The Summoning, page 7
“Dead?”
Aubric looked to Galaeron for an explanation, but Galaeron was laughing too hard to explain.
“Your eyes were open,” Vala said. “I thought you were … gone.”
“Gone?” Finally, Aubric seemed to understand. “Oh, the eyes. You thought I was—”
“Dead,” Vala confirmed. “You weren’t moving.”
“The Reverie,” Galaeron said, still laughing. “Haven’t you wondered why we have no beds? Elves don’t sleep.”
Vala looked wary. “Everyone sleeps.”
“Not everyone,” said Aubric. “Though I suppose the Reverie could be considered a kind of sleep.”
“A little, perhaps.” Galaeron did not want to confuse the poor human.
“It’s a waking dream?” Vala asked.
“Not a dream, exactly,” Galaeron said. “We revisit the events in our lives.”
“Or we join with the community,” his father added.
Vala looked confused.
“To share our feelings,” said Galaeron. “It’s restful.”
Vala narrowed her eyes. “You all thought-speak?”
“It’s not speech, but we share.” Galaeron tried to think of how he could describe the Reverie. “You must have a family.”
Vala frowned, insulted. “Do I look like I was spawned?”
“Do you ever feel what they feel? Do you ever know what they need without asking them, or experience their pain from afar?”
Vala’s eyes lit. “Sometimes with my son. You feel that with all elves?”
“You have a son?” Galaeron was so surprised he did not register her last question.
“Yes, I have a son.” Vala ran her fingers down her sides. “You’ve seen me naked. Did you think this body could be barren?”
Galaeron felt the heat in his cheeks. “Of course not, but elf women—”
“Have no hips. Giving birth must feel like a gut stab.” Vala narrowed her eyes, then said, “Maybe that’s why you have such slim heads.”
“Without doubt!” Galaeron’s father clapped a hand on Vala’s shoulder. “You’ve a tongue on you like a Wood elf, my dear.”
Vala’s expression changed to self-reproach. “I’m sorry. I forgot myself.”
“Not at all.” The elder Nihmedu shook his head in mirth. “I haven’t enjoyed an argument so much since Morgwais was here.”
“Morgwais?” asked Vala.
The gaiety vanished from the old elf’s eyes as suddenly as it had appeared. “Galaeron’s mother. You won’t be meeting her.”
When no explanation was forthcoming, Vala looked to Galaeron, and a moment of awkward silence followed. Galaeron was spared the trouble changing the subject by the sudden flutter of wings. A streak of white circled the room three times before Manynests grew calm enough to perch on the elder Nihmedu’s outstretched finger.
“I was in here.” Aubric had to speak through the snow finch’s warbling. “Was it so much trouble to use the door?”
This quieted the bird somewhat. He continued to zeee and chirp, and even Galaeron’s father had to concentrate to keep up.
“When did Lord Duirsar last hear from them?”
The bird peeped, then continued for another twenty seconds. Finally, Manynests cocked his head, his wings twitching as he awaited a reply.
“Tell Lord Duirsar that the Swords of Evereska will leave within the hour,” said Aubric. “I took the liberty of planning for such a summons.”
The bird launched itself into the contemplation and was nearly at the window before Aubric could speak the command word to render the theurglass passable.
“That finch is going to break his neck,” said Melegaunt, entering the room ahead of Keya and the other humans. “Why so excited?”
“The Hill Elders lost contact with Kiinyon and the high mages an hour ago.”
“An hour ago?” Melegaunt fumed. “And they’re only telling us now?”
Galaeron’s father raised his hand. “There’s more. They can no longer contact anyone outside the Sharaedim.”
“What do you mean?” Keya frowned. “That can’t be right.”
“I doubt Lord Duirsar is mistaken,” said her father. “There is no response to his sendings, and those using the gates never return.”
“So any help Evermeet sends won’t arrive through Evereska,” surmised Melegaunt. “They’ll have to fight their way in from outside, with the troops sent by your other allies.”
“Other allies?” asked Aubric. “What allies would those be?”
“I’ve heard Evereska holds a special place in the heart of Khelben Arunsun,” said Melegaunt. “Surely he is already mobilizing Waterdeep’s forces.”
“You are well informed,” said Aubric. “Khelben was the first human to visit Evereska, but we elves are a proud people.”
“He hasn’t been told?” Melegaunt closed his eyes. “What about Evermeet?”
“They were told, but no help was requested. Lord Duirsar has ordered the remnants of the Feather Cavalry to inform all elf-friends of our peril.”
“They’ll fail,” said Melegaunt. “The phaerimm would not overlook such an obvious thing.”
“Then it may be some time before Evermeet sends help,” said Aubric. “In the mean time, I must excuse myself. Duty calls.”
“Duty?” asked Vala.
“Father is the Blademajor of the Swords of Evereska.” Keya’s voice was as frightened as it was proud.
The elder Nihmedu nodded. “Lord Duirsar has asked us to scout and report.”
A look of relief crossed Melegaunt’s face. “Good. We’re coming with you.”
Galaeron’s father smiled warmly. “Would that you could, my human friend.” He shook his head.
“But as the commander, surely Lord Duirsar will listen to your wishes,” Melegaunt objected.
“No doubt, Lord Duirsar would,” said Galaeron. “But the Swords of Evereska are a noble militia. The title of blademajor rotates, and it could easily be rotated to someone else through the scheming of a few high nobles.”
“My command is tenuous enough.” The elder Nihmedu made no mention of why, but they all knew it was because of the blame being heaped on his son’s shoulders. He turned to Galaeron. “Manynests mentioned twice that the spell guard is watching the city exits. You and your friends would do nobody any good hanging in bone cages.”
Galaeron studied his father. “You have nothing to fear on our account. I only wish we had nothing to fear on yours.” He clasped his father to his breast. “Remember what you have learned from Melegaunt about these devils. No one knows them better.”
“I have marked every word.” Galaeron’s father returned the embrace, then separated himself and turned to Keya. “I am sorry to leave you alone, my daughter. Will you care for Treetop until next I return?”
“Of course.” Keya buried herself in her father’s chest. “And you won’t be leaving me alone. Galaeron and his friends will keep me company.”
Galaeron and his father exchanged a look over Keya’s head, then the elder Nihmedu turned to Vala. “It may be that we do not meet again, human. Should it prove so, know that your wit and beauty will be a treasure to me always.” He nodded toward Galaeron. “And it would do an old elf’s heart good to know you will watch after his son.”
“Then I’ll be glad to be of some use to an old elf.” Vala gave the blademajor a hearty embrace, but the bewilderment in her eyes suggested she did not yet fully understand what he was saying. “Sweet water and light laughter, my friend.”
The traditional parting caused Galaeron’s father to raise his arched brows. “Another day in Evereska, and there’d be no telling you from an elf.” He laughed and turned to the other humans. “Sweet water and light laughter to you all.”
Aubric was barely out of the room before Keya turned to Galaeron. “That was a strange thing to say. Where does he think you’re going?”
“He doesn’t know—and that’s how it must remain,” surmised Melegaunt. Not waiting for a confirming nod from Galaeron, he plucked at Vala’s silky green shift. “Get out of this and into your armor.”
“Armor?” Keya’s jaw dropped, and she turned to Galaeron. “You mustn’t let them.”
Galaeron took his sister’s hands. “Keya, I’m not letting them. I’m taking them.”
CHAPTER SIX
23 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp
Once they had descended Starmeadow Tower, the humans moved with surprising stealth, considering their armor and the difficulty of traveling in an invisible group. At times, Galaeron and Keya could not even tell the warriors were behind them. They descended Goldmorn Knoll and slipped past Dawnsglory Pond without drawing a second glance, and Galaeron grew confident their plan would work. They had to stop once and listen to a silver-haired matron assure Galaeron that no one blamed him for freeing the phaerimm and only Golds listened to Lord Imesfor anyway, but even she did not seem to sense the invisible humans.
The forest ended abruptly at the edge of Moondark Hill, where a low stone wall was all that separated them from the empty air. A crescent of green pastureland lay far below, flecked with gray boulders, brown ponies, and emerald stands of fir. Beyond the pasture, the rolling patchwork of black-and-gold winter fields rose toward the mist-shrouded vineyards. The Swords of Evereska were visible on the highest terraces, their long column of ponies wagging like a tail as they rounded the last switchbacks into the forests of the High Vale. There were no other companies in sight, though Galaeron knew there would be a handful of Spellguards posted at the livery stations and the other entrances to the city.
“Now is as good a time as any, unless we want to wait until dusk,” he said.
“We dare not wait.” Melegaunt’s voice came from the air behind Keya. “With the phaerimm, every hour is an eternity.”
Galaeron extended his hand. “I’ll need the rope.”
An invisible hand laid a thin coil of elven rope in his palm. Galaeron looped it over his shoulder and climbed a big duskwood, then crawled out on a sturdy limb well past the wall. He secured the line and fed the bottom out until it touched the pasture. No human rope—at least not that one person could carry—would have stretched so many hundreds of feet, but enough elven cord remained to create a large coil on the ground.
Galaeron returned to his companions and climbed down next to Keya. “All is ready. Stay away from the cliff. If you touch it, Evereska’s defensive magic will cancel my spell.”
“We’re all going at once?” asked Vala.
“We must all stay within ten feet of you or become visible,” explained Melegaunt.
“That thread won’t hold five of us,” objected Kuhl.
“It would hold five stone giants.” Keya’s tone was anything but patient. “That’s an elven rope.”
The explanation was met with a wary silence, then Vala said, “On with you, Kuhl.” There was a lot of scuffing and grunting, then the thick branch sagged dangerously. “We’ll be waiting at the bottom, Galaeron.”
“I’ll be along directly.”
Galaeron allowed the humans a few moments to begin their descent, then embraced his sister.
“Too long away,” he said, “too quick gone.”
“Next time.” She smiled bravely and touched her long fingers to his cheek. “Bring me no phaerimm eggs.”
“Of that, little sister, you may be assured.” He stepped onto the low wall, then glanced at the duskwood branch. “You’ll retrieve the rope?”
She nodded. “They’ll never know of your leaving. Sweet water and light laughter.”
“Back soon for soft songs and bright wine.”
Galaeron cast a spell to turn himself invisible, then fixed his gaze on the coil of rope far below and stepped off the wall. His plunge was at first a breathtaking blur of wind and color, but the mythal’s magic prevented any native of Evereska from being injured by a plummet from the cliff tops. As he neared the bottom, his fall slowed to a mere descent. He landed lightly on his feet and was there waiting when the invisible humans stepped onto the ground.
Keya pulled the cord up. Galaeron had the humans link hands, then he led them across the pasture to the perimeter of the mythal. He climbed over the wall into a field of winter wheat and stopped in a corner shade bower.
“Melegaunt?”
“Here.”
“The Spellguards will be watching the Secret Gate, and we can’t pass through unnoticed. Now would be a good time to use your shadow walk to move us to the other side of Eastpeak.”
“I’d be happy to, but I think you have noticed my magic doesn’t work in Evereska.”
“It will now,” Galaeron said.
“Really?” There was a pause, then Melegaunt asked, “I wonder why would that be?”
Though he knew the wizard could not see it, Galaeron shrugged. “You have your secrets, I have mine.”
“So it seems.” The wizard chuckled, low and foreboding, then added, “Very well. I suppose what the master claims cannot be denied the novice. Everyone find me and grab hold.”
Though it had been more than forty years since Galaeron had considered any wizard his master, he did as instructed and took hold of an arm. Melegaunt’s gravelly voice rose in an incantation, and the world turned dark and indistinct. Five blurry silhouettes appeared around him, then one of the smaller shapes separated itself from the others and started forward.
“We are walking the border between the world of light and the world of the dark,” said Melegaunt. “It is easy to lose your way, so you must not release me. Time and distance have no meaning here. If you lose sight of me for even the blink of an eye, I may never find you.”
Galaeron found himself clinging to a small arm that could only belong to Vala. She was holding hands with one of her huge warriors, and the warrior’s other hand was clamped to Melegaunt’s collarbone as tightly as a vise. Though every hand between Galaeron and the wizard possessed at least twice the strength of his own, his eyes soon began to burn for fear of blinking. To one side loomed flat purple shapes. Sometimes they were as high as mountains, with jagged profiles that suggested peaks and ridges. Other times, they were slender trunks with scarecrow arms, swaying in an unfelt wind, reaching down to clutch at Galaeron with fingers of darkness that could not touch.
Opposite the shadows shimmered a vast horizon of yellow radiance, blinding and bright and as hot as the Anauroch sun. Despite Melegaunt’s warning, Galaeron found himself longing to walk into the light. Its familiar warmth was an enticing contrast to the cold eeriness of the shadows, and there was something young and frightened inside him that longed to be away from the darkness. He fixed his gaze ahead, forcing himself to concentrate on Vala’s back.
Finally, slivers of radiance began to break off the horizon and tumble along to both sides of the companions. Some rolled completely by and passed out of sight. Others landed flat on the ground or lodged themselves between shoulders of purple darkness, creating a ghostly landscape of gullies and hills. Despite the cascade of splinters, the light never grew smaller. The yellow horizon merely flattened out and spread itself into a rolling plain that Galaeron soon recognized as the sands of Anauroch.
Instead of continuing toward the desert, Melegaunt dropped to his knees and tipped forward. Galaeron thought the wizard would fall, but his body merely extended itself at a slant and hung over the ground until the rest of the party followed his example. When they were all leaning forward at the same angle, Melegaunt had Galaeron cancel his invisibility spells, then led them downward into darkness as black as coal. The sensation of descent vanished within a dozen steps. A few minutes later, they stopped, and Galaeron’s dark sight began to function.
“Your shadow vision will work now,” Melegaunt whispered to the humans.
Vala and her men briefly touched the hilts of their swords, then blinked the sight back into their eyes. The group was standing in a small chamber hewn from solid rock. The walls had been cut so smoothly they seemed almost polished. Along one side of the room lay a sleeping berth, covered with a billowy black mattress of shadow made solid. On the other side sat a small stone desk.
From the front of the chamber came the sound of grunting and scuffling. Galaeron turned and found himself looking through a foot-wide crevice, where a haggard human was scuttling past in a high squat. The man’s hair and beard were long and unkempt, his gaunt body coated in sweat-streaked filth. He was dragging a wooden chest crammed so full of parchments, books, and scrolls that the lid would close only partially.
Melegaunt motioned for quiet and stepped to the crevice. He ran through a series of mystic gestures, both cupping his hand to his ear and rubbing the tips of his fingers on his forehead. Galaeron and the others cast puzzled looks at each other and wondered where they were. Their answer came a moment later, when a huge-toothed maw surrounded by arms floated into view. Galaeron raised his hands to summon a bolt of magic, and the humans reached for their black swords.
Melegaunt stepped away from the crevice. “No!” He pushed Galaeron’s hands down. “Your magic would have them on us like crows on a battlefield.”
Galaeron glanced toward the crevice, but the creature floated past with no hint that it had seen them, its thorny body writhing through the air in a motion part fish and part serpent.
“It’s angry with its slaves for being so slow,” whispered Melegaunt. “It’s complaining that the best holes will be taken. They’ll be faster next move, or they’ll be egg bags.”
As the barbed tail rippled out of view, Galaeron asked, “Where’s it going?”
“And where are we?” added Vala.
Melegaunt answered Galaeron first. “I think you know where it’s going.”
“The dwarven workings?”
“Somewhere in the Sharaedim,” Melegaunt corrected. “They must consider it safe haven now.”
“Safe haven!” Galaeron could not keep the outrage from his voice. “Never!”
Melegaunt touched a finger to his lips. “Quietly. This cloaking magic was meant to muffle snores, not shouts.” He answered Vala’s question next. “We’re in my last refuge, not far from our rendezvous point in the dwarven workings. The phaerimm will place their WarGather at the breach in the Sharn Wall, to make sure it stays well guarded.”
