Troy Denning - Return of the Archwizards 3 - The Sorceror

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THE SORCERER Return of the Archwizards, Book HI

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First Printing: November 2002

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CHAPTER ONE

7 Flamerule, The Year of Wild Magic (1372 DR)

it was the sound of despair, this strained silence that greeted the end of

every report. With each account of yet another pact struck by the enemy, with

every confession that a realm could raise no more troops, the envoys would

drop their gazes to the polished surface of the conference table and study

their reflections, and there would be no sound in the room but the sputtering

of the oil lamps.

Only Princess Alusair Obarskyr, the Steel Regent of Cormyr, received the news

with a raised chin, but it seemed to Galaeron Nihmedu that with each account

of another cyclone spawned by the melting of the High Ice, with each

description of a new city in flood or a nation's barley fields withering under

a blazing sun, the furrows in the

princess's brow deepened, the circles beneath her eyes grew larger, darker,

and more menacing.

Alusair turned her attention to Galaeron and said, "And what news from

Evereska, Sir Nihmedu? How go matters for the elves?"

The question was for the benefit of the others present. Alusair was the one

who had told Galaeron much of what he would pass along, and she was doing him

an honor by asking him to repeat it on behalf of his city. Galaeron stood.

"Evereska will stand, Your Highness. " This good news caused several envoys to

raise their heads, and Galaeron continued, The elven armies are camped outside

the Shaeradim, ready to meet the phaerimm the instant the shadowshell falls. "

"You're certain it will fall?" asked Korian Hovanay, the ambassador from

Sembia. A foppish man with fleshy jowls and an outlandish feathered hat

resting on the table before him, Hovanay glared at Galaeron as he spoke. "I

see no reason the Shadovar should let it fade. The phaerimm are Shade's

archenemies—and the Shadovar have succeeded in all of their other

undertakings. "

"All of their diplomatic undertakings, " Alusair corrected. She had aged a

decade in the forty days since Tilverton's loss, and her once striking face

had become sallow and haggard with worry. "Their army—what remains of it—has

been quiet since the Battle of Tilverton. "

"My point exactly, " Hovanay said. "How do we know they have not been

marshaling their strength to renew their attack on the phaerimm?"

"That is wishful thinking, Ambassador, " said Piergeiron Paladinson, who had

come by magic all the way from Water-deep. "Sadly, the Shadovar are too

cunning to turn their attention elsewhere so our alliance can mobilize against

the Melting. "

"And the elven armies are as ready to meet the Shadovar as the phaerimm, "

Galaeron said. "The shadowshell damages

Evereska as much as it does the phaerimm, and our people will prevent the

Shadovar from renewing it"

What Galaeron left unsaid was that with two of Mystra's Chosen—Laeral

Silverhand and her consort Khelben Arunsun—still trapped in the Shaeradim,

Storm Silver-hand was just as determined as the elves to bring down the

shadowshell. At the first hint of trouble, she would teleport straight to the

mystical Splicing that held the dark sphere together and join six of

Evermeet's last high mages in preventing the Shadovar from renewing it

Galaeron felt certain of little else in this strange three-sided war, but he

was sure that the shadowshell would fall, and soon. What happened afterward

was anyone's guess. With the phaerimm loose in the world, the Shadovar thawing

the High Ice, and the weather wreaking flood and famine across all Faerûn, the

only thing anyone could predict for sure was calamity.

Hovanay studied Galaeron with a sneer, then finally said, "How wonderful for

the elves. I'm sure you'll forgive the rest of us if we don't share your

enthusiasm. "

"You have reason to wish Evereska ill, Ambassador?" Galaeron asked. "Perhaps

Sembia hopes to strike a bargain for our treasure?"

Hovanay's eyes flashed. "I trust you are not suggesting that Sembia would

traffic with thieves, Sir Nihmedu. "

Galaeron braced his hands on the table and started to rise, but the Harper

witch Ruha, seated next to him in her customary veil and head scarf, laid a

hand on his forearm.

"Remember your shadow, " she said quietly. "You assume too much. "

Galaeron felt a sudden surge of anger toward her and knew instantly that

something dark and sinister had risen inside him. His shadow self was

asserting itself again, trying to make him see dark motives and evil betrayals

in those around him. He lowered himself into his seat and folded his hands,

then looked across the table to Hovanay.

"My question was unwarranted, Ambassador, " he said. It irked Galaeron to

apologize, but it was wiser to trust Ruha in such matters than himself. "I

hope you will forgive the implication. "

Hovanay smirked back at him. "Of course. We are all aware of your affliction.

"Which is not to say that we understand your point, Ambassador, " Alusair

said. She did not bother to disguise her own suspicion of the man, for there

had been no love lost between their two realms since Sembia's not-so-veiled

attempt to carve off a piece of Cormyr during the Ghazneth Scourge. "Why

shouldn't we want Evereska to survive?"

"It is not Evereska's survival that troubles us, " Hovanay answered. "It is

the fall of the shadowshell. Commerce has suffered enough as it is. The last

thing we need now is a legion of phaerimm making slaves and egg-bags of the

few caravanners still bold enough to meet their obligations. "

Galaeron restrained the urge to berate the man for worrying about his purse

while brave elves were dying—but Alusair did not. She studied Hovanay with a

sneer usually reserved for something she scraped off her boot, then shook her

head.

"There is more at stake here than gold, " she said. "Our subjects cannot eat

gold—though I'll be happy to feed you some if you'd like to experiment. "

Ruha snickered beneath her veil, and several other envoys had to bite their

lips and turn away.

Accepting Alusair's affront with the casual poise of one accustomed to such

treatment, Hovanay merely smiled.

"Perhaps we cannot eat gold, but we do need it to feed our armies. Is there a

realm among us whose treasuries are not barren already?"

When the table remained silent, the ambassador continued, "If our losses grow

any worse, I dare say the alliance will lack the means to muster any army at

all, much less one powerful enough to defeat the Shadovar and stop the

Melting. "

Again, a tense silence fell over the council room, and Alusair's face turned

stormy with frustration. Already exhausted of both gold and men, the realms of

the alliance were stretched to the breaking point, and—just as Hovanay

said—any pressure brought by the phaerimm would be enough to crush them. Even

to Galaeron, the implications were clear. If Evereska were to survive, it

would be at the cost of every other civilized land in Faerûn.

Galaeron began to feel that all eyes were turned on him. When he glanced

around the table, it was to see the gazes of the other envoys quickly slipping

away.

Lord Nasher Alagondar of Neverwinter, who had come by the same magic as

Piergeiron Paladinson, coughed softly into his hand. The quiet thus broken,

Alduvar Snowbrand— a Sword of Archendale and one of the three envoys shared by

the Dalelands—wrapped his fingers around his chair arms and leaned forward as

though he were about to pounce from his seat.

"We are looking at this wrong, I say. " A tall, strong man with silky black

hair, Alduvar had a spectral face and deep green eyes that seemed strangely

distant and dull. "Our enemies are the Shadovar, not the phaerimm. "

"That is an easy thing to say when it is someone else's home they have

besieged, " Galaeron said. "The phaerimm are enemies to the elves, I assure

you. "

"And who's fault is that?" Alduvar turned to glower at him, but there was no

anger in his eyes, no ire or malice— no emotion at all. "Was it not you who

freed them in the first place?"

"And who cursed us with the Shadovar?" added Irreph Mulmar, the ruddy-faced

Constable of the High Dale. Like Alduvar, he was one of the three envoys from

the Dales, and like Alduvar's, his eyes seemed oddly empty. "Were you not the

one who brought them back from the Plane of Shadow?"

Somewhere inside, Galaeron realized that the vitriol of the Dalesmen was

strangely at odds with their vacant eyes, but

his shadow was already rising to the bait, bristling at the accusations and

urging him to answer with blade or spell. He started to stand and found Ruha's

hand clamped to his arm, her nails digging in hard to remind him that he had

to be strong, that to indulge his anger was to yield to the darkness devouring

him from the inside.

"What is done is done, " she said, continuing to hold Galaeron down. "Is there

anyone here who can say he would not have made the same mistake?"

"Mistakes have consequences, " said Mourngrym Amcatha, the third and last of

the Dalelands envoys. A huge, powerfully built man with a brown mustache and

neatly trimmed hair, his eyes were as vacant as those of his fellow Dalesmen.

"The elf is the one who made the mistake. It's his people who should suffer

for it—not ours. "

Mourngrym's comment drew a chorus of astonished murmurs, for he was as

respected across much of Faerûn as he was in his own dale. For him to speak so

openly against Evereska's interests was to condone the resentment harbored in

secret by many of the alliance's lesser leaders, who gathered at night in

quiet little groups to complain of the hardships visited upon them by the

mistake of one elf.

Galaeron was filled with such a black fury that he forgot about the vacant

eyes and no longer felt Ruha's hand on his arm. He was up and leaning across

the table toward Mourngrym, his weight braced on his hands and his words

tumbling from his mouth of their own accord.

"And who would you blame had the Shadovar unleashed the phaerimm on the

Dalelands instead of Evereska?" Galaeron demanded. "Some saurial from

Tarkhaldale?"

Mourngrym's lip rose in a sneer, but his eyes remained as blank as before.

"A saurial did not release the phaerimm, " he said. "An elf did. You, to be

exact"

Suddenly finding himself off balance, Galaeron looked down to find his hand a

foot above the table, his fingers

curled as though to call a shadow bolt Ruha was using both hands to hold his

arm so he could not cast the spell. Behind her, Piergeiron Paladinson was

rising to help, watching the struggle with an expression that was half alarmed

and half forbearing.

The sight was enough to shock Galaeron back to his senses. He let his arm go

limp.

"Humans!"

Knowing he was still not fully in control of himself, Galaeron freed his arm

and turned toward Alusair.

"If the princess will excuse me—"

"She will not, Sir Nihmedu. " Motioning him into his seat, she nodded at a

pair of Purple Dragons posted along the wall. As they stepped forward to stand

guard behind Galaeron's chair, she said, "Actually, I have a keen interest in

hearing Lord Mourngrym's answer. "

Galaeron sat, and Mourngrym turned to face Alusair.

"What answer would that be, Your Highness?"

'To Galaeron's question, Lord Mourngrym. " Alusair replied, her expression

growing suspicious. "Who would you blame if the Shadovar had unleashed the

phaerimm in the Dalelands instead of Evereska?"

"But they didn't, Princess. "

"Lord Mourngrym, " Alusair said, "I am asking what if they had. "

"The question is meaningless, Your Highness. It was the elf who unleashed the

phaerimm. "

An astonished murmur filled the chamber. Paying no attention, Mourngrym turned

to gesture at Galaeron, and at last Galaeron understood what he had been

seeing—or rather, not seeing—in the eyes of the Dalesman.

Anger clouded Alusair's face.

"Lord Mourngrym, " she said, "as a guest in my realm, you owe me the courtesy

of an answer. "

Mourngrym responded with an counterfeit smile.

"Of course, Your Highness. What I fail to understand... "

Galaeron did not hear the rest of the answer, for his own thoughts were

whirling like one of the cyclones that had of late been laying waste to so

many of Faerûn's farms and villages. The Dalesmen's attack on him had been

carefully coordinated, with the envoys of lesser stature laying the groundwork

for a final indictment by their most respected member. Given that the three

came from the same area, it seemed entirely plausible they had come together

before the council and settled on the strategy, but Galaeron suspected another

explanation—a far more menacing one.

He leaned toward Ruha and felt a Purple Dragon's armored hand grasping his

shoulder.

"Milord, " the soldier whispered. "I think the princess meant for you to stay

in your own chair. "

"As I will. " Though Galaeron answered in an amiable tone, it was all he could

do to keep from cursing the man aloud. If he was right—and he was—the last

thing he needed was the lout drawing attention to him. "I only wanted to thank

Harper Ruha for her support"

Ruha raised her kohl-rimmed eyes to the guard and said, "Galaeron will do me

no harm. "

The soldier regarded her suspiciously for a moment, then nodded gruffly and

released Galaeron's shoulder. Ruha looked to Galaeron, and as Alusair and

Mourngrym continued their argument in more heated tones, waited.

"Uh, thank you, " Galaeron said. It was all he dared say, at least with one of

them lurking somewhere in the room, eavesdropping on the council and

manipulating its mind-slaves. "I'm afraid I lost control of myself. "

Ruha knitted her black eyebrows and replied, "Considering what was said, I

thought you did well to keep your shadow in check. "

Galaeron continued to look at her, trying to think of some other way to convey

his suspicions without alerting the one spying upon them.

Irreph and Alduvar were lending their voices to

Mourngrym's, protesting that Alusair was wasting the council's valuable time

with a meaningless exercise of imagination.

"Galaeron, " Ruha asked, "is there something else?"

"No, " he said. If only she understood fingertalk; as it was, he was beginning

to fear he would have to use his own magic to save the council. "That's all. "

Ruha nodded—a bit uncertainly—and turned back to the council.

Galaeron sat fidgeting, lost in his own thoughts, trying to think of some

other way to do what was needed. It was easily two months since he had last

cast a spell. Surely, he could cast this one, not even a very difficult spell.

It was just a simple abjuration to reveal the spy he knew to be lurking

somewhere in the council chamber putting words in the mouths of the Dalesmen.

Of course, he would need to use shadow magic; he was no longer sure that he

even could use normal magic, but shadow magic was better against the phaerimm

anyway. Normal spells had a tendency to ricochet off their magic-resistant

scales, but shadow magic always worked.

The thought of touching the Shadow Weave again sent a shiver of anticipation

up through Galaeron's body. He could almost feel the cold power rising through

him, quenching a thirst that had been building for two months. One simple

spell was not going to do any harm. It would hardly give his shadow self the

strength to overpower him completely—not for long anyway—and he had to expose

the spy, didn't he? He had to make the council see that the Dalesmen's words

were those of the enemy, that the phaerimm were trying to split the alliance—

A day never passed when Galaeron did not find some reason just as compelling

to break his vow and reach out to the Shadow Weave. The temptation was always

there, always awaiting the weak moment, always inviting him down the dark

path, but he had only to remember Vala to

resist, to think of her enslaved in Escanor's palace in Shade and imagine the

abuse being visited on her nightly in the prince's bed.

It had been Galaeron's shadow self that had persuaded him to abandon her

there, that had filled his thoughts with so many bitter suspicions that he had

finally surrendered to the darkness and vowed to have vengeance on a woman who

had never shown him anything but love. It was a mistake he intended never to

repeat, even if it meant his life.

And, with Ruha pledged to prevent him from slipping again, it very well might

She was watching him out of the corner of her eye, her thoughts hidden behind

her Bedine veil, but her hand not far from the curved dagger stuck behind her

sash.

For the second time in as many minutes, Galaeron wished that the witch

understood fingertalk—then realized she didn't need to. He caught her eye then

dropped his gaze to his lap, where he was running his fingers through the

gestures of the magic he wanted her to cast Though he was not trying to cast

anything, the very act of going through motions filled him with a powerful

yearning to open himself to the Shadow Weave.

Ruha's eyes widened, and she looked as though she might reach over to

interfere. Galaeron stopped in what would have been mid-casting, then started

over again. Ruha seemed to relax. He continued the gesture, being careful to

make each element slow and precise so that she would have no trouble

deciphering what he was doing. When the glimmer of recognition came to her

eye, he stopped and looked down the table in the direction of the Dalesmen,

who were now pretending that they did not understand the true nature of

Alusair's question.

"... suppose that had the Shadovar tried to free the phaerimm beneath

Tarkhaldale, there would have been no problem at all, " Mourngrym was saying.

"The saurials are far too intelligent to breach the Sharn Wall. "

Without using his own magic, Galaeron had no way to be certain the phaerimm

spy was anywhere near his mind-slaves, but it seemed like a good place to

start He glanced back and found Ruha studying Mourngrym almost too intently,

hands lying in her lap and her veil billowing ever-so-slightly as she

whispered her incantation.

"Very well, Lord Mourngrym, you win, " Alusair said from her end of the table.

"You have made it abundantly clear that the Dalelands have no interest in

placing the blame for our troubles anywhere but Evereska. Now, would you care

to explain why? I fail to see what you hope to accomplish. "

Mourngrym's smile was so wooden it was almost a grimace. "Your Highness, the

Dalelands have no interest in blaming anyone. We merely wish to point out—"

He was interrupted by the last syllables of a Bedine incantation as Ruha

stood. Using the elemental magic of her native Anauroch, she sprinkled a few

drops of water in his direction. A sharp crackle blasted through the chamber,

and there was a bright flash near the ceiling above and behind the Dalesmen.

Galaeron glimpsed the familiar, thorn-covered shape of a phaerimm's conical

body, and the thing was gone, vanished in almost the same instant it appeared.

The chamber broke into a wild tumult of shouting and clanging as guards rushed

forward. Several of the envoys— most notably Sembia's Korian Hovanay—dived for

cover under the table. Others followed the lead of Piergeiron Paladinson.

Grabbing polearms from the guards, they leaped onto the table and began to

chink the ceiling in an attempt to find the intruder.

The three Dalesmen remained standing in front of their seats. Their vacant

gazes were fixed on the envoys and soldiers closest to them, and they held

themselves ready to spring into action.

"Order!" Alusair called. She had produced a sword from somewhere beneath her

robe of office and was banging the pommel down on the table's polished

surface. "It's gone. "

Though the princess's assumption was a natural one— phaerimm usually

teleported to safety at the first sign of danger—Galaeron rose.

"Actually, Your Highness, I believe it isn't" He pointed over Mourngrym's

shoulder. "I think it's probably somewhere there. "

A dozen Purple Dragons immediately rushed to investigate. The three Dalesmen

stepped away from the table and closed ranks around a spot not too far from

where Galaeron had pointed. Caladnei—the slender, red-haired sorcerer who had

replaced addled Vangerdahast as Cormyr's royal magician—stepped into view

behind Alusair's chair and leveled her staff at the trio.

Before she could speak the word of command, the phaerimm appeared in the midst

of the Dalesmen.

Hold! You have nothing to fear from me—unless you earn it.

Galaeron heard the words inside his mind, and he could tell by the startled

reactions of those around him that they had as well. Caladnei held her attack,

and the guards settled for surrounding the Dalesmen and leveling their

poleaxes in the general direction of the phaerimm. Their restraint, Galaeron

knew, probably saved their lives.

Better.

Galaeron saw a familiar blankness come to Ambassador Hovanay's eyes and knew

the phaerimm was not repaying its enemies' restraint in kind.

Alusair laid her sword on the table and stared across its length at the

intruder.

"This is a private council, worm, and you are our enemy." She glanced over her

shoulder and motioned Caladnei toward the creature. "Give me a reason I should

not have my guards peel the thorny hide from your viper's flesh."

Because they would fail, the phaerimm replied. And because even enemies need

to confer, if they are ever to be anything else.

Nasher Alagondar's eyes went vacant

Galaeron leveled a hand in the phaerimm's direction. "Speak through Mourngrym,

or not at all." Then, without looking away, he said to Alusair, "Your

Highness, this is how the phaerimm make their mind-slaves. Through their

thoughtspeech."

Very perceptive. But you have nothing to fear from us, Galaeron. From what I

understand, my people are indebted—

"If you know who I am," Galaeron interrupted, "you know that my magic will

kill you as fast as a Shadovar's."

/ also know you fear to use it.

"Not as much as I fear becoming your slave," Galaeron said. "Another word

within my head, and I will use it"

"Another word in anyone's head, and I will command him to," Alusair added. "If

you wish to treat with us, you will release your slaves and speak aloud."

"I cannot do both." This time, the phaerimm's words came from Mourngrym's

mouth. Though once we are finished, I am willing to grant your request."

Alusair’s eyes flashed at the word "request," but she held her tongue and

looked to Galaeron.

He was tempted to lie and claim that the phaerimm was deceiving her, for he

already knew by the tenor of the Dalesmen's earlier arguments what the

creature intended. But Alusair had treated him with nothing but courtesy and

fairness since the day of his arrival, and—even for the sake of Evereska—he

would not repay her with treachery.

"Phaerimm speak to each other through magic winds," Galaeron explained. "With

other races, they must use thoughtspeech or an intermediary."

Alusair considered this, then nodded to the phaerimm.

"Very well," she said. "What is it you want?"

"Evereska."

Though the answer was exactly what Galaeron had expected, the impact of

hearing it actually spoken aloud was more than he could handle. He started to

twist his fingers into a spellcasting—then his arm was forced to his side by

the mailed hand of one of the Purple Dragons at his back.

Alusair cast a warning scowl in his direction, then said, "When I give the

order, Sir Nihmedu—not before."

"Thank you, Princess," the phaerimm said. Its four arms appeared over the

heads of the Dalesmen, spreading outward in what seemed to be a gesture of

appreciation. "As I was saying, we and our allies from Anauroch will be

content with Evereska and its lands."

This elicited a collective gasp from the envoys—at least those who were not

still under the phaerimm's mental control—and even Alusair cocked a brow.

"Evereska is not ours to give," she said.

The noncommittal answer caused a dark anger to rise in Galaeron, and he had to

fight it down by closing his eyes and reminding himself of all that Alusair

had done on his behalf.

"Nor is it yours to defend," the phaerimm answered through Mourngrym. "All we

are suggesting is that you concern yourselves with the Shadovar and leave

Evereska to our brothers."

"Then you are not from Anauroch?" Alusair asked. She was stalling, trying to

buy time to consider all the ramifications of the phaerimm's proposal. "You

are here on behalf of the Myth Drannor phaerimm?"

"The Shadovar have made this the fight of all phaerimm," Mourngrym's voice

replied. "Much as they have made it the fight of all the human realms."

"And what do we receive in return?" asked Ambassador Hovanay. The selfish

light in his eye made clear that he was free of the phaerimm's influence. That

was not, at least for Evereska, necessarily a good thing. "How will you repay

us for our help?"

The phaerimm pushed its many-fanged mouth over the shoulders of the Dalesmen

and said, "A better question would be what will you receive for our help."

Hovanay waited expectantly, and the phaerimm swung its mouth in Alusair's

direction.

"Your enemy is our enemy," the phaerimm said. "Should your alliance strike a

bargain with us, it would be in our interest to stop the melting of the High

Ice. Your realms would be able to rebuild their armies and feed their people.

They would be strong again."

Though every sinew in Galaeron was screaming for him to leap to his feet and

denounce the phaerimm as a fraud and a liar, he knew he would win nothing by

such a display. The humans would believe—rightly enough—that he was only

trying to protect Evereska's interests, that he would claim such a thing

whether the phaerimm could be trusted or not Instead, he had to speak

reasonably and make the humans see the pitfalls for themselves, make them

realize that by selling out the elves, they would be selling themselves out as

well.

"You are promising a lot," Galaeron said, not quite able to keep the quaver

out of his voice, "but I've seen the Shadovar magic, and it is not defeated

easily. If you can do what you promise, why do you need the humans at all? Why

are your cousins still trapped inside the shadowshell?"

Instead of answering Galaeron, the phaerimm had Mourngrym turn to address

Korian Hovanay again.

"We would pledge to leave your caravans in peace, even to protect them when it

is in our power."

This brought a grin to the Sembian's lips, if to no one else's.

Piergeiron Paladinson said, "You have not spoken to Galaeron's point. If the

phaerimm can do what you claim, why does the shadowshell still stand?"

"Because, as you yourselves learned at Tilverton, the Shadovar are formidable

enemies," the phaerimm said. "We who are free are too few to prevail, and

those who are trapped in the Shaeradim are weak and starving. When the

shadowshell falls, that will change."

"So you say," Piergeiron said.

"So we will prove," the phaerimm replied. "You are familiar with the peak

Untriwin, in the east of the High Ice?"

"Where the tomb tappers rise," said Borg Ohlmak, the woolly-headed chieftain

sent by the barbarians of the Ride. "We know the place well."

Mourngrym's head nodded to Borg. There are three shadow blankets at the base

of the mount. When the shell falls, we will destroy all three as proof of our

capabilities."

"And still we will not be able to come to terms," Alusair said. "Evereska is

not ours to bargain away. Wouldn't some other place serve you as well? The

Goblin Marches, for instance, are—"

"Worthless wastelands," the phaerimm said. "It must be Evereska. We have no

interest in your castoff barrens."

"Then perhaps the Tun Valley," Alusair suggested. "The lands there are as

fertile as any in Cormyr, and I'm certain the alliance would be willing to

provide any assistance required to take Darkhold."

"Evereska."

Alusair frowned, clearly trying to think of some other place the phaerimm

might desire. She was, Galaeron knew, trying to reach an unreachable

compromise. The phaerimm wanted Evereska for the same reason they lived in

Myth Drannor: its mythal. They needed magic the way other races needed air,

and the mythals that surrounded both cities were living mantles of woven

magic. Asking a phaerimm to choose another place to live was like asking a

fish to make his home someplace other than in the water.

"Evereska is not ours to grant," Alusair continued, still trying. "Name

another place."

"He's not going to name another place," Galaeron interjected, though he did

not say why. The existence of the mythal was an elven secret, and he no longer

felt any trust for the humans gathered there, not even Alusair. "When will you

learn? You can't treat with phaerimm—only surrender to them like cowards, or

stand and fight them like warriors."

Alusair’s head snapped around to glare at him, her eyes furious and black.

"And when will you learn, elf, that it is not wise to call someone a coward

when it is her people's blood that must be shed to save that of yours?"

Allowing no opportunity for a reply, Alusair glanced at the guards behind

Galaeron's chair and said, "I have heard enough from him."

One Purple Dragon pinned Galaeron's arms to his chair, and the other covered

his mouth with a waist sash. A sinister voice whispered to Galaeron that

Alusair had betrayed him and would seal the bargain by turning him over to the

phaerimm, but he was wise enough not to struggle. The Steel Regent was famous

for her fiery temper, and though some part of him knew she would never do as

his shadow's voice suggested, he did not think she would hesitate to have him

thrown in a very deep, dark dungeon.

Alusair nodded her approval, then turned back to the phaerimm and said, "You

were about to name a place it is in the alliance's power to grant."

"Evereska," Mourngrym's mouth said again. "There is no other place. The elf is

right about that much."

Alusair sank back in exasperation.

Through its mind-slave, the phaerimm said, "You have until the third blanket

vanishes."

The creature drifted out from behind its shield of Dalesmen, and ignoring the

ring of guards around it, panicked Borg Ohlmak and Nasher Alagondar by

floating to their end of the table.

"We expect your assent by then."

Alusair’s eyes hardened. "And if we do not give it?"

The phaerimm braced two of its arms on the table.

You will.

Alusair sat bolt upright and started to order the guards forward, but the

phaerimm had already vanished.

Mourngrym and his fellow Dalesmen cried out in bewildered voices, then

stumbled toward the nearest chairs, their hands trembling and their mouths

hanging agape. The

Purple Dragons looked to Caladnei for orders while the royal magician busied

herself casting detection magic. The envoys sat in their chairs looking

alternately relieved and uncertain as they considered the wisdom of betraying

Evereska.

After a moment, Alusair brought order back to the chamber by turning to her

royal magician.

"Can you tell me how that spy came to be in here?" It was a deft maneuver,

turning the envoys' thoughts from the phaerimm's proposal to the threat it had

displayed in its arrogant use of its power. "It could have killed us all!"

Caladnei paled and shook her head.

The chamber is warded against invisibility, teleportation, scrying—"

"Obviously, it was not," Alusair interrupted. Still determined to keep the

envoys' thoughts on the how of the phaerimm's presence rather than the' why—no

doubt buying time to gather her own thoughts on the matter—she looked to

Galaeron. "Perhaps Sir Nihmedu can explain how it was done?"

When the guard lowered the sash covering Galaeron's mouth, he glanced around

the council table and saw—or at least his shadow saw—guilty expressions on

every face.

"Galaeron?" Alusair prodded.

No longer able to ignore the outrage rising in his breast, Galaeron glowered

at the princess.

"You truly expect an answer?" he asked.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because I am no traitor to my people," Galaeron said. "I would never aid

allies to the phaerimm."

An indignant drone filled the chamber, but the expression that came to

Alusair’s face was less anger than surrender.

"Leave us," she said.

The envoys fell silent and began to look to one another, waiting for someone

else to take the lead and either object or start the withdrawal.

"Now!" Alusair said. "We will discuss the phaerimm

tomorrow, when we have all had a chance to see whether we can strike such a

bargain and still sleep at night"

The envoys rose in a bustle of scraping chair legs and sharp remarks and

departed, leaving only Caladnei, Ruha, and a dozen Purple Dragons in the room

with Galaeron and Alusair. The princess motioned them all toward the door.

"You, too," she said, standing and starting down the table toward Galaeron. "I

am in no danger here."

Though their faces clearly showed their displeasure, the others knew better

than to question Alusair’s ability to take care of herself. They followed the

envoys into the anteroom.

When they were gone, Alusair sat down at Galaeron's side and clamped a

well-callused hand on his slender knee. Though she was not squeezing, he could

feel strength enough in her grasp that, had she wished, she could have broken

his bones.

"Elf, what am I to do with you?" she asked. "You are your own worst enemy . ..

and yet, I can't say things would have turned out any differently if you were

not."

Galaeron's heart fell.

"Then you are going to betray Evereska?"

"No, not Cormyr. That I promise," Alusair said. "But I'm afraid we won't be

helping, either."

"You're leaving us on our own?"

Alusair looked across the chamber and said, "I didn't really think it would be

possible to negotiate Evereska's safety, but..." She let the sentence trail

off, then shook her head and turned to look at Galaeron again. "Diplomacy is

the art of the possible, Galaeron—and there's nothing we can do. You must know

that."

A surge of dark anger started to rise in Galaeron, but it was not difficult to

fight down. He did know. Alusair was telling him the truth, and that was what

friends did in circumstances like these. He took her hands.

"I know. Thank you." He glanced toward the door, then added, "It was Alduvar

Snowbrand."

Alusair frowned in confusion. "Alduvar?"

"Who dispelled Caladnei's wards," Galaeron said. "The Dalesmen were already

mind-slaves when they arrived, and the phaerimm knew they were the last ones

you'd expect treachery from. He came in first and dispelled the wards, and the

phaerimm came in between the other two."

Alusair raised her brow.

Galaeron nodded, but did not bother to explain further. When it came to the

phaerimm, he just. . . knew. It was a little gift from a Shadovar he had known

once.

"Well, thanks," Alusair said with a smile, then leaned over and kissed

him—hard, and on the lips. "You watch yourself. I'm going to miss you."

___________CHAPTER TWO

10 Flamerule, the Year of Wild Magic

J5eyond the shadowshell, Takari Moonsnow saw only dark forms—nebulous disks

and hazy pillars that could be monster or mineral, that could be beholders and

bugbears or boulders and broken blocks of stone.

They never appeared to move, which favored the inanimate, but whenever she

glanced away for a moment and looked back the shapes were in different places.

That favored the animate—the sinister, even, and the dangerous. Providing, of

course, that the change was not just her imagination playing tricks on her.

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THESORCERERReturnoftheArchwizards,BookHI©2002WizardsoftheCoast,Inc.Allcharactersinthisbookarefictitious.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,ispurelycoincidental.ThisbookisprotectedunderthecopyrightlawsoftheUnitedStatesofAmerica.Anyreproductionorunauthorizeduseofthematerialorartworkcontainedhe...

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