The Sorcerer

CHAPTER TWENTY

2 Eleasias, the Year of Wild Magic

The grim expressions on the high mages' amber faces as they examined the tattered hem of Hanali Celanil's stone cloak told Galaeron all he needed to know. The phaerimm had undone too many of the mythal's ancient spells for his plan to work. Before they could proceed, the circle would have to repair the damage-provided they were willing to make the sacrifice for a city that was not even their own.

Not waiting for the high mages to announce the conclusion themselves, Galaeron turned to Lord Duirsar and the others waiting with him in the shadow of the great statue, and said, "Milord, the phaerimm have done too much damage." To make himself heard over the battle roar coming from the slopes below, Galaeron nearly had to shout "The high mages need time to do a high casting, and that means we must be prepared to defend them."

"If time is all we need, we have this battle won already," said Kiinyon Colbathin. Like Lord Duirsar and every other Evereskan in the courtyard, Kiinyon was dressed in a full suit of much-dented battle armor that-by the smell of him- he had not shed in the better part of a tenday. "Young Lord Nihmedu's plan has proven an excellent one. We have only to send the Long Watch down the slope, and we'll have the enemy trapped."

"For how long?" asked Storm. She was standing behind Lord Duirsar, towering over his shoulders with Khelben and Laeral. "Any victory here will be short-lived until we repair the mythal. The phaerimm have tens of thousands of their mind-slaves scattered across Evereska, and I'd bet my hair that most of them are on their way here right now."

"All the more reason to move swiftly," Kiinyon replied.

He turned toward the back of the courtyard, where the Long Watch was forming into battle ranks as they emerged from Laeral's teleport circle. He summoned the company commander forward, then turned back to Storm and said, "Once we seize the breastworks, it will not matter how many mind-slaves the phaerimm send against us. Galaeron's plan is an excellent one, and I'm confident we can hold long enough to see it through."

"Yes," Lord Duirsar said, making a point of casting an approving nod in Galaeron's direction, "you may well have saved us."

"Not so easily as Master Colbathin suggests, I fear," Galaeron said. "The mind-slaves below are not the danger."

"They are," Kiinyon declared. The commander of the Long Watch-a young Gold elf female named Zharilee- arrived at his side, and he turned and spoke to her. "When the Cold Hand drives the mind-slaves out of their entrenchment, they will have no place to retreat but here. The Long Watch will prevent that, descending through the forest to fall on them from behind. The enemy will be trapped between two of our companies, and it will be a simple matter to seize the entrenchment for our own use."

He nodded and waved Zharilee away to execute his order. Galaeron bit his tongue to keep from calling Kiinyon-a former commander who had spent two decades making Galaeron's life as a Tomb Guard as miserable as possible-a fool.

Instead, Galaeron said, "If s the phaerimm I'm concerned about. They can teleport into the courtyard as easily as we can."

"Didn't you say that they wouldn't do that?" asked Storm. " "Without their leader, they'll be too disorganized and busy thinking of themselves to counterattack.' I'm sure you said that"

"I did." Galaeron felt the heat come to his face but continued in a sure voice, "And without their leader, that would be so."

Khelben winced, closed his eyes, and said, "Don't tell me-"

"The leader survived."

Galaeron did not explain what had happened, in large part because he didn't know. Takari might have ignored his order and gone straight after Kuhl's sword, or she might have gone around the tree to finish the leader off and discovered that he was already gone.

"But it was injured?" Laeral asked.

"Yes," Galaeron said. "Very badly. It was unconscious for a time."

"Then it won't return," Kiinyon said. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded approvingly as the Long Watch filed down the hill. These phaerimm are cowards at heart. Hurt them once, and they run for cover."

"Normally, yes."

As he spoke, Galaeron's mind was racing. With Kiinyon having committed the Long Watch to battle, any attempt to recall them would be noticed by the enemy, and it wouldn't take the phaerimm long to puzzle out why. If Galaeron wanted to foil the counterattack, he would have to find a more subtle way.

"This one was the leader," he continued. "It will have too much at stake to give up. It'll be back with all the help it can muster."

Kiinyon shook his head and started to chide Galaeron for contradicting him, but Lord Duirsar raised a silencing hand.

"How can you know this?" he asked Galaeron. "You speak as though you've lived among the phaerimm."

"Not exactly," Galaeron said.

Though he knew the dim view his fellow Evereskans were likely to take regarding the source of his information, he explained without hesitation how Melegaunt had passed on his knowledge before dying-and how he had been forced to yield to his shadow before he could retrieve it The tale evoked an expression somewhere between revulsion and pity from Lord Duirsar and plain revulsion from Kiinyon Colbathin.

"So you're telling us your information comes from the Shadovar?" Kiinyon asked. The last of the Long Watch was disappearing into the forest, and the sound of their first attacks could already be heard rolling up from the far side of the courtyard. "Milord, Galaeron's intentions have always been good, but his naivet? has made him a pawn of the Shadovar from the start"

Khelben started to defend Galaeron, but Lord Duirsar cut him off by speaking directly to Kiinyon.

"Master Colbathin, did you not say just a moment ago that Lord Nihmedu's plan was an excellent one?"

Kiinyon scowled but nodded.

"Then I suggest we listen to him."

"Thank you, milord," Galaeron said. Though the relief he experienced was for Evereska, he did not try to hide the triumph he felt. "I'm sure Master Colbathin will find he was correct in his first assessment of my plan."

"I wouldn't be too impressed with myself," Kiinyon said. His eyes looked as dangerous as those of any beholder. "Ill recall the Long Watch."

Galaeron caught him by the elbow. "It's too late for that"

Kiinyon glared down at the hand on his arm as though he would bite it off.

Galaeron continued to hold it.

"This is what we must do now…"

He explained his idea, emphasizing how important it was that the Chosen save their silver fire until the mythal had been repaired, then he asked, "Any questions?"

"Only one," Khelben said. "What if we're not quick enough?"

"Then the high mages die and we continue the fight for Evereska without them… or the mythal," Lord Duirsar said, drawing his ancient sword. "So I suggest we be quick enough."

Lord Duirsar asked the high mages to begin their repair of the mythal at once, and Galaeron spent the next few minutes positioning his 'troops' in the shadows around the statue. He would have liked to have Aris there with them, but they had already decided the giant would be most useful supporting Keya and assigned him to join the Cold Hand after departing the palace. Galaeron thought he could hear Aris's boulders crashing into the enemy entrenchment already, but with the battle roar below, it was impossible to be certain.

Once the others were arrayed in their hiding places along the edge of the courtyard, Galaeron stepped into the shadow of the statue itself. He took one last glance around. Seeing that Lord Duirsar, Kiinyon, and the Chosen were all safely concealed within the Fringe, he descended into the shadows himself. The phaerimm were surely wary of such hiding places, but there would be a moment after they arrived when their caution would not matter. It was then that Evereska would be won or lost, Galaeron finally redeemed or forever vilified.

The high mages had already encircled Hanali’s statue and begun their work. The two assistants stood to either side of the goddess, their palms turned down, drawing from the ground the golden strands of Weave magic the phaerimm had released earlier. Their dulcet voices were raised in intonation, each singing a separate spell of support, yet weaving their words together in music like harmony.

The leader stood behind the goddess, casting a protection spell so ancient the words barely seemed Elvish. As he sang, he was taking the Weave strands from his two assistants and plaiting them back into the hem of Hanali’s cloak, slowly restoring it to its original flawless condition. With every fiber he restored, the mage grew a little wispier and more translucent, as though weaving himself into the mythal. Though Galaeron was hardly privy to the secrets of elven high magic, he had heard whispers of spirit-binding during his time at the Academy of Magic, and he knew what he was seeing. The leader would become a part of the mythal, watching over Evereska for all time.

The high mages continued their work for what seemed an eternity, slowly weaving the magic back into the mythal and restoring the statue to its original state. Galaeron concentrated on watching for phaerimm but found his attention drifting to their work more often as time passed. They wove in the most powerful magic first-the spells of imprisonment and foresight and meteor storms-and saved the simpler magic for last By the time they had worked their way down to relatively minor magic like detection spells and dimensional locks, the leader was so translucent it was possible to look through him to the far side of the courtyard.

Only a few ragged edges remained to repair on Hanali’s cloak, and the battle in the entrenchment was raging ever louder, suggesting that mind-slave reinforcements were already starting to pour in from the rest of Evereska. Galaeron knew Kiinyon and the others would be wondering if he had been wrong about the phaerimm counterattack after all, but the long wait only convinced him that the leader had more influence than he had believed. Even for the phaerimm, it took time to gather resources-and the longer they took, the more they were gathering.

The high mages were down to their last magic-simple spells of soft falling and true striking-when half a dozen phaerimm crackled into existence around the statue. Teleport-dazed though they were, they arrived attacking, spraying the courtyard with golden bolts of magic and long tongues of flame. Most of the attacks were blind and found no target at all, but one flurry did strike a supporting mage. Her spell shield flashed silver and dissipated, drained by the power of the attack, and one missile penetrated to burn a thumb-sized hole in her shoulder.

The mage continued her incantation without missing a syllable.

Galaeron and the other two elves were already leaping from their hiding places, each rushing to attack the nearest phaerimm and hurling his most powerful death spell at the next closest Galaeron sent a dark bolt hissing through the torso of his first thornback and glimpsed Lord Duirsar's falling to a black death ray that could have taken a giant Then he was on his second target, slashing his darksword down the length of its thorny body. The creature vanished in a twinkle of teleport magic, leaving behind a pool of black blood.

More crackles sounded around the courtyard as a second wave of phaerimm arrived flinging magic and fire. Galaeron raised a shadow shield to cover his back, then hurled a flight of dark bolts at the first thornback he saw and charged the second. A scything blade appeared out of nowhere and came swinging at him from the side. He blocked with the edge of his darksword, cleaving it down the center, and turned back to find Storm Silverhand stepping out of the shadows behind his attacker. Dispelling its blade guard with one hand and swinging her sword with the other, she lopped the phaerimm's tall off about a third of the way up its body-then came staggering in Galaeron's direction as an errant fireball ricocheted off her shoulder and went raging into the forest

Eyes flashing, Storm whirled on her attacker and charged. The battle became a mad melee of spell, blade, and claw. A female voice shrieked in pain. Galaeron spun around to see the high mage who had been wounded earlier falling to the ground. Where once there had been a leg she had only a smoking wound, but she was still singing her alarm spell and feeding golden strands of Weave to the leader.

Galaeron rushed to help, but Kiinyon was closer. Hurling a flight of magic bolts at her attacker, the legendary spellblade sprang to her side and caught her under the arm. His bolts dissipated harmlessly against the phaerimm's spell shield, but by then Galaeron was flinging a shadow net over it from behind. The startled thornback tried to teleport away and exploded into a thousand fleshy cubes.

Kiinyon pulled the mage to her feet, holding her up so she could finish the spell and shielding her with his own body. A trio of lightning flashes streaked in from all sides, and Galaeron knew the phaerimm were recovered enough from their teleport afterdaze to mount a concerted attack.

The first bolt overloaded Kiinyon's spell shield and drew a startled curse. The second caught him square in the chest, melting through his armor and setting him on fire at head, hands, and feet. The third bolt caught the high mage square in the back and slammed her headlong into the side of Hanali's leg. Her body didn't even go limp; it burst into flames and flew apart

The spell songs of the other two high mages fell out of harmony, and the leader's hands began to fumble as he struggled to continue weaving. Though they were also under attack, it was not as heavy as on Galaeron's side of the statue, and Laeral and Khelben were doing a good job of keeping it that way.

Racing the last five steps to Hanali's feet, Galaeron flung a shadow sphere into the head-disk of one of the mage's attackers and hurled his darksword through the torso of the second, then he stepped over Kiinyon's body and turned his palms toward the ground. He was no high mage, but the alarm spell was not difficult, and he had seen enough of how the circle harmonized to stand in.

Galaeron began to sing.

The surviving high mages faltered. The leader turned his translucent head toward Galaeron and studied him for a moment, then looked back to his weaving. Galaeron feared the two mages would not accept him into their circle but they adjusted their pitch to blend with his more sonorous voice and continued their spells.

Galaeron felt a slight impact as a flurry of spells struck him in the back and disappeared into his shadow shield. His heart raced with the knowledge that he was standing there motionless while a bevy of phaerimm hurled magic at him, but he forced the fear from his mind and gave himself over to the song he was creating with the high mages. He began to twist his fingers through the gestures of the alarm spell, drawing the magic up out of the ground as he had seen the dead mage do.

The strands came up dark and cold.

Galaeron's voice quavered, but when he hesitated to pass the shadow magic over, the leader reached over with a translucent hand and took the first black thread. As the mage plaited the strand into the hem of Hanali’s cloak, his eyes darkened, becoming a pair of murky orbs floating in a transparent face. He reached over and took the next strand from Galaeron's hand.

A three-armed phaerimm flew up beside the statue where its attacks wouldn't be blocked by the shadow shield protecting Galaeron's back. It plunged its tall barb into his belly. So absorbed in the spell song was Galaeron that it barely registered that this was the leader or that it was pumping its poison into him. He felt his feet leave the cobblestones, but that troubled him no more than did the distant pain burning in his belly.

Lord Duirsar was there, beating the phaerimm back with spell and blade. Galaeron continued to sing. He was one with the high mages, concerned only with the casting. The leader reached up and took the next strand from Galaeron with an invisible hand. This time, when he plaited the thread into Hanali's cloak, he followed it in.

Galaeron came to the end of his song, and his belly erupted in pain. He did not realize that the casting was finished and he had been released from the spell until he saw Lord Duirsar below him, fighting the phaerimm leader toe-to-tall, driving it back with flashing steel and pelting it with bolt after bolt from a magic ring. Storm was rushing to the elf lord's side, one hand raised to hurl her own spells, the other still carrying her sword.

Galaeron reached for his shadowsilk but knew even as tried he would not succeed. The phaerimm's poison had left him paralyzed and floating helplessly above the ground. As he watched, two more phaerimm appeared at Storm's back, spraying fire and lightning blindly and lashing out with their tolls. He shifted his eyes in the opposite direction and saw that the situation was much the same in the rest of the courtyard, with Khelben and Laeral standing back-to-back and wary phaerimm pelting them from a distance.

Newly repaired though it was, the mythal remained exhausted and starved from the abuse it had suffered since the start of the phaerimm invasion. It mustered itself enough to send a single golden meteor streaking down into the courtyard. The orb blasted only one of the phaerimm that had just teleported in behind Storm, leaving the other to tumble off smoking and teleport away.

The boom was loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the courtyard. Lord Duirsar narrowly blocked a tail barb when he spun around to see what had caused the sound. Storm, who had been much closer to the explosion, was left picking herself up off the cobblestones.

"Storm!" Galaeron had to hiss the words between clenched teeth, but he knew that as one of the Chosen, she would hear. "The mythal is whole! Use the silver-"

The phaerimm leader gestured in Galaeron's direction, and even his muttering grew silent Lord Duirsar took advantage of the opening to pour a flurry of magic bolts into the thornback's torso and send it tumbling away, then Storm turned and loosed a stream of silver fire into the base of Hanali's statue. Khelben and Laeral followed her lead an instant later, and the statue began to glow with a bright silver light.

The glow faded as quickly as it had appeared. The phaerimm leader hurled a black death ray at Lord Duirsar that the elf lord sent ricocheting off with a spell mirror. Taking a cue from their leader, the other phaerimm renewed their attacks, and Galaeron began to think that he had failed Evereska again, that his idea had been disastrously misguided and even the unadulterated magic of the Chosen's silver fire could not provide the burst of energy the mythal needed to defend Evereska. Fighting through his disappointment and pain, he opened himself to the Shadow Weave and prepared to loose a shadow blast. He had no control over his own movement, but if a phaerimm happened to pass-

A rain of golden meteors came streaking down from the sky, crackling, sizzling, and leaving a long trail of black smoke in their wake. The first one struck the phaerimm leader, blasting the creature into a spray of sparkling nothingness and laying Lord Duirsar out on the ground next to it. The next three landed in a semicircle around Khelben and Laeral, leaving the two Chosen slumped back-to-back, their eyes as round as coins and their jaws hanging slack. Two more crashed down behind Storm, who flinched a little and looked around to see if there was anything left to kill.

It took only four more strikes in half as many seconds before there wasn't anything left to kill. The rest of the phaerimm-the few who had survived-teleported away, and the meteor shower began to spread outward from the statue, seeking targets in other parts of the city. Galaeron saw perhaps another dozen strikes before the rain grew erratic and dwindled away, leaving the sky streaked with the smoky trails of their descent

No, not smoke. Smoke trails grew crooked and feathery as they dissipated in the breeze. The streaks remained straight, narrow, and dark.

"Are those what I think they are?" Storm asked.

Galaeron looked down to see Storm below him. She had a coil of elven rope she had taken from Kiinyon’s belt and was busy tying a slip knot. He would have asked her what she thought the stripes were, except that he remained both paralyzed from the phaerimm leader's poison and silenced by its magic. It was probably just as well-he really didn't want to be the one to say they were shadows.

Storm finished her knot, then deftly tossed the loop up over Galaeron's feet.

"Well, Galaeron," she said as she began to pull him down, "when you save a city, you certainly leave your mark."

•O- •©• •©••©••€›•

For the third time in as many hours, the Chosen poured their silver fire into the base of Hanali Celanil’s statue. A silver blush rolled up the goddess's imposing figure, then slowly faded as the ravenous mythal drew the raw magic into itself. Moments later, a swarm of golden meteors crackled down from the sky, each streaking toward a distant part of the city where some enemy of Evereska's lay hiding from the mythal’s justice.

Galaeron supposed that most of those enemies were still phaerimm, but the last time the meteors had fallen, he had seen them strike beholders and illithids, even a bewildered bugbear who looked more interested in fleeing the city than conquering it. Once the mythal might have shown mercy on a hapless mind-slave as much a victim of the phaerimm as Evereska's own citizens, but no longer. The renewed mythal concerned itself only with who was an enemy to the city and who was a friend, and it destroyed enemies and protected friends.

Considering the stripes of shadow that remained behind every time a meteor descended, Galaeron half expected the next golden ball to land on him, but the mythal had finished with the courtyard surrounding Hanali’s statue, and even with the hill below. No attacks had fallen anywhere near the hill since the second wave, when its deadly barrage had broken the counterattack on the captured entrenchment and sent the phaerimm mind-slaves fleeing for the far corners of the city. With reinforcements pouring up the hill by the dozens, victory was only a matter of waiting and consolidating, of carefully expanding the areas of elf control each time the mythal struck.

Galaeron should probably have felt proud, but in truth he was simply restless. After the mythal's initial strike, Laeral Silverhand had attended to his stomach wound, and finding no phaerimm egg planted inside, pronounced him likely to survive but in need of rest. Storm had trickled a healing potion down his throat, then tied him down to a tree root to wait for the phaerimm's paralysis poison to wear off, and there he had been stuck, wondering what had become of Vala and Aris, of Keya and her Vaasan friends, and most of all, what had happened between Takari and Kuhl and their sword.

It was another quarter hour before Galaeron could move his fingers, and a quarter hour after that before he had control enough to untie Storm's torturous knots. By the time he succeeded, Lord Duirsar was holding a meeting with the Chosen, the commanders of the city's surviving companies, Aris, and anyone else likely to play an important part in the events to come.

Galaeron coiled the rope and hung it on his belt, then straightened his armor and started across the courtyard to join the others. Storm's healing potion had proven remarkably effective. Though he had felt the phaerimm's tall barb sink deep, the wound caused him little discomfort as he walked, and when he looked down, he was surprised to find the puncture already closed.

As Galaeron approached, his sister Keya was the first to notice. Without excusing herself from the circle kneeling in front of Lord Duirsar, and apparently not caring that she was bringing the meeting to a dead stop, she leaped to her feet and rushed across to him with her arms spread wide.

"Brother!"

Keya threw herself into Galaeron so hard that he stumbled back and would have fallen, had she not closed her arms around his shoulders and caught him.

"You're well?" she asked.

"Well enough," Galaeron laughed. He pried himself loose and held her at arm's length. "And you?"

"Not a scratch."

Keya did a twirl to demonstrate, though she was so crusted in dirt and blood that it was barely possible to tell she was female.

"I'll take your word for it. And what of the others?"

"We lost Kuhl," said Vala, coming to join them. She smiled grimly. "Everyone else made it."

"I'm sorry for Kuhl's loss." Galaeron took her hands, then said quietly, "And glad to see you still here."

"Then how about showing it?"

Vala kissed him deep and hard, drawing a hearty and somewhat astonished laugh from the others in the crowd. She held the kiss just long enough to be scandalous, then released him and nodded over her shoulder at Takari.

"And showing it not just to me," Vala said.

Not quite sure what to make of Vala's remark or Takari's unaccustomed meekness, Galaeron went to Takari. He was hardly surprised to find Kuhl's darksword in her scabbard, but when he looked into her eyes, the shadow was gone. There was sorrow and guilt, perhaps, but no darkness.

"Galaeron, I'm sorry," Takari said, hardly able to look him in the eye. "I didn't mean to leave my post, but it was already gone when I went around the tree, so when I heard the Cold Hand trying to attack…"

"It's all right"

"I thought I should go help," she continued. "It was probably just the curse…"

"Whatever it was, Takari, you did the right thing," Galaeron said, taking her hands. He didn't know what had happened with Kuhl's sword and wasn't sure he ever wanted to, but he could see by the clearness in her eyes that she had not been taken by her shadow. "I'm just happy you're still here."

Takari smiled that carefree cupid's bow smile that he remembered from all those years on the Desert Border South.

Galaeron could not resist. He kissed her as hard as Vala had kissed him, though this time the crowd's astonishment took the form of a shocked murmur rather than a hearty laugh. It didn't matter to Galaeron. He loved Takari and Vala both, and he had made so many mistakes so much worse on the way to saving Evereska that he really didn't care what they thought. He would not curb his feelings to please anyone-he had learned that much at least.

"Ahem," said Lord Duirsar's familiar voice. "If I might intrude."

Galaeron and Takari parted-reluctantly-and he bowed to the elf lord.

"Thank you. Now that you seem to be feeling better-" Duirsar drew a nervous chuckle from the assembly by turning to them and arching one of his gray eyebrows-"it occurs to me that with the death of Kiinyon Colbathin, Evereska has need of a new Master of the Defenses."

"Galaeron would make a fine commander," said Laeral Silverhand. "He has already saved the city once."

"Hear, hear!" cried Dexon, limping up behind Keya on his still-withered leg. "I can tell you, your young cubs are already recounting the tales of how he lured the phaerimm to their deaths."

As the Vaasan spoke, Keya, Zharilee, and the other commanders of the elven companies were kneeling on the cobblestones. They drew their swords and turned the tips toward Galaeron, then touched them to the ground in a gesture of loyalty. Even the high mage from Evermeet, the one whom Galaeron had joined in repairing the last strands of the mythal, dropped to a knee and inclined his head.

It did not escape Galaeron's notice, however, that it was only the humans who were actually voicing their approval. With the exception of Takari and his sister Keya, the elves were reluctant to meet his eyes, and many of them seemed unable to keep their gazes from straying toward the shadow-striped sky.

"What say you, Galaeron?" Lord Duirsar laid a hand on Galaeron's shoulder. "Will you lead the defenders of Evereska-what few of us remain?"

"Milord, I don't know what to say."

Instead of kneeling to accept the appointment, Galaeron turned and looked into the eyes of the high mage. There he did not find even the uncertainty and apprehension that filled the eyes of the others-only revulsion, fear, and mistrust. Of all the elves there in the courtyard, the high mage had felt the touch of Galaeron's shadow most clearly, and it was in his eyes that Galaeron could read his future in Evereska. He inclined his head to the mage not in bitterness or anger, but acknowledgement and acceptance, then turned back to Lord Duirsar.

"Lord Duirsar, I will, of course, serve Evereska until we have seen the last of the phaerimm and their mind-slaves driven from the Shaeradim."

He glanced in Takari's direction and allowed his glance to linger there until he saw realization dawn in her eyes, then he turned to face Vala.

"But I have given my word to Vala that I would see the darkswords we have borrowed returned safely to their families in Vaasa."

Duirsar's jaw dropped, and a murmur of disbelief rustled through the assembly. No elf dared refuse Lord Duirsar-at least no elf who was a citizen of Evereska.

"Galaeron!" Vala hissed. "There's no need-"

"I am an elf," Galaeron cut her off. His eyes darted toward the high mage. "I keep my promises."

Even Vala could not miss the gratitude and relief in the high mage's expression.

"I hope you understand, milord," Vala said. "It is a matter of some importance to my people that the weapons be returned by the one who borrowed them."

Taken aback though he was by Galaeron's refusal, Lord Duirsar was nevertheless wise enough to recognize a graceful out when it was offered. He nodded courteously and smiled.

"It was rude of me not to think of that. I'm quite certain we'll be able to find someone else." He paused for a moment then turned to Keya and said, "And what of you, young Lady Nihmedu? Will we be needing to find a new commander for your company as well?"

Dexon limped forward, as completely oblivious to the proper etiquette as only a Vaasan could be, and growled, "With your permission, Milord, we'll be making our home here-as long as you can stomach me, that is."

Lord Duirsar turned to Vala and asked, "Would that be agreeable to the Granite Tower?"

"He's free to do as he pleases," Vala said. She reached out and pinched Dexon's swarthy cheek. "As long as he gives the baby a Vaasan name."

"At least the first one," Keya promised.

"Very well, then," Duirsar said, turning to Dexon. Then it would be our honor to 'stomach you* for the rest of your life, my friend."

Dexon grinned and engulfed Lord Duirsar in a bear hug.

While the elf lord endeavored to extract himself, Vala turned to Takari and said, "And you're free to do as you please, too."

Takari frowned. "Free?" she asked. "Of course I'm free. I'm Sy’Tel’Quess."

"Let me put this another way," Vala said. "As the bearer of Kuhl's child and his darksword, you have a home with us in Vaasa."

"With you?" Takari said, She smiled broadly and came over to stand with Vala and Galaeron. "We're all going to Vaasa to live in the Granite Tower… together?"

"If you like, yes."

Vala glanced at Galaeron as though looking for rescue, but of course he only smiled and used fingertalk to thank her. She went pale, but quickly collected herself and took Takari by the arm.

"We have some very interesting customs in Vaasa," Vala said, narrowing her eyes at Galaeron. "Our men sleep in the snow."