Troy Denning - The Summoning

Galaeron nodded, already taking the wizard's meaning. The ancient mythal that had once protected Myth Drannor had not perished with the city. Though it had deteriorated over the ages, it was still very powerful-powerful enough, apparently, to nourish a colony of phaerimm. And if the deteriorating magic of Myth Drannor's mythal was enough to sustain forty of the creatures, he could only shudder at the thought of how many Evereska's far stronger mythal might support.

Galaeron shook his head at the thought of the evil he had unleashed.

Melegaunt tapped Galaeron's knee. You did not unleash this. You were executing a sworn duty. If the blame lies anywhere, it lies with me.

Galaeron shook his head. / knew we were in above our heads the instant I saw Vala's beholder, and she warned me so. Had I listened-

You would have violated your oath to protect the crypts of your ancestors, which is not something Galaeron Nihmedu would do, Melegaunt said. And had I not been so eager to escape, I would not have instructed Vala to break even a Vyshaan crypt in order to find the dwarven mine. At the least, the fault is ours together, and there is no use second-guessing ourselves. Know that had you been a coward and turned your back on me, the evil you did would have been far greater than this. We are going to set things right, you and I together, but this matter is bigger than Evereska-much bigger. Even were we to fail and Evereska to fall, what you did would still be worth it. To a human, perhaps, Galaeron thought.

Though he did not think it consciously he knew that if Evereska fell, his name would be vilified in the coming ages as terribly as that of the Vyshaan or the drow On Faerun, at least, Evereska was the last haven of elven civilization-all that remained of the empires that had founded mighty cities such as Cormanthor and Siluvanede. More determined than ever to find a way to stop the phaerimm-to destroy their entire race, if need be-he turned back to the War-Gather.

Having won the argument about the best way to proceed with the interrogation, Zay was holding Kiinyon Colbathin spread-eagled above its-his-toothy maw, flicking his barbed tail across the bloody rents in the tomb master's battered armor.

Would you like that, elf? The phaerimm was using thought-speech alone to talk to his prisoner, for the wind language of the phaerimm was clearly not one most elves were likely to speak. It would be an honor to carry my egg.

The barbed tail arced down to touch Kiinyon's lips, then the creature motioned to several fellows. They leveled themselves horizontally and ran their own tails over the elf's body, probing for holes and seams in his armor.

Perhaps I will let you carry eggs for all my friends, taunted Zay. Kiinyon seemed barely conscious enough to notice. His eyes were swollen half shut, his broken nose spread across both cheeks, his lip split so badly that the tip of his tongue showed where there should have been teeth. It was more difficult to tell the condition of the body beneath the armor, save that the deep creases and puckers bespoke plenty of bruises.

Would you like that, slave? All those larva grooving inside, slithering through your entrails, eating the food from your stomach? Impossibly, Kiinyon shook his head and said, "No."

The word was so garbled that Galaeron barely understood it. He was surprised to discover he felt none of the tomb master's pain. Elves who lived even in reasonably close contact were so connected to each other-through the Reverie and the Weave-that they shared at least some shadow of each other's emotional experiences. Instead, Galaeron sensed Kiinyon's anguish and fear only through Melegaunt's eavesdropping spell. There was even-he was ashamed to admit- some small part of him that actually took pleasure in the tomb master's pain.

Galaeron found the strange emotion as puzzling as he did frightening. Elves were not spiteful, for their emotional bonds tended to curb such low passions. In a very real sense, to wish pain on another was to wish it on oneself, and not even the most arrogant Gold was foolish enough to do that The vile sentiments Galaeron was experiencing seemed all too human.

The phaerimm continued to hold Kiinyon a long time, allowing his fellows to run their barbed tails over the elf's body, until a strange, rhythmic moaning rose from the tomb master's lips. Galaeron did not recognize the sound until the other captive, the elf in the high mage's robes, began to say the Prayer for the Dying.

"Behold, there in the West There I see my comrades and my lovers, my childhood friends, those who have gone before me and those still to come. There I see them in the tall oaks, high in the limbs where the golden sun lights their faces.

"They are calling my name. They are calling my name. They are calling me West, and there I am going."

The voice was unmistakable. It had not only the clear articulation and eloquent intonation so typical of the Sun elves, it had the same plumy timbre Galaeron had come to know so well over his last two years of duty. The voice belonged, undoubtedly, to Louenghris's father, Lord Imesfor.

One of the phaerimm backhanded the high mage, silencing him, then Zay raised his tail and brought it down hard on Kiinyon's breastplate. The barb penetrated the mithral steel and sank to its base, but Galaeron saw no convulsing muscles as he had when Takari was implanted.

No? Then you must give me a reason, said the phaerimm. Tell me the first word, and I will let you die without eggs. "Goldheart," Kiinyon whispered. "The word is Goldheart." Liar!

Zay motioned to his fellows, and a dozen barbs pinged through Kiinyon's armor. A couple of the tails began to convulse, but the spasms seemed weaker and more sluggish than the ones that had implanted the egg in Takari. The tomb master screamed, and his body grew puffy and rose toward the ceiling. Only the phaerimm's grasp prevented it from floating all the way.

As astonished as Galaeron was by the strange effect, he was even more astonished to discover he could actually stand to keep watching. By all rights, he should have felt so sickened that he found himself either attacking madly or cowering in fear.

My congratulations, Zay, said Tha, now speaking in the phaerimm's wind language. The same false answer.

Zay pushed Kiinyon into the bone cage, where the tomb master floated to the ceiling and hovered helplessly, pinned in place by the strange magic with which the phaerimm had injected him.

The answer cannot be false, said Zay, only our understanding of it.

All the same, it has not opened the portal. Tha plucked Lord Imesfor off the floor. There is only one thing we have not tried. Perhaps the dead can be made to tell what the living cannot.

Galaeron's heart sank. The phaerimm could be talking about any of several portals into Evereska, but it seemed most likely they meant the Secret Gate, the only way through the mountains from this side. It was also the route by which the Swords of Evereska were leaving the Vale, and Galaeron did not care to think of what might happen when his father emerged from the portal into the arms of a band of phaerimm.

Lord Imesfor began to recite the Prayer for the Dying, this time for himself. Galaeron retreated and turned away. With so many phaerimm in the chamber, he saw no way to effect a rescue, and given the strange, vengeful emotions he had been experiencing, he was not sure he wanted to find out how he would feel when the high mage was killed.

Galaeron felt a tap on his knee and looked up to see Melegaunt. Come along. We don't have long to plan.

The wizard slipped past Galaeron, moving down the tunnel to where Vala and her men were gathering. He had to scuttle along like the slave they had glimpsed earlier, for the passage was only four feet in diameter and shaped like a tube-much more comfortable for floating phaerimm than walking humans. Galaeron joined the others and kneeled, his back sore from hunching.