Troy Denning - The Siege

According to Vangerdahast, Cormyr's neighbors had sent more than a hundred companies to help persuade Shade Enclave to rethink its melting of the High Ice, some as small as twenty well-mounted riders, but several numbering in the thousands-and with a generous mix of clerics and battle mages. To Alusair's dismay, the most enthusiastic response had come from the merchant princes of Sembia, some of whom stood to lose their entire fortunes if the weather disturbances continued. Always suspicious of Sembian designs on Cormyrean lands, the Steel Regent had not even informed the merchant princes of the alliance she was forming. They had sent large forces anyway, threatening to form their own alliance if she failed to accept their troops.

What Galaeron did not see were any companies on the roads outside the city. Though warriors were pouring into the Knoll District by the hundreds, trampling the grounds of the great estates in search of bivouacs, they were not entering through Tilverton's gates. The companies seemed to be sprouting from the city itself, marching out of shadowy cul-de-sacs or emerging from some ancient tower or keep to form up in the street.

Galaeron raised his gaze and looked over the scrying ball to Vangerdahast's bushy-browed eyes.

"It won't work," the elf said. "If you can scry this, so can the Shadovar."

"Not so." Vangerdahast raised his head, revealing a confident smirk not quite hidden beneath his beard. "This is what they will see."

He waved his hand over the scrying ball. When Galaeron looked back, the soldiers were gone, and the residents seemed to be having some sort of festival in the Knoll District. "You can annul shadow magic?" Galaeron gasped. The implications for Evereska were distressing. If Vangerdahast could find a way to negate the Shadovar's spells, so could the phaerimm. "How?" "I am a wizard of some power, elf."

"It's not a question of power." Galaeron gestured at the ball. "May I?"

"If you don't think it will draw out your shadow." Vangerdahast's voice was mocking. He had been trying to persuade Galaeron to demonstrate his shadow spells since Rivalen's departure and could not seem to understand why Galaeron refused. "I wouldn't want to be responsible for unleashing such a demon." "I'll be fine."

Galaeron envisioned the world-window in the Palace Most High and waved his hand over the scrying ball. The crystal filled with dark clouds, then a circle of light opened in the center and several murky Shadovar figures grew visible along the edges. The image in the middle was that of a great lake ringed by desert mountains.

"This is Telamont Tanthul's 'scrying window," Galaeron said, disappointed that he had not caught the Shadovar looking in on Tilverton. "If shadow magic and regular magic were capable of annulling each other, don't you think this room would be warded?"

Vangerdahast studied the image for a moment, then said, "Of course the room can't be warded. The Weave is mightier than the Shadow Weave."

"Mightier, perhaps," Galaeron said, "but also different. They can spy on you as easily as you spy on them."

Vangerdahast's face appeared inside the crystal ball. "I am experienced in such matters, you know."

Realizing he would never win this argument, Galaeron decided to try another approach. "Even if you're right, the Shadovar do use spies-thousands of them, I am sure."

"Not in Tilverton-or any other Cormyrean city." Vangerdahast displayed a tile with a magic ward etched onto the surface. "My war wizards have been busy."

Galaeron took the tile and ran his fingers over the symbol. It was a variation on an ancient Cormanthorian sigil he had studied in Evereska's academy of magic, used to keep spirits of darkness and cold at bay. The workmanship was exquisite and the magic so powerful that the presence of his shadow self caused it to burn his hand. When he returned the tile to Vangerdahast, he was surprised to discover the symbol burned into his palm. Finding that even this copy of the ward made his eyes burn, Galaeron closed his hand.

"Impressive, but useless," he said. "All a Shadovar need do is enter the fringe, and your ward will have almost no power over him."

Vangerdahast's eyes flickered with alarm. "Really?" He turned the ward toward Galaeron. "Show me." Galaeron had to look away. "I can't. You know that." "I certainly do," Vangerdahast snorted.

"I've explained how it can be defeated," Galaeron said, raising a hand to block his sight of the symbol. "There is no need for me to prove it. The cost of satisfying your curiosity is too dear."

"Very well." Vangerdahast lowered the tile and set it aside-facedown, thankfully. "By the way, the last time I spoke to Storm Silverhand, she asked me to pass along a message from Khelben."

"From Khelben?" Galaeron's heart was immediately beating faster. "About Keya?" "I believe that was the name mentioned, yes."

Galaeron waited for the wizard to continue-then, when he did not, asked, "What is it?" Vangerdahast's eyes slid toward the ward.

Galaeron rose in disgust. "You're no different than the Shadovar!"

"There you are mistaken, elf," Vangerdahast said, peering at Galaeron over the shadow ball. "I am very different. What I do, I do for the good of Cormyr."

"Then you would do well to stay clear of the Shadow Weave," Galaeron started for the door. "You are already half shade yourself."

"Probably." Vangerdahast's tone was thoughtful. He remained silent until Galaeron reached for the latch, then said, "You're going to be an uncle." Galaeron stopped, then turned. "What?"

"According to Khelben." Vangerdahast shrugged. "Your sister is getting married." "Married?" Galaeron gasped. "She's only eighty!"

"And fighting the phaerimm on the front lines of the siege, from what I hear." Vangerdahast steepled his gnarled fingers. "People mature quickly in the face of death."

Galaeron studied the old wizard, trying to figure out what the human hoped to gain by making up such an outrageous story.

Finally, he gave up and said simply, "It won't work, old man. It takes years for elves to fall in love. An engagement can last a decade."

"I have found that war tends to speed matters of the heart," Vangerdahast said, eyes twinkling. "And humans are not so reticent. Especially Vaasans."

"Vaasans?" Galaeron released the door latch and stumbled into a nearby chair. "One of the Vaasans did.this?" "Someone named Dexon, as I understand it."

"The ice-hatched bastard!" Galaeron hissed. "I'll slit him from groin to gullet!"

"Really?" Vangerdahast chuckled. "I thought you were trying to control your 'shadow self.'"

A deep barbarian bellow, muffled by distance and the thick walls of the tent, sounded down in the camps. Always concerned about friction between the disparate companies of her motley army, Laeral cocked an ear toward the sound. The voice was angry and a little bit puzzled, as though demanding an explanation. Probably just one of Chief Claw's warriors still trying to figure out the magic latrines the clerics insisted on whenever the army was encamped.

Khelben, lying on the camp rug beside Laeral, took her chin in hand and gently turned her face back toward his so he could resume kissing her. Though it had been several days since they had trapped the phaerimm in the Vine Vale, they had been so busy securing Evereska's defenses and hunting down survivors that this was the first night they'd found for each other. Khelben, who had after all nearly died at the Rocnest and been the one trapped by the thornbacks for all those months, seemed to feel the need to shut out the war even more keenly than did Laeral. With the dexterous fingers of a magician, he used one hand to undo the knot holding her jerkin closed and began to unlace her.

A tremendous fluttering sound pulsed somewhere high above the tent. Laeral rose to her elbows and looked up through the smoke hole and saw nothing but he starless mantle of the shadowshell. "Do you hear that, Khelben?" she asked.