"You did," Galaeron gulped.
"Now is when you need me most, is it not?"
Galaeron managed a nod.
"Of course it is," another head spat. "Or I wouldn't be here."
Galaeron shook his head and wondered if he had begun to hallucinate.
"There you have it, then," the third head said. "You're ready now. Favor repaid."
The sharn turned and started to float away into the shadows. Galaeron tried to pull an arm free and found that he was as stuck as ever. He debated the wisdom of talking to a hallucination. A dark voice asked what could it hurt, and he decided nothing.
"Wait!"
The sharn stopped, but did not turn.
"Ready for what?" Galaeron asked.
"Ready to do what you were not ready to do then," the sharn replied.
Galaeron frowned. "But I'm still caught"
"Whose fault is that?" asked one of the heads-from behind, it was impossible to see which. "You'd better get unstuck."
"You don't understand," Galaeron said. "I can't use the Shadow Weave. I swore an oath."
"An oath?"
The sharn swung back around and shoved two palms in Galaeron's face so it could stare at him eye-to-eye.
"Why'd you do a witless thing like that?" it asked.
"I've been having a shadow crisis," Galaeron explained. "When I use the Shadow Weave, my shadow self takes over. The next time, it may be permanent, so I vowed not to cast any more shadow magic."
"Breaking a vow is bad business." The eyes in the palms blinked, and it said, "But don't be angry with the Shadow. That's what he wants-and it's not his fault, anyway. You made a promise you can't keep."
The sharn turned and started to float away again.
"That's it?" Galaeron cried. "That's your big favor?"
One of the heads twisted around to glance back over its body.
"Look, I'm not here to tell you how to live your life. You can do it now, or you can do it later, when it doesn't matter. Your choice. Favor repaid."
"One more question," the second head added, "and you owe me."
"You don't want that," the third head said. "Really."
"No," Galaeron said. "I'm sure I don't. My thanks, and fare you well."
"No doubt of that," the sharn said, and it vanished into the whispering gloom.
More than a hundred heartbeats passed before the dark voice inside suggested that maybe they should ignore the sharn, that maybe it had been an illusion conjured up by Telamont Tanthul to trick him into using the Shadow Weave. Maybe, after all, they should hang there in the murk for a while longer. Galaeron realized that maybe his shadow self was saying the opposite of what of it truly wanted, that maybe it really wanted him to escape and was just suggesting the opposite because it knew he would do the opposite of that…
"Maybe," Galaeron said. He closed his eyes, then grasped a handful of shadow and closed his fist as well. "And maybe not."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
2 Eleasias, the Year of Wild Magic
To Aris's dismay, elegance had not returned with strength. With Malik gone, the giant found himself secretly in the service of Prince Yder. He stood over the High Altar in Malik's Temple of the One and All, cutting a relief of Shar's Black Moon around the oblong skull-and-starburst he'd done when the temple still belonged to Malik.
He could hardly ask for better working conditions, even were he a free giant. He had only to ask, and whatever he wanted to eat or drink would be brought from any far corner of Faer?n. A company of assistants attended to his every need, and he worked at his pleasure and was free to do whatever he wished at other times. He was not even much of a captive, as he was free to wander the city of Shade at will-so long as he did not mind an escort of several armed shadow lords.
His tool control had returned to normal after he'd slept off the effects of hiding the Chosen in his body, and the Dark Moon was cut shallowly enough so that it did not draw attention to itself. Still, there was something intrinsic to the goddess's hidden nature that he was not quite conveying. A viewer had only to look at Cyric's skull-and-starburst to see that it floated inside Shar's Dark Moon, and that would not do at all. She was more subtle than that, more mysterious.
Aris stepped away to gain some perspective, barely noticed as he sent a dozen attendants scrambling for cover, and decided he would have to rethink the whole thing. He dropped his hammer and chisel into the tool bag on his belt and backed out of the chancel area.
"Go to my workshop," he said, motioning the attendants toward the door in the north transept. "Bring a stack of sail canvases and a barrel of sketching charcoal."
The attendants rushed to obey, leaving only four shadow lord guards who did their utmost to remain quiet and out of sight. Yder had apparently ordered them to avoid reminding Aris that he was a captive, but it made no difference. He always knew they were behind him. He could feel them there, just out of sight.
A throaty rasp came up the nave's center aisle as someone pushed open the Black Portal. Aris waved an absentminded hand in the direction of the sound and kept his attention fixed on the object of his frustration. A pair of guards rushed off to send the visitor away. There followed the hiss of whispered conversation, then a scuffle, a few syllables of magic, and the clatter of armored bodies hitting the floor.
"What's wrong with you oafs?" Aris snapped, too absorbed in aesthetics to register anything but an annoying disturbance. "Can you not see I'm trying to think?"
The other two guards were already stomping down the aisle to intercept the intruder. This time, the incantation ended in a sharp crack. The flash of lightning lit the chancel, and at last Aris saw the solution to his problem. The entire High Altar would become the Dark Moon, with the upper hemisphere forming a semicircular back panel at the rear and the lower hemisphere descending down into the choir. The trick would be to get the right foreshortening where the level changed, and to find a way to round the staircase toward the bottom. Growing ever more excited, Aris dropped to his knees and began to search his belt bag for a nubbin of sketching charcoal.
"Difficult to tell who's the slave here and who are the guards." The voice registered vaguely as a familiar one. "You weren't this difficult back in Arabel."
"Do you have something to sketch with?" Aris lowered a hand without looking. "I must get this down while I still have it in mind."
"Aris!" the voice barked. "Leave it You're done here."
"Done?"
Scowling at the interruption, Aris shook his head and found Galaeron standing at his side. The elf looked much as he had when they were separated at the Cave Gate, save that his face was lined with fatigue and his eyes veiled behind a glossy darkness.
"Galaeron…"
Aris could feel the details of his idea slipping away even as he spoke, but he was so happy to see his old friend alive that he didn't care… much.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"What do you think?" Galaeron retorted. "I escaped."
"Escaped? From the Palace Most High?"
Galaeron nodded. "I had to use the Shadow Weave," he said, looking back down the main aisle of the nave, where Aris's four guards lay in various forms of death. Tm sorry."
Aris's heart went out to his friend.
"You have not failed anyone." He laid two fingers on the elf's shoulder and said, "I am proud you did not yield before this."
"I didn't yield," Galaeron said. "I chose. Telamont is after Vala."
Aris went hollow inside.
"Then he knows?" asked the giant.
"Knows?"
"About the Chosen," Aris said. "They couldn't find the mythallar, so I sent them to Vala."
A shadow descended over Galaeron's face.
"The Chosen must have freed her," he said. Galaeron motioned Aris to his feet and turned toward the Black Portal. "I gave them away. That’s s what he meant."