The Sorcerer (34 page)

Even with Zay and Yao, and eight more of the finest spell artists of her race—or any other—working nonstop since they entered the city, her plan had yet to yield a breath of magic. Already, two young softthorns had violated the WarGather’s edict against plunder-taking, and she had been forced to promise Tuuh a service gift to hunt them down and pin their skins to the GatherStone as a warning to others. And now there was talk of four longbarbs at the Cave-that-Taunts attacking their own kind shortly before the killblast

The members of the WarGather were beginning to doubt her plan, especially her ability to prevent loot-taking. She could sense that much in their frequent inquiries about the SpellGather’s progress and in the gusts with which they warned one another away from the great armory at the Academy of Magic. Her plan had to start freeing the mythal’s magic soon, or the WarGather would dissolve around her. Arr had no illusions about what would befall her then. She had promised too many gifts, and forgiveness was not a virtue of the phaerimm.

Ryry emerged from the forest behind Arr and floated to her side.

“How goes it?” Ryry asked.

“You shall have your spell crown,” Arr gusted. “What news from the Cave-that-Taunts?”

“After the killblast, now it is calling us flatworms,” Ryry reported. “It claims the spell was its doing.”

Arr found herself curling her tail. She forced it straight again, then decided that had to be a lie. Who had ever heard of a cave that could cast spells?

Then I am certain,” Arr began, “that you asked why it killed so many elves along with our dozen and a half.”

“Of course.”

Several of the SpellGather phaerimm began to work their four arms over each other as though pulling a long rope. Arr put a hand out to silence Ryry and went still as stone, praying that they finally had a thread, even a small one, to demonstrate the progress she had promised the WarGather.

The finch peeped.

The arms of the spell artists fell motionless one after the other, and they returned to pluck at the strand they had found. Arr gnashed her pointed teeth and checked again to see if there was any magic on the bird, but it seemed as null as a rock. Another peep like that, she vowed, and it would be a rock, and she didn’t care how many days of concentration the spellcasting shattered.

Calming herself, Arr turned her attention back to Ryry and asked, “What was the cave’s reply?”

“It had none,” Ryry answered smoothly. “Its claim was a lie, I am sure.”

“No doubt,” Arr answered. It was almost certainly Ryry who was lying—to cover for her oversight—but Arr would only alienate a fellow member of the WarGather by making the accusation. “It is an insult that a hole in the ground speaks our language.”

“Indeed.”

“What of the four betrayers?” Arr asked.

“They are not betrayers.”

Ryry’s thorns bristled with pride. Arr waited in stillness, for she had learned the value of allowing allies their moment

“They are impostors,” Ryry said at last “Impostors who escaped the killblast and fought with the blackswords at the Starmeadow.”

There was a fight at the Starmeadow?”

“Only just completed,” Ryry said. “I have sent a killtroop, but you know how quickly the blackswords vanish after they attack.”

Arr was still thinking about the betrayers.

“Impostors?” she asked, openly skeptical. “And no one saw through their magic?”

Ryry grew less proud of herself. “They may be shadow pullers,” she said. “One of the softhorns who survived saw dark bolts.”

“Dark bolts?” Arr repeated. “Did our spies not say Shade had fallen?”

“Nearly fallen,” Ryry corrected. “The Chosen have somehow anchored the city over the north end of the lake, but Shade is now stable. It isn’t going to fall, not until we bring it down ourselves.”

Arr was so shocked she nearly let herself sink to the ground. Tricking the Chosen into destroying Shade for them had been a cornerstone of her plan, but somehow the

Shadovar had prevailed. Could it be true? Could the Shadow Weave be stronger than the Weave?

“Arr?”

Arr did not realize she had let herself sink again until she found herself looking up at Ryry. She used her tall to push herself back into the air.

“Why was I not told of this earlier?”

Ryry angled her thorns back in anger and replied, “If Xayn fails to abide by his promise, I am not to blame.”

“Xayn?” Arr repeated, finally getting hold of herself. The blackswords killed Xayn this morning. It is nothing to concern ourselves about”

Ryry’s stillness was an accusation.

Arr gestured at the statue of the elf goddess.

“The SpellGather has loosened a strand,” she said. “It would take all the princes of Shade to stop us now, and they sent only four.”

Ryry brought her four hands together over her dished head and quoted Arr*s oft-repeated refrain, “Together, all things are possible.” She steepled her sixteen fingers into a single pyramid, causing the finch overhead to take wing and flee. “Is there a way I can be of service?”

“Yes.” Though it would mean the promise of another service gift, Arr pointed after the bird and said, “Kill that finch.”

You’re sure this plan will work?” Takari asked. “I don’t think anyone was all that impressed with the last one.”

“There are no sure things,” Galaeron said, “but it has a chance.”

“A good chance?” Vala asked.

They were hiding among the musty-smelling roots dangling beneath the Floating Gardens of Aerdrie Faenya, waiting in the mucky water of a knee-deep nourishment pond. Aris and the Chosen had already left for Cloudcrown Hill to rescue— fetch was more accurate—Lord Duirsar and the high mages. Galaeron had once again assumed the likeness of a phaerimm, and the entire Company of the Cold Hand had vowed they were ready to lose fingers—or even entire hands—to the cold of then-borrowed darkswords.

Galaeron turned his head-disk toward Vala and held her gaze.

“A better chance than you had in Myth Drannor. That turned out well enough.”

Vala rolled her eyes. “I only had to kill six phaerimm,” she said. “We’re talking ten here—all at once.”

Manynests, just returned from his spying mission and perched on Keya’s shoulder, chirped an urgent correction.

‘Twelve,” Keya translated for those who did not understand peeptalk, then frowned at Galaeron. “I don’t see how you can do it”

“I don’t have to,” Galaeron explained. “I only have to kill the leader. After that, the WarGather will fall apart”

“That we understand,” Vala said, taking Galaeron’s four-fingered hand. “It’s the part where you don’t live I’m having trouble with.”

That we’re having trouble with,” Takari added.

She came around to Galaeron’s other side and slipped her hand through the crook of one of his spindly arms. The Vaasans scowled—Vala at Takari, and Kuhl at Galaeron— and Kuhl rested a hand on the pommel of his sword. Their jealousy meant nothing to Galaeron. He loved Takari as much as he did Vala, and if that angered someone, it was no concern of his. He covered Takari’s hand with his own.

“I’ll be all right,” Galaeron said. “You’ll be right behind me.”

“We have to fight through a ring of beholders and illithids,” Vala reminded him.

“That’s going to take time,” Keya added. “Why don’t you shadow walk a dozen of us in there—”

“Because we’d be lucky to last a breath,” Burlen said, cutting her off. “We won’t look like a phaerimm, remember?”

Though Galaeron knew Burlen was more concerned with protecting the mother of Dexon’s child than assuring their success, he mouthed a silent thanks to the Vaasan. His plan depended on timing. The Company of the Cold Hand had to

clear the defenses around the SpellGather before Aris arrived with the Chosen and the high mages. It would take time to do what Galaeron intended, and Keya and the others would need to set a defensive ring of their own before the phaerimm pulled themselves together to counterattack.

Khelben’s voice sounded inside Galaeron’s head, We’re in position, with a clear view of the statue hill.

Good—we’ll leave now, Galaeron replied.

He looked up at Manynests and sent the little snowfinch ahead with a tweet, then used his two free arms to wave the others forward.

They followed Manynests to the shore and left the dangling roots behind, stepping out from beneath the overhead gardens into a thick hedge of duskblossom. The snowfinch took his leave with a merry chirp and climbed above the hedge toward Cloudcrown Hill—then wheeled around and came diving back, squealing in alarm.

Thinking an owl or a hawk was after their courier, Galaeron flung a strand of shadowsilk into the air behind Manynests and spoke a two-syllable incantation. He realized his mistake when a silver lightning bolt cracked through the hedge crest and snaked its way out across the nourishment pond, leaving a mile-long tunnel of scorched root ends in its wake.

In the next instant, the phaerimm that had cast the spell came streaking over the hedge into the shadow net The strands could not be broken, but Galaeron was not prepared for the shock—and was probably not strong enough to hold it even had he been—and the net slipped free.

The astonished thornback tried to swing around to see what had caught it, but lost control of its flight and rolled sideways into the mass of roots beneath the floating gardens. It tangled quickly and hung there in the air, howling gusts of frustration and stirring the water below into a froth. The three Vaasans reacted first, Vala and Burlen charging through the hedge to meet the oncoming attack, and Kuhl splashing into the pond to finish off the trapped phaerimm.

Keya sprang into action almost as quickly, ordering half her company southward in a flanking action and sending the other half through the hedge to support Vala and Burlen. As surprised as he was impressed by the commander his little sister had become, Galaeron prepared a dark bolt and turned to hurl it before the phaerimm teleported out of its predicament

But this one had no intention of leaving. It thrust two hands through the shadow net, and a shimmering mirror of magic appeared before it and sent the black dart sailing back at Galaeron. He pivoted out of the way and heard a muffled crackle as the missile slammed into the ground behind him. A third hand waved in Kuhl’s direction, and the Vaasan went tumbling across the pond. He slammed headlong into Takari, who had been trying to sneak around for a clean flank shot, and they both splashed into the water and did not rise again.

Galaeron was already flicking an obsidian sliver into the air. He yelled a word of command, and the sliver grew as long as his arm and began to spin, blurring into a large black disk. It shattered the phaerimm’s mirror and severed one of the arms that had been holding the shield. Slicing a tunnel through the root tangle, it vanished.

When the injury did not cause the phaerimm to teleport away, a cold lump formed in Galaeron’s stomach. He began to fear that the WarGather had somehow learned of their plans and was already mounting an assault to stop them, but if so, why send only one assailant over the hedge?

Galaeron rolled a thread of shadowsilk into a wad. Before he could speak the mystic word that would expand the tiny orb into a shadow ball, the phaerimm was pelting him with golden darts of Weave magic. When the bolts dissipated harmlessly against the spell-guard Laeral had placed on him, the thornback switched instantly to dispelling magic. The spell-guard began to flicker and flash.

Galaeron hurled his shadow sphere, only to see the phaerimm stick an arm through the net and open an extradimensional portal in its palm. The black orb grew

elongated, then curved toward the hand and vanished like a hawk down the gullet of a hungry dragon.

A new flight of magic bolts shot back at Galaeron. The first three dissipated against the flickering spell-guard, but the fourth burned through and sent him tumbling back through the air The fifth and sixth landed, pinning him against the duskblossom hedge and burning thumb-sized holes in his body. Though his phaerimm disguise prevented even him from seeing where they landed, a searing pain shot through his thigh, and his shoulder went numb.

Keya screamed her rage and sent her darksword tumbling past Galaeron’s head. The phaerimm raised a hand and deflected the attack with a blast of force.

Takari rose out of the pond beneath it and plunged Kuhl’s darksword up into the thickest part of its body. The thornback filled the root thicket with roaring gales of pain and finally teleported away.

Or, rather, tried to teleport away.

An instant after it vanished, it reappeared outside Galaeron’s shadow net, scattering across the pond in precisely diced squares. Takari caught much of the spray square on and emerged with a cube of phaerimm flesh hanging from the end of a thorn lodged in her shoulder. Not seeming to notice, she charged over to the hedge still holding Kuhl’s darksword and slipped through to the other side.

Keya rushed to Galaeron’s side.

“How bad?”

“Not bad,” he said. “IT! survive.”

“You’d better.” Keya extended her hand, and Dexon’s darksword flew back into her grip. “The baby’s going to need an uncle.”

She smiled and slipped through the hedge to join the others. It was not until she was gone that Galaeron realized what he had seen.

Takari had been holding Kuhl’s sword. Her hand did not look cold.

No wonder Kuhl had been unhappy to see him.

Galaeron looked back into the pond and saw the Vaasan floating on his back, a pink cloud haloing his head where a long gash was pouring blood into the water. Kuhl’s head had been propped on a log. His chest was rising and falling at regular intervals, and his eyes were already beginning to flicker open. Leaving the Vaasan to awaken on his own, Galaeron flew over the hedge. He nearly lost his leg when a warrior of the Cold Hand rose from the other side, and mistaking him for the enemy, reached for his borrowed darksword.

“Spare your fingers,” Galaeron said in Elvish. “I’m our thornback.”

The elf flushed with embarrassment. He let his weapon slip back into its scabbard.