The Siege (2 page)

No, Galaeron admitted, but it’s better to be sure they aren’t. You saw what I was looking at?

Disguised as stalactites, Vala said. Her tempo was slow and awkward, for it was a complicated language and she

had only taken up its study as a way to pass the time while Galaeron lay immobile with a pair of broken ankles. Dry tips and a dark line where they’re pressing their bases to the ceiling.

Galaeron raised his brow. I missed the lines, he said. We can’t run the risk of alerting them. We have to take them ourselves.

Ourselves? Vala shook a fist downward to show emphasis. How?

You take the closest one, Galaeron instructed. Throw your sword. I’ll blast the other with a shadow bolt.

Vala’s fingers turned slow and clumsy.
thought you were done casting spells.p>

You have another way? Galaeron’s gestures came so fast and sharp Vala could barely follow his meaning. Maybe you can convince Escanor he’s wrong—without alerting the phaerimm?

The question required no answer. Vala knew as well as Galaeron that the prince could not be persuaded that he had made a mistake. They had no choice except to launch the attack on their own, and that meant Galaeron would have to use shadow magic to have any effect at all on the phaerimm, and using his shadow magic meant giving a little more of himself over to the darkness that was slowly devouring him from within.

Resigning herself to the heartache of watching the Galaeron she knew slip even deeper into shadows, Vala gave a curt nod, then asked, What about the third one?

You’re joking, Galaeron replied.

could be wrong, but I’m not joking. One above Escanor, one over the mineral pads—p>

That one I missed. Galaeron’s fingers fell motionless for a moment, then he said,
‘
/ have to try a shadow door.

Bad idea, Vala said, even more concerned. Shadow magic was far more dangerous for the wielder than

normal Weave magic. If a magic-user overreached his limits, he invited in just the sort of darkness already consuming Galaeron. You’re barely holding on as it is.

Then it’s good you are watching over me. I am grateful—very grateful.

Vala looked away, then spoke aloud. “Galaeron, it isn’t fair to hold me to that promise … not now.”

“Nevertheless, I do hold you to it.” Galaeron’s voice was firm. “When the time comes, you must not hesitate.”

“If, Galaeron.” They reached the shore, and Vala sat down to remove her greaves. “If the time comes.”

Galaeron turned away without answering and started down the shore, moving far enough away that they both could not be struck down by the same spell. Vala looked back across the lake to where the shadow lords were just closing the last few breaches in the shadow curtain. Though the shadow lords had left their armor on shore, all were armed with glassy black weapons similar to Vala’s darksword—one reason, no doubt, that the enemy was being so careful to remain concealed.

The two phaerimm Galaeron had noticed hung about fifty feet apart in a rough line on the interior side of the curtain. On the flanks of their conical bodies, Vala could see a regular pattern of bumps where their body thorns lay concealed beneath the hardened lime-mud they had used to disguise their scaly hides. The third phaerimm, the one Galaeron had missed, hung over the mineral pads about forty paces away, barely noticeable in the gloomy boundary between dark and light. Though Vala had no way of guessing whether the creatures had seen enough to defeat the shadow curtain, the simple fact that they were making no attempt to stop the final Splicing made clear what they believed.

Finding no signs of any enemies beyond the three already located, Vala stood and waded back into the lake,

angling toward Prince Escanor to avoid alerting the phaerimm. She had no idea how Galaeron had sensed the enemy’s presence—or why that had brought on a Change—but she felt confident in his conclusions. Every good warrior knew the value of camouflage, and the thornbacks were nothing if not good warriors.

When Vala drew within throwing range of the nearest phaerimm, she stopped and looked back. Galaeron was just setting a loop of shadowsilk on a stone beside him. He peeled another strand off the mat of dull fabric he was holding, then soaked it in a drop of armor oil and glanced in Vala’s direction. She nodded. He pressed the filament to the limestone wall, his lips already moving as he spoke his spell incantation.

A film of oily shadow spread across the ceiling, filling the cavern with a soft, rainlike patter as thousands of drops of water lost their tenuous hold and plummeted into the lake. Vala drew her darksword and in a single smooth motion sent it whirling up at the nearest phaerimm. The glassy black blade tore a three-foot gash across the thornback’s body and became lodged with little more than the hilt showing.

The stain on the ceiling swept past overhead. The astonished phaerimm came loose one after the other, the hardened lime-mud camouflage falling in cakes from their squirming bodies and their strange language of winds stirring the air into whistling vortexes. The phaerimm hit the water almost as one and sank beneath the surface.

Escanor and his shadow lords stopped working and whirled toward the splash rings, shouting to each other in their own language and trying to make sense of what was happening.

“Phaerimm!” Vala stretched her hand toward the one she had attacked and thought of her darksword, and the

blade rose out of the water and flew back into her grasp. “Three of them!”

She heard Galaeron intoning his second spell and looked over to see him flipping the ring of shadowsilk toward the place the third phaerimm had entered the water. A disk of black shadow appeared two inches above the surface. Vala was distracted as the startled phaerimm activated their floating magic and began rising out of the water. The two nearest the curtain came up in the midst of the astonished shadow lords, who quickly proved the truth of Escanor’s boasts by assailing them with shadow webs and darkswords.

Even caught off guard, the phaerimm reacted like the terrors they were, unleashing a flurry of fire strikes and lightning bolts that left a dozen Shadovar bobbing dead in the darkening waters. A pair of scorched shadow lords popped up beside Vala, their arms and legs blasted off by the force of the strike that had killed them. Vala threw her sword again, only to see her target scythed down the middle by a falling wall of black glass as Escanor unleashed his own magic.

Vala glanced over to see the third phaerimm’s tail vanishing into the circle of shadow Galaeron had placed over its splash ring. The elf himself was pointing across the lake roughly in her direction. Knowing the creature would be disoriented for a moment when it emerged from Galaeron’s shadow door, Vala nodded and reached out to summon her sword back.

Galaeron’s finger shifted in Prince Escanor’s direction.

“No, Galaeron!” Vala cried. “Here!”

Too late. The third phaerimm had already reappeared, stunned and disoriented by its dizzying journey through the shadow plane. But Escanor happened to be turning to attack their other surviving foe, and so this thornback

appeared behind him instead of in front. Vala’s stomach turned to ice. With the prince at least twenty paces away and in a direct line beyond the dazed phaerimm, she did not dare throw her sword again.

She started toward him, yelling, “Escanor, behind you!”

The prince cocked his head in response but only stretched a hand toward the second phaerimm, who was assailing five of his lords with a roaring storm of meteors. A sphere of spinning darkness shot from his hand and streaked through the thing’s torso, leaving a basket-sized hole in the heart of its body. The creature splashed into the lake and slowly sank out of sight.

The third phaerimm was already bringing its tail out of the water, ten steps away.

“Watch your back!” she cried.

A murky aura of darkness—more of Galaeron’s magic, Vala guessed—enveloped the phaerimm, but the spell did not prevent the creature’s tail from catching Escanor in the pit of the stomach as he spun to meet the attack. The barb sank to its root, doubling the prince over and drawing an eerie gurgle of anguish.

Vala hurled her darksword. The blade tumbled three times, then sank hilt-deep in the phaerimm’s torso. The creature began to flicker between material and immaterial, and Vala was astonished to realize that Galaeron had not cast his spell to protect the prince but to trap the phaerimm beside him.

Had Galaeron finally been taken by his shadow self?

Escanor wailed in pain and slipped off the barb, then rolled to his back and floated, groaning. Vala called her darksword back to her grasp and began to angle in the prince’s direction.

“Vala, no!” Galaeron splashed into the water. “The phaerimm! It knows too much!”

Vala glanced at the prince, who, unlike most of his wounded lords, was at least floating face up. She decided to place her trust in Galaeron a little longer. She sprang at the phaerimm, her black sword blocking the tail as it arced toward her throat, lopping the dangerous barb off at the root. On the backswing, she removed two of the thing’s four arms, then reversed her grip, jammed the blade into the creature’s enormous mouth, and split it down the side.

The dark aura vanished from around the phaerimm— only to reappear an instant later as Galaeron recast his snare spell. The phaerimm flickered between materiality and immateriality again as it tried once more to teleport away, and again Vala sank her sword deep into its body. It pummeled her with one of its remaining arms, and the other clamped onto her throat, trying to crush her windpipe. She kneed it in the flank and felt sharp pain as one of its body thorns impaled her thigh. The phaerimm began to overpower her, pulling her face toward the fang-filled mouth atop its shoulders. She croaked in Galaeron’s direction.

He was already pointing a sliver of obsidian at the creature and yelling a string of mystic syllables. A finger-thin ray of darkness left his hand, catching the phaerimm in one of its remaining arms and severing it at the elbow. Vala snapped the other with a palm strike, then kicked free and brought her darksword around in three eviscerating swings.

The thing’s heart slipped out of the second gash, still beating. Vala sent it flying off with a flick of her blade, and the phaerimm dropped, motionless, into the water. She struck again and again, not stopping until she had opened it from tail to lip and left it floating in the water like a dressed eel.

Galaeron waded up. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m alive.” She shook her head clear and gave herself a cursory glance, then looked over and found herself staring into a pair of black, empty eyes. “G-Galaeron? How many spells did you cast?”

Instead of answering. Galaeron pushed her toward Escanor’s floating form. “See to the prince and the others,” he said as he turned and started toward the shadow curtain. “I’ll finish the Splicing.”

28 Tarsakh, the Year of Wild Magic

1 he city appeared just before dusk, hovering low over a rosy desert butte, a distant diamond of umbral murk silhouetted against the purple twilight of the eastern sky. As usual, it was surrounded by wisps of black fog, giving it the appearance of a storm cloud, a mirage, or an angry djinn. The V-shaped specks of a hundred or so vultures wheeled in lazy circles beneath the city, chasing the constant rain of garbage that dropped from its refuse chutes.

“There,” Galaeron said.

Though it had been two days since he’d completed the Splicing, the icy tingle of shadow magic still permeated his body—and he hungered for more, longed to cast spells until he was numb and cold from head to foot,

until he was filled with the power of shadow and beyond mortal frailty.

Instead, he pointed at the floating city and said, “See it?”

“So far?” Malik complained.

A pudgy little man with a moon-shaped face and bug eyes, Malik el Sami yn Nasser was the Seraph of Lies, a favored servant of the evil god Cyric and an oddly stalwart traveling companion who had saved Galaeron’s life more than once.

“I apologize for my accursed luck,” the little man said. “It has always been its nature that just when I think matters could seem no worse, a turn of bad fortune comes along to prove me wrong.”

“In this desert, things look farther than they are,” Vala said. Limping a little from her wounded thigh, she started down the dry wash at their backs. “We’d better get moving, or we’ll lose sight of it when dark really falls.”

Nodding, Galaeron turned to follow. As a precaution against attack, Shade Enclave appeared only briefly each evening and always in a different place. Given that Escanor’s company had failed to finish the Splicing and raise the shadowshell at the appointed time, it made sense to put some distance between the floating city and the Sharaedim battlefields. Assuming they were lucky enough to reach the city before it vanished again, Galaeron only hoped they would not fall victim to any new defenses intended for the phaerimm.

In the bottom of the wash, they found the Shadovar survivors preparing the company’s mounts for departure. Though most of the shadow lords had already recovered from the cavern battle, Escanor had taken an egg when he was impaled and remained incoherent with fever. The longer it stayed inside him, the harder it would be to remove, but his chances were far better than

those of most humans would have been. Shadovar were fast healers. Most of their wounds had closed within an hour after the battle, so it seemed likely that the prince would survive even a difficult extraction.

Galaeron followed Vala over to the nominal leader of the group in Escanor’s incapacity, a ruby-eyed lord so swarthy that he looked more like an obsidian statue than a live man.

“Lord Rapha,” Vala said, “we’ve located the enclave.”

“That is well.” Rapha did not look up. He was looping a length of shadow strand around the hands of a dead comrade, using it to secure the man in his saddle. “We’ll soon be ready.”

Galaeron and his companions waited for Rapha to ask where or how far off the enclave was, or to give some indication that he was concerned about getting Escanor to the city quickly.