Troy Denning: The Siege

His mount spiraled downward into a dimly lit mezzanine area and landed in formation, six places behind Rapha and between Vala and Malik. Galaeron was astonished to see the Princes Rivalen, Brennus, and Lamorak standing at the head of the landing yard with a full company of shadow warriors.

Following the lead of Rapha and the rest of the Shadovar, Galaeron slipped off his veserab and kneeled on the floor, pressing his forehead to the cold stone. He cast an apprehensive glance in Vala's direction and saw her looking at him just as nervously, but neither dared to speak the question on their minds.

When the rest of the riders had dismounted and assumed similar positions, Galaeron sensed the princes and their guards coming across the floor. There was no sound-no tramping feet or clinking armor, nor even the whisper of boots scuffing cold stone-only a growing sense of stillness and apprehension.

Finally, Prince Rivalen's deep voice sounded not ten paces ahead. "Who is in command here?" "I am," answered Rapha's quavering voice.

He stood and gasped softly, then described what had occurred at the underground lake, making clear what he had observed with his own eyes and what had been reported to him by others. When Rapha came to the attack on Prince Escanor, he took care to relay only the facts, though his acid tone made clear-at least to Galaeron-where he was trying to lay the blame. The shadow lord finished by reporting the successful completion of the Splicing and venturing the opinion that the phaerimm trapped within the Sharaedim would perish within a few months.

"And what of Escanor?" The voice that asked this was sibilant and pervasive, like a whisper echoing into the chamber from some distant passage. "Where is he now?"

"On the flying disk with the native giant," Rapha reported. like Aris himself, the flying disk was too large for the wicket door that opened into the passage leading down to the Wing Court. The stone giant would have to wait outside the Cave Gate until it was opened, then land on the great Marshaling Plaza itself.

"Most High," Prince Brennus said, "I'll summon a healer and see to our brother."

If there was a response, Galaeron did not hear it. The air grew chill and motionless, and he sensed someone standing above him.

"You are the one who held the phaerimm beside Escanor?" asked the same wispy voice that had spoken before.

Galaeron started to lift his head, then-after a hissed, "Are you mad?" from Malik-thought better of it and pressed his brow back to the floor. "I am, Most High."

"And you did this why?" The voice seemed more interested than angry.

"To prevent it from escaping with the secret of the shell." Galaeron did not enjoy speaking to the floor, and he could not keep his irritation from creeping into his voice. "That was why the phaerimm were there, to learn how to defeat the shell so they could take Shade Enclave unawares later." "Truly? And how do you know this?"

"The same way I knew they were there in the first place," Galaeron replied. "To tell the truth, I don't understand myself. All I can say is that I knew." The voice remained silent.

"It just made sense," Galaeron said, as confident that the voice desired further explanation as he was of his fate if he failed to provide it. "They had to know what we were doing, and they couldn't allow that. They had to be planning something."

"That explains why you held the phaerimm beside Escanor?" the voice said.

Galaeron started to agree, then realized that was not what the voice wanted. There was still a question to be answered.

"The prince had just killed one phaerimm," Galaeron explained. "I thought it would be easy for him to kill another one, especially when it was teleport dazed." Again, the silence.

"The only other place to send it was at Vala," Galaeron said. "I thought if it did kill someone, better Escanor than her."

"Stupid elf." Malik shrieked, forgetting himself and raising his head. "Think what you are saying, before you get-"

The objection ended with the dull thump of a halberd butt striking Malik's cloth-swaddled head. Galaeron glanced over and found the little man sprawled unconscious but still breathing.

The voice asked, "You are struggling with your shadow, are you not, elf?"

"Losing, I think," Galaeron said. This time, he needed only the hint of a silence before realizing that he was to continue. "Prince Escanor has been looking at Vala. I didn't like it." "Ah."

Galaeron felt the weight of Vala's stare and tried to keep his eyes fixed on the floor, but the voice remained silent, and eventually he felt compelled to peer in her direction. He found her returning his gaze as best as she was able, a look of surprise and triumph in her emerald eyes.

"It is nothing to be concerned about." The voice sounded amused. "Shadows are by nature unconquerable and unknowable. You can defeat them only by defeating yourself."

More silence, but this time Galaeron did not feel compelled to speak. The air grew muggy and less still, and Galaeron felt as though he could dare breathe again.

When the voice spoke this time, it was farther away. "Hadrhune will see to it that you and your companions are lodged near the palace. If I am to avoid losing any more of my princes, it seems I must teach you how to live with your shadow."

Uncertain of whether that was a good thing, but hoping it was, Galaeron started to raise his head-and felt the butt of a halberd on the back of his neck. He touched his head to the floor again.

The voice asked, "That will meet with your approval, will it not, eh?"

"Of course," Galaeron said. His heart was pounding- whether with joy or fear remained to be seen, but definitely with excitement. "Thank you." Silence, heavy and expectant. "And, of course, I'll repay you any way I can." "Good, Galaeron," said the voice. "Now we understand each other."

Though the month of Tarsakh had nearly passed and the Greengrass festival was fast approaching in Water-deep, a fierce blizzard was roaring in from the east, battering the window panes with its angry winds and dropping more snow on a city already buried to the doorknockers. Nor was this the wet slosh that blew in from the sea early every Greening. This was needle-snow, tiny spears of ice crystals formed over the High Ice and swept across the continent in howling walls of frostbite.

There was no prospect of it melting any time soon. Melting required warm breezes and bright sun, and the closest thing to either that Waterdeep had seen in three months was the steady flow of pearl-colored storm clouds sweeping across the sky. Matters had grown so bad that the city guard had covered the frozen harbor in mountains of excess snow, the woodcutters were finding it impossible to keep smoke in the city's chimneys, and the area farmers had yet to till their frozen fields. In short, Waterdeep was facing a natural disaster of the worst proportions, which was what made the news Prince Aglarel brought so fortuitous — suspiciously so, at least to anyone who knew how such things worked.

The Shadovar stood before Piergeiron Paladinson and seven of the Masked Lords of Waterdeep, his eyes glowing silver and his ceremonial fangs flashing white as he addressed the imposing assembly in the marble-walled majesty of the palace's Court Hall. In addition to Piergeiron and the Masked Lords, the gathering included the Silver-hand sisters Storm and Laeral, Lord Tereal Dyndaryl from the isle of Evermeet, Lord Gervas Imesfor of Evereska, and the inevitable host of gawkers that could be expected whenever such a group of dignitaries came together.

If Aglarel was aware of the power and influence of those whom he addressed, his easy manner and confident voice betrayed no sign of the knowledge. Huge and dark, with a blocky face and long ebony hair, he wore a flowing black cape and purple tabard that almost gave him the appearance of floating as he strode back and forth behind the podium, now and again emphasizing a point by stabbing the air with a black talon that looked more like a shard of obsidian than a human fingernail.