The Summoning (26 page)

“Careful of that shadow, my friend.” He nodded to Takari. “Perhaps we should go, if we want to lay another trail for the beholders.”

“Fine by me.” Takari continued to look at Galaeron. “I think Galaeron has had his fill of Rheitheillaethor.”

She led them away from the river, passing close enough to the stormlodge that Galaeron could hear wet human snoring. He veered over to look inside, but felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You are doing yourself harm,” said Melegaunt. “Suspicion is the food of wrath.”

“If Lady Morgwais is not there, my suspicions will be allayed.”

“They won’t” Melegaunt released Galaeron’s shoulder, leaving him free to do as he chose. “You’ll doubt what you saw, or you will think that even if she wasn’t there when you looked, she could have been there the night before. Doubt is the way of the shadow, and it is a powerful way indeed. Only trust can defeat it.”

Melegaunt walked after the others, leaving Galaeron to his decision.

“Go ahead and look,” said Malik, coming up behind

Galaeron. “In my experience, you cannot watch a woman too closely. They are all faithless harlots who will betray their husbands every chance they have.”

“And you know this how?” asked Galaeron.

“As 1 told you, by my experience,” said Malik. “My own wife I always kept safely locked in my house in Calimshan, and still she betrayed me at the first opportunity.”

‘Truly?” Shaking his head at the strangeness of human customs, Galaeron started after the others. “Then I shall take a lesson from you.”

Malik looked puzzled, but fell in at Galaeron’s side. “I suppose there are things a man does not want to know about his mother.”

“Fortunately, I am an elf.” Though Galaeron resented the human’s witless slighting of his mother, he held his tongue for fear of giving his shadow another foothold. “My mother’s decisions are her own to make. She and my father have not shared a house for thirty years.”

Malik nodded knowingly. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must be hard for your father to see your name besmirched in such low fashion.”

“Besmirched?” Galaeron felt himself growing angry over the disgrace—and knew instantly that the ire was not his own. No elf would consider it dishonorable for a woman to follow her heart. “It is not the same with elves as humans. There was no dishonor in her decision.”

‘Truly? I was not aware that elves were so free with their women.” Malik looked into the dark forest, muttering something about there being no honor among fools.

They passed the village boundary, where the night watchers were observing from their perches in the trees. Takari offered no explanation for their furtive departure. Inhabitants and guests of Rheitheillaethor were free to come and go as they wished, so long as they did nothing to betray the village. Nor did she or Galaeron return the waves of farewell that came their way. With humans present, it would have been

unthinkable to betray the positions of the sentries.

A hundred paces beyond the village, Galaeron asked, “Didn’t you have a horse, Malik?”

“Her name is Kelda.”

Malik opened his hand to display a set of reins, and suddenly the mare was behind him, her breath shooting white plumes over her master’s shoulder. Galaeron looked back at the silvery snow and was astonished to see a long line of hoof prints alongside their own.

“I am beginning to see how you sneaked into Rheitheillaethor,” said Galaeron. “Very impressive.”

Malik shrugged. “It is a gift of the One.”

The One?”

Malik pretended not to hear the question, which only raised Galaeron’s curiosity to the height of suspicion. He began to imagine the little man being the agent of some powerful archwizard or merciless tyrant—or even of the phaerimm themselves—but of course that was ridiculous. Malik hardly seemed able to attend to himself and his horse, much the less the business of some powerful and nefarious master. Such suspicions could only be the work of Galaeron’s shadow.

They continued in silence for some distance, then Galaeron said, “Thank you for coming back to warn us about the beholders. If we can spare Rheitheillaethor their depredations, you will have the gratitude of every elf in the High Forest.”

“You must think nothing of it,” said Malik. “It was no great trouble. Because you cannot see a man does not mean he is not there.”

Galaeron spent a few moments sorting through the statement, then asked, “You were with us the whole time?”

“A little distance behind,” said Malik. ‘Talking trees have always made Kelda nervous.”

Galaeron frowned. “If you were with us, then how could you know the beholders escaped Turlang?”

“I don’t know they have,” answered Malik, “only that they will be here soon.”

Galaeron grew irritated. “How do you know?”

“Because Turlang’s followers did not misdirect all of our pursuers,” explained Malik. “One of the beholders was a very beautiful and cunning one. It lagged behind the rest and entered the wood a little north of the others and found, er—” He seemed to struggle with the words, then said, Truly, the thing was a genius! I did not see it until it was on me, staring at me with all those wonderful eyes.”

Galaeron had a sinking feeling. “How did you escape?”

“I, uh … Kelda is very…” Malik struggled to recall, then finally gave up and shrugged. “Why is that important? All that matters is I am here to warn you.”

The qualmish feeling in Galaeron’s stomach changed to fear, and he felt his hands curl into fists. “And what happened to the beholder? The one with the wonderful eyes?”

“It went after the others, 1 think. It wouldn’t have been safe for it to go after you alone.”

The grinding of his own teeth filled Galaeron’s ears. “And how did you mark our trail?”

“What?” Malik’s hand slipped inside his cloak, no doubt reaching for a hidden dagger. “You accuse me of betraying you?”

“Of course not.” Certain that the anger he felt was as much his shadow’s as his own, Galaeron reminded himself of how the beholder had beguiled Aris in Thousand Faces. Even if Malik had laid a trail, he was not to blame for his actions. “But why do you think the beholder let you go?”

“I see what you are thinking.” Malik slipped a hand under his turban to scratch at something on his brow. “I am not that big a fool. Beholders are certainly cunning and handsome creatures, but I am a man of great will and stronger mind. 1 could never be tricked by one.”

“Oh, never.”

As Galaeron spoke, he waved his hand across Malik’s face, and taking care not to use Melegaunt’s coldmagic, started the

incantation of a magic-dismissing spell.

“Murdering sorcerer!” Malik’s hand dropped from his turban into his cloak and came out with a curved dagger. “Hold your tongue!”

Galaeron finished his incantation in time to jump back and avoid being sliced open. A torrent of fear and excitement raced through him, and with it came his shadow self, welling up from the darkness deep inside him. He saw his foot lash out and catch Malik behind the knee, dropping him to his back. Then Galaeron was over him, standing nose-to-snout with an angry-looking Kelda, using one foot to pin the little man’s dagger hand in the snow.

“Stay your hand, I beg you!” Malik raised his free arm to shield his head. “I swear on my life, I never meant to betray you or your friends!”

Vala caught hold of Galaeron’s arm. “What in the name of the Red Gauntlet are you doing?”

Galaeron pushed Kelda’s snout aside, then stepped off Malik’s trapped wrist. “One of the beholders beguiled him. I had to dispel its magic.”

Vala glanced down at the arm she held. “So why do you need that?”

Galaeron looked down and was astonished to find his hand holding a half-drawn sword.

“By the Moon Harp!” Galaeron swore. He was so shaken he could only stare at the weapon. He had no memory of reaching for the weapon, even less of what he intended to do with it. He let the blade slide back into its scabbard, then began to fumble at his weapon belt, his hands trembling so hard he could not undo the clasp. “I could have killed him!”

“Yes, and you would have been lost.” Melegaunt slipped past Vala and stood beside Galaeron. “Did I not warn you about using magic?”

“1 didn’t use coldmagic, only my own.”

“No magic is your own,” Melegaunt said. Despite the sternness of his words, his voice was soft. “All magic is power

borrowed, and ever has unearned power opened the door to ruin.”

Galaeron’s hands finally stopped trembling long enough to undo his belt.

“Leave it,” Melegaunt said. “Better to reach for a sword than a spell.”

That is easy for you to say.” Malik pushed himself upright. “You are not the one he attacked.”

“At least his sword is still in its scabbard,” said Vala, eyeing Malik’s dagger. “I would say neither of you had his wits about him.”

Malik seemed as surprised as Galaeron to find a weapon in his hand. He shrugged. “A man must defend himself.”

Aris and Takari arrived, Aris kneeling down behind Vala and still looming over the group, Takari stopping at Vala’s side and raising her brow at the sight of Malik’s horse. Before standing, Malik gathered a fold in his robe and drew his dagger through it to dry the blade. As it emerged, Galaeron noticed a resinous smear on the face of the blade.

“Malik, did you mark our trail with a blaze?”

“A blaze?” Malik asked. “What is that?”

He opened his robe to put the dagger away, but Takari snatched it from his hand. She ran her finger over the sticky resin several times, then held it to her nose.

“This blade has sap on it.” Takari looked as though she might sheathe it in Malik’s chest. “You’ve been cutting bark.”

Malik’s eyes bugged out like a pair of bird eggs. “By the Black Sun—the beholders! I marked our trail for them!”

“The Black Sun?” demanded Vala, who looked like she might kill Malik before Takari had the chance. “You worship Cyric?”

Malik winced, then closed his eyes and nodded. “But I beg you, do me no harm! It is not on his account I betrayed you.”

“No one will harm you,” said Aris. The giant stood the little man on his feet. “I myself have felt the beguiling magic of beholders.”

Malik dared to look up. “You will protect me?”

“The blame is not yours,” said Aris. “Their magic is powerful.”

“But he did cut Turlang’s trees—and we brought him into the forest,” said Vala. She looked to Galaeron. “What will that mean for your mother?”

It was Takari who answered. ‘Turlang will never trust Lady Morgwais’s word again, but if the village attends to the wounded trees and doesn’t let them die, 1 think he will permit us to stay.”

“Permit you to stay?” Galaeron drew a calming breath, then turned to Malik. “When was the last time you saw the beholder?”

Malik thought for a moment, then shuddered. “After the dancing ended. They are waiting up …” He paused and looked ahead, searching the forest for a familiar landmark, then gestured vaguely ahead. “Up where the trail turns toward the village. I, uh, ‘blazed’ that trail, too.”

Takari glanced at Galaeron with a question in her eye, but he gave a quick shake of his head and looked away Both knew exactly where Malik meant, but Galaeron did not want to tell the humans about the trailmaze—not when he had already done so much to endanger Rheitheillaethor.

“There’s nothing to be done about the blazes now,” said Galaeron. “And every minute we hesitate only makes it more likely they’ll try to find the village itself. We have to leave another way and draw them after us.”

Takari pointed at Malik. “What about that one? You are responsible for him by the pledge that Lady Morgwais vouchsafed to Turlang.”

Vala set a hand on the pommel of her darksword. “I can think of a solution.”

“That would not be fair,” rumbled Aris. “I do not know about this Black Sun he worships, but he has been a true friend to me.”

“Then I suppose we have no choice except to take him

along,” said Melegaunt. “We certainly can’t leave him running lose in Turlang’s forest”

“No?” The smile that creased Malik’s face was suspiciously broad—or so it seemed to Galaeron. “May the One rain a thousand blessings down on you all!”

“I’d leave well enough alone, were 1 you,” growled Vala. “Aris only owes you one life, as best I can figure.”

Galaeron fell in at the end of the line behind Vala, then suggested to Melegaunt that he and Aris follow a few dozen paces behind Takari As they angled off to the north, Galaeron looked behind them and saw the trail Malik had blazed. Within a few hours, someone from the village would discover the atrocity and dress the wounds with special salves to aid the healing bark, but the damage would never fade. For as long as the trees remained standing, the long line of blazes would point straight toward the Heartblood River, where Rheitheillaethor stood hidden on the bent shore. Not for the first time, he wondered just how high a price he would be forced to pay to save Evereska.

A few minutes later, they crossed into a region of impenetrable thorn hedges and hidden precipices where the only safe footing was down the center of the snowy path. A bewildering array of forks and branches split off the main trail, winding along the rims of hedge-capped abysses and down bramble-walled tunnels, but the humans failed to notice any of the alternatives. The labyrinth’s magic worked counter to intuition. Instead of presenting the intruder with a bewildering array of choices, the trailmaze allowed intruders to see only the path they happened to be following at the time. All of these trails twined back on each other in a tangled snarl of endless loops, slyly feeding the interloper from one circle to another without his knowledge. Though Rheitheillaethor suffered few invaders, those who did assault the village were usually found in the maze, either dead of starvation or trapped in the bottom of a hidden pit.

At last, they emerged from the trailmaze, the humans

none the wiser. The gray light of a winter dawn was brightening the sky behind the eastern treetops, filling the forest with shadows so faint they almost did not exist. They traveled a little more than a mile, then Galaeron called to Takari with the wit wit wit of a cardinal. She responded with a buzzing chick-a-dee call, and Galaeron knew she had located their foes. He studied the wood to the south and saw nothing except an endless tangle of snow-caked branches. Along the Desert Border, he might have hoped to match Takari’s sharp eye—but here in her home, he would have to leave matters in her hands. He told her as much by repeating the cardinal’s call twice more, and she led the way onward.