of the mythal there interferes with the shadow-watchers, and they are not even certain they have found them all."

Galaeron recalled how Melegaunt's shadow magic had failed inside Evereska's mythal but frowned and shook his head. "A good thought, but phaerimm are not social. They work together only when each one benefits personally, and there's no reason for the Myth Drannor phaerimm to think that helping the others would be worth their trouble."

Terxa's expression grew uncomfortable, and he peered into the darkness under Telamont's cowl. "Perhaps he should know, Most High?"

"Know what?" Galaeron was instantly resentful. "Now you are keeping secrets from me?"

Telamont's eyes twinkled as though he was amused- or satisfied. "Have you told us all your secrets, elf?"

He raised a sleeve, and a sleepy forest hamlet appeared in the world-window. Not too long past, a battle-or several-had been fought around it, for several new meadows had been burned into the woods around its boundaries. In front of a high tower not far from the heart of the village, a strange seam of distortion hovered in the air, emitting wisps of flame and dark fume.

"Many things are better kept secret," Telamont said. "Among them, deeds of shame done in moments of necessity."

Hadrhune moved to interpose himself in front of Galaeron and asked, "Most High, is this something-"

Galaeron stepped forward to block Hadrhune. "It is, unless you wish to let the phaerimm have their way with your legions." "He needs to know," said Terxa.

Telamont spread his sleeves. Flames and smoke sprang up in the charred clearings, and Galaeron began to see familiar cone shaped bodies drifting through the trees. A moment later, Elminster's familiar figure appeared over the village and began to circle.

"After Melegaunt summoned his brothers to the Karsestone," Telamont began, "Elminster was proving most difficult to locate. In order to find him, the princes found it necessary to slay a few of the Myth Drannor phaerimm-"

"And leave the smell of Elminster's stinkweed in the air," Galaeron finished.

"As I understand, it was not necessary to leave anything," Telamont said, almost chuckling. "The thorn-backs could not imagine anyone else capable, and went to take their vengeance on Elminster."

"And when he returned to see what was happening, the princes ambushed him and sent him to the Nine Hells?" Galaeron demanded. "How could you-" "It was an accident," Hadrhune said firmly.

"In any case, its not relevant to the question at hand," Telamont said. "What is relevant is that the Myth Drannor phaerimm may have learned who was actually responsible-"

"And made a pact with their fellows to be rid of you," Galaeron finished.

He was growing angrier by the moment, and not just because of what they had done to Elminster. He saw how Telamont had manipulated him as well, deliberately drawing his shadow out by showing him the shadow blankets and telling him he must choose between saving Evereska or the whole west. Though Telamont remained silent, the force of his unspoken question pressed down like a boulder. So infuriated was Galaeron that he wanted not to answer, to deny what he saw so clearly, or lie about it, or do something to make the Shadovar pay-but he could not hold the knowledge inside. The pressure of the Most High's will was insufferable, as though he had somehow brought the entire weight of Shade Enclave to bear on that one pressure point. At last, Galaeron had to ask, "You have a mythal?"

The air grew even more still and cold than usual next to Telamont. "Of a sort There is a mythallar here, as were found on all the enclaves of Netheril." "That's what they'll attack."

"Impossible," Hadrhune said. "They'd never make it through the shadow moats."

Galaeron shrugged. "Then you have nothing to worry about" Hadrhune looked to Telamont.

The Most High turned to Galaeron and said, "You know our defenses. Can the phaerimm breach them?"

"They already have, or your sentries would be sounding the alarms by now." Then, in answer to what the Most High wanted to know next, Galaeron said, "It's likely a small company of infiltrators. If it was only one or two, they would have relied on stealth instead of trying to lure your strength away."

"An entire company?" Hadrhune shook his gaunt head. "Impossible." "It would not hurt to be certain," Telamont said.

Hadrhune's amber eyes vanished beneath their lids, but Telamont was not waiting. He started for the throne room, motioning Galaeron to follow-and many others as well, judging by the cold swirl of darkness that accompanied them.

Hadrhune appeared at Telamont's side, his eyes opened again. "A veserab patrol did return unexpectedly, Most High. The officer cannot be found, and the mounts have burns where they were harnessed with Weave magic." "Not impossible," Telamont said. "Recall the princes."

They were in the throne room, striding through the whispering shadows toward the reception hall, surrounded by a throng of increasingly substantial figures. Several of the silhouettes drifted apart long enough for Vala to emerge and step to Galaeron's side. "What happened?"

"Phaerimm infiltrators," Galaeron explained. "They're after the mythallar."

Vala raised her brow, but said, "That's not what I was asking about" "No?"

"You, Galaeron," Telamont said, speaking from a dozen paces ahead. "She wants to know what happened to you."

Galaeron frowned. "My shadow?" He glanced over at her. "You can tell just by looking?"

Vala nodded. "Galaeron, I don't even have to look anymore," she said, "and I don't much like that." "Ready weapons!" Hadrhune called.

Vala reached for her darksword and asked, "They're coming here?"

They were somewhere else, dropping out of the shadows into a huge obsidian basin, sliding down the glassy slopes with purple sheets of light burning all around them, voices screaming, bolts cracking, air reeking of charred flesh. It took Galaeron a moment to recall where he was and why, a moment longer to realize the pain in his arm was Vala's free hand digging into his biceps, then he finally began to make sense of what he was seeing.

At the bottom of the basin sat a huge ball of obsidian, easily a hundred and fifty feet in diameter, with pale, ghostly shapes gliding about inside and a halo of deepening darkness radiating from its surface. A flight of phaerimm were descending out of the gloom above, flinging spells of fire and light as they came, trying to fight their way through the swarm of teleport-dazed Shadovar tumbling and sliding down the slopes of the glassy basin along with Galaeron and Vala.

An orb of darkness streaked up out of the basin and drilled a fist-sized hole through a creature close over their heads. It dropped onto the slope above and started to slide down toward them, roaring its pain in a swirling tempest of winds and lashing out with a wild flurry of lightning and burning light. Galaeron took a white fork of energy in the shoulder and went rigid, biting down on his tongue so hard that his teeth met through the flesh.

Vala hurled her sword, slicing off one of the phaerimm’s arms and a good portion of its sinewy shoulder. The creature rolled away, then whistled something in the phaerimm wind language and vanished.

Galaeron felt Vala catch him by the collar, then their descent began to slow as they reached the bottom of the basin and the slope lost its steepness. She called her darksword back to her hand, and only after it had returned did she turn her attention to the smoking hole in his shoulder. "How bad?"

Galaeron managed to unclench his jaw and, with a mouthful of blood, said, "Stiff, but all right."

He tried to rise, making it as far as his knees before discovering his muscles would not obey. Vala moved his leg into a stable kneeling position, then they both scanned the area. The battle appeared to have ended as quickly as it had started. Shadovar warriors and pieces of Shadovar warriors were sliding down the slope toward them, accumulating in groaning, knee-deep piles. Half a dozen phaerimm-or rather sections of half a dozen phaerimm-lay interspersed among the smoking bodies.

Telamont Tanthul stood a quarter of the way around the basin, Hadrhune at his side as always, calling for his princes and ordering the survivors to arrange search parties. There were no thornbacks in sight; once a battle started to turn against them, it was phaerimm instinct to teleport away. Galaeron knew the enclave defenses would prevent them from leaving the city via translocational magic-but he also knew the phaerimm would have anticipated that and picked a safe rallying point. Galaeron grabbed Vala's arm and pulled himself up. "Take it easy," she said. "You're not looking so good."

Though he was still angry with Telamont for drawing out his shadow and at that moment truly wanted to see the Shadovar mythallar destroyed-considering the number of deaths that would mean, he hoped that particular desire was his shadow's instead of his own- Galaeron also knew that Evereska's fate depended on Shade Enclave's continued survival.

"It's not done," Galaeron said. "They're still in the city."

Vala wrapped him in a supporting arm and started toward the Most High. "Telamont isn't going to like this. Didn't he order you to stay out of fights until you're able to pass on Melegaunt's knowledge?"

Galaeron nodded at the huge sphere of obsidian they were circling past. "He seems to have made an exception for the mythallar."

Vala glanced at the orb and raised her brow. "That's the mythallar? I was sort of expecting it to be the Karse-stone." "Me, too," Galaeron said.

After unleashing the phaerimm, they had journeyed into the Dire Wood, fighting liches and other undead guardians in order to help Melegaunt recover the famed Karsestone and use its "heavy" magic-from a time before the Weave and Shadow Weave split-to return Shade Enclave to Faerыn.

"I guess they only needed the stone to open a large enough gate between the dimensions," he said. "Apparently, the Shadow Weave can still support spells powerful enough to levitate a city." "The Weave can't?" Vala asked.

"It hasn't," Galaeron answered, shrugging. "Not since the fall of Netheril."

If Vala saw the danger in that, her expression didn't show it. "That is good news for Evereska, if it means the Shadovar are more powerful than the phaerimm."

Galaeron nodded, but didn't say what it might also mean. If the Shadovar were more powerful than the phaerimm, then they were also more powerful than most of the great wizards of the realms. Only the Chosen themselves, or perhaps an entire circle of high mages, could rival their power.

They were almost to Telamont and Hadrhune when the first of the princes, with half a dozen Shadovar lords at his back, stepped out of the murk at the rim of the basin and began to descend the slick wall. Galaeron recognized Brennus by his large, crescent-shaped mouth and the orange tinge of his iron-colored eyes. Not slipping on the steep obsidian slope, he and the others began to angle more or less in Telamont's direction, their faces showing no reaction at all to the carnage around them. When they reached the body piles at the bottom they began to clamber across without drawing so much as a moan or disturbing even one arm. "Vala, do you see that?" Galaeron asked. "What?" she asked.

Like almost everyone else in the basin, Vala was focusing her attention on the murk near the rim, blithely awaiting the arrival of the rest of the princes. "Lower. Look at Brennus's feet."

Vala looked, then frowned at the way no one seemed bothered that Brennus was stepping on them. "That's just wrong." "So I thought," Galaeron said.

They were still thirty paces from Telamont, perhaps half that from Brennus and his companions. He stopped and pulled a small flake of obsidian from his robe pocket. "Galaeron, no." Vala grabbed his arm. "You're-"

"Let go!" Galaeron ripped his arm free, then began to scrape the flake over his palm. "If that's really Brennus, he'll never know."

Galaeron began the incantation of a shadow divination-a more powerful one than he should have been using but necessary if he was to dispel a phaerimm's disguise magic. A surge of cold shadow magic rushed into his body, chilling him down to the marrow in his bones and filling him with a cold, bitter resentment at… well, everyone: Melegaunt and the other princes, Telamont, Hadrhune-even Vala.

The spell ended as the "prince" and his escorts were stepping over the last of the casualties onto the basin floor. The shadow drained from their bodies like water, revealing six phaerimm and a strange, three-eyed, three-tentacled orb with a huge, finch like beak. "Impos That was as far as Vala's warning got before the basin erupted into flying shadow balls and sizzling fans of light. Two of the phaerimm and fifty Shadovar fell in the battle's first breath, and the three-eyed creature spun toward Galaeron, its tentacles whirling like the scimitars of a drow blademaster. Vala intercepted it, her darksword rising to meet the spinning tentacles-and fell back as the thing beat down her guard, slashing her up the cheek, above the eye, and then across the neck.

Galaeron pulled her back and drew his own sword, his elven steel severing one hooked tentacle as it struck at the hollow of her throat, then falling to his back as the thing's wicked beak clacked at his head. Another hook came whipping down toward Galaeron's unarmored heart-and was intercepted by Vala's darksword. She twined her black blade into the tentacle and pulled the creature toward her, bringing her iron dagger up to meet it The blade sank a finger's depth, and the third tentacle came around, burying its hook in the back of her knee and trying to jerk her off her feet Vala was too nimble. She gave it a dead leg, letting her foot rise while she pushed and twisted the dagger. The blade sank perhaps another knuckle.

Galaeron pulled a strand of shadowsilk from his pocket and wadded it into a ball, beginning the incantation for a shadow ball.

"Galaeron!" Vala yelled, hopping on one foot as the thing whipped her impaled leg to and fro. Somehow, during all this, she still managed to knock the shadow-silk from his hand. "No more-" "Shut the hell up and fight!"

Galaeron kicked the thing's beak off of him and rammed his sword up through its body. Leaving it buried there, he pulled a small cylinder of glass from his pocket and rolled through the incantation for a normal lightning bolt and felt nothing.

Well, not nothing, exactly. There was a cold prickling as the shadow magic tried to rise into him where his body was touching the ground, but he pushed this down and opened himself to the Weave so he could cast a normal, bright, searing lightning bolt-and there was nothing. He had lost the Weave.

Vala exchanged her dagger for his sword's hilt, pushed, twisted, slashed, then cried out in alarm as the thing wrapped its dehooked tentacle around her ankle. Instead of allowing it to pull her foot out from under her, Vala dropped to her back, pulling Galaeron's sword from the creature's body and bringing a cascade of entrails with it.

The thing screeched in anguish and exploded into a bloody cloud as a huge shadow ball burst through its center. What remained plopped down between Galaeron and Vala, its slimy tentacles still twined around Vala and her darksword. She quickly used Galaeron's sword to cut herself free, then flipped it around and shoved the hilt at him.

"Don't ever-I don't care how darkly shadowed you are-don't ever tell me to shut up."

"And don't you ever-ever-interrupt a spellcasting," Galaeron snapped back. "Or the next time, I'll let it snap your head off."

"Better a…" She looked at the three-eyed thing and curled her lip in disgust, then continued, "… a monster I don't know than one I do."

She dropped his sword in the mess, then rolled to her feet and limped off through the carnage, leaving Galaeron to face Telamont and Hadrhune as the pair came up behind the monster's disemboweled body. The Most High nudged it with a dark boot.

"Our enemies from the shadow plane attack us even here," he said. "The 'monster' is called a malaugrym. You did well to unmask it. One might even say that we all owe you our lives."

"One might," Galaeron said, struggling to his feet, "but it seems a simple 'thank you' is too much to ask."

Telamont's eyes sparkled. "If that is what your shadow needs to hear."

"My shadow?" Galaeron growled. "It's just common courtesy."

Then, remembering how Vala had saved his life when his lightning bolt failed, he realized Telamont was right. Vala had been, too. His shadow had been completely in control-perhaps it still was.

Telamont motioned to Hadrhune, and both kneeled before Galaeron-causing every shadow lord who happened to be looking in the direction to do likewise.

"Galaeron Nihmedu, on behalf of Shade Enclave," Telamont began, just a hint of mockery in his voice, "please accept our most sincere-"

"Not necessary," Galaeron said, realizing how ignoble he was to be demanding thanks when so many had died. "Forgive me for asking."

Telamont did not rise. "You see, you can live with your shadow."

"Sure I can," Galaeron scoffed, looking past the Most High's shoulder. He owed someone an apology. "Where'd Vala go?"

Telamont rose and turned, then said, "There are some things even I do not know."

"Have no fear for her comfort," Hadrhune said, looking in the same direction as Galaeron. "Vala saved Prince Escanor's life. She will always be welcome in his villa."