The Summoning

CHAPTER NINETEEN

30 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp

From atop the Karsus Butte, the ruins of Karse seemed one huge mold blossom, sickly yellow and reeking of decay, studded with shadowtop snags and crisscrossed by dragonflies the size of eagles. There was a tornado of crimson mist whirling down the Heartblood River and a curtain of smoking hail sweeping across the ruins, but Galaeron had been assured by Jhingleshod that such "wizard weather" had nothing to do with the lich. Strange storms had plagued the area since long before Wulgreth's death. Galaeron and the others were standing on Karsus's "chest," outside a two-story pyramid of black marble. Though the building's darkness and gloss were a stark contrast to butte's coarse sandstone, the pyramid seemed melded to the rock, almost as though it had been grown instead of built Aris was studying the workmanship, but everyone else was keeping watch for Wulgreth. "Anything?" Galaeron asked. "Flaming rain and green lightning," reported Vala.

"Silver snow by the steaming lake," said Takari. "It can't be more than a couple of miles. Maybe a bath-" "No!"

Melegaunt and Jhingleshod spoke over each other, the wizard declaring they had important business at hand and Jhingleshod claiming that distances within the Dire Wood were deceiving. Takari pouted. "We've already wasted an hour." "An hour you do not have," said a wispy voice.

Galaeron and everyone else spun toward the sound and found themselves looking at a pale, quivering Malik. "On my life, I said nothing!"

Galaeron frowned-since the sunken bridge, it seemed people were always giving him reason to be suspicious-then he noticed a powerful-looking silhouette at Malik's feet. Galaeron gestured with his sword. "Malik, your shadow has returned." Malik looked down. "What a joy to have you back!"

"You must know I cannot say the same." As the shadow spoke, its antlers grew thinner, and the fuzzy hole in its chest began to close. "It is bad enough to follow a man about like a slave one's whole life, but when that man is the inept seraph of a-"

"Enough!" growled Melegaunt. "You have something to report, shadow?"

"I do." The antlers grew as thin as twigs, and the crimson eyes turned pale. "There was a fight in the swamp, but only one creature survived." "Which one?"

"A human." The shadow's voice was soft and wispy, almost inaudible. "With the pipe and…" "Elminster?"

The silhouette's eyes closed, then it melded into Malik's pear like figure and was just a shadow once more.

"We must go inside." Melegaunt started around the pyramid.

Jhingleshod clanged after him. "This Elminster is not my concern. You must destroy Wulgreth first."

"And we will." Galaeron scrambled after the pair. "But Melegaunt's right It's time to go inside."

Jhingleshod turned his lidless eyes on Galaeron. "You are not lying?" Though he asked it as a question, to Galaeron the words felt more like a command. "You will keep your word?"

"If this is Wulgreth's lair, well find him inside," said Galaeron. "If he's not there already, hell come when we enter."

Jhingleshod studied Galaeron with his vacant eyes for a moment, then followed Melegaunt and Vala into the crooked entrance corridor. Galaeron had Aris call upon his god to bless a full skin of water, then took Takari and Malik after the others. Too large to enter with them, the giant waited outside.

The darkness and close confines reminded Galaeron of the cairns in the Sharaedim, though the passageway smelled more like blood than dust, with just a hint of sulfur and steam. Within a few steps, the corridor opened into a vestibule lit by silver spell light. In the moment it took Galaeron's eyes to adjust to the harsh light, he heard Melegaunt saying, "Jhingleshod, here is your Wulgreth. Nothing but dust and bones."

Galaeron glimpsed the wizard's burly shape stooping to pick something up, then heard Takari hissing a spell and knew she had realized the same thing he had. "Don't touch-"

Takari's spell erupted in a terrible ringing, causing Melegaunt and Vala to cover their ears and spin toward the clamor. Galaeron pushed his way past the pair and found a cloud of dust whirling in the corner, a gray skull rising into the air atop it He motioned the others away, then breathed a silent sigh of relief when Takari canceled her spell.

"What spell was that?" he asked, keeping a wary eye on the dust pillar. "You nearly broke my eardrums."

"It was supposed to be a silence spell," Takari answered. "Something went wrong."

"Wild magic," explained Jhingleshod. "The Dire Wood is full of it, and the closer to the pyramid, the worse it grows."

"Then let me be the first to suggest we are in terrible trouble," said Malik. Hanging the skin of blessed water over his shoulder, he drew his curved dagger and waved it at the spinning dust, which was now taking a vaguely human shape. "I fear we have found Wulgreth."

"There is nothing to fear." Melegaunt took out a sliver of obsidian and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. "My spells are not affected by wild magic."

"No!" Galaeron and Takari yelled, then Galaeron added, "Whatever it does, do nothing in return." "Nothing?" Malik gasped.

"It's a demilich," Galaeron explained. "It will absorb your attacks and use the energy to return to this world."

"A demilich?" echoed Malik. "Then it will be easier to destroy?"

"Trickier," Takari said. "If we strike too early, we bring it back. If we strike too late…" "Yes?" Malik raised his brow. "If we strike too late?"

Galaeron answered, "The Tomb Guard has accounts of demiliches killing an entire company with a single screech."

"Accounts?" Malik said. "I thought you had fought many of these things!"

Galaeron and Takari exchanged looks, then he said, "There was one lich."

Malik's face was not the only one that went pale, and even Jhingleshod's lidless eyes seemed to bulge. The dust coalesced into a skeletal figure clothed in rotting silks.

"That is not Wulgreth," Jhingleshod said. "Wulgreth wore no such robes." Jhingleshod stepped toward Galaeron, but stopped when the demilich cut him off. The creature flailed at the knight's skeletal face, prompting him to step away and heft his axe. "Don't!" Galaeron yelled.

Jhingleshod checked his swing, and the demilich's claws burst into harmless clouds of dust as they struck. Fiery points of light began to burn in its empty eye sockets, then it held the stumps of its arms before its face, let out a powdery snort, and whirled on Galaeron. He lowered his sword, and the creature stepped to within a hand's breadth of him, a handful of brown-crusted gems glimmering dully in the place of several teeth. It smelled of musty dirt and stale air, and the hiss of alien winds whispered on its breath. Though Galaeron's whole body went cold and clammy, he forced himself to meet its burning gaze and show no fear.

The demilich raised an arm, where a dusty hand was forming anew, and pressed a fingertip to Galaeron's face. Though the claw did not cut, the otherworldly cold of its touch traced a line of numbness down his cheek. The elf willed himself to stand fast, and though he knew it would anger Melegaunt, readied the necessary spell. The thing opened its mouth and spewed a plume of dust into his face. Caught by surprise, he began to cough and choke, stumbling back as he tried to spit the powdery stuff from his mouth. "Poison!" Malik started for the exit.

Vala dropped an arm to block his way. "We may have need of that holy water you're carrying."

Galaeron snorted the dust from his nose, then felt his gorge rise as the reek of decay filled the room. A fringe of red, straw-coarse hair sprouted from the lich's head, then a mask of shriveled skin began to creep over its face. The open nasal cavities did nothing to improve the thing's appearance, but with a rounded forehead, overhanging brows, and hideously-skewed jaw, it would have been grotesque even with a nose.

A terrible aura of cold filled the room, and Galaeron knew the demilich's spirit had finally returned to its body He stepped forward and circled his palm before its face.

"Forget." He spoke in the ancient language of magic, calling upon Melegaunt's coldmagic to empower the spell. "Return to your rest."

The demilich lashed out, catching Galaeron by his chain mail and ripping a handful of magic-forged loops from over his breast. Vala leaped forward to attack, but the links were already falling through the creature's hand. Galaeron raised a hand to check her attack, then watched as the thing's body dissolved back into dust. When the skull sank to the floor, he motioned her forward. "Now, Vala-before the spirit flees. Cleave it in one blow."

Vala's sword descended in a black flash, splitting the skull lengthwise and dividing both sides again before they toppled to the floor. A crimson flamelight shot from the bones and streaked through Vala's body, then circled the room with a blood-curdling keen. Her jaw dropped and she looked as though she might collapse of shock, then a cold wind ripped through the room and the whirling flamelight faded from view. Galaeron glanced around the room. "Where's Malik?"

The little man stepped out of a shadowy corner, dagger clutched in his trembling hand. "Have no fear on my account."

Galaeron motioned at the skull fragments. "Douse them well-and hold your breath."

Malik did as he was asked, and the blessed water began to eat through the skull fragments, filling the room with an evil-smelling fume that troubled the little man not in the least. Everyone else withdrew to the tunnel and took turns gulping down fresh air. The bone fragments dissolved, mixing with the dust in a single muddy heap. Malik continued to pour, but no matter how much he stirred, the whole mess adhered together like bread dough. Finally, when no chips of the skull remained visible, Galaeron returned and prepared another spell. Melegaunt caught his arm. "Allow me."

"If you're not too weary, old man." Galaeron was surprised to feel his lip curl into a disparaging sneer. "All you need do is dispel the magic."

Melegaunt glowered at him. "I can manage. And 1 could have handled the forgetting magic as well."

The archwizard muttered a few syllables and waved his hand. A purple shadow fell over the doughy mass, then the mud lost its cohesiveness and spread across the floor. Malik dropped the waterskin, and on the pretext of stooping to pick it up, deftly swept up the six brown-crusted gems that had been in the demilich's mouth. Having no interest in the stones himself, Galaeron pretended not to notice.

Jhingleshod came to their side, then propped his axe on the floor and looked at his iron palm. When the gauntlet showed no sign of flaking or disintegrating, he turned to Galaeron. "What next?"

"I don't know." Galaeron glanced around the chamber, searching in vain for some hint of a forgotten step. "The lich is gone."

"What of its phylactery?" Malik quietly pocketed the gems. "I have heard it said that liches hide their life-forces in repositories-usually an item of great worth?"

"They do," said Galaeron. "But not so with a demilich. They have abandoned their repositories for worlds beyond, and remain connected to Toril only through their remains."

"Liar! Do you think your excuses can fool me?" There was a note of desperation in Jhingleshod's voice. "Had you destroyed the lich, I would not be here now."

"Unless we destroyed the wrong one," said Galaeron, recalling the argument between Melegaunt and Jhingleshod over the lich's true identity. "Malik, let me see those gems you took." "Gems?" asked the little man. "What gems are those?" "These."

Vala slipped an arm around Malik's throat and used the other to pluck the brown nuggets from his pocket. Galaeron took them and carefully scraped the brown crust from their faces. He was down to the sixth, a deep ruby, before he found the inner light for which he had been searching. Returning the others to Malik, he displayed this one to his companions.

"The chronicles suggest that this will be an imprisoned spirit," he said. "If we free it, perhaps it can help us."

Melegaunt cast an impatient eye toward the tunnel. "How long?"

"Not as long as trying to defend yourself from my axe," warned Jhingleshod.

"It will need a body," said Galaeron. "Perhaps one of the undead?"

"1 can make a body for it," said Melegaunt. "One that will be safer for it-and us."

The archwizard took a piece of shadow silk from his cloak and laid it on Vala's shoulder. Repeating a long incantation over and over, he began to knead the stuff with his fingers, spreading the dark substance over her, carefully covering her flanks, limbs, even her head and face. When he finally finished, Vala resembled a living, breathing sculpture of the blackest basalt.

Melegaunt took her hand and pulled. She emerged from the shadow as though from a dark corner, leaving a dark likeness as perfectly shaped as one of Aris's sculptures.

"If the spirit is troublesome, we can dismiss it with a little light."

Galaeron laid the gem next to the figure, then waved Jhingleshod over. "If you would smash it." "If this is one of your tricks…"

"By the shadow deep!" Melegaunt cursed. "We haven't time for trickery."

Melegaunt brought his heel down and ground the gem to powder. A crimson radiance flowed out from beneath his heel and began to climb his leg. "Oh no, my friend!"

The archwizard plunged his foot into the body he had created, then sighed in relief as the luminescence melded into the shadow. A glossy sheen spread over the figure's black flesh, then the eyes opened and stared at the ceiling. It raised a leg, and twisting it around at an impossible angle, studied its heel. Then, seemingly unaware of the arms hanging motionless at its side, did the same with the other leg-and crashed to the floor.

Galaeron rushed to its side. "We didn't know what kind of creature you were." He waved at the body. "We made this in our own fashion."

The shadow sprouted a pair of eyes on the side of its head. "You did well. The color is right."

Galaeron glanced at Melegaunt and found the wizard staring at the dark figure with a dropped jaw. When the elf looked back to the creature, it had wrapped its arms around its legs, and all four limbs were melding into the body.

"We were wondering if you could tell us…" Galaeron looked away. He could not quite keep from asking, "What are you?"

"A sharn." It was Melegaunt who said this. "At least that is what I think."

A smiling mouth appeared in the flank of the drop-shaped body "You think right, wizard." Another mouth appeared on Galaeron's side. "What is it you want to know? I am obviously in your debt."

Galaeron was too stunned to answer, as was everyone except Jhingleshod.

"We would know who captured you, and whether he has been entirely destroyed."

The sharn rose off the floor and floated toward the door. That was the lich Wulgreth, who took my soul when I came thinking to end his depredations against the empire." "Wulgreth?" echoed Jhingleshod. "Which Wulgreth?"

"The only Wulgreth that is a lich," replied the sharn. "How many do you think there can be?"

Iron shoulders slumping, Jhingleshod whirled on Galaeron. "You have not destroyed him, not completely."

"Wulgreth is completely destroyed," said the sham, now struggling to squeeze itself into the exit tunnel. "Were that not so, I would not be free."

Jhingleshod whirled on the sharn. "Liar! If Wulgreth were destroyed-"

"Jhingleshod, wait," Galaeron said, stepping in front of the iron knight "You asked the wrong question."

"Then ask the right one-and quickly" The sharn paused in the tunnel mouth, peering out from a bulbous extrusion that might or might not have been a head. "Grateful as I am, I hunger for better company than yours."

"Which empire were you trying to protect?" Galaeron asked.

"Which empire?" The sharn withdrew completely into the tunnel. "Why, the only empire of course-unless you mean to include your quaint elven confederacies." "The Netherese Empire?" Galaeron pressed.

"The very one." The sharn's voice faded as it retreated up the passageway "And now, if you'll excuse me, I shall return later to repay the favor you have done me."

"Wait!" Melegaunt stepped forward, speaking in a language of strange syllables. When the sharn did not reply, he turned back to the others, shaking his head sadly "He doesn't know. It's all gone, and he doesn't know." "The sharn were Netherese?" Galaeron gasped.

The question jolted Melegaunt out of his despair. "I don't know." He shrugged. "No one does, I suspect. There are some who claim they were Netherese arcanists who transformed themselves in order to battle the phaerimm. Others claim they came from another world. What is clear is that they had a hatred of phaerimm, or they would not have erected the Sharn Wall."

At the mention of the Sharn Wall, Galaeron cast a hopeful look up the tunnel, but Melegaunt shook his head. "He's gone, my friend-and even were he not, 1 doubt he could help us. Before we can patch the hole, we must fight our way through the phaerimm who have already escaped."

Though it angered Galaeron to concede the argument, he nodded and turned toward the back of the chamber. "Then let's find the help we need and get to it." amp;• • amp;•• amp;• •(c)•‹§›•

Keya Nihmedu stood atop the Livery Gate watchtower, slightly self-conscious in her form-fitted chain mail and painfully aware that the magic pike in her hand was no defense at all against phaerimm. Her eyes were as sharp as any in Evereska, and she had seen enough of the battle in the High Vale to know that fifty years of half-hearted blade drill- suffered daily at her father's insistence, Hanali bless him- would stand her in poor stead against the thornbacks. The unsightly monsters had already turned the high slopes into a forest of bare-limbed scarecrows, and now they were working their way onto the upper terraces of the Vine Vale, using their hideous magic to turn the vineyards into dead tangles of thorn hedges.

Most of the Long Watch felt their duties were of little real importance to the war, that they were only standing a post to free the real soldiers to fight, but Keya was not so sure. She had it from Manynests-if she understood his scattered peeptalk correctly-that the Cloudtop Magi Circle had divined the phaerimm's plan. They intended to capture Evereska much the same way they had destroyed the Netherese Empire, by using their life-draining magic to devitalize Evereska Vale. Without the surrounding lands to sustain it, the city's mythal would slowly lose its magic, and eventually it would grow too weak to keep out the thorn-backs.

At first, Lord Duirsar had not been overly worried. The groves and lands within the mythal were large enough to sustain its power for a year or two, by which time help would surely arrive. Then the high mages of the Bellcrest Spire had reminded him that plants need light and water, and the Moon-dark Circle had named a dozen spells that could shut off both. According to Manynests, Lord Duirsar had decided on the spot to create the Long Watch, and that was how Keya knew her duty to be as important as whatever her father and Galaeron were off doing-wherever they were off doing it.

Keya selected a wand from her belt and dutifully swept it across the four quarters of the sky, studying its wake of blue radiance for any telltale glimmers of invisibility magic. The wand was one of a trio quietly supplied to each member of the Long Watch by the three towers of high mages. Keya had not known there were that many circles in Evereska until Manynests had "slipped" during a rather curious visit to inform her that Lord Duirsar had not heard from her father and the Swords-a fact well known to all of Evereska.

After a day's reflection, Keya had dutifully let it slip in gossip that she had heard from a reliable source that Evereska still had three full towers of high mages. This had done much to reassure her friends, who had promptly spread the secret so efficiently that it was repeated to her twice over the next two days-exactly as Lord Duirsar had intended, she was sure. What she had not passed along was the high mages' concern about the mythal, since she felt certain the bird had, in fact, not meant to reveal that bit of bad news.

When Keya found no invisible phaerimm lurking above the mythal, she returned the wand to her belt and started a slow, top-to-bottom scan of the encircling cliffs with her naked eye. She was about halfway around when she noticed a crag hawk circling its nest, claws extended as though it would like to attack but could not. As she had been taught, Keya did not dwell on the spot or immediately reach for a wand, but marked the place in her mind and continued her routine to fool any watching phaerimm. Then, feigning boredom-also a part of Long Watch's meticulously rehearsed routine-she yawned and shook her head, studied her nails for a moment, and glanced back to the spot. The bird was still circling.

Keya retreated casually down the stairs and found a window from which she could see the hawk. Standing in the shadows, she pulled the first wand from her belt and swept it over the area. She was rewarded with a row of telltale sparkles. For the first time, her heart began to pound with excitement. Though she descended the stairs a dozen times every watch to check on something, this was the first time she had ever found anything suspicious. She pulled her second wand and waved it at the street-side window.

The image of a beautiful Gold elf appeared in the window. "What is it, Keya? If you are thirsty, I can send a boy with some wine."

"No wine, Zharilee." Keya could not keep the excitement from her voice. "I've something to report." The Gold elf arched her brow. "You're sure?"

"Crawling down the face of Snagglefang," she said, trying to remember the elements of a good report: what doing what, where, when, how many. "A group of invisibles. Maybe a dozen, side-by-side. Just passing the crag hawk's nest." "Crawling, you say? Why would they crawl?"

Keya looked back to the cliff, where the invisibles continued to descend in crooked row. "It might be a battle line."

Zharilee frowned doubtfully. "Phaerimm don't need to crawl. Why wouldn't they just float…" She let the sentence trail off and grew more serious. "I'll send word to Cloudtop. Keep watching."

The image faded, leaving Keya to her invisibles. They were descending rapidly, three of the twelve bunched together. She waved a different wand. The cliff drew close enough to see individual crags and crevices, but the wands would not work together and the twinkles were no longer visible. She went back to the first. The invisibles reached the base of the cliff and started down the jumbled talus boulders beneath. Several of the other twinkles gathered around the close-bunched trio, helping them over the rough terrain. Was the trio carrying something? No-more likely, they were two carrying a third. A pair of warriors carrying a wounded comrade.

Any lingering doubts about their identity vanished. Even had it been phaerimm crawling down the cliff, they would not be carrying wounded. From what she had seen of the thorn-backs, they did not carry their wounded anywhere-least of all into an attack. The invisibles had to be elves-or elf-friends-trying to reach Evereska.

Keya reported her observations to Zharilee, then switched wands and examined the surrounding mountainside. As she had feared, there were five phaerimm and a dozen times that many beholders and illithids scurrying through the denuded forest to intercept the band. She reported that as well.

Zharilee said she was passing the information to Cloudtop Tower, and that she was sorry, but Keya would have to watch what followed. Keya replied that watching was the least she could do. Seeing that there was no longer a danger of giving the party away, she returned to the roof for a better view. Though she would appear only a speck to the invisibles even if they knew where to look for her, she pointed toward the ambush.

The warning proved unnecessary. The invisibles paused at the bottom of the talus, then one sprayed the wood ahead with a stream of silver fire so brilliant it spotted Keya's vision from more than a thousand paces away. The five phaerimm reeled away, pouring columns of smoke into the air and slapping at their burning bodies with all four hands, and the invisibles followed the assault with a volley of enchanted arrows. As each of the shafts struck their targets, they exploded in golden flashes of magic and filled the wood with blazing red smoke.

When Keya used her wand to report this development, the too-gaunt face of Kiinyon Colbathin appeared next to Zharilee.

"This silver fire-who cast it?" he demanded. "Was it a human?"

After losing the entire tomb guard in the initial battles with the phaerimm, Kiinyon had apologized to all of Evereska and tried to resign. Lord Duirsar had refused the resignation and placed him in charge of the vale's defenses, saying that Evereska had need both of his experience and the wisdom he had earned by it. "1 can't see," Keya reported. "The smoke is too thick." "Well look, damn it!"

Keya looked, but, as she said, the smoke was impervious to sight and magic-at least any magic she had been given. All she could see was the curtain of smoke billowing across the hill, a handful of illithids scrambling up into the talus- and it occurred to her what she did not see. The invisibles had attacked, so now they should be visible-but she still couldn't see them, not with any of her wands. Realizing how well the small band had planned its attack, Keya swept her gaze down the mountainside.

She found them halfway down the Vine Vale, staggering out of a small black door in the middle of an arbor-covered terrace. The first was a bearded human in scorched robes, the hair on his bare chest singed away around a grotesque brown scar. The second was a Gold elf in the elaborate armor of an Evereskan noble, as were the third, fourth, and all the others that followed. "It's the Swords!" Keya cried. "They're back!" "The Swords?" gasped Kiinyon. "Of Evereska?"

"Well, some-a few" No sooner had Keya said this than she thought of her father and began to search the faces in the party. "1 see Lord Dureth, and Janispar Orthorion, and a black-bearded human."

"That human, could it be Khelben Arunsun?" This time it was Lord Duirsar himself asking. "And tell us how you can see them, damn it! The tower mages can't find them in that wretched smoke."

"I'm sorry, milord-they're down in the Vine Vale, in the ThistleHoney Vineyard," said Keya. "And I don't know Khelben Arunsun, but the human is carrying a black… by the golden rose, no!" "What?" demanded Lord Duirsar. " 'No,' what?"

Keya did not answer, for the last two elves emerging from the black door held a litter bearing the shrouded figure of a dead body She could not see who lay beneath the shroud, but there was no mistaking the acid-pitted helmet lashed across the figure's chest. A simple basinet of silvery mithral steel, it was by far the plainest of any worn by the Noble Blades. It belonged to Aubric Nihmedu. "Watcher!" roared Kiinyon. "Answer Lord Duirsar!"

"I–I apologize, milords," said Keya. "The human has a black beard and black staff, and he shows sign of a grave injury More than that, I cannot tell you of him."

"And why did you cry out?" prompted Zharilee. "Lord Duirsar asked about that as well."

"I saw…" Keya paused to clear the catch in her throat and saw a patrol of elves rushing past the Swords to meet two phaerimm that had teleported in to attack the battered company from behind. "Excuse me, but if you want to see Khelben Arunsun alive, you must send some war mages to help."

Before she had finished the sentence, a circle of high mages appeared between the fleeing elves and their would-be attackers. With a sweep of her hand, the center erected a wall of golden radiance and sent it rolling toward the enemy. The phaerimm countered by sending a cone of cold blasting through the wall to strike down one of the mages, then it teleported away. The surviving Swords were swept up by the patrol and hurried toward the protection of the mythal. So went the battles for Evereska, swift and deadly and never-ending.

"We'll see to the Swords, Keya." Now that things appeared to be under control, Lord Duirsar's voice was gentler. 'Tell us what you saw." "Lord Nihmedu…" She stopped to choke back a sob, then realized that her brother was now Lord Nihmedu and began to wonder what had become of him, and she could not stop the tears. "I'm sorry to report the Swords' blademajor has fallen." "Your father?" Zharilee gasped. Keya nodded and looked away from the wand-window.

"I'm sorry, Keya. He was a good friend and a loyal Evereskan," said Lord Duirsar. His voice grew softer, and he spoke to Kiinyon Colbathin. "Under the circumstances, Vale Marshall, I wonder if the Long Watcher might be excused." "Of course," said Kiinyon. "Feel free to retire, Watcher."

"Thank you, milord." Keya wiped the tears from her eyes and turned to the wand-window. "Do you have someone to relieve me, Zharilee?"

The Gold elf hesitated. "We're well-covered in other posts."

"But none of the other posts reported the Swords' return?" Keya asked.

Zharilee shook her head. "There are a couple that should have seen it, but no."

"Then I'll stay." Keya turned back toward the High Vale. "The Long Watch has its duty, too."