“Afterward,” the giant clarified. “Once he’s in the city, his shadow will grow too strong. We’ll lose him … and this time, I fear it will be for good.”
“That is a risk,” Ruha agreed. “He’s not strong enough to fight Telamont.”
Galaeron shrugged and said, “There is cost to every plan. I can resist long enough to make this one work. After that … well, I doubt the Chosen will find it difficult to eliminate the problem before it can grow out of hand.”
Storm studied him for a long time then said, “You would make that sacrifice?”
Galaeron answered without hesitation, “I have lost more already.”
“And that is another wrong thing.” Aris planted a big finger in the center of the table and nearly collapsed it. “When he is not talking of Evereska and what it is suffering, he is talking of Vala and what she is enduring. I say he is doing this to save her.”
Storm raised a cool gaze to the giant’s face and asked, “Why would that be wrong?”
Aris scowled and spent a moment trying to think of an argument, then gave up and looked away without answering.
Storm looked back to Galaeron and remained just as silent.
Finally, he could bear her scrutiny no longer.
“So you’ll do it?” he asked.
Instead of answering his question, Storm asked one of her own, “I want to be clear on this. If your shadow takes you, you’re asking me to kill you?”
Galaeron nodded.
Storm shook her head. “No, Galaeron. If you want this, you must say it.”
“When …” Galaeron’s throat went dry, and he had to stop and start again. “When, not if—because I am losing the battle even here—but when my shadow takes me, I want you to kill me. More than that, I want you to promise me now that you will. I’ve brought enough evil into this world through folly and accident. I have no wish to cause it directly.”
“If that is what you want, I promise,” Storm replied. She stood and turned to Aris. “What about you, my large friend? Will you go with Galaeron?”
“Him?” Galaeron asked, also standing. “This doesn’t involve Aris. There’s no need for him to return to Shade.”
Storm did not look away from the giant.
“Aris goes everywhere with you, Galaeron,” she said, “and he has vowed to avenge Thousand Faces. If he suddenly remains behind when you set off to fight the phaerimm, what will the Shadovar think?”
“She’s right,” Ruha said. “They would grow suspicious, and that suspicion would spoil your plan. This must be done right … or not at all.”
Galaeron dropped his head. He had nearly killed Aris once already, during their escape from Shade when he had succumbed to his shadow self and used the giant to lure a blue dragon into an ambush. Had Storm not answered Ruha’s call for help, Aris would have died, and this time there would be no one to call for help. If matters went wrong—even if they went right—it might well be the death of them both.
Galaeron shook his head.
“Then we won’t do it.” He raised his gaze, met Aris’s eyes, and said, “This is not something I would ask of you. You have already done more than I could expect even of an elf friend, and I will not see you killed.”
“You think that is why I don’t like your plan? Because I fear for my life? That is an insult worse than any your shadow has ever spit out.”
Aris’s big fist crashed down on the table, smashing it to pieces and sending splinters and shards of goblet flying in every direction.
“You saved my life at Thousand Faces,” the giant continued. “It is yours to spend.”
A tense silence settled over the courtyard. Galaeron was so shocked by the giant’s uncharacteristic show of anger that he did not dare look up to apologize.
Finally, Storm rose.
“I guess that settles it, then,” she said. She used her hands to brush the wine off her leather armor. “We’ll look for you tomorrow, after dawn.”
CHAPTER FIVE
15 Flamerule, the Year of Wild Magic
To Malik’s astonishment, Escanor was still glowing when he dared enter the presence of the Most High. The prince could be seen from fifty paces away, first as a dim, pearly ball floating beneath the copper flicker of his distinctive eyes, then as a luminous cage of ribs encasing a kernel of pulsing light. A wave of stunned whispers followed him across the throne room, and as he drew closer Malik could see that Escanor was actually staggering. The mantle of shadow that usually served him as a body was bleeding away in wisps, bestowing on him a rather gauzy and serpentine appearance.
Escanor stopped at the foot of the dais, his glow illuminating half a dozen younger princes who were coming up behind him. Though none were in as sorry a condition as Escanor, they had gone with him to attack the Chosen on the High Ice, and three were bleeding shadow from lesser wounds.
Escanor bowed and would have fallen over, had one of his brothers not braved the ghostly light to lend him a hand.
“I apologize for appearing before the Most High in this condition,” he said.
“As well you should,” Hadrhune said. “It is an insult.”
“Indeed,” Malik agreed, standing in his customary place just above Hadrhune. Having grown tired of the seneschal’s jealousy over his position as Telamont’s most trusted advisor—and weary of the constant assassination attempts—Malik had decided to try a strategy of alliance to placate the man. “If the Most High wanted us to see his face, he would show it to us himself … though I must admit I am curious to see it myself.”
He did not even cringe at this last part of his statement. Much of the reason the Most High valued Malik’s advice so highly was the curse placed on him by the harlot Mystra, which always compelled him to tell the truth when he spoke. Telamont Tanthul rarely chastised him for the embarrassing slips that this caused him—and sometimes even seemed to find them amusing.
But not today. A set of icy talons sank into his shoulder, and a cold voice whispered into his ear.
“Your curiosity on that count would kill you, my behorned friend, and slight a prince of mine again and you shall have it satisfied.”
Malik’s mouth grew as dry as dust. “I meant no offense, Most High …” He struggled to end there, but the truth welled up inside him and spilled from his mouth of its own accord. “At least to you, for I have always felt secure in your protection and completely free to insult whomever else I desired.”
The Most High removed his icy talons, patted Malik’s shoulder, and said, “And now you don’t.”
Telamont slipped past and descended the stairs toward his son. Knowing it would be suicide to stand higher than the Most High, Malik followed him down the stairs. The Most High stopped on the bottom step, leaving Malik, Hadrhune, and the rest of the throne room attendants to scramble for places on the floor. In the glow of Escanor’s wounds, the sycophants looked ghoulish and wrinkled, with hollow cheeks and sunken red eyes. Only Telamont himself seemed immune to the light and remained hidden in the shadows beneath his cowl.
Taking advantage of the light—he always tried to make the best of every situation—Malik risked a surreptitious glance at his wounds. Though cold spears of anguish still pierced his shoulder where the Most High had grasped him, there were no holes in his flesh, nor any blood on his robe.
Telamont asked, “You engaged the Chosen, my son? They did this to you?”
Keeping his head bowed, Escanor nodded and said, “That is so, Most High.”
Telamont’s platinum eyes shone brighter in the darkness that was his face.
“Good.” He lifted a murky sleeve, motioning Escanor to his feet, and continued, “Rise and tell me how many you killed.”
Escanor’s shadows seemed to grow even thinner as he stood.
“I fear the answer is none, Most High,” he said, his coppery gaze remaining fixed on the floor. “We were defeated.”
“Defeated?” It was Hadrhune who asked this. “Seven princes of Shade?”
Escan
or’s eyes swung toward the seneschal. “The Chosen are formidable enemies.”
“Which is why I advised the Most High to send seven of you,” Hadrhune countered, “and an entire company of the Gate Guard.”
Though the effort of defending himself drained Escanor, none of his brothers seemed eager to leap to his defense.
“Your plan did not take into account … the quickness of the Chosen. They fling magic as easily as you do aspersions.”
Hadrhune responded with a smile—the predatory smile of a hunter in pursuit of crippled prey.
“They are only human,” he said. “How could their spell-craft be quicker than that of a shadow lord?”
“That is a mystery to me,” Escanor replied, sounding more sincere than sarcastic. “Next time, perhaps you should lead the assault and tell us.”
“There will not be a next time,” Telamont said in that low even tone that Malik had learned to associate with cold rage. “We cannot afford one.”
“Unfortunately, I doubt the choice is yours,” Malik said. He had long ago discovered that times like these were when he stood to gain the most with the Most High, since everyone else was too busy cowering in fear to curry favor. “Now that the Chosen have seen how powerless you are to stop them, they will certainly return to roll up the shadow blankets faster than you can lay them.”
Telamont whirled on Malik, his platinum eyes shining brightly enough to see by.
“We are not powerless!”
“N-n-no, of course n-not,” Malik stammered. “Only, after the losses Shade suffered in Tilverton, you will be if you lose a company of warriors each time you try to stop the Chosen from stealing one of your shadow blankets.”
One of Telamont’s murk-filled sleeves reached out, and a tendril of shadow knotted itself into Malik’s robe and picked him up by the lapels.
“Why must you always be right, little man?”
Malik shrugged and thought it might be wiser to say nothing, but that was never an option when Telamont Tanthul wished an answer. He lasted only a breath before the Most High’s will forced him to speak.
“It is my curse, Most High,” he said—but of course there was no stopping there. “It is my design always to tell you what you wish to hear—but since that is rarely what is true, before I know it I am foolishly blurting out the things your other advisors are too wise to say.”
“Too wise,” Escanor asked, glaring pointedly at Hadrhune, “or too cowardly?”
Telamont’s glance darted in the prince’s direction.
“Careful, my son. You are one of those Malik is talking about.”
He lowered Malik back to the floor, then slipped a murky hand through Escanor’s ribs and grabbed the prince’s still glowing heart.
“Interesting. Tell me about the spell that did this.”
Escanor’s gaze shifted to the hand in his chest.
“It was the silver fire.” His voice was shaky. “It burned through my spell-guard—”
“No.” Telamont pulled his arm away, and a glowing palm appeared at the end of his sleeve. “Silver fire is raw Weave magic. If that’s what this was, we would be spinning into a dimensional vortex right now.”
“Really?” Malik gasped.
He had witnessed enough combat to know that when raw Weave magic contacted raw Shadow Weave magic, the result was a rip in the fabric of reality. It was just such an accident—when the magic bolts of Galaeron Nihmedu’s Tomb Guard patrol met one of Melegaunt Tanthul’s shadow bolts—that had ripped the Sharn Wall and released the phaerimm in the first place.
“Then you must be …” Too late, Malik realized the risk he was taking by revealing that he realized Telamont’s true nature. He tried to hold his tongue, but the curse compelled him to finish what he had started. “… living shadow magic!”
The Most High’s murk-filled cowl turned in Malik’s direction.
“Not living, exactly.” A faint crescent of purple appeared where a human’s smile would have been, and Telamont finished, “No need to feel bad about blurting it out. You were never going to leave here anyway.”
“Most High?” Malik looked around as though searching for a door, but of course there was no escape into anything but the shadows. “That is hardly needed! I can keep a secret as—”
“The enclave, worm,” Hadrhune said. “He means you will never leave Shade Enclave.”
“Just so,” Telamont said. “I find your advice too … necessary … to let you go.”
“Is that all?” Malik sighed in relief. “Then we are in agreement. Why would I wish to leave Shade? I have everything I desire here—Villa Dusari, the ear of the Most High, a stable for my beloved horse and plenty to feed her. I would be a fool to leave all this!”
For once, there was nothing more for his curse to compel him to say.
“How very pleased we are,” Hadrhune said, running his thumbnail across his palm. “I am sure the princes are as delighted as I am.”
“The only delight that matters is mine,” Telamont said. “I will be delighted when someone tells me what to make of this.”
He held up his glowing hand.
“Obviously a form of false magic aura,” Hadrhune said. “Commonly used in bazaars and such places to make plain weapons appear enchanted.”
Telamont remained silent, and when Hadrhune did not add anything more, he turned to Malik. Resolved to jeopardize his position no further that day by being the bearer of bad news, Malik tried to remain silent as well.
Then he found himself saying, “We have a saying in Narjon, where I was once an esteemed merchant: if someone fills your oil jar with sand, it is not because he wishes to give you sand.”
Telamont and the princes remained silent and continued to look at him.
“Have you no scale cheats in Shade?” Malik asked, exasperated. “It means someone is trying to deceive you. Whoever created this false aura wishes you to believe his spell is silver fire—”
“Phaerimm!” Telamont and Escanor growled the word together.
“That would explain the swiftness of their spellcasting,” Hadrhune said, turning to Escanor. “It surprises me that you failed to see it in the field.”
“Had you ever been in the field, perhaps you would—”
“Enough,” Telamont said in that cold, dangerous tone again. “You are both to blame.”
He raised an arm, and with a flick of his sleeve sent Hadrhune crashing into Escanor. They went tumbling across the throne room floor locked in an embrace of pain. Telamont waited until they had vanished into the shadows before turning to the rest of his princes.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” he said. “In all things, you succeed or fail together. If one fails me, all fail me.”
The princes’ eyes dimmed with fear, then somehow speaking in flawless unison they said, “We understand, Most High.”
Telamont glared at them for a moment, then finally waved a sleeve in the direction Escanor and Hadrhune had tumbled.
“See to your brother’s wounds and your own. This war is too close to lose another prince.”
The princes bowed and retreated into the shadows, leaving Malik and the other attendants alone with Telamont. The Most High placed a sleeve around Malik’s shoulders, turned him toward the dais, and started to ascend back to his throne.
“It pleases me that you are happy here, Malik.”
“Very happy,” Malik said. “Except for the frequent attempts on my life, perhaps.”
“Ah, yes,” Telamont sighed. “Hadrhune.”
Malik waited for the Most High to say he would no longer have need to worry or that something would be done about that, but they continued to climb in silence until they came to the step where Malik normally stopped.
Telamont kept his arm around Malik’s shoulders, guiding him onto the throne platform itself. This drew an astonished murmur from the attendants below, but the sound faded to silence as the Most High took his seat and stared into Malik’s eyes.
“Hadrhune was not s
o different from you once—if you will forgive being compared to an elf.”
Malik’s jaw fell at this revelation, for he had never seen enough of Hadrhune’s shadow-swathed face to note either arched eyebrows or pointed ears.
“There was a time when he served me as well as your counsel does now,” Telamont continued. “I tell you this so you will know that I reward those who aid me with eternal loyalty, even after they have lost their usefulness and become a burden.”
Malik inclined his head. “I am honored that you would treat me so.”
“I could,” Telamont said, his voice again assuming that dangerous coldness, “were this debacle not your fault.”
“My fault?” Malik broke into a cold sweat. “How have I caused this, Most High?”
“This happened because we did not anticipate the phaerimm’s plan. We did not anticipate their plan because we do not have the knowledge my son Melegaunt passed on to Galaeron. We do not have Galaeron because he is still in Arabel.”
Telamont sank back into his throne and continued, “Did you not tell me that if we sent Vala to be Escanor’s bed slave, Galaeron would return to Shade and try to rescue her?”
“I may have said, er, uh—” Compelled by Mystra’s curse to tell the exact truth, Malik stammered to a stop then was forced to continue, “I did say that was the surest way to draw him back in a rush. I have no dou—er, a reasonable belief—that my plan will still work … eventually.”
Telamont’s eyes grew white and icy. “Eventually, my patience will come to an end. One might even say that it is waning now.”
A lump the size of a fist appeared in Malik’s throat, but he still managed to say, “Indeed?”
Telamont remained silent.
Malik found that he had another question, a question he desperately did not want answered but which was rising up inside him like his stomach after a meal of bad fish. He clamped his mouth shut and swore he would not open it, that he would choke on the words before he allowed them to spill forth.
But his will was no match for that of the Most High, and he soon heard himself asking, “What happens when your patience has gone?”
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