Galaeron's mouth began to open, and it seemed to him that it belonged to someone else, to the dark being inside-
And Malik was at the Most High's side.
"Anything I want," he said. "That was our bargain."
"If you brought me Galaeron Nihmedu," Telamont said. "As I recall, Malygris did that."
The weight of his will diminished, and Galaeron's mouth became his own again.
"It was my message that lured him out," Malik said. "If I had not sent word telling him to come and save Vala, he would still be hiding from your magic in his Arabellan bolt hole."
"Be careful who you argue with, little man."
Telamont grew distracted enough to let the dipper drift into reach. Still possessed by his thirst, Galaeron snatched the handle and began to drink… and knew his stomach had reached its limit. Even as he drained the last of its contents, he began to gag.
"This is not some back alley flea market," Telamont continued, paying no attention to Galaeron's discomfort. "And I am no trader in trinkets."
"Nor am I some idiot dragon who can be bought off with your unkept promises," Malik retorted.
This was too much for the Most High. Telamont's sleeve lashed out in Malik's direction, and the little man tumbled away into the shadows. Three heartbeats later, a loud thud sounded from the gloom high up in the vaulted ceiling. A long breath echoed down afterward, and a softer thump from a dark corner.
Galaeron drained the last drops in the dipper and felt the contents of his stomach starting to rise. Realizing there was no fighting his own body's reflex, he flung the dipper aside and covered his mouth with both hands, then began a frantic search for someplace he could expel the Chosen where the Most High and his princes would not see.
The blow that Telamont had struck Malik would have been enough to kill most men, much less the impact against the wall that had followed, or the long fail that had followed that Yet even as Galaeron was pushing past Clariburnus with both hands over his mouth, Malik was limping out of the darkness, one impossibly twisted arm raised in Galaeron's direction.
"Ask him," Malik said. "Ask him if he did not receive a message from me that Vala's life was in grave danger, and if he did not allow himself to be captured so he could save her life."
There was an instant of silence then Telamont said, "As you wish… but I warn you, my patience is at an end."
Galaeron felt a familiar burden settling over him, but this time, the Most High would need to be patient. By then, Galaeron was leaning over Aris's leg, ejecting a watery torrent down between the giant’s s knees. He saw a pair of silvery flashes come splashing out and disappear into the shadows beneath Aris's huge thighs. He continued to vomit a foul-smelling bile, and the weight of Telamont’s will vanished.
"I think we will leave the question unanswered for now, Malik." The Most High sounded a little queasy himself. "The fact of Galaeron's return matters more than who is responsible. Name your price-but do not presume too much."
"Me? Presume too much?"
Malik’s delight was evident even over sound of Galaeron's continued retching.
The little man thought for a moment then said, "I am not the type to ask for much, er, much more than I think I can get All I want is my friend Aris."
"The giant?" Telamont asked. "You wish me to spare his life?"
"Yes, that is what I wish," Malik said. "And to have him as my slave, since I am very sure you do not want him running loose in your city again… and since his statues will bring an even greater profit if I have no need to share."
"I see." Telamont began to chuckle. "You may have the giant-and with him, the responsibility to see that your slave does Shade no harm."
Galaeron finally stopped retching. Wiping his mouth, he turned to see a very battered Malik standing a few paces away, examining the giant from head to foot
A cold sleeve settled on Galaeron's shoulder, and he turned to find Telamont standing beside him.
"Come, Galaeron, let us return to the Palace Most High," Telamont said as he guided the elf toward the Marshaling Plaza's gloomy exit "After such a difficult journey, I am sure you must be starving."
CHAPTER TEN
1 Eleasias, the Year of Wild Magic
No hammer had ever felt so heavy in Aris's hand, nor any stone as unyielding-nor any work more forced. He was standing at the Black Portal inside his master's new church-Malik's Temple of the One and All-cutting a three-level relief of Cyric's sun-and-skull sigil above entrance. It was a perfunctory piece without heart, and given the egg-shaped corona surrounding the skull, badly flawed. He told himself that this was what came of slave labor, of forcing an artist to execute someone else's vision, but he knew better. The truth was that he lacked strength. With not a single opportunity since his arrival in Shade to expel Khelben, Laeral, and Storm from his stomach, he had refused to eat, and the long fast had left him too dizzy, weak, and blurry-eyed to do a good job. Aris's guards-three of a dozen Shadovar warriors hired by Malik to keep constant watch over him-made approving noises from below. Like most of their fellows, this trio acted more like assistants than keepers, passing him tools and running to fetch water kegs whenever he grew thirsty. They also heaped praise upon everything he did, even on the shape studies he made before beginning a new work. Aris did not know whether this was something they genuinely felt or that Malik had instructed them to do in the hope of keeping him happy and productive. In any case, the adoration had grown so ludicrous that the shape studies had to started to disappear when he was finished with them. He had started to shatter the roughs before discarding them, lest the guards-or, more likely, Malik-sell them as Aris originals. Even slaves had their standards.
Finally, he stepped back into the narthex to study his work and banged his skull on the rib of a ceiling vault His head began to reel, and he had to brace himself against a column. His hammer, which he had not even realized he had dropped, clunked to the floor and sent a flake of marble as large as a vulture skittering down the arcade.
A guard peered out from around the column behind which he had dived for cover, his sapphire eyes shining like blue stars in his dark face.
"Aris?" The wispy voice belonged to Amararl or Gelthez- Aris could never tell one Shadovar from another. "Are you all right?"
Aris nodded but continued to lean against the column.
"You're sure?" This guard was bold enough to step over beside Aris's knee and ask, "Do you need a keg of water?"
"No, I am well." He flicked his free hand in the direction of the sun-and-skull relief and said, "Though it would be hard to tell from that."
"What are you talking about?" asked the first guard. "It's not beautiful, exactly, but compelling-very compelling. And those empty eyes…" He shuddered. "I can almost see the dark suns burning in them."
Aris pushed off the column and leaned forward, studying the eye sockets.
"You do not think the left eye is pear-shaped?" the giant asked."
The guard craned his neck to study the dark sigil.
"Maybe a little."
"Or the other one too large?" asked Aris.
"Larger than the other one," said the third guard. "But it only adds to the effect-and places it firmly in period."
"In period?" Aris scowled down. "What period?"
"Your Slave Period," the first guard said. "While your excellence of detail has slipped under Malik's output pressures, it's widely acknowledged that under bondage, your work has raised grimness to a level of the sublime."
"There's quite a debate raging among the princes as to whether this is your best work or your worst," said the second guard. "The Most High has yet to decree."
"What do you think?" asked the third. "It would be interesting to hear the artist's opinion."