The Siege (37 page)

“Is that so?”

Telamont’s empty hood swung in Rivalen’s direction, and Rivalen felt the weight of his father’s question pressing down on his shoulders.

He inclined his head. “I will capture Tilverton and destroy the Alliance army,” Rivalen said, “or I will die trying.”

“Die if you must, but death does not excuse failure,” the Most High said. He turned to Malik, and Rivalen could have sworn he saw a smile beneath the Most High’s hood. “Thank you, little man. Not only are you my wisest advisor, you are the most honest.”

27Mirtul, the Year of Wild Magic

lo the west lay the setting sun, its orange fury igniting a rusty blaze across the darkening sky and painting the jagged Stonelands in a fiery copper glow. Behind the lonely trees and distant monoliths, the shadows were lengthening, stretching their pointed tips across the parched pasturelands toward the city of Tilverton. To the north, purple darkness already cloaked the Desertsmouth Mountains. To the south, a lake of umbral murk was spreading outward from the foot of the Stormhorns. The attack could come from any direction or from all three, and with no more warning than the time a shadow needed to sweep across the plain. Or it might not come at all, though Galaeron knew better than to count on that.

Along with Vangerdahast, Alusair, Lady Regent Alasalynn Rowanmantle, and more aides than was safe, Galaeron was atop an unfinished wall tower in the Knoll District of Old Town, standing on a makeshift scaffolding that creaked every time someone shifted his weight, watching the darkness for the first hint of the enemy. Vangerdahast’s attention was fixed on the south, as that was the only side of the city without a gate and he was convinced the Shadovar would want time to form ranks before the battle began. Most of the aides were convinced they would come out of the Desertsmouth foothills, since that was both the shortest route to Anauroch and one of the most sheltered. Alusair was keeping her eye—and her archers’ arrows— trained on the sky, for she was troubled by the descriptions of veserab riders and the fact of the Shadovar’s alliance with Malygris and his blue dragons. Galaeron didn’t know what to expect, but he felt sure that whatever the Shadovar did, it would be as unexpected as it was devastating.

A soft clatter sounded below as the bodyguard companies at the base of the tower ran through the procedure of admitting a runner. Finally, a herald called for permission to send up one of Vangerdahast’s wizards, and a surprised murmur rose atop the keep as the aides nearest the ladder saw who it was. Galaeron looked down to see a willowy woman in a red cape ascending the long ladder. With red hair and golden eyes, even he recognized her as Vangerdahast’s favorite aide—and, some said, lover—Caladnei.

The old wizard stepped over to the ladder and, as she neared the top, extended a hand. “About time, my dear,” he said, pulling her onto the scaffolding. “What news?”

“Good news.” She turned away and bowed to Alusair, then made her report directly to the regent. “Ruha

has found the flying city, and it appears but lightly defended.”

“Where is it?” Vangerdahast asked. “On the new lake?”

Caladnei nodded. “Floating above the north end. There is fresh water, and a defensible camp. Hhormun is preparing a translocational circle now.”

Alusair considered the report for a moment, then said, “There’s a reason the city is only lightly defended.”

Vangerdahast nodded. “Either Galaeron is right and they’re readying an attack …”

“Or they’re hoping to lure us into a trap,” Alusair finished. She turned to Galaeron. “What do you think?”

“The Shadovar are cunning war makers,” he said, “but the phaerimm are their most ancient enemies. Telamont Tanthul would risk freeing them only if he’s allowing his anger to guide him.”

“And angry men don’t lie in wait,” Alusair agreed. “They attack.”

“Unless that’s what he wants us to think,” Caladnei pointed out. “Perhaps Telamont is confident he can defeat us quickly and return his army to the Sharaedim in time to keep the phaerimm in check.”

“In which case, he can’t let us set the pace,” Vangerdahast said. “Either way, he’s attacking us. Everything points to it.”

Caladnei inclined her head to the old wizard. “Ill send word to Hhormun to save his spell.”

Alusair raised a restraining hand. “Hold a moment.” She bit her lip in thought, then turned to Vangerdahast with a half smile. “What if we could beat them to the strike?”

Galaeron’s brow rose. “Beat them? If you timed matters wrong, Tilverton would be lost.”

“True,” Alusair said without losing enthusiasm, “but Cormyr has many cities. The Shadovar have only one.”

Alasalynn Rowanmantle gasped aloud. “You would sacrifice Tilverton?”

“No, but I’d surely wager it,” Alusair said, not grinning. ‘You do have an evacuation plan?”

Alasalynn’s already pale face grew even paler. “I’ll activate it.”

She thumbed a ring on her middle finger and vanished in a crackle of magic.

Vangerdahast cocked his bushy brow and started to say something, then caught Alusair’s warning glance and cleared his throat instead.

Alusair smiled. “Vangey, can you. …”

“Of course, Princess.” Too plump and rickety for the ladder, Vangerdahast simply stepped to the edge of the scaffolding and looked for a clear place to land. “I’ll prepare the device for transport at once.”

Galaeron frowned but bit his tongue and managed to avoid asking about the “device.” Their departure from Arabel had been delayed nearly a day and a half to give Vangerdahast and the war wizards time to “prepare.” Galaeron had assumed that they were gathering magic items and memorizing spells, but he had realized this was not the case when the wizards emerged from their armory pulling a huge wagon covered with a tent of black canvas. The wizard had ignored Galaeron’s repeated inquiries about the thing, saying only that it would prove once and for ail that the Weave was mightier than the Shadow Weave.

When Galaeron made no move toward the ladder or Vangerdahast, the wizard grabbed him by the arm.

“Come along, young fellow.” Vangerdahast pulled him off the scaffolding, and they floated down the hollow interior of the unfinished tower. “You’ll want to see this.”

At the bottom, they gathered Aris and Vangerdahast’s troop of bodyguards and threaded their way down the knoll past company after company forming up for the short march to the translocational circle. The officers were engaging in no bluster or bravado and offered relatively few words of encouragement. Everyone knew the Shadovar were a strange and powerful enemy, and most wise commanders had prayed that the mere fact of the Heartlands Alliance would force the princes to reconsider the melting of the High Ice. That the Alliance was being marshaled for a night march put to rest any hope of ending the matter without a fight.

At the base of the hill, where the mansions of the Knoll District gave way to the exorbitant shops and inns that populated the rest of Old Town, Vangerdahast turned through the gate of the Windlord’s Rest, which he had appropriated to serve as the headquarters of the war wizards. Instead of entering the cozy inn itself, he led the way past a mixed troop of war wizards and Purple Dragons into the livery.

Inside, the “device” sat covered in its wagon, fans of golden light spilling through the slats of the cargo bed to illuminate the stable floor. The light was incredibly bright, though it did not seem to burn the eyes of either Vangerdahast or the guards the way it did Galaeron’s. He had to shield his face, and his palm began to nettle.

Vangerdahast smirked at Galaeron’s reaction, then removed from his pocket a ring bearing a crude copy of the Purple Dragon of Cormyr.

“Sorry for the workmanship,” the royal magician said, “there wasn’t much time.” He passed it over. “Put it on.”

Galaeron slipped the ring onto his finger and immediately felt better. He also saw that the light was not nearly as bright as he had thought, barely showing through the slats at all.

“Interesting,” he said. “How does it work?”

“I’ll explain at the circle,” Vangerdahast said. He turned toward the main doors, where Aris was crouched on hands and knees peering into the stable. “I would be indebted if you would draw the wagon for us. Translocational magic tends to make draught horses panic.”

“My pleasure.”

The giant stretched an arm through the doorway to grab the hitch—then a cry of alarm sounded from the courtyard behind him, and he stopped to look over his shoulder.

“Stonebones shield us!” Aris cried.

Galaeron stepped to the door and saw a company of dark forms peeling themselves out of the shadows, spraying the astonished guard companies outside with darts of black glass and bolts of shadow magic.

Aris cried out as a dark ray lanced out to pierce his forearm, then lashed out at his attacker with the same hand. Before the giant could close his fingers, the Shadovar changed back to shadow and drained away, then emerged behind him and pierced his thigh with another beam.

Aris screamed and whirled around. Galaeron saw a trio of Shadovar emerging adjacent to the door and could pay no more attention to the giant. He drew his sword and, waiting until the warriors began to assume a semblance of solidity, beheaded the nearest one. The body simply drained back into the shadow, but the dead man’s companions whirled on Galaeron, their hands rising to unleash shadow spells.

Galaeron ducked back into the stable. “Warn the princess!” he yelled. “They’ve found me!”

“They’ve found my device,” Vangerdahast corrected, peering past Aris’s dancing legs into the courtyard. “But how? This city is warded!”

His bodyguards were beginning to counterattack with lightning bolts, crossbow quarrels, and—Galaeron was disappointed to see—bolts of raw magic. Even after hearing how the Sharn Wall had been breached, Vangerdahast had ignored Galaeron’s suggestion that the War Wizards strike all spells of raw magic from their battle lists.

“I told you those wards were useless,” Galaeron said, “as the Shadovar are about to prove.”

The shadows inside the building began to undulate as more shadow warriors arrived. Galaeron tapped Vangerdahast on the shoulder, and the wizard glanced over his shoulder into the thicket of silhouettes rising behind them.

“Vexatious beings, aren’t they?” the royal magician said.

Vangerdahast pointed at his device and made a lifting motion. The canvas cover rose to reveal a globe of living light, its exterior etched with hundreds of black glyphs similar to the warding tile Galaeron had seen two days before. The glyphs were swimming over the surface like water striders on a pond and casting dark shadows of themselves across the interior of the stable. As the silhouettes fell on the Shadovar warriors, the corresponding glyph stopped moving and affixed its shadow firmly in the center of the target’s chest.

The Shadovar wailed in agony and tried to dodge aside or drop back into the shadows. It was difficult to say what happened to those who retreated into the fringe, but the others screamed in agony as their glyphs moved across the orb to keep the dark emblem painted on their torso. A second later, the symbol burst into golden flames, and they dissolved into sooty black smoke.

Galaeron noticed that, despite the ring Vangerdahast had given him, he was growing uncomfortably warm

himself. He took shelter behind the wizard’s ample form.

“Impressive.” He glanced around behind them, expecting the ones who had retreated into the Shadow Fringe to reemerge at their backs. When the shadows remained as still as shadows should, he said, “Using a shadow to project the symbol prevents them from escaping into the fringe.”

Vangerdahast beamed. “Imagine what I could have learned, had you actually demonstrated shadow magic.” The wizard went to the front of the wagon and picked up the hitch. “Help me get this out where it will do some good.”

Galaeron went to the other side and began to push against the crossbar. The wagon was incredibly heavy, as if the orb it carried were made of gold metal instead of gold light.

“Corellon’s bolts!” he gasped. “Wouldn’t it be faster to use magic?”

“It is folly to rely on magic for things your own strong back can do better,” Vangerdahast said, frowning across the bar at him. “A wise woman taught me that.”

“So you’re saying you’ll need your telekinesis spells later,” Galaeron surmised.

“Exactly.” Vangerdahast leaned into the hitch. “Now put your back into it.”

Galaeron braced his feet and did as the wizard commanded. The effort was almost enough to make him break his promise not to use shadow magic. The floor was slick with dust and there was a slight incline at the threshold, and the battle raging in the courtyard had already become a desperate one. Purple Dragons lay two and three bodies deep, and Vangerdahast’s war wizards were having to stand back to back to keep their Shadovar attackers from slipping through the

shadows to attack from behind. Even then, the Shadovar were far more adept at using their defenses to stop Weave spells than the Cormyreans were at using their magic to stop shadow spells, and more than a dozen of the kingdom’s battle mages already lay among the fallen dragoneers.

Aris was staggering around like a drunken fire dancer, bleeding from a dozen wounds, alternately trying to stomp enemy warriors flat or kick them out over the inn’s roof.

“Aris!” Galaeron yelled. “Help us!” The giant crossed the battle in a stride, scattering a trio of shadow warriors with a sweep of his large foot. He dropped to a knee and pulled the wagon across the threshold so quickly that Galaeron and Vangerdahast had to leap aside to keep from being crushed under the wheels. The silhouettes of the old wizard’s glyphs danced over the surrounding walls for less than a second, then began to settle on their targets. The wispy screams of anguished Shadovar filled the air, then a thicket of golden flames flared to life across the courtyard, and their attackers vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

Galaeron rolled to his knees and found Vangerdahast lying against the opposite doorjamb, his chest heaving and his face contorted with pain. Galaeron’s mind leaped immediately to the worst possible conclusion.