"We can ask no more," Aris said. "With luck, we will be far out in the desert by then."
"Desert?" Ruha asked. "You will try to cross Anauroch… on foot?"
"I do not think Galaeron has the magic to carry us across any other way," Aris replied, looking to Galaeron for confirmation. Galaeron shook his head. "That is beyond me."
"And it would be unwise for him to push his limits," Vala added.
"Wiser than trying to walk across Anauroch," Ruha said. "You know nothing of the desert"
"No matter-they must leave, and the sooner the better." Vala took his hand. "You have been scaring me, Galaeron. I was beginning to think you meant to hold me to my promise."
Galaeron barely heard this last part The word "they" was still reverberating through his head. "They?" he demanded.
"I can't go with you," Vala said. "I'm due to leave with Escanor at midnight. If I don't show, he'll know something is wrong-and we all know they'll never let you leave willingly, not with Melegaunt's knowledge still locked inside your head."
"Then we'll wait until you return," Galaeron said. It was all he could do not to accuse her of wanting to leave with Escanor. "That's simple enough."
Vala shook her head. "It's not I may hate what Telamont is doing to you, but the Granite Tower's debt to Melegaunt is not yet discharged." "Melegaunt is dead," Galaeron objected.
"So his duty becomes my duty," Vala said. "And there is the matter of my men trapped in Evereska. I can't return to Vaasa until I know what has become of them." "A convenient excuse," Galaeron said. Vala's face clouded with anger. "Convenient?"
"So you can spend time with the prince," Galaeron said. He didn't really believe this, but the words were spilling from his mouth anyway. "If I were gone-"
"Galaeron, don't do this." Vala's expression turned from angry to sad. "You have to go." "And leave you to Escanor?" "Galaeron," Aris began, "she would never-"
Vala raised a hand. "Yes, I would, Aris." She turned to Galaeron. "You're right, Galaeron-I haven't felt anything for you since the mythallar."
"That doesn't matter," Galaeron said. Who was this speaking, he wondered, because it did matter. "You made a promise."
Vala's eyes narrowed. "And now I'm breaking it." She turned away from him and started for the interior of the villa. "I'm going with Escanor. Do us both a favor, Galaeron, and don't be here when I get back."
CHAPTER SEVEN
15 Mirtul, the Year of Wild Magic
Piergeiron arrived in Castle Waterdeep's unadorned Chamber of Common Command to find the captain of the City Watch and his senior armmaster and wizards-commander already in conference with their counterparts from the City Guard. Brian the Swordmaster was also present, hidden behind his Lord's cloak and helm. Even the Master of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors was there. Strictly speaking, the order was a civilian guild and not subject to military edict, but these were extraordinary times, and Piergeiron had often called private citizens to service when the security of the city was threatened. The question was, when the threat lay five hundred miles distant at Boareskyr Bridge, would they answer?
Piergeiron stepped over to a free seat-there was no head at the circular table-but did not sit. "You heard?"
Rulathon, the wiry, gray-haired captain of the watch, nodded grimly, waved a hand vaguely in the direction of his armmaster, and said, "Helve received a sending himself."
Piergeiron turned to the scarred veteran. "Lassree?" he asked. Helve nodded. "She wanted to fight at Laeral's side."
Piergeiron's heart rose into his throat. Lassree was Helve's daughter, a watch-wizard who often fought at her father's side during major disturbances.
"I'm sorry," he said, turning to the others. "What can we do?"
"Against a Rage of Dragons?" asked Thyriellentha Snome. The commander of the watch-wizard forces, she was a dusky woman of proud bearing and uncertain age who had been Mage Civilar since long before Piergeiron assumed office. "Not much, I am sorry to say."
Though Helve's eyes were watering, he nodded. "Lassree said they were trapped against a wall of bugbears and gnolls, with all the blues of Anauroch dropping out of the clouds behind them. It's ending as we speak, I'm sure."
"Be that as it may," the Open Lord said, "we must do what we can."
Piergeiron ran his gaze around the table, pausing at each of the commanders to search for any hint of disagreement. They were brave soldiers all, but their duty was to Waterdeep, and if it was necessary to spell out how saving a relief army bound for Evereska contributed to the security of the city, he needed to know that.
With Waterdeep still buried under a constant wave of blizzards and ships in the harbor capsizing under the weight of their ice-crusted masts, no one present needed any reminder of the danger posed to their city since the phaerimm had escaped their prison in Anauroch. He found no questions in the eyes of the gathered commanders.
"Good," Piergeiron said. "As we speak, Maliantor is calling Force Grey to my palace. She will begin a scrying to determine what she can about the course of the battle. What I would like from you is to send a force of volunteers-a hundred battle mages and two hundred swordsmen-to meet her at the palace within the quarter hour. I have a store of teleport scrolls-"
"That won't be necessary," rasped a voice in the corner.
Piergeiron turned to find Prince Aglarel's swarthy form stepping out of the shadows beside the fireplace, his black cape and purple tabard almost seeming to solidify out of the darkness.
"How dare you!" Piergeiron demanded. What he really wanted to know was just plain "how." The room was supposed to be shielded against magic intrusions of any kind, though this obviously did not seem to apply to Shadovar shadow magic. "This is a private council."
"Forgive me," Aglarel said, stopping to bow, "but I wanted to save you the trouble of teleporting a company to rescue your relief army."
"I want to know how you can know our intentions," said Brian the Swordmaster. While it was customary for Piergeiron to speak for the other lords in the Court Hall, they usually spoke for themselves in less formal gatherings. The helm's magic transformed his voice into a hollow, anonymous baritone that even Brian's oldest friends would not recognize. "We have barely formed them ourselves."
Aglarel fixed a silver-eyed glare on the lord. "A short time ago, many of your citizens received farewell sendings from their relatives accompanying the Chosen." The prince did not bother to explain how he knew this. "Knowing the kind of men you Waterdhavians are, it only stood to reason that you would want to do something to help. I called at the palace and was told that Lord Paladinson had left to attend to an urgent matter of state."
"Which begs the question of how you slipped past the invader wards that guard the castle," said Thyriellentha, "or knew to look for Lord Paladinson in this chamber."
"I will be happy to demonstrate later," Aglarel said, dismissing the questions with a flip of his hand. "For the moment, I suggest we concentrate on the matter at hand."
He stepped to the circular table and stretched forward to circle his hand over the surface. A shadow fell over the center, then opened like a hole in the clouds to reveal a battle raging far below. The scene expanded to fill the entire table, and Piergeiron soon recognized Laeral's relief army trapped against the shore of a muddy lake that could only be the Winding Water in high flood. Much to his surprise-and relief-they were standing in good formation behind a wall of guttering flame, shields raised and weapons drawn but engaged in no combat more serious than swatting the flies and mosquitoes swirling around their heads.
The scene on the other side of the burning wall was far different. Dozens of blue dragons were tearing into an army of bugbears and gnolls, swooping down to gather up great clawfuls of warriors, then wheel out over the flooding river and drop them into the muddy waters. Despite the gaps being ripped in their lines, the monsters were holding ranks, doing their best to fend off the attacks with axes and flails better suited to smashing human heads than piercing draconian scales.