The Sorcerer

CHAPTER TWELVE

1 Eleasias, the Year of Wild Magic

In the dim light of the cell, the link was easier for Vala to feel than to see, even with skin numbed by cold and calluses. She worked her foot up the chain until she felt pit-roughened metal, then pinched the loop between her toes and lifted it toward her mouth. Even flexible as she had grown over the past couple of months, she could not bring it all the way to her face. Once the chain went taut, she used her leg muscles to pull herself closer. She let her toes slide down one link then spit a mouthful of saliva onto the pitted surface.

Vala had her doubts about whether she could actually spit her way to freedom, but with her hands manacled behind her back and no other tools to work with, it was the best she could do, and it gave her something to focus on when she was not being abused by Escanor or his retainers. She could not just sit there in the dark, waiting between sessions. She had to keep trying, to know she was at least attempting to escape.

Besides, when she had started, there had been no pits in the link at all. Vala let the chain go slack, then wrapped her toes into it and began to jerk downward against the eye hook that secured it to the wall. A hundred times, then find the link and spit. If she just kept working at it, something would give. The hook would loosen in the wall, or the link would grow rusty and break, or a guard would think she had lost her mind and grow careless enough to let her kill him. Something would happen. It had to, if she was ever to see her son again.

A voice whispered, "Vala?"

Vala hit the end of the chain and was back on the floor before she realized she had jumped. She spun on her seat, her legs cocked for thrust kicks, and found no one there.

Great, she thought. Something has happened. I've started to hear things.

"We're not going to hurt you," the voice said.

Vala squinted toward the voice and saw nothing but murk, then a tiny man in black robes hopped onto her foot. She wasn't just hearing things. The man-the delusion, she corrected herself-had an unruly black beard and dark eyes, but his face and arms were too light to be Shadovar.

"No need to cower, my dear," he said. "We're friends of-"

Vala flicked the figure off her foot and heard it hit a wall with a real-sounding thud. She was cowering, frightened of her tortured mind's own phantasms.

"I won't let this happen," she said to herself. Vala straightened her shoulders and raised her chin-but she did not lower her leg. "Go away!"

"Softly, child!" This time the voice was female, and it came from over near the door. "Mind the guard."

Another voice, on her other side, began what sounded like a spell. The bearded figure returned, this time flanked by two female figures with flowing silver hair, and Vala realized that, phantasms or not, they were all around her. There could be hundreds of them out there in the dark, swarming over the floor. Thousands, maybe, an army of dark little shadow faeries come to feast now that her flesh was suitably battered and bruised. She screamed. She could not help herself, the sound just erupted as she let out her next breath.

The shadow faeries cringed and looked toward the door, and in the next moment Vala was silent. Her mouth remained open and her throat continued to vibrate, but there was no more sound.

The male faerie looked toward the door and asked, "The guard?"

"Still thinking about it," the female voice whispered. "He's curious, but not alarmed."

Vala could see her, another silver-haired faerie down on the floor, peering around the corner of the archway.

"Keep an eye on him," the male said.

Followed by the two silver-haired females, he circled toward Vala's head. They were joined by a third female, which fluttered over from behind Vala and settled on the floor next to them. Vala tried to spin around to bring her feet toward them but one of the females made a motion with a sliver-sized wand, and she found herself unable to move.

"I'm sorry we frightened you," the male said. "Clearly, your ordeal has taken more of a toll than we imagined."

Had Vala been able to talk, she would have suggested that they change places and see what kind of toll being a Shadovar slave took on him.

"Can you stop screaming?" asked one of the women. "We have some questions."

Vala grew aware of her aching jaw and realized that her mouth continued to gape open, that her throat was raw from screaming. She clamped her mouth shut and glared at the black-clad faeries beside her. They certainly looked solid enough.

The woman nodded, made a dismissive gesture, and a whimpering, rasping sound came to Vala's ears. It took a moment to identify the source as her own throat.

"Good," the man said. He held his hand out and moved it in a placating motion that made Vala want to kick him. "We're friends of Galaer-"

"Galaeron?" Vala finished for him.

She brought her breath under control. Phantasms or not, she could not have these faeries telling Galaeron that she had whimpered when they came for her.

"He sent you?" she asked.

The women looked at each other. They looked uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" Vala demanded. "Is he hurt?"

"We wouldn't know," the man, whose manner was gruff, said.

One of the faerie women stepped in front of the male and said, "Galaeron is on a mission of the utmost importance to all of Faer?n."

"As are we," said the second woman, also stepping in front of the male. "Perhaps it would help if we introduced ourselves. I am Storm Silverhand."

"I'm Dove Falconhand," said the woman at the door.

"I am Alustriel Silverhand," said the woman who had cast the spells. She motioned at the last woman, who was still standing beside the black-bearded man. "This is our sister Laeral."

"And that would make me Khelben Arunsun." The faerie man pushed his way between the two women who had stepped in front of him. "Now that you're properly awed, maybe you'd care to answer a question or two and help us save the Heartlands."

Vala scowled down at the male, quite certain that she had lost her mind.

When she didn't say anything, Khelben rolled his eyes and turned to the one who had introduced herself as Alustriel.

"How can she not know who we are?" he asked. "Is Vaasa so backward?"

"We know of the Chosen even in Vaasa," Vala said. "We also know the difference between flesh and phantasm. Why would the five of you show up in my cell, the size of dolls, unless I were mad?"

"Because we need your help," Alustriel said. She stepped over and placed a hand on Vala's jaw. Her touch felt real enough, solid and warm. "We must find the mythallar, and you're the only one who can help."

"Trouble!" hissed the woman by the door. "The guard's coming."

The faeries vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving Vala alone in her cell.

"Wait!" She felt more isolated than ever-and more certain that she was losing her mind, more frightened. "Don't!"

The guard appeared in the doorway, a hulking shadow lord with ruby eyes and filed teeth. Vala thought he was Feslath, one of Escanor's favorites.

"Don't what?" Feslath demanded. "Who are you talking to?"

Though his Shadovar eyes could see in the dark as easily as Vala could see in daylight, he did not even bother glancing around the cell. He knew as well as she did that there was no one in the room, that her mind had finally snapped.

"I asked a question, slave."

Vala glared at him and refused to answer. She was not worried about revealing the presence of her visitors-the delusions were hidden safely inside her mind-but she could not obey, not even in this. Once she started to surrender, it would grow easier and easier, until she finally belonged to them in spirit as well as body.

"You defy me?"

Feslath grinned and took the whip off its hook. He did not even need to look to find it.

"As you like. Assume the position."

Vala was supposed to turn her back and bow her head so her eyes would be protected.

Instead, she glared straight into Feslath's eyes and said, "Go suckle a veserab."

The whip caught Vala across the chest almost before she had finished the curse. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream, she clenched her jaw and took the next strike in silence as well, but the third caught her across the ribs and forced an involuntary gasp. Feslath, in particular, was a master of the technique and delighted in forcing her body to emit the sounds her mind held in check.

The next lash caught her across the previous one, and Vala began to grow dizzy. The assault would not end until she fell unconscious. Praying that he would keep landing his strikes on top of each other, she glared into his eyes and watched his arm draw back.

A dark-cloaked figure rose behind Feslath and caught his arm by the wrist. Feslath's eyes flared red, and he spun around to find the butt of a large black staff crashing into the side of his head. His knees buckled, and he melted to the floor like a suit of empty silks.

Khelben Arunsun, standing fully six feet tall, kicked the shadow lord in the ribs-hard-to make certain he was unconscious, then came to kneel beside Vala.

"You could have answered him," he said.

Vala shook her head, and vaguely aware of her gaping jaw, gasped, "You are real."

Khelben nodded, but made no move to undo her manacles.

"Does that mean you'll help us?" he asked.

Vala shook the chain by which she was attached to the wall.

"Does that mean you'll get me out of here?" she asked in return.

Khelben's face grew impatient.

"We'll come back for you, but our mission depends on secrecy and surprise. We can't take you along now without the risk of drawing attention to ourselves."

Vala considered this a moment then pointed her chin at Feslath's fallen figure.

"You're already running that risk," she said. "And no offense, but if you're going after the mythallar, I don't like your chances of getting back here to rescue me before this rock hits the ground."

"The fate of Faer?n itself hangs in the balance!" Khelben's voice was deep and righteous. "You would bargain for your own life?"

"I have a son who needs a mother." Vala didn't flinch at Khelben's angry scowl, but added, "I am not the one who is bargaining."

"She has a point, Khelben."

Dove and the other three Chosen appeared on the floor between them, still no more than a hand high.

Dove continued, "We promised Arts-'

"We will keep our promise," Khelben insisted, "without risking our mission."

"You're sure our mind wiping magic will work on a Shadovar?" Alustriel asked. "They are not beings of the Weave."

"Even if it does, there will still be the lump on the guard's head to explain," Storm said. "Hell wonder how he got it, and that in itself might give us away."

"I know a way it won't matter," Vala said, seeing her chance.

Khelben looked to her and raised his brow.

Vala explained her plan, and when she finished, Khelben continued to study her with narrowed eyes.

"This will work," Vala said. "It stands a better chance than your memory-stealing magic."

"Alustriel's memory-stealing magic," Khelben corrected. "That's not what worries me."

"Then what does?" Laeral asked.

"Vala," he said plainly. "It's not as though she's helping us out of the goodness of her heart. If Galaeron couldn't tell us where to find the mythallar, how do we know Vala can? She might be lying so we help her escape."

"Galaeron returned to the Palace Most High via Telamont’s magic," Vala said. "I walked home."

Khelben continued to look doubtful.

"What if I were lying?" Vala asked. "Would you leave me here to fall with the city?"

"Of course not," Alustriel said. "We promised Aris we wouldn't."

"Then why should I lie?"

Finally, Khelben smiled and said, "I suppose you're right at that, aren't you?"

Khelben dragged the unconscious guard over to Vala and laid him at her feet. While she used the heel of her foot to make it look as though she had knocked him unconscious, Khelben removed the keys from his belt and undid her manacles. Once she was free, Vala wrapped the chain around his throat and began to choke him. None of the Chosen watched this part. They clearly wished there had been another way.

Not Vala. She had only to think of the beatings she had suffered at Feslath's hands for this small vengeance to seem not nearly enough. The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she found herself wondering if it was only magic-users who could let their shadows inside.

Once the guard was dead, Vala took his equipment and dressed herself in his clothes, and Khelben shrank himself back to the size of the others. She stuffed all five of the Chosen into her pockets, and aided by spells of invisibility and silence, crept down the stairs to the base of the confinement tower. Here, she had to kill two more guards, the first when he turned toward the opening door, the second while he was struggling with the dying body she had shoved into his arms. Leaving the bodies inside the stairwell behind the locked iron door, she used the second one's cloak to wipe the blood off the floor, then tossed it into a garderobe and left the area.

From there, it would have been a simple matter to descend the back stairs and vanish into the city. Instead, Vala entered a servant's passage and traversed the back of the great palace. Though she passed a constant stream of maids, pages, and butlers, she remained concealed from both eye and ear, for the magic of the Chosen was powerful enough to remain effective even after combat had been joined.

A quarter hour later, Vala emerged from the servant's passage into the dusky lobby outside the prince's private wing. The great anteroom doors were closed and guarded, as they had been since his return from the battle on the High Ice, and for a moment she despaired of making her plan work. There was no other way into the wing-at least that she had ever seen-and even invisible, she could not best a dozen of Escanor's shadow lords.

But, as Vala had hoped, the prince's duties could not be ignored even when he lay half-dead in his bed. It was not long before a courier approached the great doors bearing a shadow-filled message bottle. Vala fell in on his heels, following so closely that when a guard ordered him to stop three paces from the doors, she had to dodge around his side to keep from running into him. The guard took the message bottle and dismissed the courier, waiting until he had vanished down the corridor before he turned and knocked softly on the door.

Vala stood at the guard's side for a seeming eternity, barely daring to exhale lest her breath tickle the hair on his arms. Finally, a steward opened the door just far enough to lean out and take the message bottle. It would probably have been wise to wait for a serving maid or some other domestic whose duties would require opening the door more than a shoulder's width, but there was precious little time to make the decision, and Vala knew that the deaths in the confinement tower would not go unnoticed for long. She dropped to her haunches, pivoting around in front of the guard, and duck-walked sideways through the narrow opening, trying so hard not to step on his heels that the closing door caught her foot.

The guard called something to the chamberlain, who was already a step away, then shoved with his shoulder. Vala's foot seemed to fold along the length, but the heavy door bounced back enough for her to pull her foot into the room after her.

The door clicked shut, and Vala dropped to her seat, at once sighing in relief and opening her mouth in an unvoiced scream of pain. It would have been nice to set aside one of the weapons in her hand and check for broken bones, but such indulgences killed more warriors than they saved. She rolled to her knees and came up facing the interior of Escanor's large anteroom, where half a dozen clerks sat attending to the prince's private business.

Vala started across the chamber on her hands and knees, angling for the dark corridor that led deeper into the prince's inner sanctum. There, she had to slip under the crossed glaives of another set of guards.

Once inside the murky passage, she rose and put some weight on her foot. The pain was dull and general, more like a bad bruise than a break. She took a few steps. Finding the foot would support her, she continued through Escanor's private study into his dressing room, and passing another pair of guards and a small clique of servants at each stage, from his dressing room into his large and opulent bedchamber.

Escanor lay alone in his bed, little more than a man-shaped shadow cleaving to a cage of black ribs. His beating heart was visible inside, still glowing faintly with the light of the Weave flames that had nearly consumed him. He was attended on one side of the bed by a servant and on the other by a black-robed priestess wearing the purple mask of Shar. Two of Escanor's battle lords were standing at the foot of the bed. Vala's darksword was on display in a rack above the prince's headboard, locked behind a pair of crystal doors.

Vala! Khelben's voice came to her inside her head. In the name of the Weave, what are you doing?

Vala did not answer. She had not told the Chosen about this part of her plan, but it was as necessary to their success as finding the mythallar. She stepped over to the foot of the bed, and in a single spinning stroke, slashed the throats of both guards.

The men had barely fallen before the priestess raised her hands and began a wispy prayer to her hidden goddess. Vala cut this short by lashing out with the whip in her other hand. The cord wrapped itself tightly around the woman's throat, and the prayer ended in a strangled gasp as Vala jerked the priestess off her feet. The servant started for the door, his jaw working in shock, but emitting only strangled gasps. She spun past the end of the bed, bringing her sore foot up in a hook kick that caught him square in the nose with the hardest part of her heel. He flew off his feet so hard that the back of his head hit first and made a sickening crack on the stone floor.

Giving up on her spell, the priestess charged blindly forward, using one hand to pull against the whip around her throat and the other to slash her dagger blindly through the air. Vala waited for the next stroke to sweep past then she stepped forward and snapped the outside of her hand into the hinge of the woman's jaw. The priestess went instantly limp, her eyes rolling back in her head and the dagger slipping from her hand.

Vala dropped the whip and turned back to the bed. In Escanor's shadowy eye sockets were a pair of copper flames, faint and flickering as he struggled back to consciousness.

Vala! If you're counting on us to help you kill-

"Quiet."

Though Vala spoke the word aloud, she heard the word only in her mind. She started forward toward the display case. The flames in Escanor's eyes brightened, and she knew the prince was returning to his senses. She hurled her sword, reached for her dagger, and leaped onto the bed.

A wisp of shadowy arm rose through the covers. Her tumbling sword ricocheted upward and smashed a crystal door, and something hit her in the chest like one of Aris's hammers. She fell off the bed backward and landed facedown on the floor.

"Guards!" Escanor's voice was barely a croak, but a croak loud enough to cause a stir out in the dressing room. "Help!"

Vala raised her hand and called silently to her darksword. She heard the tinkling of shattered crystal, and the weapon came sailing over the foot of the bed. The hilt slipped into her palm like the hand of an old friend. The blade was trailing a wisp of shadow where it had brushed Escanor's body.

You have your sword-time to go! Storm urged. Out onto the balcony.

Vala rolled sideways to her knees and came up with her arm cocked to throw. When she saw Escanor swinging out of the opposite side of the bed, she did just that. The blade caught him between the shoulder blades, slicing through two ribs and the faintly pulsing heart.

The prince died without a scream. His ribcage simply dropped to the floor in two pieces. The guards from the dressing room rushed into the chamber to find the cleaved heart dissolving into a cloud of shadow.

"Now if s time to go."

Again, Vala heard her words only in her own mind. As the guards rushed to their dying prince, she called the dark-sword back to her hand. She would have liked to stay and find the magic ring given to her by Corineus Drannaeken in the catacombs beneath Myth Drannor, but a search of that magnitude was out of the question. She raced toward the double doors and leaped into the air-then barreled into two more guards as they came rushing in.

Vala planted one foot on each of their shoulders-she was aiming for their throats, but had not jumped high enough- and she managed to drive enough of a seam between the startled Shadovar for the rest of her body to pass through. She thumped down on her side with her head barely a sword's length from either one, then she gathered her feet beneath her and dived forward, rolling across the balcony in a series of somersaults. The guards shouted the alarm and blindly clinked their swords on the stone only inches behind her.

At last, Vala came to the end of the balcony and found the balustrade blocking her path. She finished one more somersault, gathered her feet beneath her, and sprang over headlong.

Vala was within a dozen feet of the street before a magic hand finally reached out to stop her fall.

Next time, young lady, we won't catch you, Khelben warned. That was nothing but a vengeance killing.

"So it was," she said, "and if I hadn't done it, no one would have believed my escape was my own. Not after the things that devil did to me."

Vala's feet touched the street, and she started toward Shade's lower warrens at a sprint.

The Vaasans sat together on one side of the table, laughing and dribbling and whacking each other on the back mightily as they ate and drank and described the day's combat to their jealous comrade, Dexon. To listen to the men talk, battling phaerimm was no more dangerous than stalking forest roth? save that the phaerimm made it all much more exciting by hunting back. Had Takari not been along and seen for herself the humans' deadly effectiveness that day-and many others-she would have believed the wine was stretching their tongues.

But it had all happened just as they described, and they had indeed added three tails apiece to their belts. Armed with Dexon's darksword, Keya Nihmedu had claimed two for her own growing collection. Takari had taken only one, but that was with nothing but her own elven steel. Had she been wielding a darksword of her own, she would have killed more phaerimm than anyone.

Takari took the ewer and refilled it from the wine cask in the scullery, then stopped in the doorway and eyed the two healthy Vaasans from behind. With their massive shoulders and braided black hair, they looked more like thkaerths to her than humans, but she had spent enough time fighting at their sides to know that neither man was entirely the brute he seemed. She had seen Burlen risk his life several times to protect Keya without ever allowing her to notice, while Kuhl had returned from one patrol with a litter of orphaned raccoons tucked inside his cloak.

After a moment of deliberation, Takari settled on Kuhl and came up behind him with the ewer. They always stopped to wash the blood and soot off in Dawnsglory Pond before returning home to Treetop, so she knew that Kuhl was both a little leaner and less woolly than Burlen. It was still going to be like wrestling a bear, but she saw no reason to make it any more distasteful than it had to be.

"More wine, Kuhl?"

Without waiting for an answer, Takari pressed herself to Kuhl's burly back and reached around his shoulder to refill his goblet.

She was wearing only the thinnest of shifts, so she knew he could feel her as well as she could feel him, but he only nodded and voiced his thanks without so much as a glance in her direction. Seeing that Dexon's goblet was almost empty, Takari took the opportunity to make her point more clearly by plastering herself to Kuhl's shoulder as she stretched forward to refill it Lingering there rather longer than was necessary, she turned and smiled.

Kuhl looked away, a crimson flush rising up his cheeks.

Burlen pushed his goblet toward the ewer and said, "I'll take another swallow myself, if you don't mind."

Takari banged the ewer down and peeled herself off Kuhl's shoulder.

"Why should I mind? I'm sure you can pour."

This drew a roaring laugh from Dexon and a hurt expression from Burlen. Kuhl's face grew even redder. Takari wondered whether all humans were as dense as the one she had picked, or if there was something about Kuhl she did not understand. She had seen him casting hungry looks her way as they bathed.

Takari circled around to Kuhl's other side and found Keya Nihmedu studying her with a thoughtful frown. After learning how Keya had acquired the ability to hold Dexon's darksword-by allowing him to get a child on her-Takari had made the mistake of asking whether the other Vaasans had families at home. Keya seemed to have guessed her plan.

Takari ignored the condemnation she sensed in the younger elf's gaze and pulled a chair close to her quarry.

She ran a finger up Kuhl's forearm, and his brow grew shiny with human-smelling sweat.

"I'd like it if you showed me how you did that rollover on the bugbear today," she said.

A expectant silence descended over the room, and Dexon and Burlen studied Kuhl with wolfish grins.

"It was a good move," Keya broke in. She kept her gaze fixed on Takari. "Maybe you could show us all tomorrow."

"Now would be better for me," Takari said.

She had spent a tenday and a half praying to the Winged Mother to make her ready, and she could sense by the warmth in her womb that she was. It had to be this evening. She rested her fingers on the inside of Kuhl's meaty elbow and applied a little pressure.

"You can show the others tomorrow," she whispered.

Kuhl seemed to melt under her touch, but was somehow still oblivious to what she was suggesting.

"I can show you now. It won't take long," he said, rising and gesturing at the floor. "Lie down and be me, and I'll get on top and be the bugbear."

Dexon cringed and said, "I don't think this is something I want to see."

"Nor I," Keya agreed. 'Takari, this isn't fair-"

"Fair?" Takari interrupted. "Galaeron made his choice when he left me in Rheitheillaethor and ran off with Vala. If I decide to try a human, too, that’s no business of his-or yours."

Keya's mouth fell open, and Takari could see by the confusion in the younger elf's eyes that she had succeeded in muddling the issue. Whatever Keya had guessed, she could not know whether Takari was using the human for pleasure, revenge, or access to a darksword.

"Uh, Takari?" Kuhl asked. "What do you mean, 'try a human?'"

"What do you think I mean?" Takari rolled her eyes and said, "I've seen the way you stare at me when we bathe."

Kuhl looked guilty. "You have?"

"It's hard to miss," Takari said.

"It's all right?" Kuhl gasped. "I thought it bothered elves when we peeked."

"It is a little unsettling, to tell the truth," Takari said. Seeing the look of confusion that came to Kuhl's eyes, she decided that it would be best to state the matter as plainly as possible. "I'm giving you a chance here to do more than stare, Kuhl. Are you interested or not?"

"Interested."

"Good."

Takari took him by the wrist and started for the contemplation, but they were quickly intercepted by a disapproving Keya Nihmedu.

"Kuhl," she said, "you do realize she's using you?"

A grin the size of the crescent moon spread across Kuhl's face and he said, "I sure hope so."

He picked Takari up and slipped past Keya at a near charge, and a moment later Takari found herself wrestling the bear. The experience was not as unpleasant as she had feared, in large part because it was over so quickly.

The second time lasted a little longer. She was surprised to find that she was no longer disgusted at all, save for near the end when he really did start growling like a bear.

The third time, she actually started to enjoy it, and that was when Lord Duirsar's messenger flew in through the open window. Oblivious to what was happening, the snowfinch began to flit around their heads, chirping and tweeting as though the world were coming to an end.

"Manynests," Takari gasped. "Not… now!"

The bird landed on her shoulder and shrieked into her ear. The mood vanished instantly, and Takari extended a finger.

"Bird, this had better be good."

Manynests broke into a long series of whistles.

"What?" Takari asked. "When?"

She freed herself of Kuhl's embrace and swung her feet onto the floor. The snowfinch peeped in reply, then chirped a query.

"Of course!" Takari said, rising. 'Tell him we'll meet them at the Livery Gate."

Kuhl propped himself on an elbow and asked, "Meet who?"

She snatched Kuhl's weapon belt off the floor and tossed it to him without touching the darksword's hilt She didn't want Kuhl to know why she had bedded him, not until she knew the seed had been planted.

"The phaerimm," Takari replied. "They've breached the mythal."

Somewhere in the Palace Most High, Galaeron hung swaddled in velvet murk, immobile, able to breathe and scream but no more. Shadovar voices hissed in the distant gloom. Shadow seeped into his pores, permeating him with every breath, doubt and suspicion and anger steadily darkening his heart How long he had been there was impossible to say. No one ever came to feed him or give him water or attend to his broken hand, or even to ask if he was ready to cooperate, but he never seemed to grow hungry or thirsty, or have need to answer nature's call. He hung there suspended in the moment, a throbbing pain-filled moment without beginning or end, without limit of any kind.

It seemed to Galaeron that the mythallar should have been destroyed long before, that the Chosen should have found it and sundered it, and brought Shade crashing down into the desert. Maybe they had. Trapped as he seemed in a single moment, how would he know? Or maybe he had been there only an instant after all. Maybe all his thoughts since Telamont hung him there had rushed through his mind in a single instant, and Khelben and the others were still awaiting their chance to escape into the city.

Or perhaps the Chosen had abandoned him, wherever here was, content to believe the shadow inside him would never escape to darken Faer?n. That would be just like them, to sacrifice an individual for the sake of the many-as long as that individual was not one of their number. Galaeron thought back to his capture and recalled how quick they had been to abandon the caravan, how cleverly they had arranged things so that none of them had been called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice. The cowards would not hesitate to leave him there alone to suffer for all eternity.

And that was exactly what Galaeron-the real Galaeron- would want, he reminded himself.

His shadow had all but taken him. Every thought contained a hidden doubt, every emotion was colored by suspicion. It would not be long before he yielded. He had only to grab a handful of shadowstuff and use its dark magic to cast a spell, and he would be free to seek his vengeance on all who had wronged him. Telamont had said as much when he'd imprisoned him, had promised that that was how Galaeron's struggle would end, that all Galaeron controlled was when it ended.

Galaeron believed him. If the timing was all he could control, then control it he would.

The hissing of the distant voices faded to silence, and the air grew heavy and chill. Galaeron's heart climbed into his throat, and he began to search the darkness ahead for the burning disks of Telamont's platinum eyes.

The air only grew colder and more still.

"You are stronger than I thought, elf," the Most High's wispy voice hissed into Galaeron's ear. "You are beginning to anger me."

Galaeron smiled. He tried to turn toward the voice, but his whole body seemed to pivot with him, and Telamont remained just beyond his peripheral vision.

Galaeron had to settle for speaking into the shadow.

"At least there's that," he said.

"Oh, there is more," Telamont said. "Much more. My son Escanor is dead."

Galaeron started to say something spiteful then realized that to express such malice to a grieving father-even this grieving father-would be to invite his shadow in.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

A deep chuckle sounded beside Galaeron's ear.

"Lies are of the shadow, too, elf."

"It was compassion-not a lie."

Galaeron's thoughts were racing. Had the city fallen and Telamont come to take vengeance? Did he see a way to use his son's death to force Galaeron completely into shadow? Or was he simply there to take out his anger on Galaeron?

"Whatever I may have thought of Escanor," the elf said, "whatever I would have liked to do to him myself-I'm sure you loved him."

Telamont was quiet for a moment, not using his will to press for an answer as usual when he fell silent, but genuinely seeming to contemplate Galaeron's words.

"Perhaps I did, at that," the Most High said. "What a pity Vala was not so charitable as you."

A cold knot formed in Galaeron's stomach. Telamont's cold presence pressed closer to him.

"She escaped her cell," the Shadovar said. "She killed him in his sick bed."

The knot in Galaeron's stomach grew as heavy as lead.

"Did his guards…?" He could barely bring himself to voice the question, "Is she dead?"

"That would make you angry, would it not?"

A cloaked form coalesced in the murk before Galaeron. With the Most High already whispering into his ear, it took Galaeron a moment to realize that the figure in front of him also belonged to Telamont.

"I could tell you she is, and you would fly into a rage." Telamont's eyes grew bright and angry, but his voice continued to whisper into Galaeron's ear, "And with rage would come your shadow. It would claim you for all time."

"Then she's not dead." Nor had the mythallar been destroyed, Galaeron realized. Had Shade fallen, Telamont would be more interested in killing him than claiming him. "You don't know where she is."

"And with hope comes strength," hissed the disembodied voice. "The strength to defy me. What am I to do?"

He fell silent, and the air grew heavy with expectation.

Fearing that one answer would lead to another and another until he betrayed their plan, Galaeron tried not to answer. Telamont remained silent, and his will pressed down on Galaeron all the more fiercely. Eventually, he could resist no more, and the words tumbled out of their own accord.

Tell me the truth."

The purple crescent of a smile appeared in the hood beneath Telamont’s s eyes.

"The truth? What is 'truth,' really?" Telamont's voice whispered into Galaeron's other ear. "The truth is that she will be."

The lump in Galaeron's stomach began to grow lighter. Vala was still alive.

"If you catch her."

"When we catch her," Telamont corrected. "Where can she go? It's a thousand feet to the ground."

He paused, and Galaeron feared for a moment that Telamont meant to force an answer that would betray the attack on the mythallar, but Telamont had something else in mind.

"She will be caught. My other sons are tracking her even now."

Galaeron fought not to smile. He had said nothing about the Chosen yet, and if the princes were busy searching for Vala, they would not be watching the mythallar. Perhaps they had even helped her escape to create a diversion. That would be just like those cowards, to sacrifice a helpless woman so they wouldn't have to risk their own lives. It occurred to Galaeron that he might save Vala's life by warning Telamont about their plan. That was what those traitors deserved.

"You do not care?" Telamont asked. "I thought you loved this woman. I thought she was the reason you betrayed us."

Telamont grew quiet, and again the weight of his will slowly crushed Galaeron's resolve.

At last, Galaeron admitted, "That's true. I do love her."

"A pity, then," Telamont said. "The things that will happen when we recapture her…"

He fell silent, leaving Galaeron to imagine the horrors that would be visited on her. Given the punishment Vala had suffered just for aiding in his escape, he could not bear to think of the death she would meet after killing a prince of Shade. He began to feel Telamont's will pressing down on him, compelling him to speak what he was thinking. Time and again, Galaeron found himself ready to blurt out his plan, to reveal how he had tricked Telamont into bringing the Chosen into Shade.

Somehow, he resisted. Deep down inside, part of him wanted to believe it was honor that stopped him, that something inside him was strong enough to resist the will of the Most High of Shade. But the truth was that he had again fallen into the grasp of his shadow self, and it simply did not believe Telamont could be trusted.

Every time Galaeron started to say he would trade Shade's life for Vala's, or that he could deliver five Chosen in exchange for her freedom, his shadow refused. It reminded him that Telamont had once offered to teach him how to control his shadow-as if that could be done-and of how badly that bargain had turned out. It reminded him of how powerful the Most High was. Galaeron had only to hint at the attack on the mythallar and Telamont would begin to pressure him for answers. The Shadovar would know everything within minutes, Vala would be condemned to a lingering death anyway, and Galaeron would be left with nothing for his betrayal.

For once, Galaeron's shadow self was right. Telamont had done nothing but betray him. Telamont deserved what was going to happen to his city. All of the Shadovar did. And Vala? He wanted to save Vala, but he could not do it by yielding to Telamont.

Finally, Telamont said, "Love is not as strong as I imagined." The pressure did not relent, but his voice came from the hooded shape before Galaeron's eyes. "You do not wish to save Vala?"

"I would do anything to save Vala," Galaeron said, "but I am no fool."

"No?" Telamont's voice sounded like cracking ice. "Then you know she will not escape."

"And you know I can help you."

A dark voice inside Galaeron screamed for him to hold his tongue, that he was a fool if he thought he could bargain with Telamont Tanthul.

Galaeron ignored the voice and continued, "The phaerimm continue to trouble you. Take me to the world-window. When I see her at home in Vaasa, I'll help you with them again."

Telamont drifted closer, until Galaeron could see nothing in front of his face but two platinum eyes. He forced himself to hold the gaze, and eventually he saw that the eyes were silver coronas burning around two disks of shadow blacker than darkness. The pressure of his will grew crushing, and still Galaeron did not look away. Finally, the shining coronas flickered with something like amusement, and Telamont drew back a little.

"Love is not as strong as I imagined."

The Most High's eyes resolved themselves back into disks, and his dark form began to melt back into the darkness.

"But hope…" the shade said. "That is so much stronger."

The crushing burden of his will remained. Galaeron waited, expecting the compulsion to answer some unspoken question to arise inside him at any moment. There was only the intangible weight-and a different pressure, rising from inside, a feeling that was closer to fear and uncertainty, perhaps grief. Finally, when the shape of Telamont's body had dissolved back into the darkness and there was only the pale light of his fading eyes, it was this pressure that forced Galaeron to break his silence.

"Wait!" Galaeron said. "What about Vala?"

"I accept." The eyes vanished, but Telamont's voice hissed from the darkness all around, "If you wish to save her, you have only to grasp the shadows and free yourself."

Before Galaeron could object, voices began to hiss again in the distant gloom, and the crushing weight of Telamont's will was gone. Galaeron found himself torn between pride in having matched wills with the Most High and apprehension over his comment about hope. What had he meant about hope being so much stronger? Probably, it was just some ploy to make Galaeron yield to the Most High's will, to surrender himself to shadow, but there had been something about the way it was said that made him feel otherwise, a note of revelation in Telamont's voice that suggested a flash of insight. His tone in agreeing to trade Galaeron's cooperation for Vala's life had been one of ridicule, as though he knew the offer would never be accepted.

A dark voice whispered that Telamont was playing him for a fool. There was only one way to escape, and Galaeron refused to use it. Half the Shadovar in the enclave had to be laughing at him at that very moment. Galaeron resisted this line of thought by reminding himself of what happened the last time he used the Shadow Weave, of how he had alienated Vala and nearly gotten Aris killed. If Telamont had provided an easy escape, it was because it was no escape at all. Galaeron had sworn an oath never to use shadow magic again, and it was an oath he intended to honor.

Galaeron occupied himself for what seemed the multi-verse's next eternity, arguing back and forth with the dark voice inside his own head, knowing there was only one escape and knowing as well that a fate worse than death awaited him if he took it. Had he been confident that he would know when the Chosen shattered the mythallar and the city fell, perhaps he would have had the fortitude to wait.

As it was, the uncertainty was more than he could bear: the fear that Shade would crash into the sands of Anauroch and be fifteen centuries buried with him still there in that dark moment wondering if his plan would ever succeed, wondering if Vala would live to see her son again, wondering if Takari had ever forgiven him for the selfish fear that had made him turn her away. The image of a black, drop-shaped body appeared his mind and began to grow larger. The thing had three bulbous protrusions that, considering the fang-filled mouths at the end, might have been heads. A trio of arms, each ending in three hands with a single eye in the palm, sprouted from its body in three unlike places. The phantasm-for he had no doubt that that was what it was- reminded Galaeron vaguely of the sharn he had freed when they destroyed the first lich Wulgreth.

I have been looking for you, Elf.

Galaeron's jaw dropped. For once, his shadow self seemed too stunned to take advantage of the situation, and he experienced a moment of internal silence that he had not enjoyed since making the mistake that had allowed his shadow to invade him in the first place.

What, no "hi ho, old friend?" the sharn asked. No, "well met, Xrxvlayblea?"

"W-hat, uh, how…?"

"That will do, I suppose."

The sharn-Xrxvlayblea-was floating in the shadows before Galaeron, all ton and a half of him, or it, or them, or however one referred to a blob of three-headed… stuff. It waved the eyes in several of its palms over Galaeron.

"Y-you're real?" Galaeron stammered.

One of the heads shot up close to Galaeron's face and spewing drool from its fangs, snapped, "Did I not say I would return to repay the favor you did me in Karsus?"

"You did," Galaeron gulped.

"Now is when you need me most, is it not?"

Galaeron managed a nod.

"Of course it is," another head spat. "Or I wouldn't be here."

Galaeron shook his head and wondered if he had begun to hallucinate.

"There you have it, then," the third head said. "You're ready now. Favor repaid."

The sharn turned and started to float away into the shadows. Galaeron tried to pull an arm free and found that he was as stuck as ever. He debated the wisdom of talking to a hallucination. A dark voice asked what could it hurt, and he decided nothing.

"Wait!"

The sharn stopped, but did not turn.

"Ready for what?" Galaeron asked.

"Ready to do what you were not ready to do then," the sharn replied.

Galaeron frowned. "But I'm still caught"

"Whose fault is that?" asked one of the heads-from behind, it was impossible to see which. "You'd better get unstuck."

"You don't understand," Galaeron said. "I can't use the Shadow Weave. I swore an oath."

"An oath?"

The sharn swung back around and shoved two palms in Galaeron's face so it could stare at him eye-to-eye.

"Why'd you do a witless thing like that?" it asked.

"I've been having a shadow crisis," Galaeron explained. "When I use the Shadow Weave, my shadow self takes over. The next time, it may be permanent, so I vowed not to cast any more shadow magic."

"Breaking a vow is bad business." The eyes in the palms blinked, and it said, "But don't be angry with the Shadow. That's what he wants-and it's not his fault, anyway. You made a promise you can't keep."

The sharn turned and started to float away again.

"That's it?" Galaeron cried. "That's your big favor?"

One of the heads twisted around to glance back over its body.

"Look, I'm not here to tell you how to live your life. You can do it now, or you can do it later, when it doesn't matter. Your choice. Favor repaid."

"One more question," the second head added, "and you owe me."

"You don't want that," the third head said. "Really."

"No," Galaeron said. "I'm sure I don't. My thanks, and fare you well."

"No doubt of that," the sharn said, and it vanished into the whispering gloom.

More than a hundred heartbeats passed before the dark voice inside suggested that maybe they should ignore the sharn, that maybe it had been an illusion conjured up by Telamont Tanthul to trick him into using the Shadow Weave. Maybe, after all, they should hang there in the murk for a while longer. Galaeron realized that maybe his shadow self was saying the opposite of what of it truly wanted, that maybe it really wanted him to escape and was just suggesting the opposite because it knew he would do the opposite of that…

"Maybe," Galaeron said. He closed his eyes, then grasped a handful of shadow and closed his fist as well. "And maybe not."