him directly, but always approaching the subject obliquely, as if concentrating too bright a light on his shadow self would only send it into hiding. No matter how long these sessions lasted, Galaeron always returned to Villa Dusari exhausted, numb, and irritable- so much so that Vala was beginning to question whether Telamont was helping him control his shadow or the other way around. Though she was not allowed into the war room-even Escanor had not been able to prevail on the Most High to allow her inside-she insisted on coming to the palace each day and waiting out in the throne room's whispering murk. Given how peevish that was making her, Galaeron was beginning to think she was the one struggling with a shadow crisis.
Telamont stepped away from the rim of the world-window and fixed his platinum eyes on Galaeron, and- as always-Galaeron felt the question on the Most High's mind.
'I can't see the sense in forcing this battle,' he admitted. 'When we raised the shadowshell, there were only ten phaerimm outside-'
'The figure is now twelve,' Hadrhune corrected from the other side of Telamont. 'Our agents located one in Baldur's Gate, and another in… that little kingdom south of the Goblin Marches-' 'Cormyr?' Galaeron asked.
Hadrhune nodded, his thumbnail digging into the deeply worn groove atop his ever-present staff. 'In what was once the city of Arabel.'
'Still, that is nearly half of their number outside the shell,' Galaeron said. 'Why risk so much to stop an army that may well die of the ague before it ever reaches the Sharaedim?' 'To slay a pair of Chosen?' Hadrhune asked.
Galaeron shook his head. 'The phaerimm know better than that,' he said. 'The Chosen can be defeated but not slain-at least not by Mystra's magic.'
Eyes sparkling at this last correction, Telamont said, 'Whatever their purpose, this is a battle we cannot permit.' He turned to where Escanor and Rivalen had appeared without any apparent summons, then raised a murk-filled sleeve toward the world-window. 'You will take your brothers and your best legions and save those sick fools if you can. Leave the phaerimm until we understand their game.' 'It shall be done.'
Both princes placed their palms to their breasts, then turned and were gone.
Galaeron felt the weight of Telamont's unspoken question and knew that something was being demanded of him that had, until now, only been asked. He turned to the world-window and focused his attention on the High Moor, then on the horde of tiny figures swarming over it, then on the five figures drifting along behind it between the two companies of illithids. Each time, the window responded to his will, the image shifting and growing larger to show him what he wished to see.
When Galaeron was finally looking at only the thorn-backs themselves, he shifted from one to the other, studying each one in turn, looking for scars or scale patterns or anything that might trigger one of Melegaunt's memories. Had the world-window been capable of carrying sound, he would have cast the spell that Melegaunt had taught him to understand their languages, but even the Shadovar could not eavesdrop without sending a spy. The Most High had already made clear to Galaeron that until he grew adept enough with shadow magic to find and pass on the knowledge that Melegaunt had entrusted to him, he would not be allowed to risk his life in any manner. For a Tomb Guard princep accustomed to chasing cutthroat crypt breakers down narrow passages strewn with magic death traps, the restriction was not an easy one to observe.
After several minutes of allowing his thoughts to wander over the phaerimm, Galaeron finally looked away from the world-window. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I can't summon anything.'
Telamont accepted the failure with a patience uncharacteristic toward anyone except Galaeron.
'Do not let it concern you,' he said. 'I'm sure it is just your shadow interfering. The harder you try to control it, the stronger it becomes.'
'I'm not trying to control it,' Galaeron said. 'I'm just letting my mind wander.'
Telamont's eyes twinkled beneath his cowl, and there was a flash of what might have been a white-fanged grin. 'You are always trying to control your shadow, elf. You are the kind who must control what he fears.'
'What I fear is becoming a monster,' Galaeron insisted. 'Of course I want to control my shadow.'
'As I said,' Telamont replied. His sleeve rose, then a cold weight settled on Galaeron's shoulder. 'It is no matter. The princes have their orders.'
The world-window filled with a foggy expanse, which gradually grew less hazy as the Most High brought into focus what he wanted to see. Even after the scene stopped shifting, it took Galaeron a moment to notice a series of faint bluish lines that he recognized as crevasses in the High Ice.
The crevasses broadened into the dagger-shaped ribbons of deep, icy canyons, and Galaeron began to notice an odd patchwork of vapor columns rising off some sections of the massive glacier. One of these columns expanded to fill the world-window, and a square plot of snow gradually darkened from white to gray to ebony as it continued to grow larger. Finally, Galaeron found himself looking at something that appeared to be a huge, black carpet being unrolled by a company of ant-sized Shadovar.
'A shadow blanket,' Telamont explained, answering Galaeron's question sooner than he could voice it. 'A square mile of pure shadowsilk.'
Galaeron frowned, as puzzled by what the Shadovar were doing as why Telamont was showing it to him. At the end of the blanket already laid out, a thickening vapor haze was beginning to rise into the air, while tiny rivulets of crystal water were flowing out from beneath the edge, braiding themselves into sparkling streams that merged into broad creeks and vanished down the blue crevasses in silver horsetails of falling water. 'You're melting it!' Galaeron gasped.
'Yes.' If Telamont noticed the alarm in Galaeron's voice, his tone did not betray it. 'The shadow blankets absorb all of the light that falls on them, then trap it below in the form of heat. We have already laid hundreds along the edge of the High Ice.' 'Hundreds?'
Galaeron concentrated on a larger area of the High Ice. Sensing his change of focus, Telamont yielded control of the world-window, and the scene drew back to show the hundreds of vapor columns rising off the ice. 'You're changing Faerыn’s weather!'
'We are rejuvenating what the phaerimm destroyed,' Telamont corrected.
The scene changed again, this time to the southern edge of the High Ice, where dozens of huge rivers were gushing out of blue-tinged caves in the base of a mountainous wall of snow and ice. The water was pouring into enormous basins that had been dry for a thousand years, recreating the lakes that had once lain along the northern fringes of Netheril.
'Cold air is rolling down from the High Ice and picking up moisture as it sweeps across the lakes and grows warm,' Telamont explained. 'As the effect grows stronger, the winds will carry rain and fog farther south into Anauroch, forcing the hot desert air to rise and draw more winds down from the High Ice. The system feeds on itself. We are already seeing showers as far south as the Columns of the Sky.'
Though Galaeron had no idea where the Columns of the Sky were-the name had a Netherese ring-he needed no explanation of what the shadow blankets meant for western Faerыn. He had already seen it in the blizzards plaguing Waterdeep and the deluges that had turned most of the farms south of the Ardeep Forest into hip-deep marshes.
'That is well and good for Shade,' he said, 'but what about the rest of Faerыn?'
Telamont's gloom-cloaked shoulders rose and fell. 'Every good thing has a bad side. For Shade to reclaim its birthright, others must suffer.' 'This is too much,' Galaeron said.
He looked toward the west, and the scene shifted to Daggerford, where the River Delimbyr's frigid waters had risen into the streets, and residents kept boats tied outside their second-story windows.
'Surely, you could pursue a more gradual approach, one that would not force so many into homelessness and hunger.'
Telamont seized control of the world-window from Galaeron, bringing the shadowy dome over the Sharaedim into view. 'I thought your concern was for Evereska.' 'The two are hardly related,' Galaeron said.
'Aren't they?' Telamont asked. 'Shade must be strong if it is to prevail. So whose people do you want to save, elf? Yours, or theirs?'
'That isn't the choice,' Galaeron said. 'Even at the rate you're melting the High Ice, Anauroch will take decades to restore. Evereska will be saved or lost in a year.'
Telamont's murk-filled cowl tipped down toward Galaeron. 'It is the choice I have given you, elf. Which will perish-Evereska, or the West?'
'I–I can't believe you would ask me such a thing!' Galaeron stammered.
