The Sorcerer (10 page)

“I have had a vision,” she hissed. “One you love—”

Galaeron pressed a coin into her hand and said, “Here’s your copper. Take it and go.”

She let the coin drop in the dust, nearly felling Galaeron’s horse as a knot of beggars dived beneath its hooves to retrieve the offering.

“Listen to me, elf!” Her hand grabbed his reins and brought his progress to a stop. “You must return to Shade. I saw the Seraph in a dream—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Galaeron said. He pulled his boot free of the stirrup and planted his foot in the center of her chest. This caravan is bound for Iriaebor.”

He started to push her off—and found the tip of a stiletto sliding up under the armor on his calf. The sensation of cold steel pricking his leg caused a dark fury to rise inside Galaeron. Leaving the half empty sack of gold to slide off his saddle and spill on the ground, he reached across his body and grabbed the hilt of his sword.

“Shade,” the woman hissed. “Go, or she will die.”

Galaeron’s heart began to pound like a Vyshaan war drum. Though he desperately wanted to ask the woman about her vision, he held his tongue and drew his sword hall out of its scabbard. Even had he thought he could trust a Cyricist, he would never have risked his plan by telling her that Shade was exactly where he intended to go.

“You have mistaken me for someone else, Madam,” Galaeron said. “Now, step back or lose your head.”

The woman’s eyes turned black and sun-shaped, with long tongues of darkness wagging around the edges.

“Believe.”

She sank her stiletto a quarter of an inch into his call, and Galaeron’s blade rasped free of its scabbard almost of its own

will. The woman raised her chin and waited with eerie calmness as it arced toward her collarbone.

“Believe!”

Galaeron’s attack came to a sudden end as his forearm struck a huge, invisible hand.

“No,” Aris’s voice rumbled down from above.

“Leave her be, friend,” Ruha called from the other side of Aris. “The mad cannot be blamed for their madness.”

“Nor the messenger for the message,” the woman added. Her voice was gravelly and multifold, as though there were a hundred people speaking at once. “Go.”

The black suns faded from her eyes. Leaving her stiletto hanging from Galaeron’s calf, she stumbled back and fell into the throng of beggars fighting over the coins he had let fall. Aris’s grasp slackened, and Galaeron lowered his blade, his hand trembling so badly he could barely slip the tip into its scabbard.

“My friend, what is it?” Ruha asked. “Why are you so frightened?”

“More startled than frightened,” Galaeron said. He reached down and plucked the woman’s dagger from his calf, then displayed the bloody tip. “A message from our friend the cuckold. He wants to see us.”

Ruha’s dark brow rose, and Galaeron tossed the dagger over the beggars into an empty place in the field. When he turned to urge his horse forward he saw that it was hopeless. The road ahead was blocked by at least a hundred paupers— all with their hands out, praising Aris’s generosity—and the little bridge was occupied by two dozen caravan guards on their way back from the marshaling fields.

Once they were clear of the bridge, the guards began shouting at the paupers to clear the road, using their shields and the shoulders of their big war-horses to enforce their demands. Galaeron did his best to remain patient. Whether or not the message had truly come from Malik, it only served to heighten his concern for Vala. His feelings for her were not as

spiritual as the love for Takari that he had denied all those years on the Desert Border South, but only because a human and an elf could never come together like two elves could.

Nevertheless, Galaeron did love Vala—if not as deeply as Takari, then at least as strongly—and it had tormented him to remain comfortable in Arabel while she served Escanor as a bed-slave. Not a day had passed that he did not dream of returning to free her. If only she could hold on until he got himself captured.

When the guards began to grow impatient with the paupers and slap at them with the flats of their blades, Aris hit upon a helpful solution and began to fling handfuls of gold away from the road. It took two throws before the beggars realized what was happening and fled, all yelling Aris’s praises and pleading for him to throw a handful their way.

Once the road was clear, the guards moved quickly to secure the caravan, thundering past on both sides and barking orders to get moving. Five of their number peeled off and came up beside Galaeron and Ruha, placing themselves so that any beggars returning for more handouts would have to go through them first.

The largest, a hatchet-faced woman in a helmet and dusty fighting leathers, came alongside Galaeron and waved them across the bridge. The guard’s voice was as familiar as it was biting.

“Well done, elf. I doubt there’s a deaf man or blind woman within a league of here who doesn’t know you’re sneaking out of Arabel.”

Galaeron took a closer look. The speaker’s gaunt features softened into those of Storm Silverhand, the hair that looped out from beneath her helmet turning silver and silky, the thin-lipped mouth growing full and shapely.

“This wasn’t part of the plan.” Fearful of betraying the identity of his guards, Galaeron was careful to avoid the honorific one usually showed the Chosen. The gratitude of the paupers took us by surprise.”

“Oh, well that’s fine then,” growled the rider behind her. “How comforting to know things just slipped out of control.”

They started across the bridge. Galaeron glanced over his shoulder to find the visage of an old horse-faced guard yielding to the black beard and frowning features of a man who could only be the renowned elf-friend, Khelben Arunsun.

Galaeron decided not to mention the message from Malik. The Chosen appeared less than enthusiastic as it was, and the last thing he wanted was to give them an excuse to change their minds.

“I apologize for the mistake,” he said. “I should have realized how gold would affect—”

“Galaeron is not to blame,” Aris said, his voice booming down out of the empty sky. “I am the one who wanted to give them the gold.”

“Will you be quiet up there?” Khelben demanded. “At least pretend you’re trying to sneak out of here unnoticed.”

“I apologize,” Aris said, his voice a low rumble that made the bridge planks quiver beneath the horses’ hooves, “but you mustn’t blame Galaeron—”

“There’s no need to blame anyone,” said a third guard. Riding opposite Galaeron on Ruha’s far side, she had only one arm and a voice similar to Storm’s. “No one should be condemned for sharing with the hungry.”

As she spoke, Galaeron began to see through the illusion guarding her identity and realized that this had to be Khelben’s consort, Laeral Silverhand. There was a tiny arm growing from the stump of the one she had lost in the Shaeradim, but even this did not detract from her beauty. She was, if anything, even more lovely than her sister, with a warmth and charm alien to Storm’s brusque manner—or perhaps it merely seemed so to Galaeron because Storm never bothered to hide the dislike she bore him.

Khelben was silent a moment, then said, “You’re right, of course.” He sighed heavily. “Again.”

This drew a laugh from the last two guards, and Galaeron recognize the same silver in their voices as in Laeral and Storm’s. He hazarded a glance in their direction, and as he began to see through the illusions, he recognized in their sparkling eyes and silver hair two more of Storm’s sisters. The slimmest of the two, and the most feminine in her carriage and manner, could only be the celebrated Lady of Silverymoon, Alustriel Silverhand. The other, a more imposing figure as powerfully built as a man, had to be the mighty Dove Falconhand—Harper, Knight of Myth Drannor, and friend to the elves.

The Chosen had not only answered Galaeron’s call for help, they had answered it in strength. If Khelben seemed tense, it only made sense. With Elminster still missing with the Simbul, and ghostly Sylune more or less confined to her farm in Shadowdale, the only available Chosen they had not brought was the Dark Sister, Qilue. Given his limited experience with drow during his days in the Tomb Guard, Galaeron was just as glad.

They left the bridge and rushed to catch the head of the caravan, which was stopped in the marshaling field while the captain of the guards grouped the draft animals by swiftness and burden and assigned personnel to watch over them. He placed Galaeron and Ruha with a group of lightly burdened riders, and at Storm’s magically enhanced suggestion, assigned the five Chosen to watch over them.

Once the captain had moved on, the Chosen gathered their horses in a tight circle around Galaeron, Ruha, and the still invisible Aris.

“Here’s my plan, Galaeron,” Khelben said. “We’re going to make a few—”

“Darling?” Laeral interrupted. “Aren’t you forgetting who thought of this in the first place?”

Khelben scowled but said, “All right” He turned back to Galaeron. “Your plan’s a sound one, but we’re going to—”

“Pardon me,” Alustriel said. “But I’d prefer that someone

who’s actually been inside the city does the planning.”

Khelben rolled his eyes. “Very well.” He turned back to Galaeron and said, “We all like your ideas.”

“Very impressive,” Dove said.

Khelben nodded almost reluctantly then continued, “But there are some things we should bring to your attention.”

He stopped to check for the others’ approval.

Storm whirled her hand to urge him on. She glanced back toward the rear of the caravan, which was already coming across the little bridge.

Khelben looked irritated but he said, “First, you won’t be able to eat until we’re inside the city.”

Galaeron raised his brow and said, “I hadn’t thought of that”

“We didn’t think you had,” Alustriel said, “but I’m sure you understand. The journey will be unpleasant enough as it is.”

“I don’t think I could ride for more than a few days without eating anyway,” Galaeron agreed. “We’ll put that part off as long as we can.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Khelben agreed. “Second, you may have noticed there are five of us.”

“I can do it instead,” Aris said. “I’m larger.”

“Actually, we were thinking of splitting the group into two teams,” Laeral said. “As insurance.”

Though Galaeron was reluctant to ask Aris to assume any more risk than he already was, he knew better than to argue. The giant had made his feelings on the subject clear when he smashed the table in their courtyard.

“Splitting is a good idea, if Aris is willing,” Galaeron said.

Khelben smiled. “Good,” he said, “then we’re all agreed.”

“Not quite.” Galaeron raised his hand, and avoiding Ruha’s gaze, said, “Ruha can’t come with us.”

“That is not your decision,” Ruha replied. Her tone was angry, though not surprised. They had spent most of the night arguing the point, finally letting the matter drop only because the time had come to join the caravan. This has nothing to do with Evereska.”

Galaeron ignored her and fixed his gaze on Storm.

“The Shadovar need me,” he said, “and they value Aris, but Ruha is nothing to them but a problem. If she comes with us, there’s every chance the Shadovar will put her to death.”

“That is my risk, not yours,” the witch said, running her gaze from one Chosen to the next. “He is trying to protect Malik. Malik saved his life, and now the foolish elf believes they are friends.”

“That is true,” Aris said, “but it is also true that Hadrhune believes you broke his command and tried to kill Malik. If you return, it will be just as Galaeron says.”

The five Chosen gazed at Ruha expectantly.

When the witch merely looked away, Dove Falconhand said, “I think you should stay behind, Ruha. Your presence might endanger the mission.”

“Or save it,” Ruha argued. “You cannot know that yet— and what will become of Malik? I have hunted the dog too long to let him live like a Sheikh in their palaces.”

“If we are successful, there may no longer be a Malik to concern yourself with,” Storm said. “If we fail, he will come out sooner or later. Cyric is too cruel to leave him there in comfort for long.”

Ruha said nothing more, but the angry look she flashed Galaeron left little doubt about whose life she thought he had just saved. A dark voice inside whispered that she was an ungrateful hag who deserved the death she would find in Shade, but Galaeron closed his mind to those shadowy thoughts and reminded himself that she had good reason to hate the little man. He was a remorseless killer who had single-handedly saved the Church of Cyric and restored the mad god to power, and he was undoubtedly working to spread his god’s influence throughout the city of Shade. That he had saved the lives of both Galaeron and Aris many times while they traveled together mattered not at all. That had been an alliance of convenience, and Galaeron knew as

surely as Ruha did that Malik would not hesitate to betray them in the name of his god.

Galaeron considered again whether to tell the Chosen about the message he had received from Malik but was deterred by the fury in Ruha’s eyes. Given the number of Chosen who had come and the courtesy they had shown him in the strategy session, he felt sure that they intended to follow through on the plan no matter what. But Ruha would seize on any suggestion of betrayal by Malik as an excuse to accompany them into the city. Galaeron had no doubt at all about what would become of her if she fell into Hadrhune’s hands. For the witch’s own good, it would be better for him to keep the secret

Or so Galaeron told himself.

_________CHAPTER SEVEN

Once the captain had the caravan arranged to his liking, he gave the order to depart. Like some thousand-legged millipede, the line came alive and began to snake its way westward along the High Road. Galaeron and Ruha rode in silence on opposite sides of their invisible friend, Galaeron struggling to ignore the dark thoughts continually welling up in his mind, the witch glaring at him over her veil.

Aris, suffering from the fatal honesty that was the curse of his race, tried several times to reason with her, to make her see they were trying to protect her as much as they were Malik. Ruha heard only the part about protecting Malik and chastised the giant for serving an evil god. That was the end of any conversation for the rest of the day. They ate