Troy Denning - The Summoning

Melegaunt's face betrayed the barest hesitation. "All has gone well, my lord Escanor, but one matter may trouble us."

The horn-helmeted prince cast an admonishing glance at Galaeron's hip. Galaeron looked down, but did not realize what the dark warrior was staring at until he felt Takari pull his hand away from his sword. "I think that would be foolish, my princep," she whispered.

The murky warrior looked back to Melegaunt without comment. The one called Escanor said, "Yes, young brother?" "I have spoken of one called Elminster," said Melegaunt.

"The gray-bearded Chosen," said the horned warrior. "We have observed him. A powerful ally-or an inconvenient enemy. Which?"

"That is yet to be decided, my lord Rivalen, but I fear unexpected events have turned him a little against us. As you know, his parents were slain by a shadow mage, and that has made him suspicious of us. Only two days ago, he tried to stop us from entering the Dire Wood, and I have been informed by a darksentry that even now he comes after us. I fear he would think to interfere with the Return-and he has the power to do it." Rivalen and Escanor glanced at each other.

"We will need to set matters straight with him before proceeding, that is all," said Escanor. "And these unexpected events?"

Melegaunt motioned Galaeron into the circle. "Galaeron Nihmedu is in a shadow crisis and losing badly" Several princes cast knowing looks at each, and Melegaunt continued, "He has done much to aid our cause. Through no fault of his, he and I opened the Sharn Wall in Evereska instead of Hartsvale." "The phaerimm are out already?" gasped Rivalen.

Melegaunt hung his head. "My fault entirely. I chose a poor place to meet my darkswords, and Galaeron's patrol took us for tomb robbers. They were not to blame." "There is no blame here," said Escanor. "We will adjust our plan, that is all." He looked to Galaeron. "We cannot undo the anguish your people have already suffered, but your home will be saved-have no fear of that."

"The war will be farther south," Rivalen said. "Unfortunate, but no great disaster." "Evereska has a mythal," warned Melegaunt.

Rivalen shrugged. "And it will take a little longer than planned." He clasped Galaeron's shoulder. "But it will be won. On that, you have the word of the Twelve Princes of Shade."

Galaeron's first thought was of what the prince left unsaid. "At what cost to Evereska? It is well and good to slay the phaerimm, but not if you mean to fight the war on elf lands."

Rivalen exchanged a concerned look with the others, then a third prince, the square-chinned one who had arisen in front of Galaeron, stepped forward.

"I know it is difficult during your shadow-struggle, but you must trust us. Evereska will suffer-it has already suffered, as you must know-and we will do what we can to help. But it is the phaerimm who attack your land, not us. We did not set them to it any more than you did."

"But / did," Galaeron said, nearly collapsing beneath the weight of his mistake. "I ordered the wrong spell,"

"You did your duty," said the prince. "You would have been remiss not to attack to your best judgment. Any blame you feel comes from your shadow, no one else. You must ignore it, or you are lost."

The prince's words lifted the burden from Galaeron's heart a little-but not as much as when Takari slipped her arm through his.

"Listen to the murky one, my princep. He is telling you what everyone who was there already knows." Galaeron nodded. "I'll try"

"Good," said Melegaunt. "And well be there to help-so long as you stop casting spells."

"And I will see to that," said Vala, coming to take Galaeron's other arm.

Rivalen smiled, baring a pair of fangs that would not have looked out of place on a vampire. "Good. Now, we must be off."

"What of Wulgreth?" Jhingleshod shoved his way into the circle and glared at Melegaunt. "Do not think-"

"1 would not think of it," said the archwizard. He turned to Escanor. "There is the matter of a small promise I made to this spirit. Can you dispel all the magic in the room above?"

Escanor eyed the iron knight, then motioned the other princes toward the ceiling exit. "As you wish." He started to rise after the others. "We'll do it on our way out."

"On your way out?" Melegaunt waved a hand at the Karse-stone.

"We must deal with these little problems," said Rivalen. "And from the sound of it, the sooner the better." "But what of the Return?"

Escanor smiled broadly, baring a mouthful of needle-thin fangs. "That honor is for you, young brother. Levitate the boulder into the sky, then use your magic to call our people home." "Me?" Melegaunt gasped. "I am the lowest of us all!"

"But the most worthy," said Escanor. "You cannot have forgotten the words."

"Never." Now it was Melegaunt who smiled. "Hear me now, people of Shade. Follow me now, for the Return is at hand!"

30 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp

The hoarse phaerimm whistle rasped through the stone trees above Elminster, prompting him to hurl his ample bulk through a tangle of the Dire Wood's poison vines. He rolled out the other side with astonishing grace for a man of his considerable age, then spun around to find a cascade of harmless gray spiders fluttering to the ground before him. The arch-mage spied a pair of fiery lich-eyes peering over a vine-shrouded wall opposite him and countered with a swarm of meteors that turned into a colony of bees, then the phaerimm-there were two of them, floating through the treetops above the street- unleashed their own flurry of magic. Three silver rays disintegrated into scintillating rainbows, two black death beams became winged snakes and flew off, and one spell actually worked, a lightning bolt that dissipated against Elminster's spellguard in a silver flash.

Such was any battle in a wild magic area, nine parts futility and one part danger. Seeing Wulgreth starting to rise into view-with a fringe of coarse hair, noseless rotting face, and lipless skeleton's mouth, the lich looked much the same as the hundreds Elminster had disposed of during his long lifetime-the archmage spun around and crashed down a vine-choked ally. At the corner, he turned toward the center of the city, hoping to circle back to the main road and follow the trail of mangled corpses to Melegaunt and the others.

That the shadow wizard had destroyed so many undead in the middle of the largest wild magic area on Faerun spoke volumes to Elminster. It also raised some disturbing questions-many, many disturbing questions. He had faced enough shadow mages to know they drew their magic from some dark power that slowly corrupted them, inexorably twisting them into monstrous mockeries of themselves. He had long suspected that the dark power was not part of the Weave, a suspicion now confirmed by the fact that Melegaunt's magic worked well in an area where the lingering effects of Karsus's madness had twisted the Weave into an unpredictable snarl.

What Elminster did not know and hoped to learn before this day ended was the exact nature of that other source of magic-and which god controlled it. He had his suspicions, of course. As Mystra's enemy, Cyric would go to great lengths to create a source of magic other than the Weave, and Talos the Destroyer had long been attempting to wrest a part of the Weave from her control. The now certain knowledge that someone had succeeded was enough to make even Elminster's silver fire-warmed blood run cold. There was already more than enough evil in the world to keep the Balance- even without its own special source of magic.

Elminster darted down a vine-choked lane back to the main street, and stepping over the cleaved body of a wight, renewed his pursuit. After his fight against the phaerimm outside the Dire Wood and the running battle he had been waging against Wulgreth since crossing the bridge, there was nothing he would have enjoyed more than nice spell of flying-he just didn't want to turn into a butterfly. He continued down the road in a heavy-footed jog, keeping one hand close to his wand belt and hazarding a glance over his shoulder every ten paces.