The Summoning (6 page)

They have freed us?” Melegaunt asked.

Galaeron shook his head. “You are my guests.”

“But the phaerimm…”

“Are Evereska’s concern,” said Galaeron. “You have warned the Hill Elders, and now you must await their decision on the matter of the crypt breaking.”

The humans looked at their unbound hands and seemed more confused than ever.

“My family does not treat its guests as prisoners,” Galaeron clarified.

“And if we leave?” asked Melegaunt.

“You must not,” Galaeron said. “My family has guaranteed your conduct.”

“It has?” Vala asked. “When did you do that?”

“7 didn’t.” Galaeron returned her sword. “You did, when you reacted to the Taunting with both honor and restraint. Those are virtues held in much esteem by the Hill Elders.”

Vala’s eyes lit with sudden understanding. “But you spoke for us.” She gave him a rugged smile. “You surprise me, elf. 1 take back half the bad things I’ve ever said about you.”

21 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp

J5y the time Galaeron slipped into the leaf-shadowed Hall of the High Hunt, Takari lay naked in the Singing Spring, her complexion returned to its normal bronze and her eyes lucid for the first time since being wounded. Behind her stood an aged moon elf wearing no more clothes than she, his arms hooked beneath hers to hold her above the shimmering surface. The air smelled of moss and sweet water, and the song of the silver fountain trilled through the woody pavilion in gay melodies. Ehamond sat beneath the lilting spray as naked as the others, his cuts and bruises already fading. Dynod stood on the bank with two minor priests, describing the destruction of the patrol-As Galaeron entered the grove, one of the priests nodded in his direction. There was no hint of

embarrassment as Dynod turned toward him. Elves seldom relished the failures of others and therefore had few misgivings about discussing them. Having suffered more than his share of pitying looks and sympathetic encouragement, it was one of the few traits Galaeron wished he could change about the Fair Folk.

Dynod’s eyes slid past Galaeron toward the edge of the pavilion, where the humans stood waiting, Melegaunt looking tentative and the others even more awestruck than usual. Knowing the glade of Solonor Thelandira to be the one temple in Evereska where humans would not be an intrusion, Galaeron motioned them forward and turned back to Dynod.

“Then the humans were absolved?” asked Dynod.

“Closer to it than I,” answered Galaeron.

Dynod and the priests exchanged knowing looks, then one of the priests offered one of those compassionate little comments Galaeron had learned to loathe early in his studies at the Academy of Magic. “You mustn’t worry. Tomb Master Colbathin is a stern commander, but a fair one.”

Dynod rolled his eyes and looked away, and Galaeron said, “Had we spent the last two decades in the Greycloaks instead of the Desert Border South, I’d be more inclined to believe that.” Ignoring the surprise on the faces of the two priests, he kneeled beside the water and called to Takari. “How do you feel?”

“Like a moth with a fang hole in its back.” Her voice was cheerful, if rather weak. “Sick, but happy to be alive.”

“I have healed the wound,” said Pleufan Trueshot, the aged huntsman holding her. He rolled the scout over to display a inflamed lump where the hole once was. “But I can’t rid her of the pestilence.”

“It may not be an infection,” said Melegaunt, stepping to the bank beside Galaeron. “May I have a look?”

Pleufan nodded. “You are welcome in the Singing Spring.”

Much to Galaeron’s astonishment, Melegaunt stepped into the water without removing so much as his boots. Dynod

and Ehamond also raised their brows, but the high huntsman and his two assistants, who often numbered humans among their worshipers during the monthly Ceremonies, showed no surprise.

Galaeron glanced over at Vala to see if she found the behavior odd, but her expression was one of such total astonishment he could not tell what she was thinking. Her men, however, were staring at Takari with such a look of feral hunger that he began to worry the Hill Elders had misread the humans’ reaction during the Taunting. This puzzled him even more than Melegaunt’s odd behavior, since the humans had known Takari only as an incoherent battle casualty. Under the circumstances, they could hardly have developed any feelings of love for her, so it was hard for an elf to understand why the mere sight of her naked body should inflame their passions.

Trailing a murky cloud of mud from his trail-worn clothes, Melegaunt waded to the center of the pool and stopped beside Takari. He prodded the sore then looked back to Galaeron.

“The phaerimm did this with its tail, did it not?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “Did you see it inject anything?”

“The tail pulsed,” said Galaeron. “Later, I saw something small and hot at the bottom of the wound.”

Pleufan looked up. “I’ve tried every poison antidote I know”

Melegaunt shook his head. “Phaerimm don’t inject poison,” he said. “They inject eggs.”

“Eggs?” Takari craned her head around so hard she twisted free of Pleufan’s grasp. “What do you mean ‘eggs’?”

“Only one at a time,” said Melegaunt. He looked to the high hunter. “This is how they reproduce.”

“Like caterpillar wasps?” Takari paled to a sickly saffron. “Kill me now! I want nothing eating me from the inside.”

“It won’t come to that.” Melegaunt turned to the high

hunter. “Cut out the egg and treat her as for an ague. If she rests, she’ll be fine in a tenday.”

Takari did not look convinced. “Easy for you to say—”

“Yes, it is. I’ve cut out six—and no healer to see me through the fever.” Melegaunt patted the scout on the cheek, then nodded to the high hunter and waded back to shore.

“Dynod, you’ll see that she does as instructed.” Galaeron looked to Takari and added, “Then you are to return to your own people for a year.”

“Thank you,” Takari said, her eyes turning sad, “but IT! wait until after Kiinyon—”

“No, go as soon as you are able,” said Galaeron. “Even if he has not spoken it, Kiinyon has already made his decision. 1 want you gone while the order is mine to give. It has been too long since you walked the High Forest.”

Takari’s eyes grew liquid. “I will—”

Galaeron raised his hand. “We’ll talk before you go,” he said. “See me when you’re able.”

Takari nodded then allowed herself to sink back into Pleufan’s arms. ‘Till next.”

‘Till next.”

Galaeron told the priests to thank the high hunter for him and gave them a gold lion for their goddess, then waited as Melegaunt climbed out of the water. The human rubbed his fingers together, running through the gestures of a minor drying spell, but nothing happened. He frowned and tried it again.

His clothes remained as wet as before.

“Allow me,” said Galaeron, more than a little puzzled by the wizard’s failure. The mythal would turn back the spell of any non-elf attempting harmful magic within Evereska. But a drying spell was hardly harmful, and Melegaunt would have suffered some adverse effect, had he meant to cause injury. Instead, the enchantment had simply failed. “Is there an incantation?”

Melegaunt raised his bushy brow but shook his head.

Galaeron ran his fingers through the same gestures as the wizard then felt the Weave’s magic course through him. There was a sizzle and a small flash, then Melegaunt’s clothes were dry and smoking.

Melegaunt patted out a small flame. “Did you copy my spell?”

“It’s a small talent I have,” said Galaeron, glossing over the long explanation of his enrollment in, then expulsion from the Academy of Magic. “It wasn’t as strange as your other spells.”

“Amazing,” said Melegaunt. “You could learn a little control, but amazing nonetheless.”

“Would that you were a master in the Academy of Magic,” Galaeron laughed.

He turned and led the humans out of the grove. As they returned to the marble-paved lanes outside, Vala came to his side.

“You should have kissed her,” she said.

Galaeron nearly stumbled. “Takari? Why would I do that?”

“Isn’t that what elf lovers do when they part?” asked Vala. “Or do only humans kiss?”

“We kiss—though not as often as humans, judging by how you breed,” said Galaeron, “but Vala and l are not lovers.”

“I take back the twelve nice words I’ve said about you,” said Vala. “Only a tusker would treat a woman in love so badly.”

‘Tusker?”

“Ore,” explained Melegaunt. “And Vala, it’s hardly a guest’s place to interrogate her host about such matters.”

Vala lowered her eyes at once. “Of course. I apologize.” She fell a step behind and allowed Melegaunt to take her place.

Galaeron glanced back, a little troubled by how quickly her spirit vanished at any hint of the wizard’s disapproval. He had been trying to puzzle out their relationship since departing the Vyshaan crypt, but whenever he mentioned the Granite Tower or their past, Melegaunt always changed the subject Vala told him to mind his own business.

Deciding the best way to win Vala’s confidence was to be open himself, Galaeron said, “There’s no need to apologize, Vala, but we have never been lovers.” He could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew there was more to the story. “We could have been, but such things always come to bad end between moon elves and Wood elves.”

“Really?” It was Melegaunt who asked this. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Perhaps because you are not an elf,” Galaeron replied.

Ignoring the curious—and sometimes hostile—looks of the pedestrians they passed, Galaeron led the way across the great sunning meadow at the base of Bellcrest Hill and started up Goldmorn Knoll. Apparently sensing the melancholy that had come over him, Melegaunt allowed Galaeron a few minutes of introspection before speaking again.

“They’re going to get killed, you know.”

Galaeron did not need to ask who the wizard meant “It would be a mistake to judge our high mages by my skills.” He spoke in a low voice, and even then only when they were near no other elves. “Lord Duirsar was not exaggerating when he told you how old Evereska’s magic is.”

“Old yes, and powerful as well, I’m sure,” said Melegaunt. “But how much do your high mages know of the phaerimm? You didn’t even know what they were, and your priest wouldn’t have realized what was wrong with Takari until the hatchling ate its way through her entrails.”

“And how do you know so much about them?” asked Galaeron.

Without answering the question, Melegaunt said, “The phaerimm have spent the last thousand years starving beneath Anauroch, barely sustaining themselves on the few Bedine their slaves can kidnap or lure through the Sharn Wall. And now we—you and I, Galaeron—have given them a chance to escape. I promise you, they will be quick to seize it”

“Which still does not answer my question. Why do you know so much about them?”

“Because I have spent the last century studying them,” said Melegaunt. When Galaeron remained silent, he added, “That’s all you need know.”

“And all you need know is that I won’t break my word to Lord Duirsar,” said Galaeron. “Not on your say-so. Not on my own life.”

“It is not your life I’m worried about.”

“Then tell me why,” said Galaeron. “If I’m convinced, we will speak again with the Hill Elders—”

“Who would rather see Evereska fall than accept help from a human.”

“Who have dealt with enough humans to know their help is never free,” said Galaeron. “I’m not a fifth their age, and I have learned that for myself.”

They rounded the corner and came to the granite bank of Dawnsglory Pond, where two dozen laughing elves were availing themselves of the morning light to bathe and play in the steaming waters. Galaeron led his companions along to a quiet corner, where a pair of winsome Sun elf sisters were washing the tangles from their hair.

The eldest, a stunning beauty with violet flecks in her eyes, looked up. “Glad homeagain, Galaeron. We heard about Louenghris and your silvers. He will be missed.”

Galaeron winced at how fast the news was spreading. It would arrive at his father’s before he did. “As will they all, Zharilee.” He gestured behind him, where he could almost feel the heat rising off the humans at the sight of the naked sisters. “These are in my care until the Hill Elders decide their fate, and I’m sorry to say they have need of a bath before I take them to my father’s.”

The youngest wrinkled her nose. “Keep a close watch on them.” She rolled onto her back and started toward the center of the pool. “I don’t like how that crooked nosed one looks at me.”

There was the sound of a heavy blow, then Vala growled, “Close ‘em or lose ‘em, Kuhl.”

Galaeron gave the sisters a moment to retreat, then waved his guests into the pool. “If you please.” He glanced toward Melegaunt and added, “It’s customary to remove your clothes.”

The men’s expressions changed from hungry to nervous, and they looked to Vala for instruction.

Vala shrugged and said, “Why not?”

She unbuckled her sword belt, then sat down and began to unlace her high boots. Her men reluctantly followed her example, and ten minutes later they were splashing in the water like pup otters. The men all looked like rothé, with thick tangles of dark hair across their massive backs and huge barrel chests. Vala was stout but much smaller, with rounder curves than an elf woman and—thankfully—only small tufts of hair growing in the appropriate places, but her idea of sport was as rough as that of her men. When they began to play keep-away with one of her boots, she did not hesitate to yank things most elves would have considered it impolite for even good friends to touch. The men responded in kind, grabbing whatever they could in order to keep her at bay. They even tried to include Galaeron in their games, tossing her boot—and Vala herself—at him. So surprised was he to see her eyeing him with the same hungry look he had noticed in the men that he forgot to defend himself and let her hand dart past his guard—and he was even more surprised by what she grabbed. She bowled him over backward and, burying his face in her soft chest, snatched her boot from his grasp.