The Summoning, page 22
This time, the beholder did not cry out. It simply dropped into the snow, its eyestalks drooping over its body like so many withered vines. Galaeron and Takari each planted a guarantee arrow into the lifeless orb and darted to new hiding places, and only then did they raise their heads to take stock.
Malik and his horse were nowhere to be seen, of course. Aris was charging in the direction Galaeron had pointed, swinging a ten-foot deadfall log back and forth in a noble, if somewhat misguided, effort to smash their invisible foe through sheer chance. Vala and Melegaunt were running in the wrong direction, charging through the snow toward Galaeron and Takari.
He waved them back, only to have them stop and gesture him in their direction. He tried again, this time more urgently. Once Melegaunt reached the Dire Wood, he would be free to use his shadow magic—and if they stood any chance at all of escaping the phaerimm and its minions, it was the archwizard’s magic.
Vala ignored him, instead pointing her darksword at the fallen beholder. “It was only the scout,” she yelled. “Now, will you two stop clowning around and get your pointy ears over here?”
When no rays of any color leaped out to silence her, Galaeron dared to look behind him. Much to his relief, the rest of the beholders were a hundred paces distant, coming up fast, but still fist-sized spheres weaving through the trees. Behind them hovered the tornado-shaped figure of a phaerimm, no larger than Galaeron’s thumb, yet terrifying enough even at that distance.
A dull thump echoed through the wood as Aris connected with their invisible foe. To Galaeron’s amazement, the stone giant did not instantly erupt into a pillar of flame or drop dead with a gaping hole through his torso. Instead, he gave a deep groan of satisfaction and started forward again, shaking the snow from the trees around him as he beat the ground with his makeshift club.
“Aris!” thundered Melegaunt. “Stop that at once!”
A series of colored flashes filled the air in front of Galaeron as the approaching beholders began to test the range of their eye rays. They were not close enough to strike yet, but it would not be long before the beams began to hit. Seeing that the foolish humans were determined to enter the Dire Wood together or not at all, he whistled to Takari and turned toward them. Even at their best pace, he doubted they would be fast enough to outrun the beholders’ eye rays, but with a little dodging and weaving, they stood a reasonable—well, acceptable—chance of reaching the wood alive.
As Galaeron and Takari approached, Vala grabbed their hands and pulled them behind a tree. The beholder rays were starting to blast through the forest around them now, boring holes through massive shadowtop trunks and withering whole maples. Turlang would not be happy about the damage done to his forest, but as long as Melegaunt did not use his shadow magic within the wood, the treant would not hold them—or Lady Morgwais—responsible.
As Aris approached, a golden ray caught him square in the leg. The beam would have taken the torso off a normal man, but it merely drilled a melon-sized hole through the stone giant’s thigh. He let out a great bellow and collapsed, shaking the ground beneath their feet as he crashed down behind Melegaunt.
“That will do!” yelled Melegaunt, directing himself to Vala.
Vala grabbed Galaeron’s hand and pressed it into Takari’s, then looped her own arm through his and grabbed hold of Melegaunt’s with the other. The archwizard locked her hand in the crook of his elbow, then pressed his other palm to the giant’s biceps and began the incantation to a shadow spell.
Galaeron jerked free of Vala’s grasp. “What are you doing? If he breaks his word to Turlang—”
“Look to the shadow, elf!” Vala grabbed hold of Galaeron again, then used her chin to gesture along the length of the trunk-shadow in which they all stood. “He’s drawing his magic through the Dire Wood.”
Galaeron looked in the direction she indicated and saw that the tree’s shadow extended clear through the ring of white oaks. Though he wasn’t sure Melegaunt was living up to the letter of his pledge to Turlang, there was no time to debate the matter. A half dozen beholders appeared to either side of them, lacing the air with gleaming beams of destruction.
The rays shot past without touching anyone in the party, and only then did Galaeron notice how dim and hazy the eye tyrants appeared. Several of the creatures passed by within an arm’s reach of the party and did not seem to notice them.
“Don’t lose touch with me,” warned Melegaunt. “At the moment, we are only shadows to them … and that is all that protects us.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” said Takari. “The Dire Wood is not a hundred paces away.”
“And may as well be a hundred miles,” said Aris. “Look ahead.”
An ankle-high curtain of black fire had arisen at the edge of the white forest. Though Galaeron guessed the flames would be invisible to anyone outside the Fringe, he saw no reason it could not be dispersed by a wizard of Melegaunt’s power.
“We cannot hide in the shadows forever,” he said. “Dispel it and let us be on our way.”
“Gladly—were that not what Elminster expects,” said Melegaunt.
“Elminster?” demanded Aris. “But he was sleeping—”
“Mystra’s Chosen do not sleep,” interrupted Melegaunt. He pointed in the general direction of the giant’s feet and ran his fingers through the motions of a detection spell. “And they most certainly do not snore.”
A ghostly figure in a floppy hat appeared twenty paces beyond Aris’s feet. He was slowly creeping toward the Dire Wood, peering over his shoulder at the main body of beholders, then farther back at the hovering phaerimm, and finally at the eye tyrant scouts still passing back and forth through the shadow where Galaeron and his companions stood hiding in Melegaunt’s spell.
A knowing twinkle came to Elminster’s eye, and he started toward their hiding place. Melegaunt finished his spell, directing a finger in the archmage’s direction. Almost at once, the beholders swung their eyestalks toward Elminster and began to assail him with rays both black and golden. Without exception, the attacks exploded into harmless starbursts against the archmage’s spell shields, but the flurry was enough to stop the old man in his tracks. He lowered his bushy eyebrows, and Melegaunt uttered another spell. Instead of stopping a foot short, as had all the other attacks, the next beam—a golden one—struck the ancient wizard broadside and sent him cartwheeling across the snow.
“What are you doing?” Galaeron came near to releasing Takari to grab Melegaunt’s arm. “You’ll get him killed!”
“Hardly.”
Elminster tumbled to a stop and came up glaring in Melegaunt’s direction. He raised a shaming finger—and the phaerimm came floating up, waving all four arms in his direction.
Elminster vanished in cloud of crimson flame, and Melegaunt immediately uttered the reverse of a teleport spell.
In the next instant, Elminster’s ancient figure appeared fifty yards to the east, cloaked in fire and shaking a long finger of flame. Though the gesture was directed roughly in Melegaunt’s direction, it was easily ten degrees to the left, leaving no doubt in Galaeron’s mind, at least, that the greatest mage in all Faerûn could not see through the simplest of the shadow wizard’s spells.
The phaerimm streaked off toward the archmage, whistling something angry in its breezy language that drew the beholders after it. Elminster turned and fled, covering his retreat with a wall of scintillating colors. The phaerimm and beholders paused long enough to dispel the wall, then flew after the archwizard.
Melegaunt smiled. “Now we are ready for the Dire Wood.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
29 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp
The Dire Wood was much darker and ominous than it appeared outside. Within a dozen paces, the pristine snow turned to soggy peat, and the albino oaks gave way to the shadowy depths of a petrified forest. The trees were as black as coal, with ebony limbs that ended in jagged stumps and twisted trunks propped against each other at every odd angle. The ground beneath the trees was as red as blood, full of scum and rot and the smell of decay. Galaeron could not imagine how they would ever wade through such a morass—much less find and reach Karse.
He looked to Takari and asked, “Which way?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never been beyond the Pale Ring, but no need to worry. Jhingleshod will find us.”
“Jhingleshod?”
Takari gave him an enigmatic smile. “Wulgreth’s servant.”
“His servant?” exclaimed Malik. Once the phaerimm and beholders had gone off chasing Elminster, the little man had appeared alongside their hiding place, whispering after them until Takari jerked him into the shadow. He still had not forgiven her for the indignity his fright caused him to visit upon his pants. “It might be easier to attract Wulgreth’s attention by finding some trumpets to blow.”
“Not every servant loves his master,” replied Takari.
“While that is certainly true, it does not mean he will love us.”
“We’ll worry about Jhingleshod later,” said Galaeron, looking back toward Turlang’s forest. “But we can’t wait here. Sooner or later, either Elminster or the phaerimm will be back—maybe both. We’ll leave as soon as Aris is ready.”
Kelda eyed the bog and snorted, prompting Malik to pat her neck. “There is nothing to worry about, girl. Aris will be happy to carry you.”
Galaeron was not so sure the giant would be able to carry himself, much less Malik’s horse. Aris was seated along the inner edge of the Pale Ring, madly chipping at a small rock into a granite cylinder just small enough to fill the hole the beholder’s disintegration ray had left through his thigh. He blew the dust off, held the stone over the wound for a moment, tapped a couple of flakes off one side, then passed it down to Vala, who carefully lowered the rock into the wound.
The giant winced in pain, then laid his hammer over the wound and rumbled an incomprehensible prayer to the dour god of his race. A plume of crimson steam shot from the hole on both sides of his leg, then Aris pressed his back against an oak and held the hammer in place as the wound filled with stone-colored flesh. Though his clenched jaw betrayed how much the healing hurt, he remained stoic and silent.
When the rising vapor paled to pink, Aris returned his hammer to his pouch. The wound was still a puckered mess, but there was nothing tentative about his movements when he pushed himself to his feet and reached down for Kelda. The mare nickered, and dragging Malik along, backed toward the Pale Ring.
“You won’t need to carry her,” said Melegaunt. He turned to Takari and held out a palm. “If you will lend me your sword.”
Takari glanced at Galaeron, then reluctantly passed her weapon over. Melegaunt tipped it toward the sun and uttered a conjuration spell, all the while passing his palm over the underside of the blade. The side facing his hand grew black and hazy, while the steel facing the sun gleamed with silver sunlight. Takari scowled and started to reach for her weapon, but Galaeron waved her off. Though he had never seen anything quite like this spell, he recognized the general form as a Making, and he doubted it would harm Takari’s weapon.
By the time Melegaunt finished, the dark side of the blade was as black and deep as a fissure in a cavern floor, while the light side shone too brilliantly to look at. He turned the dark face toward the bog, and a black stripe appeared on the surface of the water. When he adjusted the angle, the stripe broadened to a width of two feet and stretched to thirty paces.
Melegaunt returned the sword to Takari. “Lay the shadow where you wish. It will keep our feet dry.”
Takari accepted the weapon with a gaping mouth, then stepped gingerly onto the shadow. When her foot did not pass through into water, she started forward.
Melegaunt motioned the others onto the black band. “Quickly. The path lasts only a few moments.”
Vala drew her sword and started along the trail without hesitation, followed by Malik and Kelda, who was persuaded to step onto the shadowy trail only by the threat of being picked up again. Aris took two precarious steps before announcing it was like walking on thread and stepped off to wade alongside. Melegaunt went next, and Galaeron brought up the rear.
The bog was more of a mess than it looked, with a muddy bottom that sucked at Aris’s boots and filled the petrified forest with a steady cadence of slurping. Takari’s trail was by necessity crooked and irregular, detouring around blockades of tangled trees, occasionally narrowing to mere inches as it passed beneath a half-fallen trunk. The air was damp and biting, numbing their faces and stiffening their fingers with cold. They were all shivering within a hundred steps, and the anemic rays of the rising sun were too thin to warm them.
“I have been in howling blizzards warmer than this swamp!” complained Malik. “How can the water not be ice?”
“It is not cold you are feeling, it is death,” said Melegaunt. “Death ancient and mad and mighty, death sorrowful and ashamed.”
“Then what are we doing here?” demanded Malik. “If this Wulgreth is mighty enough to drain the heat from an entire swamp, we have no chance at all.”
“Not Wulgreth,” said Melegaunt. “I am speaking of Karsus. It is his magic that makes the Dire Wood, and his mad regret that twists everything within it.”
Karsus was a name that Galaeron, at least, recognized from his years at the Academy of Magic. Karsus was the foolish Netherese wizard who had tried to steal the Weave from the goddess of magic and brought the floating cities of Netheril crashing to the ground.
Daring to hope he was finally beginning to understand Melegaunt’s plan, Galaeron asked, “So it is Karsus’s magic you mean to use against the phaerimm?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Melegaunt ducked under a tree trunk and came face-to-flank with Malik’s horse, which had slowed as the little man paused to eavesdrop. The wizard slapped the horse on the rump, urging her forward and nearly knocking Malik off the trail, then said quietly, “You will see.”
Galaeron silently cursed the Cyricist, then found himself debating the merits of killing him and being done with it. Takari would not think much of the idea, but Melegaunt clearly had his suspicions about the fellow, and the wizard had proven on more than one occasion that he would not balk at doing whatever was necessary to save Evereska. Vala would agree to whatever Melegaunt decided, so the only problem was Aris, and if it came to that, even Galaeron’s magic was powerful enough to … the thought brought him to a stunned halt, scarcely able to believe how easily his shadow had crept up on him. The dark thoughts had seemed so normal.
So shocked was Galaeron that he barely noticed Melegaunt disappearing around the next tangle of stony trees, but he did notice when the path vanished beneath his feet and plunged him to his waist in icy water.
His breath left him in a shriek, and his feet turned instantly to blocks of numb flesh. His knees began to ache with cold, his thighs felt like slabs of ice, and his body drained into the swamp. He staggered a single step and nearly fell when the mud refused to release his boot. Something large and soft bumped his leg and stayed. He cried out again and pulled his dagger, but could not bring himself to reach into the icy water to find out what it was.
Galaeron heard another splash and looked forward to see Melegaunt dropping into the water as the shadow trail vanished beneath him. The wizard let out a surprised roar, then spread his hands and levitated himself out of the water. The path was fast disappearing behind Malik and his horse, but with Vala and Takari spinning around to look toward Galaeron, they were helpless to continue forward.
Galaeron waved them on. “K-k-k-keep m-m-moving!”
The trail vanished beneath Kelda’s rear hooves, and that was all the impetus the mare needed to nose Malik forward. He gave Vala an urgent shove, and they were moving again, staying a few bare steps ahead of the vanishing shadow trail. Takari started to lay a crooked course back toward Galaeron, but Aris gestured them forward again.
“Go.” The giant plucked Melegaunt from the air, then sloshed back to Galaeron. “I’ll get them.”
The soft thing on Galaeron’s leg slithered around his thigh, a tiny set of scales or barbs or whatever ticking against his elven chain mail. He took a deep breath, then reached into the water with both hands and felt something huge and fleshy around his leg. He jabbed his dagger into its body, then pulled it from the water and immediately wished he had not.
The thing was as long as his arm, with a slimy black body tapering from a round head to a narrow tail. He could not imagine what it was until he turned it over and saw a ring of sharp little teeth surrounded by a fleshy-lipped sucker.
“By the Fey Wand!” He held the thing at arm’s length. “It’s a leech.”
“More my size, I’d say.” Aris stooped down and crushed the creature between two fingers, then plucked Galaeron up in his free hand. “And you should see the dragonflies up here.”
Galaeron saw a lacy blur nearly four feet across dart past the giant’s head, then said, “As l-long as there aren’t any s-spiders.” Though the swamp was no longer draining his body heat, he could not seem to stop shivering, and even Melegaunt looked a little blue around the lips. “Can you c-cast a warming spell?”
Melegaunt gave a wry smile. “Unfortunately, sh-shadow magic does not create heat.” He shivered, then added, “From normal cold I can protect us, but from this life-draining chill …” He only shook his head.
Galaeron hesitated, already knowing Melegaunt’s response, then said anyway, “I can use the Weave—”
“How often must I warn you?” Melegaunt glared at Galaeron a moment, then looked up at Aris. “You do not seem troubled.”
