Galaeron jerked free of Vala's grasp. "What are you doing? If he breaks his word to Turlang-"
"Look to the shadow, elf!" Vala grabbed hold of Galaeron again, then used her chin to gesture along the length of the trunk-shadow in which they all stood. "He's drawing his magic through the Dire Wood."
Galaeron looked in the direction she indicated and saw that the tree's shadow extended clear through the ring of white oaks. Though he wasn't sure Melegaunt was living up to the letter of his pledge to Turlang, there was no time to debate the matter. A half dozen beholders appeared to either side of them, lacing the air with gleaming beams of destruction.
The rays shot past without touching anyone in the party, and only then did Galaeron notice how dim and hazy the eye tyrants appeared. Several of the creatures passed by within an arm's reach of the party and did not seem to notice them.
"Don't lose touch with me," warned Melegaunt. "At the moment, we are only shadows to them… and that is all that protects us."
"Then let's get out of here," said Takari. "The Dire Wood is not a hundred paces away."
"And may as well be a hundred miles," said Aris. "Look ahead."
An ankle-high curtain of black fire had arisen at the edge of the white forest. Though Galaeron guessed the flames would be invisible to anyone outside the Fringe, he saw no reason it could not be dispersed by a wizard of Melegaunt's power.
"We cannot hide in the shadows forever," he said. "Dispel it and let us be on our way."
"Gladly-were that not what Elminster expects," said Melegaunt. "Elminster?" demanded Aris. "But he was sleeping-"
"Mystra's Chosen do not sleep," interrupted Melegaunt. He pointed in the general direction of the giant's feet and ran his fingers through the motions of a detection spell. "And they most certainly do not snore."
A ghostly figure in a floppy hat appeared twenty paces beyond Aris's feet. He was slowly creeping toward the Dire Wood, peering over his shoulder at the main body of beholders, then farther back at the hovering phaerimm, and finally at the eye tyrant scouts still passing back and forth through the shadow where Galaeron and his companions stood hiding in Melegaunt's spell.
A knowing twinkle came to Elminster's eye, and he started toward their hiding place. Melegaunt finished his spell, directing a finger in the archmage's direction. Almost at once, the beholders swung their eyestalks toward Elminster and began to assail him with rays both black and golden. Without exception, the attacks exploded into harmless starbursts against the archmage's spell shields, but the flurry was enough to stop the old man in his tracks. He lowered his bushy eyebrows, and Melegaunt uttered another spell. Instead of stopping a foot short, as had all the other attacks, the next beam-a golden one-struck the ancient wizard broadside and sent him cartwheeling across the snow.
"What are you doing?" Galaeron came near to releasing Takari to grab Melegaunt's arm. "You'll get him killed!" "Hardly."
Elminster tumbled to a stop and came up glaring in Melegaunt's direction. He raised a shaming finger-and the phaerimm came floating up, waving all four arms in his direction.
Elminster vanished in cloud of crimson flame, and Melegaunt immediately uttered the reverse of a teleport spell.
In the next instant, Elminster's ancient figure appeared fifty yards to the east, cloaked in fire and shaking a long finger of flame. Though the gesture was directed roughly in Melegaunt's direction, it was easily ten degrees to the left, leaving no doubt in Galaeron's mind, at least, that the greatest mage in all Faerun could not see through the simplest of the shadow wizard's spells.
The phaerimm streaked off toward the archmage, whistling something angry in its breezy language that drew the beholders after it. Elminster turned and fled, covering his retreat with a wall of scintillating colors. The phaerimm and beholders paused long enough to dispel the wall, then flew after the archwizard. Melegaunt smiled. "Now we are ready for the Dire Wood."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
29 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp
The Dire Wood was much darker and ominous than it appeared outside. Within a dozen paces, the pristine snow turned to soggy peat, and the albino oaks gave way to the shadowy depths of a petrified forest The trees were as black as coal, with ebony limbs that ended in jagged stumps and twisted trunks propped against each other at every odd angle. The ground beneath the trees was as red as blood, full of scum and rot and the smell of decay Galaeron could not imagine how they would ever wade through such a morass-much less find and reach Karse. He looked to Takari and asked, "Which way?" She shrugged. "I've never been beyond the Pale Ring, but no need to worry. Jhingleshod will find us." "Jhingleshod?" Takari gave him an enigmatic smile. "Wulgreth's servant."
"His servant?" exclaimed Malik. Once the phaerimm and beholders had gone off chasing Elminster, the little man had appeared alongside their hiding place, whispering after them until Takari jerked him into the shadow. He still had not forgiven her for the indignity his fright caused him to visit upon his pants. "It might be easier to attract Wulgreth's attention by finding some trumpets to blow." "Not every servant loves his master," replied Takari.
"While that is certainly true, it does not mean he will love us."
"We'll worry about Jhingleshod later," said Galaeron, looking back toward Turlang's forest. "But we can't wait here. Sooner or later, either Elminster or the phaerimm will be back-maybe both. We'll leave as soon as Aris is ready."
Kelda eyed the bog and snorted, prompting Malik to pat her neck. "There is nothing to worry about, girl. Aris will be happy to carry you."
Galaeron was not so sure the giant would be able to carry himself, much less Malik's horse. Aris was seated along the inner edge of the Pale Ring, madly chipping at a small rock into a granite cylinder just small enough to fill the hole the beholder's disintegration ray had left through his thigh. He blew the dust off, held the stone over the wound for a moment, tapped a couple of flakes off one side, then passed it down to Vala, who carefully lowered the rock into the wound.
The giant winced in pain, then laid his hammer over the wound and rumbled an incomprehensible prayer to the dour god of his race. A plume of crimson steam shot from the hole on both sides of his leg, then Aris pressed his back against an oak and held the hammer in place as the wound filled with stone-colored flesh. Though his clenched jaw betrayed how much the healing hurt, he remained stoic and silent.
When the rising vapor paled to pink, Aris returned his hammer to his pouch. The wound was still a puckered mess, but there was nothing tentative about his movements when he pushed himself to his feet and reached down for Kelda. The mare nickered, and dragging Malik along, backed toward the Pale Ring.
"You won't need to carry her," said Melegaunt. He turned to Takari and held out a palm. "If you will lend me your sword."
Takari glanced at Galaeron, then reluctantly passed her weapon over. Melegaunt tipped it toward the sun and uttered a conjuration spell, all the while passing his palm over the underside of the blade. The side facing his hand grew black and hazy, while the steel facing the sun gleamed with silver sunlight. Takari scowled and started to reach for her weapon, but Galaeron waved her off. Though he had never seen anything quite like this spell, he recognized the general form as a Making, and he doubted it would harm Takari's weapon.
By the time Melegaunt finished, the dark side of the blade was as black and deep as a fissure in a cavern floor, while the light side shone too brilliantly to look at. He turned the dark face toward the bog, and a black stripe appeared on the surface of the water. When he adjusted the angle, the stripe broadened to a width of two feet and stretched to thirty paces.