The Siege (9 page)

The two voices ceased murmuring, then the air grew chill and motionless.

“I know how busy the war is keeping you, Escanor,” the Most High said. His voice was as sibilant and forceful as before. “My thanks for bringing these to me.”

If the prince replied, Galaeron did not hear it.

Instead, Hadrhune said, “I have arranged an offering from the giant, Mighty One.”

“An offering? Let us see.”

The air grew less chill as the Most High moved away, then Escanor’s feet appeared beside Galaeron’s head.

“Have you power enough over your shadow to keep a civil tongue, elf?”

“If he doesn’t, I can hold if for him,” Vala said.

Escanor considered this, then said, “Good. Rise.”

Galaeron and the others stood and found themselves facing at set of stairs at the base of a murk-swaddled dais. Escanor pointed toward the rear of the party.

“It is customary to face the Most High when in his presence.”

Galaeron turned and saw a gloom-shrouded figure standing next to Aris’s ankle, cowed head turned toward the statue. He began to circle it slowly, nodding in approval as he took it in. Galaeron glimpsed a pair of platinum eyes shining out from beneath the Most High’s hood, but that was all of his face that could be seen.

After completing a full circuit, he stopped at Aris’s ankle again. The murk in front of his body swirled and there was a clapping noise, then he tipped his head back to address the giant—and Galaeron still could not see his face.

“Truly, you are the equal of any gloom-shaper in the enclave,” the Most High said. “I shall be proud to display this in the Gallery of Treasures with the city’s finest works.”

“You honor me beyond my skill,” Aris rumbled. “If you could have seen the story galleries at Thousand Faces before they were destroyed, you would know how feeble my talents truly are.”

“The phaerimm have taken much from us all,” said the Most High. “I am sure their destruction cannot replace what you lost, but know that they will pay for it with more than their lives.”

“So Melegaunt promised, and so am I here,” Aris said. “Thank you.”

Malik astonished Galaeron and—judging by the gasps of surprise—everyone else by appearing out of the gloom behind Aris’s legs. “I also come bearing gifts,” he said, reaching beneath his robes. “The One has charged me—”

“Stop!” Ruha was instantly rushing toward him, tossing sand at his hidden hand and uttering some kind of Bedine nature magic.

Before she made it far enough for Galaeron to infer what spell she meant to cast, the Most High gestured in her direction, and she was entwined in half a dozen murky tendrils. Her veil continued to flutter as she spoke her incantation, but the only thing that came out from beneath it were clouds of dark vapor.

“Did Hadrhune not warn you, Harper?” the Most High asked. “What Malik does here is no concern of yours.”

Malik smirked in the witch’s direction, then, still holding his hand beneath his robe, turned back to the Most High. “As I was saying, the One—”

‘Tour gift will have to wait until later.” The Most High moved away from the little man. “Hadrhune will arrange a time. Now, I really must start with Galaeron. If you others will excuse us, Rapha and Mees are waiting to tour the palace with you.”

So saying, he turned and vanished into the murk.

Escanor motioned Vala toward the others. “Feel free to enjoy the tour with the others. Galaeron will be fine with us.”

Vala stepped closer to Galaeron’s side. “That’s not going to happen.”

“It is.” As polite as was Escanor’s smile, it was also filled with fangs. “You have no need to worry while he is in the company of the Most High. The shadow has not been cast that Telamont Tanthul cannot tame.”

“Tanthul?” Galaeron gasped. “The same as Melegaunt Tanthul?”

The prince nodded. “And Escanor Tanthul,” he said. “All the Princes of Shade are Tanthuls.”

Telamont’s sibilant voice filled the murk around them. “Escanor!”

Escanor bowed briefly to Vala, then took Galaeron’s arm and led him away.

“Galaeron?” Vala called.

“Ill be … fine,” Galaeron said, choking on the last word. Whether he was excited or frightened even he could not tell, but his heart had risen so far into his throat that he could barely draw breath around it. “Well meet back at the villa.”

“When?”

“When he is finished,” Escanor said. “I will bring him myself.”

They passed the statue and vanished into the darkness, then emerged a dozen steps later on what felt like the mezzanine of a very high, very large atrium. Through the hole in the center, he saw what looked like half the continent of Faerűn lying spread out beneath him, from the Sword Coast in the West as far east as the great Shoal of Thirst in the desert Anauroch, from the ruins of Arabel in the south to the High Ice in the north. At the moment, most of the land west of Anauroch lay hidden beneath storm clouds, while all to the east was brown and parched with an uncharacteristic drought.

“I have brought you to our war room to show why Shade Enclave is moving away from Evereska,” said Telamont Tanthul’s wispy voice. “You wished to know.”

“I do,” Galaeron said.

“You suspect us of betraying my son’s promise,” Telamont continued.

Galaeron bit his tongue, fighting the urge to say that he knew they were.

“Speak freely,” Telamont urged. “In the war room, no opinion is dismissed lightly.”

“Very well.” Galaeron’s throat was so dry that the words stuck at the bottom. “As Netherese, you lost Anauroch to the phaerimm once.”

He paused there, trying to sort out what he believed from what his shadow believed—but Telamont was in no mood to wait.

“And you believe Melegaunt intentionally loosed the phaerimm on Evereska so that Waterdeep and the rest of Faerűn would be drawn into our war,” the Most High continued. “Say what you mean, elf. The only way to live with your shadow is to give it a voice.”

“Did you?” Galaeron asked, anger rising.

Telamont remained silent for a time, and Galaeron began to hear other voices around the rim of the war room—whispering quietly or discussing heatedly, sometimes even laughing or shouting—but when he looked toward the voices, he never saw more than a few pairs of glowing eyes, usually gem-colored, but sometimes the metallic of a royal prince.

A few moments later, Telamont Tanthul finally responded. “Drawing the elves into the war would certainly have been a useful thing to do, but you were the one who breached the Sharn Wall. How could we have foreseen that?”

How, indeed? Galaeron wondered—then, “By breaking a crypt, Melegaunt may not have known I would come, but he knew someone would.”

“That is certainly a possibility,” Telamont admitted, “but could even we Shadovar be clever enough to be sure that you would cast the proper spell at the proper time?”

“And if we are, wouldn’t you rather have us as allies than enemies?” Escanor asked.

“If you are allies,” Galaeron said, struggling to focus on the question at hand. “So far, I have seen little enough proof of that.”

“Have you?” Telamont asked. “Look again.”

Galaeron returned his gaze to continent below and

was surprised to find himself looking at nothing but storm clouds. As he watched, the clouds grew larger and darker, with flashes of lightning stabbing through their roiling heads. Then he was through, diving into a vast, rain-soaked swamp where hundreds of lizardmen were swarming a much smaller company of Shadovar.

“The Marsh of Chelimber, on the far side of the Greycloaks,” Telamont said, just a trace of pride in his voice. “You see, Shade Enclave does not need to be near to project its strength. Our warriors are shades who can walk the shadows and cross the breadth of Faerűn at will. Evereska will not suffer for our absence.”

Armed as the Shadovar were with shadow magic and shadow weapons, the shade warriors were holding their own against the primitive lizardmen. Galaeron would even have gone so far as to say it looked like they would carry the day—but it was not like lizardmen to march so steadfastly to their deaths, and never in the even ranks of a disciplined army. There was something forcing them to attack, something that made them hate the Shadovar beyond all reason—or something they feared more.

“Can you call them out?” Galaeron asked, not bothering to conceal the panic in his voice.

“That will not be necessary,” said the gravely voice of Prince Rivalen. “We are not afraid to lose a life or two in defense of our allies, and the scaly ones will lose an army.”

Galaeron looked up and saw Rivalen’s horn-helmed figure coming down the balcony, then found himself shaking his head. “There’s more to this battle than we’re seeing,” he said. “You’re the ones who lose—and to the warrior, unless you act quickly.”

Escanor asked, “You know this?”

Galaeron nodded. “I do.”

“How?” demanded Rivalen.

Galaeron could only shrug. “I don’t know how I know, only that I do.”

Escanor and Rivalen exchanged glances, and Escanor asked, “As you did at the Splicing?”

Galaeron considered this, then reluctantly shook his head. “It’s a feeling, but not as strong. It just makes sense—lizardmen don’t fight like that. Something must be driving them.”

“Phaerimm?” asked Rivalen. “We always expected a few would be outside the shell when Escanor raised it.”

“I am the one who raised it,” Galaeron said, angry that the Shadovar kept slighting the role he had played in the Splicing. “And it’s not the phaerimm. This is too direct for them.” The words seemed to be spilling from his mouth of their own accord. “They prefer to remain hidden and work through intermediaries. It must be a beholder, or maybe a squad of illithids.”

Both princes turned toward the Most High. Astonished at having won the argument so easily, Galaeron did likewise—and found Telamont Tanthul standing only a few paces away, his platinum eyes glaring down out of the depths of his cowl. Galaeron still could not make out the shape of his face, or even whether the Most High was bearded like Melegaunt or clean-shaven like most of the other princes.

Telamont looked over Galaeron’s head to the princes and said, “Our question as been answered.”

No sooner had he spoken than the Shadovar company began to bleed into the flashing shadows of the lightning storm, leaving the astonished lizardmen free to overrun the position—and the beholder that suddenly grew visible behind their lines so angry that it began to spray its disintegration ray around at random. Galaeron glared at the scene for a moment, then turned to find Telamont Tanthul still staring down at him with those platinum eyes.

“You were with Melegaunt when he died,” Telamont said. “Something passed between you.”

“I blanked out,” Galaeron gasped, recalling the confused battle in which Melegaunt perished. “When I came to, he was gone.”

“Not gone.” Telamont drifted closer, until he was near enough to raise a murky sleeve and lay something dark and cold on Galaeron’s shoulder. “Through you, he still serves.”

“That’s why you brought me here?” The air was so cold and still that Galaeron was finding it difficult to breathe. “Because Melegaunt passed his knowledge of the phaerimm to me?”

“That is not a bad thing,” Escanor said. “Partners in need forge the strongest alliances.”

14 Mirtul, the Year of Wild Magic

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

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

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

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

Keya remained in her hollow in the linden’s thick trunk, standing behind her screen of bark, hardly daring to breathe. She spent the next few minutes wondering why the phaerimm had picked this particular place on this particular morning to hold a conversation and what

she was going to do if—when—Khelben and the Vaasans returned. She could not speak the word of passing with two thornbacks lurking outside—not even for one of the Chosen, not for her Vaasan friends, not even if her own brother Galaeron were to suddenly appear outside Meadow Wall. When an elf opened a gate in the mythal, she could not control who used it. Once the phaerimm were inside, it would take only a moment to cast the same life-draining magic that had already withered the vineyards of the Vine Vale and denuded the once-majestic spruce stands of the Upper Vale, and that was something Keya could not permit—not when the mythal was already growing weak.