by Troy Denning
"Then it must be an evil magic." Galaeron retrieved his sword. He could still feel the strange ribbon of coldness that connected him to the ground. "I would that you had never shown it to me."
"Do not let the guardian frighten you." Melegaunt laid a hairy human hand on Galaeron's shoulder. The greatest treasures are always protected, and this one is key to defeating the phaerimm. It is the only magic they do not understand. If we are to save Evereska, you will need to wield it well, and wield it often."
CHAPTER SEVEN
23 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp
The phaerimm WarGather lay exactly where Melegaunt had said it would, in the dwarven workings just beyond the breach in the Sharn Wall. A green spell glow hung in the air, barely bright enough to illuminate the room and render Galaeron's dark sight unnecessary. The tiny chamber was packed with phaerimm, the last two feet of their tails dragging on the floor so they could float upright beneath the low ceiling. They were surrounded by swirling clouds of dust, stirred up by a cacophony of strange whistling winds similar to the sand devils he occasionally saw spinning across the sands of Anauroch. In the back of the room, barely visible through jostling phaerimm and swirling dust clouds, a cage of polished bones barricaded the entrance to a side passage. The vertical bars were made of sturdy human thigh bones, stacked one atop another and fused together with magic. With a lighter color and generally more delicate form, the crossbars were probably elf. The door was a grillwork of ribs interlaced around four skulls, two human and two elf, with sad eyes still floating in the sockets.
The door was hanging ajar, and the attention of the phaerimm seemed to be centered on the tunnel wall beside it, where a pair of elves sat against the stony wall. Through the forest of phaerimm bodies, Galaeron recognized the gilded seams of Kiinyon Colbathin's plate armor. The other figure Galaeron could not identify, though the glimpses of gold thread and red silk suggested it was a high mage.
It was difficult to see more. He and Melegaunt were on the far side of the Sharn Wall, squatting opposite each other to peer through the hole that had been opened by the beholder Shatevar. Vala and her men were a hundred paces away, keeping watch in case any more phaerimm appeared. Even at that distance, their thoughts poured through Galaeron's mind in a constant stream. He tried to focus on the three phaerimm nearest the two prisoners.
Your crudeness has given us nothing but corpses, Tha, said the one nearest Kiinyon. Though it seemed to be addressing its fellow through the swirling winds, Galaeron could understand it only by concentrating on its thoughts. The effort made his head ache, for the message itself was often lost in an emotional muddle of jealousy and contempt. It is time to let someone more skillful rack them.
Perhaps, Zay-if there were one more skillful, responded Tha.
The others have screamed their throats raw and told you nothing, countered Zay. First we must break their will Only then they will tell us the words.
Melegaunt tapped Galaeron's arm. Words? The wizard did not speak, but only thought the question.
Probably words of passing. Galaeron intentionally avoided any mention of the mythal.
/ should have known, Melegaunt responded. There's a mythal. Galaeron scowled. I said nothing about a mythal. Melegaunt shrugged. Words have shadows, too.
So I've noticed, Galaeron thought. But what would Evereska's mythal explain-if there was one, that is?
Melegaunt smiled knowingly Phaerimm need magic in their environment to survive, just as you and I need air. Without it, they starve.
Then why are they still alive? Galaeron asked. There can't be much magic in Anauroch.
More than you think. What do you imagine the Shorn Wall is?
The barrier that imprisons them sustains them? surmised Galaeron. Cruel.
Perhaps, but not as cruel as what will they will do to Evereska-if it has a mythal, said Melegaunt. Phaerimm are solitary, contentious creatures, but there are almost forty of them living close together in the ruins of Myth Drannor.
Galaeron nodded, already taking the wizard's meaning. The ancient mythal that had once protected Myth Drannor had not perished with the city. Though it had deteriorated over the ages, it was still very powerful-powerful enough, apparently, to nourish a colony of phaerimm. And if the deteriorating magic of Myth Drannor's mythal was enough to sustain forty of the creatures, he could only shudder at the thought of how many Evereska's far stronger mythal might support.
Galaeron shook his head at the thought of the evil he had unleashed.
Melegaunt tapped Galaeron's knee. You did not unleash this. You were executing a sworn duty. If the blame lies anywhere, it lies with me.
Galaeron shook his head. / knew we were in above our heads the instant I saw Vala's beholder, and she warned me so. Had I listened-
You would have violated your oath to protect the crypts of your ancestors, which is not something Galaeron Nihmedu would do, Melegaunt said. And had I not been so eager to escape, I would not have instructed Vala to break even a Vyshaan crypt in order to find the dwarven mine. At the least, the fault is ours together, and there is no use second-guessing ourselves. Know that had you been a coward and turned your back on me, the evil you did would have been far greater than this. We are going to set things right, you and I together, but this matter is bigger than Evereska-much bigger. Even were we to fail and Evereska to fall, what you did would still be worth it. To a human, perhaps, Galaeron thought.
Though he did not think it consciously he knew that if Evereska fell, his name would be vilified in the coming ages as terribly as that of the Vyshaan or the drow On Faerun, at least, Evereska was the last haven of elven civilization-all that remained of the empires that had founded mighty cities such as Cormanthor and Siluvanede. More determined than ever to find a way to stop the phaerimm-to destroy their entire race, if need be-he turned back to the War-Gather.
Having won the argument about the best way to proceed with the interrogation, Zay was holding Kiinyon Colbathin spread-eagled above its-his-toothy maw, flicking his barbed tail across the bloody rents in the tomb master's battered armor.
Would you like that, elf? The phaerimm was using thought-speech alone to talk to his prisoner, for the wind language of the phaerimm was clearly not one most elves were likely to speak. It would be an honor to carry my egg.
The barbed tail arced down to touch Kiinyon's lips, then the creature motioned to several fellows. They leveled themselves horizontally and ran their own tails over the elf's body, probing for holes and seams in his armor.
Perhaps I will let you carry eggs for all my friends, taunted Zay. Kiinyon seemed barely conscious enough to notice. His eyes were swollen half shut, his broken nose spread across both cheeks, his lip split so badly that the tip of his tongue showed where there should have been teeth. It was more difficult to tell the condition of the body beneath the armor, save that the deep creases and puckers bespoke plenty of bruises.
Would you like that, slave? All those larva grooving inside, slithering through your entrails, eating the food from your stomach? Impossibly, Kiinyon shook his head and said, "No."
The word was so garbled that Galaeron barely understood it. He was surprised to discover he felt none of the tomb master's pain. Elves who lived even in reasonably close contact were so connected to each other-through the Reverie and the Weave-that they shared at least some shadow of each other's emotional experiences. Instead, Galaeron sensed Kiinyon's anguish and fear only through Melegaunt's eavesdropping spell. There was even-he was ashamed to admit- some small part of him that actually took pleasure in the tomb master's pain.
Galaeron found the strange emotion as puzzling as he did frightening. Elves were not spiteful, for their emotional bonds tended to curb such low passions. In a very real sense, to wish pain on another was to wish it on oneself, and not even the most arrogant Gold was foolish enough to do that The vile sentiments Galaeron was experiencing seemed all too human.
The phaerimm continued to hold Kiinyon a long time, allowing his
fellows to run their barbed tails over the elf's body, until a strange, rhythmic moaning rose from the tomb master's lips. Galaeron did not recognize the sound until the other captive, the elf in the high mage's robes, began to say the Prayer for the Dying.
"Behold, there in the West There I see my comrades and my lovers, my childhood friends, those who have gone before me and those still to come. There I see them in the tall oaks, high in the limbs where the golden sun lights their faces.
"They are calling my name. They are calling my name. They are calling me West, and there I am going."
The voice was unmistakable. It had not only the clear articulation and eloquent intonation so typical of the Sun elves, it had the same plumy timbre Galaeron had come to know so well over his last two years of duty. The voice belonged, undoubtedly, to Louenghris's father, Lord Imesfor.
One of the phaerimm backhanded the high mage, silencing him, then Zay raised his tail and brought it down hard on Kiinyon's breastplate. The barb penetrated the mithral steel and sank to its base, but Galaeron saw no convulsing muscles as he had when Takari was implanted.
No? Then you must give me a reason, said the phaerimm. Tell me the first word, and I will let you die without eggs. "Goldheart," Kiinyon whispered. "The word is Goldheart." Liar!
Zay motioned to his fellows, and a dozen barbs pinged through Kiinyon's armor. A couple of the tails began to convulse, but the spasms seemed weaker and more sluggish than the ones that had implanted the egg in Takari. The tomb master screamed, and his body grew puffy and rose toward the ceiling. Only the phaerimm's grasp prevented it from floating all the way.
As astonished as Galaeron was by the strange effect, he was even more astonished to discover he could actually stand to keep watching. By all rights, he should have felt so sickened that he found himself either attacking madly or cowering in fear.
My congratulations, Zay, said Tha, now speaking in the phaerimm's wind language. The same false answer.
Zay pushed Kiinyon into the bone cage, where the tomb master floated to the ceiling and hovered helplessly, pinned in place by the strange magic with which the phaerimm had injected him.
The answer cannot be false, said Zay, only our understanding of it.
All the same, it has not opened the portal. Tha plucked Lord Imesfor off the floor. There is only one thing we have not tried. Perhaps the dead can be made to tell what the living cannot.
Galaeron's heart sank. The phaerimm could be talking about any of several portals into Evereska, but it seemed most likely they meant the Secret Gate, the only way through the mountains from this side. It was also the route by which the Swords of Evereska were leaving the Vale, and Galaeron did not care to think of what might happen when his father emerged from the portal into the arms of a band of phaerimm.
Lord Imesfor began to recite the Prayer for the Dying, this time for himself. Galaeron retreated and turned away. With so many phaerimm in the chamber, he saw no way to effect a rescue, and given the strange, vengeful emotions he had been experiencing, he was not sure he wanted to find out how he would feel when the high mage was killed.
Galaeron felt a tap on his knee and looked up to see Melegaunt. Come along. We don't have long to plan.
The wizard slipped past Galaeron, moving down the tunnel to where Vala and her men were gathering. He had to scuttle along like the slave they had glimpsed earlier, for the passage was only four feet in diameter and shaped like a tube-much more comfortable for floating phaerimm than walking humans. Galaeron joined the others and kneeled, his back sore from hunching.
Melegaunt drew a hand across the ceiling and uttered a quiet incantation, creating a curtain of shadow between themselves and the passage into the WarGather. He assigned Dexon to keep a watch on the other side, then turned to the others and motioned for them to speak softly.
"We could slay two or three, but not seventeen," said Melegaunt. "That rules out fighting, so we'll have to do this another way."
Galaeron raised his brow. "If you are thinking of a rescue, you should know that it is Evereskan tenet never to risk many lives in the desperate hope of saving a few" "And how often is that tenet followed?" asked Melegaunt. Galaeron smiled. "Not very often."
"1 thought so," the wizard said. "Did you see how I opened the shadow path?"
"It was a bit above me," Galaeron admitted. "Though if you took a few moments to teach-"
"No!" Melegaunt's hiss came near to a yell. "That way lies ruin. It is well and good to test yourself with the tame magic of elves, but do not try such a thing with what I have shown you. You will be consumed by your own shadow. Do you understand?"
Somewhat taken aback by Melegaunt's sternness, Galaeron nodded. "I'll use only spells I can handle easily."
"And never mix the two magics." Melegaunt motioned vaguely toward the hole in the Sharn Wall. "We have seen what comes of that." Again, Galaeron nodded.
"Good. Now, here is what we'll do." He explained his plan, then finished by looking to Vala. "I've seen enough of Kiinyon Colbathin to know he'd hesitate before trusting a human, and there's little reason to imagine a Sun elf high mage would be any less prejudiced. I'm afraid Galaeron must go with you."
Vala studied Galaeron for a moment, then glanced at his scabbard. "Can you handle that thing?"
Suspecting she would be unimpressed by his third place regiform steel-ranking, Galaeron simply nodded. "I can, but the blade wasn't much good against the phaerimm last time."
"Their magic," Melegaunt explained. "Even enchanted steel won't bite."
Vala turned to Dexon. "Will you trade with him until this is over?"
A corner of the human's mustache rose as though he'd rather not, but he nodded. "As long as he understands." "Understands?"
"If you lose the weapon, his son's name will be lost," said Vala. "In our valley, the noble's title goes with his sword." Melegaunt frowned at this. That was never my intention."
"You have been gone a long time," said Vala. "That is how matters have come to be."
"It doesn't matter." Galaeron raised his palms to decline the sword. "1 can't hold the sword. The last time I tried, my fingers nearly froze off." "You will not feel the cold this time," said Melegaunt.
He nodded to Vala, who removed her scabbard and leaned it against the wall, then kneeled facing Galaeron. He removed his own scabbard and passed it to Dexon, and took his own place across from Vala. Melegaunt struck a torch. He had both Galaeron and Vala bound and gagged and stationed a warrior behind each. He took his glassy dagger from its sheath, and kneeling alongside Vala, began his incantation.
A pall of shadow darkened Vala's eyes, and her expression changed instantly to one of vanity and suspicion. Still uttering the syllables of his spell, Melegaunt ran his glassy dagger along the floor beside her, cutting free the shadow cast by the lit torch. Vala's eyes grew instantly feral and angry. She spun on Melegaunt, hurling herself into the air sideways and slamming her knees into his ribs despite her bound feet Kuhl threw himself over her, pinning her to the floor beneath his big body and holding her there motionless.
Now separated from its body, Vala's shadow rose to its feet and stood upright, bending along the tunnel's curved wall in a way her body never could have. The shadow retrieved the scabbard from where Vala had leaned it, then turned to wait for Galaeron.
Galaeron could not tear his gaze from the thrashing body pinned beneath Kuhl. As Melegaunt kneeled beside him and began the incantation, Galaeron's heart pounded wildly. The thought that he would go as mad as Vala terrified him. Elf spirits were, after all, different than human souls, and he was not at all certain he would find his way back to his body Still, he forced himself to remain calm and motionless, for he was troubled by the vengeful emotions he had experienced earlier and determined to redeem himself-in his own eyes, if no one else's.
Galaeron had the feeling of being drawn into the stone, then found himself looking up at his own body, trying to peer past Melegaunt as he drew the glassy knife along the ground beside his le
g. He could actually feel the blade, icy and sharp, cutting him free of his body. As the wizard finished, Galaeron was seized by a terrible coldness. His body became a wild thing, whirling around at the waist in a mad effort to slam its head into Melegaunt.
Dexon hurled himself onto Galaeron's body, slamming it to the ground and pinning it there. Galaeron felt a pang of concern for the wild thrashing thing, but put it out of his mind and lifted Dexon's scabbard off the man's belt. He hung it where the hooks would have been on his own belt, as Melegaunt had instructed, and the scabbard melted into his form. Galaeron reached down and felt the hilt beneath his palm, but sensed no weight on his hip. Nor did he notice anything particularly cold about the weapon. Rather, it seemed to him that the whole world-the tunnel walls, the darksword, his own form-had become the very substance of cold. "Ready?" Vala's voice was wispy and deep.
Galaeron nodded and followed her up the tunnel, not walking so much as flowing along the walls. He suffered a moment of disorientation as he slipped through the shadow curtain Melegaunt had hung across the passage, then continued toward the phaerimm's spell glow. Vala glided across the ceiling as he slid across the floor, and together they streamed through the opening into the dwarven workings.
Zay was clutching Lord Imesfor in two hands, holding a third hand over the elf's mouth to keep him from uttering any unexpected enchantments, and using a fourth hand to tug at the high mage's golden rings. Because many of the rings were too small to fit over the elf's broken fingers, the phaerimm was carefully popping each digit off at the appropriate knuckle. Lord Imesfor accepted this with remarkable calm, glaring at his torturer more in anger than pain. Beneath Lord Imesfor lay a veritable pile of amulets, bracers, girdles, and other magic items Zay had already removed from the high mage's body A half dozen of the other phaerimm were floating inches off the dusty floor, pawing through the treasure and arguing about who had the right to claim what. Tha already held the high mage's book of war spells in one hand, but that did not prevent the monster from snatching a silver diadem from one of his fellows. Galaeron hoped the greed fest was enough of a display to hold the attention of the others. Without knowing where their eyes were located, he had the constant feeling that they were watching him.
