At last, they reached the village center. Turlang stepped aside, revealing Rheitheillaethor's only permanent building, a white marble longhouse. Aris was instantly on his hands and knees, studying the sculpted frieze work ringing the building.
Fifty paces beyond the longhouse, a hundred Wood elves sat on snow-cushioned deadfall logs, swilling triplewild mead and listening to the bawdy song the companions had been hearing. The lyrics were being sung by a throaty-voiced human seated on the Honor Chair-a flat-topped boulder nestled in a crook along the bank of the Heartblood River. The fellow's face was thin and weathered, with dancing eyes and a flowing beard stained yellow around the mouth. One hand held a long-stemmed pipe that had single-handedly covered the clearing with a cloud of turquoise smoke, while the other was cupping the fanny of the laughing Wood elf woman who sat on his lap.
With amber eyes, waist-length hair as richly golden as honey, and a face so deeply copper it could only be called red, the Lady of the Wood looked as strikingly beautiful as ever, and it took Galaeron a moment to accept that it was actually his mother on the human's lap. Though Morgwais scorned humans even more than did most Wood elves-and the Wood elf abhorrence of humans was legendary-she did not seem to dislike this man. She had one arm wrapped around his neck and her bosom pressed to his cheek, and if she was troubled by the wrinkled hand on her behind, she hid the fact well.
Turlang waited while the human finished his song, then rustled his branches. "Forgive the intrusion, tree-friends."
At the sound of the treant's voice, Galaeron's mother smiled broadly and turned to look, the delight in her eyes bespeaking the regard all elves held for the forest master. 'Turlang?" "I have need of words, Lady Morgwais."
"Of course," Morgwais called. She jumped off the human's lap, then spread her arms wide and started forward. "Welcome." The treant dipped his leafy crown. "Always a joy."
"What brings you to Rheitheillaethor, my friend?" As she slipped past the other elves, she finally seemed to notice Aris kneeling beside the stormlodge. "And who is your tall friend?" "Aris is neither friend nor foe to me-yet." Turlang lowered a limb toward Galaeron. "He is companion to one claiming to be your son."
"Galaeron?" Morgwais's gaze shifted to where Galaeron stood beneath Turlang's shadowy boughs, and she slipped past the treant to embrace him. "I didn't feel you enter the wood!"
"No?" The comment caused Galaeron to feel strangely resentful, as though she were accusing him of trying to surprise her. He cast a bitter glance toward the white-bearded human, now trailing his mother forward like a hart after his hind. "Perhaps you were distracted by your man-friend."
Morgwais retreated to arm's length and cocked a chastening eyebrow. "Did Aubric send you to look in on my virtue? Because I am certain your father has more important things to worry about."
This drew a chorus of titters from the Wood elves, who considered jealousy perverse. Galaeron felt the heat rise to his cheeks and started to grow angry with his mother for embarrassing him, then realized he had brought the ridicule on himself. To Sy'Tel'Quess, flirtation was as much a part of a good life as savory food and abundant drink, and even his father would not have been upset to find Morgwais sitting on someone else's lap. The cause of Galaeron's indignation was not her behavior; it was something much deeper and darker.
"I apologize," said Galaeron. "I doubt Father even knows I'm here. I was just so astonished to find you keeping a human's company I didn't know what to think."
The smile that returned to Morgwais's lips was only half doubtful. She took Galaeron's hand and motioned the white-bearded man forward. "Elminster is no ordinary human."
"Elminster?" It was Melegaunt who gasped this. "Of Shadowdale?"
"The very" As the old man stepped to Morgwais's side, the twinkle in his eye turned fiery "And ye be Melegaunt Tanthul, I believe." Melegaunt's eyes narrowed, and his expression changed from one of concern to something between awe and terror. "I am he-but you know that already."
Elminster puffed his pipe. "Thy efforts have not gone unnoticed, lad. There is talk of all ye've done for Evereska."
"And that's why you are here?" Galaeron was as dazed by the idea that anyone would call Melegaunt "lad" as he was excited to hear that Elminster himself had taken notice of his home's plight. 'To help us?"
Elminster continued to look at Melegaunt. "That depends on what ye seek in Karse."
Melegaunt arched his brow. "What makes you think…?" He seemed to suddenly realize the answer, then said, "The stone giants, of course-and Lord Imesfor thinks I'm Netherese." "And I am not convinced he is wrong."
"Believe what you wish, but if you spoke to the stone giants, you must also know the phaerimm are desperate to stop us. That alone should convince you we serve the same goal."
Elminster's tone grew sharp. "I'd be more convinced, had there not been an illithid after Lord Imesfor's brain when he arrived at Khelben's. He said ye set a whole band on him."
"Then he is well." Though Melegaunt's reply was a statement, his audacity did not prevent him from cringing in the face of Elminster's ire. "Sometimes right and wrong are not so clear. Imesfor had to suffer that Evereska might live."
"Is that so?" Elminster's tone suggested it was not. "Had he arrived with no holes in his skull, methinks Khelben would have been on his way that much sooner."
"Khelben is going to Evereska?" Galaeron asked. "Khelben Arunsun?"
"Of course, lad. Did ye think he'd let the phaerimm take it?" The wizard pointed his pipe southward. "As we stand here talking, he's leading a company across the western plains to raise a translocational gate." "What kind of company?" There was alarm and sorrow in Melegaunt's voice. "You are only sending live men after dead."
Elminster's irritation showed in his eyes. "Ye should not underestimate Khelben Arunsun."
"Never, but he is no more a match for the phaerimm than the Evereskans." Melegaunt gestured to Galaeron. "And young Nihmedu will tell you what became of them."
Galaeron met Elminster's eye and nodded. "The tomb guard, the border guard, the spell guard-
"Yes, yes-and half the high mages as well." Elminster dismissed Galaeron's account with a wave of his pipe. "Imesfor told us all about it, but Khelben has certain, ah, resources unavailable even to thy high mages."
Galaeron did not ask the old wizard to elaborate. At least in Evereska, it was well known that like Elminster himself, Khelben was one of Mystra's "Chosen." Nobody knew exactly what being Chosen meant, but it seemed fairly well accepted that these individuals were invested with some of the goddess of magic's divine power. According to rumor, they were nearly immortal and could call upon the power they carried to perform fantastic feats of magic. Certainly, it was good to have the Chosen taking Evereska's side-but still Galaeron did not think one would be enough.
"Good mage, you'd do well to listen to Melegaunt in this," said Galaeron. "If it's not too late to contact Lord Kh-"
"There be few men as stubborn Khelben Arunsun." Elminster cocked his brow and fixed a questioning eye on Galaeron. "But it could be that 1 can call him off-if the reason be good enough."
"1 can only tell you that without Melegaunt Tanthul, Lord Imesfor would be hatching an egg for the phaerimm right now," said Galaeron. "Melegaunt is the only one who seems able to engage our enemies on an equal footing."
Elminster shook his head. "Khelben is a proud man, 1 fear. Perhaps if ye could tell me what ye seek in Karse." "Something to defeat the phaerimm." Galaeron looked to Melegaunt to elaborate, but the shadowmage kept his gaze fixed on Elminster and pretended not to notice. "That's all he's told me."