The Summoning (23 page)

“Yes, yes—and half the high mages as well.” Elminster dismissed Galaeron’s account with a wave of his pipe. “Imesfor told us all about it, but Khelben has certain, ah, resources unavailable even to thy high mages.”

Galaeron did not ask the old wizard to elaborate. At least in Evereska, it was well known that like Elminster himself, Khelben was one of Mystra’s “Chosen.” Nobody knew exactly what being Chosen meant, but it seemed fairly well accepted that these individuals were invested with some of the goddess of magic’s divine power. According to rumor, they were nearly immortal and could call upon the power they carried to perform fantastic feats of magic. Certainly, it was good to have the Chosen taking Evereska’s side—but still Galaeron did not think one would be enough.

“Good mage, you’d do well to listen to Melegaunt in this,” said Galaeron. “If it’s not too late to contact Lord Kh—”

“There be few men as stubborn Khelben Arunsun.” Elminster cocked his brow and fixed a questioning eye on Galaeron. “But it could be that 1 can call him off—if the reason be good enough.”

“1 can only tell you that without Melegaunt Tanthul, Lord Imesfor would be hatching an egg for the phaerimm right now,” said Galaeron. “Melegaunt is the only one who seems able to engage our enemies on an equal footing.”

Elminster shook his head. “Khelben is a proud man, 1 fear. Perhaps if ye could tell me what ye seek in Karse.”

“Something to defeat the phaerimm.” Galaeron looked to

Melegaunt to elaborate, but the shadowmage kept his gaze fixed on Elminster and pretended not to notice. “That’s all he’s told me.”

“Ye are a trusting spirit, lad,” said Elminster. “It speaks well of thy own honesty—if not thy cunning wit.”

“The phaerimm have been close on our trail the entire time,” explained Melegaunt. “I thought it best to keep the plan to myself, lest bad come to worse.”

“A wise precaution.” Elminster stepped closer to Melegaunt and offered his ear. “But ye can tell me.”

Melegaunt retreated, and Vala interposed herself between her master and his interrogator. Elminster might have missed the subtle tension that came to her body, but Galaeron did not

“I can handle matters here,” said Melegaunt “If you truly want to do some good, you’ll join Khelben in the south. A second hand flinging Mystra’s silver fire would go far toward saving his company.”

This drew a wry smile from Elminster. “Ye know more about me than I about thee … and 1 can see ye mean to keep it so.”

“Your deeds have made a great name for you,” said Melegaunt. “I have lived a quieter life, but Galaeron can tell you my intentions are good.”

Elminster’s voice turned hard. “I keep my own counsel about such things.”

“That is your privilege,” said Melegaunt. “Just as it is mine.”

Elminster waited for him to elaborate, then finally sighed and shook his head. “Ah, well, 1 had hoped to do this a simpler way.”

He slipped a hand into his pocket. Vala was instantly moving, one hand chopping for his throat and the other reaching for the offending arm.

A few hairs shy of his body, a blue aura flashed beneath her hands. She cried out in shock and pulled her arms back,

then took one glance at her smoking fingertips and plunged them into the snow. Elminster gave her a bemused look, then pulled a small wad of fireweed out of his pocket and refilled

his pipe.

“What’d ye think, girl? That I meant to enchant his secrets from him?” Elminster snapped his fingers, then held a small flame over the bowl of his pipe. “I’ve better ways than that.”

The wizard puffed on his fireweed and glowered at Melegaunt through the awful-smelling smoke. The gaze Melegaunt returned was too nervous to be called a glare, but neither did he look away Galaeron and the others watched in tense silence, reassured by Turlang’s presence—and the great boughs he stretched over the pair’s heads—that the matter would not come to a duel of spells, yet worried enough that they hardly dared breathe for fear of touching off a fight. Even Aris tore himself away from the stormlodge to come loom over the standoff.

Galaeron did not know what to make of the situation. Elminster was, by all accounts, a loyal elf-friend and a man of character, yet he seemed to presume a great deal in the demands he made of Melegaunt On the other hand, Melegaunt had used Lord Imesfor to lure the illithids away—an act destined to be viewed in a dim light by anyone who did not understand how important their escape had been. Even knowing that Imesfor had survived, the thought still sent a guilty shudder down Galaeron’s spine. How could Elminster, who had never seen Melegaunt risk his own life for others, react to the shadowmage’s furtive nature with anything but suspicion?

Galaeron interposed himself between the mages. “It pains me to see you two off to such a bad start.” He turned first to Elminster. “Given what happened to Lord Imesfor, your suspicions are reasonable, but Melegaunt did nothing wrong. Imesfor’s life was Melegaunt’s to do with as he pleased.”

Elminster’s were not the only human eyes to grow wide, but the mage was almost as quick as Lady Morgwais to take Galaeron’s meaning.

The Rule of Saving?” Elminster said. “I haven’t heard that invoked in five hundred years!”

“Handsome as you are, you are not an elf,” said Morgwais. She sidled up to Elminster and gave his beard a meaningful tug. “If Melegaunt saved Imesfor’s life….”

“And he did.” Galaeron deliberately left out mention of his own part in the rescue. “I saw that much with my own eyes.”

“You see? Melegaunt did nothing wrong!” Morgwais flashed Elminster a brilliant smile, then took him by the hand and started toward the river bank. “Let’s go back to the party and drink this misunderstanding under.”

Elminster flashed Melegaunt a scowl that said their meeting was far from over, but he was too well-mannered to refuse such a request from the Lady of the Wood. He allowed himself to be passed off to a young elf maiden and led back toward the Honor Chair. Morgwais turned to the treant.

“My thanks for bringing my son to Rheitheillaethor, Turlang. Do join us.”

Turlang shook his leafy crown. “That cannot be. A magicgrub followed your son and these others into the forest, and 1 must return to watch it.” He lowered a bough toward Galaeron. “I want only to be certain this one is who he claims. There is a darkness in him 1 do not trust, and 1 would know if you will vouchsafe his conduct, and that of his friends.”

The light faded from Morgwais’s face. “A darkness, you say?”

She took Galaeron’s hand, then looked past his shoulder. Her gaze grew unfocused, as it would during the Reverie, and a single furrow appeared in her unblemished brow. She remained that way for several moments, then finally opened her eyes and nodded.

“It’s true. You seem lost to me, child. It is as though you are …” She started to look away as though embarrassed, then hesitated and forced herself to look back. “It feels as though are asleep.”

The comment struck Galaeron like a blow, and he realized

with a start that he did not feel the other elves either. The absence had seemed normal enough during his travels with the humans—especially given his trouble falling into the Reverie—but he should have sensed other elves as they traveled deeper into the High Forest. Instead, there had been nothing—no sense of welcome, no warmth, no safety. He had felt nothing—nothing but the anger and jealousy he had experienced upon seeing his mother on Elminster’s lap.

Galaeron forced himself to meet his mother’s gaze. “I have been through some trying times, and it may be that even I shouldn’t trust myself.” He gestured to Melegaunt and Vala and added, “But I do know I can trust these humans.”

Morgwais studied the humans for several moments, her gaze lingering on Vala longer than on Melegaunt, then she finally cracked a melancholy smile and stepped toward Vala.

“Vala,” said Vala, extending her hand. “Vala Thorsdotter.” Unfamiliar with human customs, Morgwais stared in confusion at the out-thrust arm. “You will watch after Galaeron?”

Vala glanced briefly at Melegaunt, then gave a solemn nod. “That promise I have already made.”

Morgwais shrugged and turned to Turlang. “I am Galaeron’s mother.” She glanced at Vala, then her smile broadened, and she said, “Of course, I will vouchsafe their conduct!”

She took Vala’s hand and thrust it into Galaeron’s, and that was when a svelte Wood elf in a brown Tomb Guard cloak pushed through the crowd. She had a familiar cupid’s bow smile and a pair of doe-brown eyes Galaeron would have recognized through a keyhole. The instant she stepped to Morgwais’s side, her gaze dropped to the hands clasped between Galaeron and Vala.

T-Takari!” Galaeron gasped.

Takari’s gaze rose, the light already fading from her eyes. Her face remained hollow-cheeked and sallow from her wound, and her cloak hung more loosely than usual on her bony shoulders.

“I really shouldn’t be surprised,” said Takari, looking Vala up and down. She sighed dramatically, then reached past the human to pull Galaeron to her lips. “But shell have to share!”

28 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp

Khelben had barely crested the slope before the first crack of war thunder rumbled across the frozen tussocks. Less than a mile distant, a rank of figures became visible along the moor’s edge, their invisibility spells fading as they hurled sling stones and magic bolts down on Lord Ryence’s elves. Khelben used thumb and forefinger to make a circle over his eye and uttered a spell. The figures resolved themselves into a couple of hundred bugbears, perhaps twenty beholders, and a dozen mind flayers. A pair of phaerimm hovered together near the center.

“As you predicted, milord,” said the scout Shantar, landing his invisible hippogriff beside Khelben. “We’ll ambush the ambushers and be done with it.”

“Our enemies would not make things so easy,” observed Naneatha Suaril, cresting the slope beside

Khelben. A blonde beauty whose pearly smile and shining eyes belied her fifty winters, Naneatha was Priestess of the High Moonlight of the House of the Moon in Waterdeep— and the unofficial commander of the small band of priests accompanying Khelben. “They are creatures of darkness, full of treachery and deception.”

Khelben nodded and glanced over his shoulder. The rest of the company was scrambling up the slope, wands and bows at the ready. He directed the Sword Captain to form a combat line and the Wand master to scatter the battle mages behind it, then turned back to Naneatha and Shantar.

“The other scouts will be returning to the sound of battle?” Shantar nodded. “They’ll be here any minute.” “And your mounts can carry extra riders?” Khelben asked. “For a short while.” Shantar’s eyes showed curiosity. “And lance work will be out of the question.”

“Spells will serve you better,” said Khelben. “Have the scouts assemble behind the battle line and take up Naneatha’s priests. They are to circle high, half a mile behind us. That will keep even phaerimm from seeing through your

invisibility.”

Naneatha frowned. “A priest’s place is in battle.”

“And so it shall be.” Khelben pointed his staff toward a scraggly pine hummock, then toward a cluster of moss-covered boulders. “Watch there for their rear guard. You and the scouts must strike them from behind—and strike hard.”

Naneatha’s scowl remained. “And if there is no rear guard?”

“There will be.” Khelben turned to Shantar. “Do your sending, then wait until Lady Suaril is free to join you.”

“As you command.”

Shantar flicked his thumb over his scout’s ring to activate its sending magic, and Khelben turned to find his small force ready. The archmage laid his staff aside, then he and Naneatha began to cast combat guards over the company. The spells required several minutes to complete, but Khelben

did not even consider advancing until they were finished. Without spell shields, sending men against phaerimm would be murder.

Once the last spell was completed, Khelben sent Naneatha off with Shantar, then took up his staff and led the way forward at a run. The company followed in silence, the normal clamor muted by his war magic. Despite the frozen tussocks and wind whistling into their faces, they covered the ground swiftly, invigorated as much by approaching battle as by the prayers Naneatha had said over them.

Even Khelben, who had fought too many battles to enjoy the prospect of another, felt his pulse pounding wildly. This was the rousing part of war, the anticipation of the victory, the fear of a violent end, the reckless joy of a mortal gamble. Later came the hundred stenches of death, the grieving, the maimed bodies. The company passed the scraggly pine hummock Khelben had pointed out to Naneatha, closing to within three hundred paces of the enemy The archmage slowed to a walk and raised his staff, signaling his archers to nock their arrows.

A pair of thunderclaps erupted from the pine hummock, and two lightning bolts exploded into the company spell shield and filled the sky with silver light. Next came a chorus of bugbear grunts, followed by a stone rain. The sling stones struck the missile guard and bounced away, but a dozen of Khelben’s archers shot arrows into the ground.

Not bothering to look back, Khelben brought his company to a halt and lowered his staff. The archers loosed a cloud of dark shafts into the air. Half the arrows fell short and the others came to a sudden halt, hanging motionless twenty feet above their targets. The phaerimm tipped their toothy maws toward Khelben, but seemed the only ones who noticed the attack. The bugbears and beholders with them continued to hurl death down from the moor’s edge, paying no attention as the reciprocating barrage of elven magic burst harmlessly against their spell shields.

Another flurry of sling stones and lightning bolts struck

Khelben’s own missile guard from the rear, then Naneatha’s priests sent a cacophony of crackles and booms rolling across the frozen moor as they unleashed their wrath. The answering chorus of anguished bellows left no doubt about the fate of the rear guard. Khelben leveled his staff at the phaerimm and advanced at a deliberate walk, assailing them with a stream of fiery missiles and magic blasts. The attacks exploded into fire storms and starbursts against the enemy spell shields, causing no damage, but blinding the phaerimm to Naneatha and the other hippogriff riders.