The Summoning (41 page)

“This will slow the bleeding,” he said. “And don’t worry. We’ll be back in Rheitheillaethor before you know it.”

Takari opened her eyes and pushed his hand away. “No, Galaeron. You made your choice.”

& •€> •Š• •Š••<§>•

Another death scream rolled across the brown water, muted by the gossamer curtain of steam, yet still accusatory in its anguish. Laeral ducked beneath the surface and swam toward the voice, using her magic to move almost as fast underwater as she could have through the cold dawn air.

After her garbled sending to Elminster (she still had no idea if he had understood her), she had taken an escort often warriors and ten war mages through the new gate to Rocnest—and promptly been ambushed by a half dozen phaerimm. Though they were prepared for that possibility—even expected it—all of their magic protections were dispelled before they cast a single spell.

At that point, Laeral should probably have ordered her small company to teleport back to Waterdeep. Instead, desperate to discover what had become of Khelben and hoping to recapture the gate, she moved her group to the rim of the basin. Four of the phaerimm rushed to press the attack, driving her company into the Marsh of Chelimber before they had time to regroup. In the confusion that followed, the small force became separated, and the phaerimm began to pick them off one at a time. She managed to slay two of the creatures during the long night, but those losses had been more than replaced by reinforcements from Evereska.

The thornbacks were using their magic to heat the marsh. Having raised the temperature to a simmer already, they no doubt intended to either force their prey out of hiding or boil it alive. Neither possibility frightened Laeral, for she could easily teleport back to Waterdeep before either grew necessary—but she was loathe to abandon those who could not.

Laeral pushed her head up to confirm her bearings. The voice was weaker now, having faded to a whimper, but it was also closer—just beyond a willow brake. Fearful of making any noise that would betray her approach, she ducked beneath the surface to circumvent the thicket underwater.

As she rounded the corner, three concussions pulsed down through the water, nearly rupturing her eardrums and jolting her so hard that the last air left her lungs. She pushed off the mucky bottom and launched herself into the air with a flying spell, her fingertips crackling with a silvery ball of her most potent magic.

On the other side of the willows stood a trio of murk-swaddled

men, one cradling the mangled figure of a Waterdhavian warrior, the other two using black glaives to pin down the writhing remains of a spell-blasted phaerimm. The men were all the size of bugbears, with brilliant gem-colored eyes and flesh as dark as shadow. While their weapons were familiar in form and function, the ebony blades looked more like black glass than steel, and the shafts might have been wood, metal, or neither.

The tallest, a copper-eyed figure in a flowing tabard as dark as night, glanced at the silvery ball on her fingertips.

“If you are who I think you are, it really wouldn’t do to throw that at us. We mean you no harm.” He used his glaive to raise the phaerimm’s twitching tail. ‘Two more remain, but we have found ten of your men, recovered six more bodies, and have reports of four teleporting away too wounded to fight. Would that be all?”

“So it would seem.” Laeral let the magic die on her fingers. “And you are?”

“Escanor Tanthul.” The shadowy figure flourished his cape and bowed. “These are my brothers, Aglarel and Clariburnus.”

The other two figures bowed and said in unison, “At your service, milady.”

Laeral closed her open jaw and returned the gesture with a curtsy. “Laeral, Lady of Blackstaff Tower.”

“Yes, we know,” said Escanor. “Perhaps we should be gone from here. If you will excuse me for saying so, you seem to have bitten off a bit much even for one of Mystra’s Chosen.”

Laeral raised her brow. “You seem very well informed … for a Netherese.”

Escanor flashed a fang-filled smile. “As do you, Milady Blackstaff. I can see that it will be a pleasure to fight at your side in the war to come.”

“War?” Laeral began to grow cold at the thought of an alliance with these dark Netherese. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“We are hardly ahead of anything,” said Clariburnus. He severed the phaerimm’s tail with a flick of his glaive, then tucked the barb into his belt as a trophy. “The war has begun already. Surely you do not expect the phaerimm to surrender without a fight”

“I know they will fight,” said Laeral. “They have proven that already, but that does not mean—”

“Our army is already on its way, I am sure,” interrupted Escanor. As he spoke, he passed a hand over the face of the wounded Waterdhavian, cloaking the man’s eyes in shadow and putting him into a restful sleep. “We will try to limit the destruction to the Shaeradim, but even the Chosen must see that if we hope to defeat the phaerimm, we will need to fight—and fight together.”

1 Hammer, the Year of Wild Magic (1372 DR)

They had spent the night inside the pyramid. Galaeron had not realized that until they crawled through Aris’s artistic trefoil tunnel and saw the rectangular shadows stretching across the overgrown city. He wished he had Melegaunt to look into them and read the coming day, or perhaps not With two distant phaerimm drifting toward them across the ruins, he could see for himself what the day would bring—at least the short part they were likely to survive.

There were no signs of mind flayers or eye tyrants, nor of Aris and Malik’s horse. The illithids and beholders had probably fallen to Elminster or the undead at the sunken bridge. Galaeron could only hope that Aris had recognized how badly events had turned and had managed to sneak quietly away, but he rather doubted it.

“Sooner or later, they’ll notice the tunnel,” said Vala. She was crouched on her haunches beside Galaeron, with Jhingleshod staring over their shoulders. “We could take the Karsestone out through the river opening.”

“What good would that do?” Galaeron looked along the flank of the butte, to where the waterfall poured out of the sandstone and plunged fifty feet into a pool of scarlet water. They’d only catch us out in the open.”

Vala watched him carefully. “It might give you time to summon help.”

“You mean Shade,” said Galaeron. “I promised Melegaunt I’d wait for the princes.”

“Do you think that will be possible?” asked Vala. She turned to Jhingleshod. “Would the Karsestone fit through the river passage?”

“It would be easier to go without it.” The knight looked toward the interior mouth of the tunnel, where the scorched cinders of Wulgreth’s corpse were already trying to coalesce into a body again. He pushed his axe back to stir the ashes, then said, “And the phaerimm might not care that you escaped.”

“They’d care,” said Vala, rolling her eyes.

Galaeron suspected that she also understood what Jhingleshod was really saying—that without the Karsestone, they might live long enough to destroy Wulgreth’s phylactery. But Galaeron did not know whether Vala also realized that they had the phylactery—that the lich had stored his life-force in the Karsestone.

Galaeron was struggling desperately with what to do after it finally dawned on Jhingleshod that the phylactery and the Karsestone were one in the same. The knight would, undoubtedly, want the stone destroyed, but Galaeron was not even sure such an artifact could be destroyed—and that was quite aside from what such a thing would mean for Evereska and Melegaunt s people. It might be possible to extract the lich’s life-force from the stone, but that would take time.

When Jhingleshod did not answer her question, Vala said, “The phaerimm have been hunting us since Evereska, Jhingleshod. They aren’t going to let us go now, even if we don’t have the Karsestone. Can we get it out through the river passage or not?”

“If you can hold your breath so long,” said Jhingleshod. “But how will that help you keep your promise to me?”

“By bringing help,” said Galaeron. Realizing he had to get Jhingleshod’s mind off the Karsestone or lose any chance of saving Evereska, he slipped past the iron knight and started down the tunnel. “You heard what Melegaunt said, and you saw the Twelve Princes. Don’t you think a thousand citizens of Shade have a better chance of finding the phylactery than we do?”

“Perhaps so, were Melegaunt here to make them honor his word.” Jhingleshod grabbed a handful of Wulgreth cinder and followed Galaeron into the silvery pool. “As it is, I have only your promise.”

“Then perhaps I may be of some small use,” said Malik. He sat atop of the Karsestone attending to a groaning, half-conscious Takari. “I would be happy to see to the stone’s safety—”

“No.” Galaeron and Vala spoke simultaneously.

Malik continued unflustered. “I understand your hesitation— namely that I will give the stone to Cyric—but it would give you a chance to escape with your friend’s life.” He lifted Takari’s head, but lowered it again when she managed a weak shake. “And a chance to keep your word to Jhingleshod and look for Wulgreth’s phylactery.”

“Cyric is trouble enough without a toy like this.” Galaeron was beginning to believe the seraph’s strange claim about being unable to lie. He pulled Takari off the stone and passed her to Vala, then motioned Malik down. “You don’t want to be there.”

Malik slid into the water. “You have a plan?”

“Perhaps.” Galaeron took a piece of shadow silk from his

pocket and pressed it to the side of the stone opposite Aris’s tunnel, then went across the pool to the cavern wall. “It occurs to me Aris might not be the only one who can bore a tunnel.”

“You’re going to use the stone’s magic?” gasped Malik. “An excellent plan!”

Galaeron shrugged. “The best I can think of, but it might be better than waiting for the phaerimm to find us here.”

“And if it fails?” asked Jhingleshod. A whirling cloud of ash cloaked the hand holding Wulgreth’s cinders. “The phaerimm will kill you.”

Galaeron nodded grimly, then glanced out Aris’s tunnel and saw one of the distant cones coming straight toward them. He arranged a circle of shadow silk on the face of the cavern wall. “Anything you can do to slow them would certainly help.”

“Help you,” said Jhingleshod. “If the phaerimm are as powerful as you say, perhaps they could find Wulgreth’s phylactery.”

The shadow silk slipped from Galaeron’s fingers, then vanished into the silvery pool. He turned, slowly, and said, “It seems to me that such selfishness is how you became undead in the first place.”

“I do not think promise breakers have any right to rebuke others.”

Jhingleshod turned toward Aris’s tunnel, but found his way blocked by Malik.

“Selfishness is not always a bad thing,” said the little man. “Especially when everyone can be made to see that their own ends are best accomplished by working together. I am sure that if we all put our heads together, we will find the solution lying right in front of us.”

Galaeron shook his head urgently, but found the line to Malik’s sight blocked by the iron knight’s huge form. Forcing himself to move calmly so he did not alarm Jhingleshod, he stepped sideways.

Malik continued, “Wulgreth is certainly a trickster, and I

have been in the counting rooms of enough tricksters to know that they enjoy hiding their treasures in plain sight.”

Galaeron shook his head desperately, and when Malik did not see him, he called out, “Malik!”

Jhingleshod raised his hand to silence Galaeron. This one is making some sense. Perhaps we will can help each other yet”

“If I were Wulgreth, I would have hidden my life-force in the most obvious place,” said Malik. “Perhaps in the pyramid itself.”

“Would Melegaunt not have detected that from inside?” interrupted Jhingleshod, growing more excited.

Galaeron caught Vala’s eye and nodded toward the tunnel. She turned to look, and seeing the phaerimm still approaching slowly, gave him a reassuring nod.

“Maybe in the butte itself,” said Malik.

“That*s possible,” said Jhingleshod.

Letting slip a silent sigh of relief, Galaeron turned to the wall and pressed a fresh circle of shadow silk to the stone.

“What about Jhingleshod himself?” asked Vala. “That might explain why he can’t die.”

“What an excellent thought! Or it might even be that…”

Galaeron’s stomach sank as the seraph let his sentence trail off. He turned around and found Malik staring at the Karsestone.

“Be what?” demanded Jhingleshod.

Malik’s mouth snapped shut, and for a moment Galaeron thought the little man might actually cover his mistake.

Then Jhingleshod demanded again, “Or what?”

“Nothing,” Malik said, but he seemed unable to stop there. His mouth twisted into a lopsided grimace, and more words began to spill out “Only that it occurred to me that the thing Wulgreth valued most is right here.”

Jhingleshod fell quiet, then turned toward Galaeron. “You were going to take it You knew, and you were still going to take it”

“I don’t know anything.” Galaeron finished his circle and stepped away from the wall. “And I don’t really see what difference—”

“Liar!”

Jhingleshod’s axe shot up so quickly Galaeron barely had time to fling himself into the pool before the rusty blade came tumbling past, spraying magic links of elven chain mail in every direction, and the weapon clanged off the wall.

Jhingleshod was already following his weapon across the chamber, hurling himself toward Galaeron. A black sword caught the iron knight from behind, slashing through his armor and cleaving his yellowed shoulder down to his armpit. Roaring in fury, he spun, slamming an iron elbow into Vala’s head and bouncing her off the Karsestone. Her eyes rolled back, and she would have fallen, had Jhingleshod’s hand not clamped her throat. His fingers started to close, and a wet rasp gurgled from Vala’s mouth,

“No!”

Galaeron leveled a hand at the knight’s iron back and uttered a mystic syllable. A familiar surge of cold power rushed up through his body, then the silky, liquid fire of the Karsestone’s whole magic flooded into him from the silver pool. He gasped in surprise, and Jhingleshod started toward Galaeron, dragging Vala after him. The elf’s arm swelled visibly, the muscles convulsing so hard he thought his elbow would snap.