by Troy Denning
Much as he longed to swoop to the defense of each embattled townsman, Elminster bided his time. His battle against Wulgreth had left him exhausted physically and magically He had used half his spells before becoming trapped in the tree, and most of the rest-including his emergency evasion spell, the last of his teleports, and both worldwalking spells-escaping Wulgreth (again) in the wild magic area. He left the Dire Wood with only three magic-dispelling spells, a single set of golden bolts, three speed enchantments, and the ability to fly.
These last four spells he had expended on a triple-hasted flight across Anauroch-with a long detour around the Shoal of Thirst, where the most furious storm he had ever seen was pouring water into the ancient lake bed-and a breakneck descent into the Dales… where nothing made sense. Elminster had expected to find Rivalen and five other princes attacking Shadowdale, yet he could see a dozen separate bat-ties raging in the woods. Moreover, he saw no sign of shadow magic, only the standard bolts and blasts, with a little bit of arrow- and axe-work for good measure. If Rivalen and his brothers were here, they were disguising themselves well.
Finally, Elminster spied the blinding swarm of bolts for which he had been searching and dropped through the trees onto Mistledale Mount, where a small line of warriors were working their way through the undergrowth toward a charred phaerimm. In their midst ran the tall, smoky, as-always-stunning figure of Storm Silverhand.
Too weary to run, Elminster called, "Storm, lass! Wait for me."
Storm whirled, eyes flashing and ready to fling fire. "Elminster, there you are!" Her voice was not exactly joyful, and she was slow to lower her spell-ready hand. "Would you please tell me what in the Nine Hells you're doing?"
"Me?" Elminster gasped. "I've been in the Dire Wood chasing a shadow mage-or twelve, as it happens-too long a story to tell now." He waved at the phaerimm's crisped form. "What's this? Have the phaerimm decided Evereska is not enough to chew in a bite?"
"I doubt they care what is happening in Evereska." Storm was looking as puzzled as Elminster felt. "These phaerimm came from Myth Drannor, demanding that you stop your assassinations."
"What?" Elminster jammed his pipe into his mouth. "These killings, do they continue?"
"I assume so, since the phaerimm continue to attack." Storm sounded less angry than intrigued. "There've been seven so far." Elminster cocked a brow. "Been doing well, have 1 not?" "I thought so," Storm answered cautiously.
Elminster lit his pipe with the flick of a finger. "How are matters here?"
"Not bad," she said. "Between Sylune, Mourngrym, and myself, we have killed nearly a dozen, and I don't think the phaerimm want this any more than we do."
"I imagine not" Elminster took a long puff, then extinguished his pipe with a word. "Well, let's put a stop to it then. Stay out of sight and follow me." "Follow you where?" Storm asked.
But Elminster was already in the air, streaking toward his tower to collect a few necessaries for the upcoming battle. The princes were clearly trying to lure him to Myth Drannor, no doubt reasoning it would be wiser to attack him away from his home territory. With a little luck, their ambush would be set up along the Ashaba somewhere near Shadowdale, and he and Storm would be gone only a short time.
Given his luck over the past couple of days, Elminster should have known better. As he approached his tower, a half dozen murky figures stepped out of the shadows and arrayed themselves before the entrances. There was the horn-helmed one called Rivalen, a square-chinned one in wizard robes, a cleric with a face as round as a dark moon, and three more swaddled in dark tabards that might have been covering armor or mere flesh.
Like all good assassins, they wasted no time with preliminaries. The square-chinned wizard took the lead, launching himself straight at Elminster, his dark fingers already flashing through a spell to dismiss his foe's magic shields. Elminster countered with his own dispelling enchantment, and Storm sent a ball of silver fire over his shoulder toward the wizard.
Elminster had a bare moment to wonder if that was a good idea, then the sphere of blazing raw magic struck the shadow mage's spell shield. Instead of blasting through the barrier, as it would have any normal protection, the silver fire spread over the wizard's shadowy shield, silhouetting his body in white radiance. The shadow mage howled and covered his eyes, then the silver fire imploded, crushing the fellow in its iron grip and shrinking to a brilliant orb barely the size of an eyeball.
The remaining shadow princes countered with a volley of dark bolts and black flame. For the first time in a century- perhaps twice that-Elminster actually cringed at the thought of what might happen next The attacks came roaring and thundering at him-then suddenly curved toward the silvery sphere and vanished from sight
A deafening rip filled the air, and the silvery orb stretched into a jagged line. Elminster pulled his thumb away from the ring it had been rubbing and pointed at the ground.
Too late. The blue ray extended only feet from his hand, then curved upward and vanished into the crooked streak of brilliance-as did the lightning bolt Storm sent dancing over his shoulder. There was another zipping sound, so powerful Elminster felt it in his guts. The jagged line expanded into a rift-a deep, silver-sided crevasse with crimson flames at its bottom-and continued to expand. "By all the holy gods, it's-if s ripping!"
It took Elminster a moment to realize he was the one yelling-and even he was not sure exactly what was ripping-He knew only that he had seen those fuming swirls once before, when, searching for a lover as cherished as she was flawed, he had dared look where no man should.
And now those same flames were licking at Shadowdale, boiling out of the Nine Hells to lap at his beloved home. The raw magic of his silver fire had fused with the shadow mage's dark magic and imploded, tearing a hole in the world fabric itself. It was, he realized, exactly what had happened when Galaeron's magic bolt struck Melegaunt's shadow magic at the Sharn Wall-but the things that might flee this breach would make the phaerimm look like mere cantrip-tossing goblins.
When the rift continued to open, the shadow princes drew their dark weapons and began to circle warily. Though hardly concerned about Shadowdale's safety, they were as surprised by the breach as Elminster-and hardly eager to get themselves knocked inside. Storm took advantage of their hesitation to unsheathe her own sword and start forward. Elminster raised an arm to stop her. "No." "But these shadow princes-"
"Are welcome to follow me, if they dare." Elminster glared at the circling princes. Seeing no sign that any of them intended to accept his invitation, he shooed Storm away. "See ye to the phaerimm. Ill tend to this other trouble from the inside."
"From the inside?" Storm stopped outside the circle of shadow princes and cast a wary eye toward the widening rift. "Elminster, tell me you're not-"
"But 1 must, dear Storm." Elminster started forward. "I can't have the Nine Hells erupting beneath my own tower, can I?"
The flames leaped up, a lot like a lover's arms reaching for an old friend, and Elminster flew into Hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
30 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp
Galaeron spread the last coffer of gems across the table. Melegaunt passed first one hand, then the other over the stones. Finding nothing, he worked his way around the table, repeating the process from all sides to be certain his hand passed over every stone. Finally, he shook his head.
"No magic, no evil. If Wulgreth's life-force is here, it's undetectable by my best magic."
Unable to control his frustration, Galaeron swept the gems onto the pile of scintillating wealth already heaped on the floor. Malik, kneeling half-buried in the heap, winced as they struck him, then began to sort with a expert eye, pitching the most valuable stones into the second of two large coffers he intended his beloved horse to carry back Vala, who had grown more distrustful since learning he was the Seraph of Lies, eyed him suspiciously "Have you taken anything that wasn't checked?"
"I have touched nothing that did not come from the table," Malik
replied. "Do you think 1 am eager to keep a lich in the treasury of my new manor?" "If you're lying-"
"How many times must I tell you?" Malik demanded. "I was crippled by that harlot Mystra's truth magic and cannot lie! You may inspect everything I have taken." Vala reached for a coffer, but Galaeron put out a hand.
"He hasn't lied to us yet, which is more than we can say for Melegaunt," he said. The phylactery's not here, or Wulgreth would be on us like a spider on flies."
Takari turned to Jhingleshod. "Is there another place he lairs?" When the knight did not seem to register the question, she gingerly pushed his arm. "Are you still with us?"
The iron knight disappointed them all by meeting her gaze. "There is no other place. He stays near the butte."
"Then he would store the phylactery somewhere visible from here." Galaeron glanced toward the door. "As overgrown as the ruins are, it will take time to find."
Melegaunt stepped in front of Jhingleshod. "I have done everything possible to keep my word, but there is more at issue here than Wulgreth. We will find the phylactery, I promise you, but Aris should be finished with his passage by now. Would it not be possible to take the Karsestone outside and summon Shade? There are thousands in the city, and they will help us search." Jhingleshod looked to Galaeron.
"It would be best," Galaeron said. "Otherwise, it could take months."
"Months?" The disappointment in Jhingleshod's eyes was as easy to read as Galaeron had prayed it would be. The promise of the end to any ordeal could make days seem like tendays, and this looked to be as true for Jhingleshod as for an elf.
Glancing at his weary companions, Galaeron added, "I don't know that we could survive that long."
Jhingleshod waved Melegaunt toward the crawlway in the corner and said, "Summon your city."
"A wise choice." Though Melegaunt tried to sound restrained, the joy in his voice was unmistakable. "You won't regret it."
Giving Jhingleshod no time to change his mind, the wizard led the way through the green barrier. Vala, Takari, and Malik followed, with the iron knight next and Galaeron last
As the elf dropped through the door, a booming crash shook the cavern below. He looked down to see Melegaunt skittering across the silver pool on his back, limbs flaying and forks of magic dissipating against his spell guard. Leaping off the Karsestone after him was a skeletal form with a rotting, noseless face and lipless mouth. The filth-stained claws and fiery pinpoints in its empty eye sockets left no doubt that they had finally found Wulgreth.
Hurling himself into an oblique somersault, Galaeron grabbed his sword and had it half drawn by the time he splashed into the pool. He swam half a dozen strokes toward the rear of the cavern, then surfaced behind Jhingleshod.
The iron knight was splashing toward the battle behind Vala and Takari, his big axe raised to strike. At first Galaeron thought their guide was rushing to attack Wulgreth, but something inside much wiser and darker suggested otherwise. Jhingleshod had been trying to exterminate them since the sunken bridge. Had he not forced them to cross separately, so it would be easier for the undead to attack? After they survived that, he had led them through a savage gauntlet of wights and wraiths. When even that failed, he had found excuse after excuse to stall until Wulgreth returned. Probably, it had even been Jhingleshod who alerted the lich to their presence in the first place-after all, they had only his word that he had ever killed Wulgreth at all. Galaeron swung at Jhingleshod's neck. Even sharp elven steel did not bite deep into the iron flesh, but it did catch the knight's attention. He whirled around, his gruesome jaw hanging almost as low as his guard. Galaeron sprang for the opening, driving his sword at the knight's exposed throat.
Jhingleshod's arm flashed up, deflecting the attack almost before the elf saw it move. "Are you mad?"
"Hardly!" Galaeron slipped his free hand into his sleeve. "I see how you have been playing us."
"Playing you?" A long crackle sounded from the melee behind Jhingleshod, prompting the knight to glance over his shoulder. "I am not one to play at anything."
Galaeron pulled his hand from his sleeve, cupping a small glass rod, but Malik's chubby arm knocked it away before the elf could cast the spell.
"Matters are bad enough without this shadow folly!" Malik pointed to the artistic trefoil passage Aris had cut into the side of the butte. "The giant told me there are phaerimm coming!"
Galaeron realized he should have been disappointed in himself, but he was not After learning of Melegaunt's lies, the line between his shadow and himself had blurred. Suspicions that might have seemed groundless before were suddenly reasonable. He peered past Jhingleshod and saw that matters were, indeed, bad enough. Melegaunt was kneeling in the pool, beard scorched away and eyes glazed with pain. Only the constant attacks of Vala and Takari, harrying the lich from opposite sides, kept Wulgreth from finishing the wizard in a blow.
Jhingleshod let out an eerie wail and hefted his axe. Trusting more to Malik's word than his own instincts, Galaeron pointed at Wulgreth's head and summoned a spell. Vala lunged in, blocking Galaeron's lightning bolt, and Takari attacked from the opposite side.
The lich flicked a finger and sent Takari stumbling away, wailing and shaking her head, eyes red with blood and fixed blindly ahead. Vala's darksword took some small vengeance, slashing off a moldering arm, then whipping around to open Wulgreth's side from spine to navel. Hissing and spitting in anger, the lich grabbed her by the throat with its good arm.
Vala went instantly rigid, mouth gaping, eyes rolling back. Jhingleshod buried his axe deep into Wulgreth's back, driving both the lich and the woman down beneath the pool's silvery skin. The iron knight hefted his axe again, lidless eyes bulging as he tried to see beneath the surface. He began to shuffle through the basin, trying to locate his quarry with a series of savage kicks. "Jhingleshod, you'll break her ribs!"
"Galaeron?" This from Takari, who stood with her back to the wall and her sword weaving a blind-fighting pattern before her. "I can't see."
"You're fine," Galaeron said, realizing Vala was in the most danger. Even if the lich released her, its touch would leave her paralyzed and unable to return to the surface. "Stay there." "But Galaeron-"
She was interrupted by a startled cry from Melegaunt. The archwizard pointed his hand into the basin and started a spell, then vanished beneath the surface. Galaeron rushed forward, sweeping his sword back and forth across the bottom, trying to think of some spell that would allow him to find Vala before she drowned. Jhingleshod opted for a more direct method and dived under the surface.
A muffled crack rumbled out of the pool, then Melegaunt's body floated to the surface, the smell of charred flesh rising from a hole in his back. "Galaeron?" Takari called.
"Stand still," Galaeron ordered, starting after the wizard. "Stab anything near you."
His sword touched a body on the bottom of the pool. When it did not attack, he ducked down and grabbed hold of an armored elbow, then pulled Vala to the surface. She began coughing, spewing liquid magic from her nostrils and mouth. Dragging her along beside him, Galaeron went to Melegaunt's side and rolled the archwizard over.
The spell had blown open Melegaunt's whole chest. Incredibly, the archwizard's heart continued to beat Galaeron could see it
"Meleg-ghaunt!" coughed Vala, more or less recovered from her near drowning. "He needs help!" She spun her head around the room. "Malik!"
Malik appeared in the mouth of Aris's tunnel. "Quiet!" he hissed. "The phaerimm are already coming out of the forest." "We need to get him to Aris." Vala motioned to Melegaunt
"Waste… of… time." It was Melegaunt who gasped this. He grabbed Galaeron and pulled him close. "Promise me-"
A flurry of splashing near Takari interrupted the archwizard. She cried out and began to hack blindly at the pool. "Where is it, Galaeron?" she yelled. "Which way?" 'To your-"
"Elf!" Melegaunt boomed, jerking Galaeron to him with a strength born of his dying magic.
"Don't worry, Melegaunt," Gala
eron said, trying to rise. "I remember: 'Hear me now, People of Shade-
"No!" Melegaunt gasped, now loosing his strength. "You must leave it… to the princes, or you'll be… lost."
Galaeron started to promise, but stopped when the sour clang of a breaking sword sounded from the far wall. Takari cried out-no longer calling for him, just shrieking-and he turned to find her slashing at the pool with a broken sword, Jhingleshod and Wulgreth rolling across the surface in front of her.
Vala started across the pool. "Move left, Takari!" she yelled. "And don't panic. I'm coming."
"Malik!" Galaeron started toward the battle. "Hold Melegaunt" "Galaeron!" Melegaunt demanded. "No more spells." "Yes, I promise."
Seeing Malik approach, Galaeron started to push Melegaunt over-until the archwizard's fingers dug deep into his arm, drawing blood and pouring a dark river of anguish into him. Galaeron's knees buckled, and he slipped beneath the surface, swallowing a mouthful of silvery liquid. Swirling shadows filled his mind, then he began to feel weightless and weak, and his last conscious thought was that Melegaunt had finally betrayed him, that the archwizard had used his shadow magic to switch bodies.
Then Malik was pounding him on the back, yelling in his ear. "Cough it out, stupid elf!"
A heavy blow landed on Galaeron's back, then he opened his eyes to find Melegaunt floating in front of him, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. He had no memory after his mind began to fill with swirling shadows, no idea how long he had been beneath the surface with Melegaunt-or of what had happened there. His mind felt heavy and clouded with darkness, his head ached as though it would split, and his lungs were burning for air. He had to have been under for a good long while.
