The Sorcerer rota-3

by Troy Denning

"You are stronger than I thought, elf," the Most High's wispy voice hissed into Galaeron's ear. "You are beginning to anger me."

  Galaeron smiled. He tried to turn toward the voice, but his whole body seemed to pivot with him, and Telamont remained just beyond his peripheral vision.

  Galaeron had to settle for speaking into the shadow.

  "At least there's that," he said.

  "Oh, there is more," Telamont said. "Much more. My son Escanor is dead."

  Galaeron started to say something spiteful then realized that to express such malice to a grieving father-even this grieving father-would be to invite his shadow in.

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  A deep chuckle sounded beside Galaeron's ear.

  "Lies are of the shadow, too, elf."

  "It was compassion-not a lie."

  Galaeron's thoughts were racing. Had the city fallen and Telamont come to take vengeance? Did he see a way to use his son's death to force Galaeron completely into shadow? Or was he simply there to take out his anger on Galaeron?

  "Whatever I may have thought of Escanor," the elf said, "whatever I would have liked to do to him myself-I'm sure you loved him."

  Telamont was quiet for a moment, not using his will to press for an answer as usual when he fell silent, but genuinely seeming to contemplate Galaeron's words.

  "Perhaps I did, at that," the Most High said. "What a pity Vala was not so charitable as you."

  A cold knot formed in Galaeron's stomach. Telamont's cold presence pressed closer to him.

  "She escaped her cell," the Shadovar said. "She killed him in his sick bed."

  The knot in Galaeron's stomach grew as heavy as lead.

  "Did his guards…?" He could barely bring himself to voice the question, "Is she dead?"

  "That would make you angry, would it not?"

  A cloaked form coalesced in the murk before Galaeron. With the Most High already whispering into his ear, it took Galaeron a moment to realize that the figure in front of him also belonged to Telamont.

  "I could tell you she is, and you would fly into a rage." Telamont's eyes grew bright and angry, but his voice continued to whisper into Galaeron's ear, "And with rage would come your shadow. It would claim you for all time."

  "Then she's not dead." Nor had the mythallar been destroyed, Galaeron realized. Had Shade fallen, Telamont would be more interested in killing him than claiming him. "You don't know where she is."

  "And with hope comes strength," hissed the disembodied voice. "The strength to defy me. What am I to do?"

  He fell silent, and the air grew heavy with expectation.

  Fearing that one answer would lead to another and another until he betrayed their plan, Galaeron tried not to answer. Telamont remained silent, and his will pressed down on Galaeron all the more fiercely. Eventually, he could resist no more, and the words tumbled out of their own accord.

  Tell me the truth."

  The purple crescent of a smile appeared in the hood beneath Telamont’s s eyes.

  "The truth? What is 'truth,' really?" Telamont's voice whispered into Galaeron's other ear. "The truth is that she will be."

  The lump in Galaeron's stomach began to grow lighter. Vala was still alive.

  "If you catch her."

  "When we catch her," Telamont corrected. "Where can she go? It's a thousand feet to the ground."

  He paused, and Galaeron feared for a moment that Telamont meant to force an answer that would betray the attack on the mythallar, but Telamont had something else in mind.

  "She will be caught. My other sons are tracking her even now."

  Galaeron fought not to smile. He had said nothing about the Chosen yet, and if the princes were busy searching for Vala, they would not be watching the mythallar. Perhaps they had even helped her escape to create a diversion. That would be just like those cowards, to sacrifice a helpless woman so they wouldn't have to risk their own lives. It occurred to Galaeron that he might save Vala's life by warning Telamont about their plan. That was what those traitors deserved.

  "You do not care?" Telamont asked. "I thought you loved this woman. I thought she was the reason you betrayed us."

  Telamont grew quiet, and again the weight of his will slowly crushed Galaeron's resolve.

  At last, Galaeron admitted, "That's true. I do love her."

  "A pity, then," Telamont said. "The things that will happen when we recapture her…"

  He fell silent, leaving Galaeron to imagine the horrors that would be visited on her. Given the punishment Vala had suffered just for aiding in his escape, he could not bear to think of the death she would meet after killing a prince of Shade. He began to feel Telamont's will pressing down on him, compelling him to speak what he was thinking. Time and again, Galaeron found himself ready to blurt out his plan, to reveal how he had tricked Telamont into bringing the Chosen into Shade.

  Somehow, he resisted. Deep down inside, part of him wanted to believe it was honor that stopped him, that something inside him was strong enough to resist the will of the Most High of Shade. But the truth was that he had again fallen into the grasp of his shadow self, and it simply did not believe Telamont could be trusted.

  Every time Galaeron started to say he would trade Shade's life for Vala's, or that he could deliver five Chosen in exchange for her freedom, his shadow refused. It reminded him that Telamont had once offered to teach him how to control his shadow-as if that could be done-and of how badly that bargain had turned out. It reminded him of how powerful the Most High was. Galaeron had only to hint at the attack on the mythallar and Telamont would begin to pressure him for answers. The Shadovar would know everything within minutes, Vala would be condemned to a lingering death anyway, and Galaeron would be left with nothing for his betrayal.

  For once, Galaeron's shadow self was right. Telamont had done nothing but betray him. Telamont deserved what was going to happen to his city. All of the Shadovar did. And Vala? He wanted to save Vala, but he could not do it by yielding to Telamont.

  Finally, Telamont said, "Love is not as strong as I imagined." The pressure did not relent, but his voice came from the hooded shape before Galaeron's eyes. "You do not wish to save Vala?"

  "I would do anything to save Vala," Galaeron said, "but I am no fool."

  "No?" Telamont's voice sounded like cracking ice. "Then you know she will not escape."

  "And you know I can help you."

  A dark voice inside Galaeron screamed for him to hold his tongue, that he was a fool if he thought he could bargain with Telamont Tanthul.

  Galaeron ignored the voice and continued, "The phaerimm continue to trouble you. Take me to the world-window. When I see her at home in Vaasa, I'll help you with them again."

  Telamont drifted closer, until Galaeron could see nothing in front of his face but two platinum eyes. He forced himself to hold the gaze, and eventually he saw that the eyes were silver coronas burning around two disks of shadow blacker than darkness. The pressure of his will grew crushing, and still Galaeron did not look away. Finally, the shining coronas flickered with something like amusement, and Telamont drew back a little.

  "Love is not as strong as I imagined."

  The Most High's eyes resolved themselves back into disks, and his dark form began to melt back into the darkness.

  "But hope…" the shade said. "That is so much stronger."

  The crushing burden of his will remained. Galaeron waited, expecting the compulsion to answer some unspoken question to arise inside him at any moment. There was only the intangible weight-and a different pressure, rising from inside, a feeling that was closer to fear and uncertainty, perhaps grief. Finally, when the shape of Telamont's body had dissolved back into the darkness and there was only the pale light of his fading eyes, it was this pressure that forced Galaeron to break his silence.

  "Wait!" Galaeron said. "What about Vala?"

  "I accept." The eyes vanished, but Telamont's voice hissed from the darkness all around, "If you wish to save her, you have
only to grasp the shadows and free yourself."

  Before Galaeron could object, voices began to hiss again in the distant gloom, and the crushing weight of Telamont's will was gone. Galaeron found himself torn between pride in having matched wills with the Most High and apprehension over his comment about hope. What had he meant about hope being so much stronger? Probably, it was just some ploy to make Galaeron yield to the Most High's will, to surrender himself to shadow, but there had been something about the way it was said that made him feel otherwise, a note of revelation in Telamont's voice that suggested a flash of insight. His tone in agreeing to trade Galaeron's cooperation for Vala's life had been one of ridicule, as though he knew the offer would never be accepted.

  A dark voice whispered that Telamont was playing him for a fool. There was only one way to escape, and Galaeron refused to use it. Half the Shadovar in the enclave had to be laughing at him at that very moment. Galaeron resisted this line of thought by reminding himself of what happened the last time he used the Shadow Weave, of how he had alienated Vala and nearly gotten Aris killed. If Telamont had provided an easy escape, it was because it was no escape at all. Galaeron had sworn an oath never to use shadow magic again, and it was an oath he intended to honor.

  Galaeron occupied himself for what seemed the multi-verse's next eternity, arguing back and forth with the dark voice inside his own head, knowing there was only one escape and knowing as well that a fate worse than death awaited him if he took it. Had he been confident that he would know when the Chosen shattered the mythallar and the city fell, perhaps he would have had the fortitude to wait.

  As it was, the uncertainty was more than he could bear: the fear that Shade would crash into the sands of Anauroch and be fifteen centuries buried with him still there in that dark moment wondering if his plan would ever succeed, wondering if Vala would live to see her son again, wondering if Takari had ever forgiven him for the selfish fear that had made him turn her away. The image of a black, drop-shaped body appeared his mind and began to grow larger. The thing had three bulbous protrusions that, considering the fang-filled mouths at the end, might have been heads. A trio of arms, each ending in three hands with a single eye in the palm, sprouted from its body in three unlike places. The phantasm-for he had no doubt that that was what it was- reminded Galaeron vaguely of the sharn he had freed when they destroyed the first lich Wulgreth.

  I have been looking for you, Elf.

  Galaeron's jaw dropped. For once, his shadow self seemed too stunned to take advantage of the situation, and he experienced a moment of internal silence that he had not enjoyed since making the mistake that had allowed his shadow to invade him in the first place.

  What, no "hi ho, old friend?" the sharn asked. No, "well met, Xrxvlayblea?"

  "W-hat, uh, how…?"

  "That will do, I suppose."

  The sharn-Xrxvlayblea-was floating in the shadows before Galaeron, all ton and a half of him, or it, or them, or however one referred to a blob of three-headed… stuff. It waved the eyes in several of its palms over Galaeron.

  "Y-you're real?" Galaeron stammered.

  One of the heads shot up close to Galaeron's face and spewing drool from its fangs, snapped, "Did I not say I would return to repay the favor you did me in Karsus?"

  "You did," Galaeron gulped.

  "Now is when you need me most, is it not?"

  Galaeron managed a nod.

  "Of course it is," another head spat. "Or I wouldn't be here."

  Galaeron shook his head and wondered if he had begun to hallucinate.

  "There you have it, then," the third head said. "You're ready now. Favor repaid."

  The sharn turned and started to float away into the shadows. Galaeron tried to pull an arm free and found that he was as stuck as ever. He debated the wisdom of talking to a hallucination. A dark voice asked what could it hurt, and he decided nothing.

  "Wait!"

  The sharn stopped, but did not turn.

  "Ready for what?" Galaeron asked.

  "Ready to do what you were not ready to do then," the sharn replied.

  Galaeron frowned. "But I'm still caught"

  "Whose fault is that?" asked one of the heads-from behind, it was impossible to see which. "You'd better get unstuck."

  "You don't understand," Galaeron said. "I can't use the Shadow Weave. I swore an oath."

  "An oath?"

  The sharn swung back around and shoved two palms in Galaeron's face so it could stare at him eye-to-eye.

  "Why'd you do a witless thing like that?" it asked.

  "I've been having a shadow crisis," Galaeron explained. "When I use the Shadow Weave, my shadow self takes over. The next time, it may be permanent, so I vowed not to cast any more shadow magic."

  "Breaking a vow is bad business." The eyes in the palms blinked, and it said, "But don't be angry with the Shadow. That's what he wants-and it's not his fault, anyway. You made a promise you can't keep."

  The sharn turned and started to float away again.

  "That's it?" Galaeron cried. "That's your big favor?"

  One of the heads twisted around to glance back over its body.

  "Look, I'm not here to tell you how to live your life. You can do it now, or you can do it later, when it doesn't matter. Your choice. Favor repaid."

  "One more question," the second head added, "and you owe me."

  "You don't want that," the third head said. "Really."

  "No," Galaeron said. "I'm sure I don't. My thanks, and fare you well."

  "No doubt of that," the sharn said, and it vanished into the whispering gloom.

  More than a hundred heartbeats passed before the dark voice inside suggested that maybe they should ignore the sharn, that maybe it had been an illusion conjured up by Telamont Tanthul to trick him into using the Shadow Weave. Maybe, after all, they should hang there in the murk for a while longer. Galaeron realized that maybe his shadow self was saying the opposite of what of it truly wanted, that maybe it really wanted him to escape and was just suggesting the opposite because it knew he would do the opposite of that…

  "Maybe," Galaeron said. He closed his eyes, then grasped a handful of shadow and closed his fist as well. "And maybe not."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  2 Eleasias, the Year of Wild Magic

  To Aris's dismay, elegance had not returned with strength. With Malik gone, the giant found himself secretly in the service of Prince Yder. He stood over the High Altar in Malik's Temple of the One and All, cutting a relief of Shar's Black Moon around the oblong skull-and-starburst he'd done when the temple still belonged to Malik.

  He could hardly ask for better working conditions, even were he a free giant. He had only to ask, and whatever he wanted to eat or drink would be brought from any far corner of Faer?n. A company of assistants attended to his every need, and he worked at his pleasure and was free to do whatever he wished at other times. He was not even much of a captive, as he was free to wander the city of Shade at will-so long as he did not mind an escort of several armed shadow lords.

  His tool control had returned to normal after he'd slept off the effects of hiding the Chosen in his body, and the Dark Moon was cut shallowly enough so that it did not draw attention to itself. Still, there was something intrinsic to the goddess's hidden nature that he was not quite conveying. A viewer had only to look at Cyric's skull-and-starburst to see that it floated inside Shar's Dark Moon, and that would not do at all. She was more subtle than that, more mysterious.

  Aris stepped away to gain some perspective, barely noticed as he sent a dozen attendants scrambling for cover, and decided he would have to rethink the whole thing. He dropped his hammer and chisel into the tool bag on his belt and backed out of the chancel area.

  "Go to my workshop," he said, motioning the attendants toward the door in the north transept. "Bring a stack of sail canvases and a barrel of sketching charcoal."

  The attendants rushed to obey, leaving only four shadow lord guards who did their utmost
to remain quiet and out of sight. Yder had apparently ordered them to avoid reminding Aris that he was a captive, but it made no difference. He always knew they were behind him. He could feel them there, just out of sight.

  A throaty rasp came up the nave's center aisle as someone pushed open the Black Portal. Aris waved an absentminded hand in the direction of the sound and kept his attention fixed on the object of his frustration. A pair of guards rushed off to send the visitor away. There followed the hiss of whispered conversation, then a scuffle, a few syllables of magic, and the clatter of armored bodies hitting the floor.

  "What's wrong with you oafs?" Aris snapped, too absorbed in aesthetics to register anything but an annoying disturbance. "Can you not see I'm trying to think?"

  The other two guards were already stomping down the aisle to intercept the intruder. This time, the incantation ended in a sharp crack. The flash of lightning lit the chancel, and at last Aris saw the solution to his problem. The entire High Altar would become the Dark Moon, with the upper hemisphere forming a semicircular back panel at the rear and the lower hemisphere descending down into the choir. The trick would be to get the right foreshortening where the level changed, and to find a way to round the staircase toward the bottom. Growing ever more excited, Aris dropped to his knees and began to search his belt bag for a nubbin of sketching charcoal.

  "Difficult to tell who's the slave here and who are the guards." The voice registered vaguely as a familiar one. "You weren't this difficult back in Arabel."

  "Do you have something to sketch with?" Aris lowered a hand without looking. "I must get this down while I still have it in mind."

  "Aris!" the voice barked. "Leave it You're done here."

  "Done?"

  Scowling at the interruption, Aris shook his head and found Galaeron standing at his side. The elf looked much as he had when they were separated at the Cave Gate, save that his face was lined with fatigue and his eyes veiled behind a glossy darkness.

  "Galaeron…"

  Aris could feel the details of his idea slipping away even as he spoke, but he was so happy to see his old friend alive that he didn't care… much.