The Summoning (9 page)

“Of that, little sister, you may be assured.” He stepped onto the low wall, then glanced at the duskwood branch. “You’ll retrieve the rope?”

She nodded. “They’ll never know of your leaving. Sweet water and light laughter.”

“Back soon for soft songs and bright wine.”

Galaeron cast a spell to turn himself invisible, then fixed his gaze on the coil of rope far below and stepped off the wall. His plunge was at first a breathtaking blur of wind and color, but the mythal’s magic prevented any native of Evereska from being injured by a plummet from the cliff tops. As he neared the bottom, his fall slowed to a mere descent He landed lightly on his feet and was there waiting when the invisible humans stepped onto the ground.

Keya pulled the cord up. Galaeron had the humans link hands, then he led them across the pasture to the perimeter of the mythal. He climbed over the wall into a field of winter wheat and stopped in a corner shade bower.

“Melegaunt?”

“Here.”

“The Spellguards will be watching the Secret Gate, and we can’t pass through unnoticed. Now would be a good time to use your shadow walk to move us to the other side of Eastpeak.”

“I’d be happy to, but I think you have noticed my magic doesn’t work in Evereska.”

“It will now,” Galaeron said.

“Really?” There was a pause, then Melegaunt asked, “I wonder why would that be?”

Though he knew the wizard could not see it, Galaeron shrugged. “You have your secrets, I have mine.”

“So it seems.” The wizard chuckled, low and foreboding, then added, “Very well, I suppose what the master claims cannot be denied the novice. Everyone find me and grab hold.”

Though it had been more than forty years since Galaeron had considered any wizard his master, he did as instructed and took hold of an arm. Melegaunt’s gravelly voice rose in an incantation, and the world turned dark and indistinct. Five blurry silhouettes appeared around him, then one of the smaller shapes separated itself from the others and started forward.

“We are walking the border between the world of light and the world of the dark,” said Melegaunt. “It is easy to lose your way, so you must not release me. Time and distance have no meaning here. If you lose sight of me for even the blink of an eye, I may never find you.”

Galaeron found himself clinging to a small arm that could only belong to Vala. She was holding hands with one of her huge warriors, and the warrior’s other hand was clamped to Melegaunt’s collarbone as tightly as a vise. Though every hand between Galaeron and the wizard possessed at least twice the strength of his own, his eyes soon began to burn for fear of blinking. To one side loomed flat purple shapes. Sometimes they were as high as mountains, with jagged profiles that suggested peaks and ridges. Other times, they were slender trunks with scarecrow arms, swaying in an unfelt wind, reaching down to clutch at Galaeron with fingers of darkness that could not touch.

Opposite the shadows shimmered a vast horizon of yellow radiance, blinding and bright and as hot as the Anauroch sun. Despite Melegaunt’s warning, Galaeron found himself longing to walk into the light Its familiar warmth was an enticing contrast to the cold eeriness of the shadows, and there was something young and frightened inside him that longed to be away from the darkness. He fixed his gaze ahead, forcing himself to concentrate on Vala’s back.

Finally, slivers of radiance began to break off the horizon

and tumble along to both sides of the companions. Some rolled completely by and passed out of sight. Others landed flat on the ground or lodged themselves between shoulders of purple darkness, creating a ghostly landscape of gullies and hills. Despite the cascade of splinters, the light never grew smaller. The yellow horizon merely flattened out and spread itself into a rolling plain that Galaeron soon recognized as the sands of Anauroch.

Instead of continuing toward the desert, Melegaunt dropped to his knees and tipped forward. Galaeron thought the wizard would fall, but his body merely extended itself at a slant and hung over the ground until the rest of the party followed his example. When they were all leaning forward at the same angle, Melegaunt had Galaeron cancel his invisibility spells, then led them downward into darkness as black as coal. The sensation of descent vanished within a dozen steps. A few minutes later, they stopped, and Galaeron’s dark sight began to function.

“Your shadow vision will work now,” Melegaunt whispered to the humans.

Vala and her men briefly touched the hilts of their swords, then blinked the sight back into their eyes. The group was standing in a small chamber hewn from solid rock. The walls had been cut so smoothly they seemed almost polished. Along one side of the room lay a sleeping berth, covered with a billowy black mattress of shadow made solid. On the other side sat a small stone desk.

From the front of the chamber came the sound of grunting and scuffling. Galaeron turned and found himself looking through a foot-wide crevice, where a haggard human was scuttling past in a high squat. The man’s hair and beard were long and unkempt, his gaunt body coated in sweat-streaked filth. He was dragging a wooden chest crammed so full of parchments, books, and scrolls that the lid would close only partially.

Melegaunt motioned for quiet and stepped to the crevice.

He ran through a series of mystic gestures, both cupping his hand to his ear and rubbing the tips of his fingers on his forehead. Galaeron and the others cast puzzled looks at each other and wondered where they were. Their answer came a moment later, when a huge-toothed maw surrounded by arms floated into view. Galaeron raised his hands to summon a bolt of magic, and the humans reached for their black swords.

Melegaunt stepped away from the crevice. “No!” He pushed Galaeron’s hands down. “Your magic would have them on us like crows on a battlefield.”

Galaeron glanced toward the crevice, but the creature floated past with no hint that it had seen them, its thorny body writhing through the air in a motion part fish and part serpent.

“It’s angry with its slaves for being so slow,” whispered Melegaunt. “It’s complaining that the best holes will be taken. They’ll be faster next move, or they’ll be egg bags.”

As the barbed tail rippled out of view, Galaeron asked, “Where’s it going?”

“And where are we?” added Vala.

Melegaunt answered Galaeron first. “I think you know where it’s going.”

“The dwarven workings?”

“Somewhere in the Sharaedim,” Melegaunt corrected. “They must consider it safe haven now.”

“Safe haven!” Galaeron could not keep the outrage from his voice. “Never!”

Melegaunt touched a finger to his lips. “Quietly. This cloaking magic was meant to muffle snores, not shouts.” He answered Vala’s question next “We’re in my last refuge, not far from our rendezvous point in the dwarven workings. The phaerimm will place their WarGather at the breach in the Sharn Wall, to make sure it stays well guarded.”

“So we came to their side of the wall?” she asked.

Melegaunt nodded. “The phaerimm are as intelligent as they are evil. They’ll be ready for scouts. With luck, they won’t expect them from this direction.”

Galaeron thought of his father, riding out of Evereska on the mission Melegaunt described. “But the Swords—”

“Are still in the Secret Gate,” said Melegaunt. ‘Time is different in the Shadow. If we are lucky, we will have discovered everything Evereska must know before the Swords leave the High Peaks. If we are not lucky … In that case, I fear your father must face the risk.”

Galaeron nodded. Evereska had to learn the extent of the enemy’s victory If he and his human companions failed, then it fell to the Swords of Evereska to win the information themselves—no matter how poor their chance of success. Seeing that the phaerimm was gone, Galaeron motioned to the crevice.

“Shall we?”

“In a minute,” said Melegaunt. “The phaerimm have spells to detect intruders … and it would be good if you were able to understand the phaerimm for yourself. Can you copy the spell I just cast?”

“Perhaps … a simple combination of eavesdropping and thoughtspeech?”

Melegaunt cocked his brow. “You are a truly gifted innatoth.”

“Innatoth?”

“Innate one,” said Melegaunt. “What my own people would have called an ArcNatural, but which is better translated in most of Faerűn as ‘sorcerer.’”

“What’s the difference?” asked Vala.

“Not much to you, but a great deal to me,” said Melegaunt. “Even to the best wizards, magic comes slowly and with difficulty. Not so to sorcerers. For them, it is a gift, a natural talent that can be improved with time and practice, but a gift nonetheless. Needless to say, all those wizards who must work at their art tend to be suspicious of those who don’t.”

“That’s an apt description, if ever I heard one,” said Galaeron. “Are you an innatoth?”

“Would that I were!” Melegaunt laughed. “I take it you found your Academy of Magic less than accepting?”

“Far less.” Galaeron tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. “My father used every political favor he was owed to secure me a place in my regiform, and a more terrible waste I’ve never seen. I never fit in. Eventually, they accused me of dark magics and demanded to see my spellbook. Unfortunately, I had never kept one.”

“Now you’re making me jealous,” Melegaunt said.

Galaeron smiled sadly “No need. It took Lord Imesfor’s intervention to win me a place in the Tomb Guard.” He fell silent, recalling the bad end that the high noble’s patronage had wrought for his son. In truth, the Gold lord could hardly be blamed for the things he had been saying. “And even that favor has had its price.”

“No need to feel sorry for yourself.” Melegaunt’s voice was at once reproachful and consoling. “It will be your magic that saves Evereska, or I’ve never cast a spell.”

“Did you not say that his magic would draw the phaerimm’s attention?” Vala’s tone was respectful but concerned. “This is the last place I’d want one of those things to trap me.”

Melegaunt smiled. “It would be a better place than you think, but you’re right about what I said.” He looked to Galaeron. “We must teach our friend to cast magic differently”

“Differently?” Galaeron asked. “That will take time.”

“Not for you, I think,” said Melegaunt “Not if you are as brave as you are talented.”

“I’m here now.”

“Yes.” Melegaunt’s eyes turned as black as obsidian, so dark that even Vala gasped. “You’re brave enough when you meet the monsters outside. Let us see if you have the courage to face the one within.”

Melegaunt’s face became strangely elflike, his bushy brows rising into arches, his brow becoming high and smooth. His ears grew longer, pushing their sharp tips out through his dusky hair, and his eyes assumed the malevolent gleam of a drow demon.

“Corellon’s lute!” Galaeron’s head whirled in confusion.

This could not be the human who had told him he would be the savior of Evereska—but then again, ever were demons the deceivers of mortals. “What are you?”

“More than you think, I am sure,” came the answer.

Knowing he would never have time to cast a spell—and that even if he did, he could not hope to best Melegaunt in a duel of magic—he dropped a hand to his sword. The demon’s own hand lashed out as quickly as a jumping spider, caught Galaeron by the throat, and slammed him against the stone wall. A pair of ivory fang tips jutted out beneath Melegaunt’s lip, and his shadowy beard changed into a grotesque chin. The humans gasped and murmured, but seemed too bewildered to act. Galaeron tried to draw his sword, but the demon pinned his wrist to the wall.

Vala was the first to recover even a little. “Mighty One!” She freed her blade and stepped forward. “What are you—

“Stand clear!” Melegaunt glanced over his shoulder. “By the Oath of Bodvar, I charge you obey!”

Vala ground her teeth, but stopped and lowered her sword, then signaled her men to stand fast. When Melegaunt looked back to Galaeron, his eyes were glowing purple, and his fangs were as long as a viper’s.

“Do you know what I am, elf? Are you brave now?”

“Y-y-yes.” Galaeron could barely choke out the word. Like most surface elves, he feared the drow as much as he hated them, and he could imagine no fate worse than becoming the undead servant of a draw vampire-demon. “Let me have my sword—”

Melegaunt slammed Galaeron against the wall. “I think not.” He smiled. “But I give you a choice.”

Melegaunt thrust his palm out behind him. “Darksword!”

Vala flipped her hilt around, but hesitated before handing it over. “What are you going to do?”

Melegaunt glared at her, his neck filling the room with unnatural cracking sounds as it turned farther than it should. “Nothing that is not my right by the Granite Tower.”

Vala’s face fell, and she laid the hilt in his palm. Melegaunt glared at her a moment, then pressed the icy hilt into Galaeron’s left hand.

“1 give you the choice, elf.” He grabbed the weapon by its blade and set the tip beneath Galaeron’s jaw. “Serve me or not—your choice.”

Galaeron knew no vampire would give him the chance to slay it—but he also knew it would be just like a drow to give him the opportunity then taunt him with his cowardice through the rest of time. He lifted his chin and flipped the black blade forward, drawing the edge across Melegaunt’s throat and chest.

The glass passed through the wizard as though his body were smoke. Melegaunt smiled, then plucked the sword from Galaeron’s hand.

“Coward.” He returned the weapon to Vala, then pinned his captive’s head against the wall.

Galaeron struggled, but the drow-demon was too strong. Melegaunt lowered his head, and Galaeron felt two cold pangs in his throat.

“No!”

He brought his knee up into Melegaunt’s groin, but even that did not drive the demon away. An icy numbness spread through Galaeron’s neck, then Melegaunt raised his head. There were a pair of slowly cooling blood runnels on his chin, and his eyes were glowing damson with mad hunger.

“Do you feel the fear?” he demanded. “Open yourself to it, Galaeron. Embrace it.”