not Chosen. The rest of us will die.'
Laeral heard a nervous murmur building in the ranks but ignored it and kept her attention focused on the commanders.
'Even Chosen die,' she said, 'but this army is not going to die-not today.'
'Forgive me if I find your judgment somewhat clouded,' Lord Yoraedia said.
'Clouded?' Laeral was growing angry-and the rising murmur in the ranks was not helping matters. 'In what way is my judgment clouded?'
'You fear for your man.' Chief Claw glanced over his shoulder, then looked back to Laeral just as she found herself clenching her fists to keep from doing something she would regret. 'Your devotion does him honor, but it blinds you to our danger.'
Laeral felt as if she had been struck. Yoraedia, Claw, all of the commanders were looking at her as though they truly believed she had led them all to their deaths for Khelben's sake alone.
'I am not the blind one here,' she said. 'If you can't see-' 'Laeral, wait,' said Storm.
She pointed upriver, to where a flight of dozens of huge, scaly wings was just appearing out of the rain. They were as large as sails and blue enough to show their color in the gray light, and even had the sisters never before seen a Rage of Dragons, they would have known what was coming by the sight of so many fang-filled mouths. Storm said, 'Maybe they have a point.'
Through the world-window in Telamont Tanthul's palace in Shade Enclave, the dragons looked like an expanse of blue sea shining up through a hole in the clouds, their great wings undulating like waves, their blue scales flashing like light on water-all but the leader. The leader was naked bone, with blue embers gleaming in the empty eye sockets of its skull and claws large enough to grasp the heads of even its biggest followers.
It could only be Malygris, the foolish blue who had traded his soul to the Cult of the Dragon in order to slay his hated ruler, Sussethilasis, and claim for himself the title of the Blue Suzerain of Anauroch. Though Galaeron had never met the dracolich himself, the younger blues who came to the edge of the desert to feed on tomb thieves and their horses often made a show of defiance by speaking of their suzerain's folly. They were not too rebellious, though-several of the smallest wyrms in the Rage were the very ones who had taken such delight in deriding their ruler to Galaeron.
A tilted plain of brown appeared before the dragons, with an orange half-circle of fire lighting the top edge and thousands of tiny flecks blackening the surrounding ground. Galaeron recognized the specks as warriors, but he didn't identify the brown plain as a river in flood until a few moments later, when the diving dragons drew near enough for him to see the current pouring over a barn's roof.
Galaeron focused his attention on the fire wall, and the specks resolved themselves into two armies. The greater one, composed of larger figures as well as superior numbers, was being held at bay by the crackling wall of fire. The smaller army was trapped against the river, with a flotilla of log rafts beached on the muddy shore behind them and the much larger army in front of them. They were, by all appearances, aware of the dragons swooping down behind them, for their orderly ranks were dissolving into chaos, bleeding into the river or bunching against the wall of fire.
The image in the world-window began to grow blurry and coarse, with wisps of shadow closing in around the edges. Galaeron focused his attention in the center of the panicking army, where a small knot of figures stood looking up toward the dragons in relative calm. The world-window struggled to obey his will, but whatever was interfering with it was too powerful. He glimpsed a pair of women with familiar faces and long silver tresses, a frightened Gold elf, and a black-bearded, blue-eyed Uthgardt barbarian. Then the image became an unrecognizable blur and the shadows rolled in, and there was nothing but darkness.
A cold and familiar stillness settled over Galaeron. He turned and found the platinum eyes of Telamont Tanthul shining out at him from beneath his shadowy cowl.
'That's the relief army from Waterdeep!' Galaeron said. 'What are you trying to hide?'
Telamont's sleeve rose, and Galaeron sensed a wispy finger wagging in front of his nose. 'You mustn't allow your shadow self to draw your conclusions for you, elf.'
Telamont waited, and as usual Galaeron felt the weight of the question without hearing it. 'I apologize, Most High. When the world-window closed, I naturally assumed you had taken control.' 'Because I wished to hide something from you.' Galaeron nodded.
Galaeron's skin prickled beneath Telamont's sigh. 'Not everything is my doing, elf. The fear of the Chosen's army is to blame. The fools are sending thoughts to their loved ones, and the magic they use to carry them is interfering with that of the world-window. The image will clear in a few minutes.'
And show us what, Galaeron wondered. He felt the weight of another question but could not quite sense what the Most High wished to know.
'Your attention is elsewhere today, Galaeron,' Telamont said. 'It is dangerous to let it wander. Your shadow will take advantage.'
Galaeron nodded. 'We have been watching them prepare for the crossing for some time now,' he said. 'I was wondering why you have still failed to send aid.'
'You were wondering what I hope to gain by failing to send aid,' Telamont corrected. 'You must know your own thoughts, Galaeron, or you will never live at peace with your shadow.'
Galaeron nodded. 'Very well-what do you hope to gain by not sending help?'
Telamont's eyes brightened with approval. 'Better, elf. The answer is nothing. I sent help.'
Galaeron glanced at the world-window. The picture remained a black fog, but he knew better than to insult the Most High by questioning the veracity of his words.
'The relief army's losses will be small. They may even reach Evereska someday-though I can't see what good they can do there. It's you we must be concerned about, Galaeron. I do not like this preoccupation I sense. It's dangerous.' Telamont lifted a sleeve to wave Galaeron toward his private sitting room, and together they went into the gloom. 'What is it that troubles you?' Galaeron was so astonished to hear the question asked aloud that the answer began to spill out before he was conscious of formulating it.
'You know that Escanor has asked Vala to accompany him on the assault against the Myth Drannor phaerimm.'
'She is a fine warrior, and her darksword has power,' Telamont said. 'It is a good choice.' 'I want you to keep her here.'
'Vala is not the kind to hide from death,' Telamont said. 'Even were such a thing possible, she would think less of herself for it.'
'That's not what I'm worried about,' Galaeron said. 'She can take care of herself, even in a cave full of phaerimm, but I need her here.' 'Ah, the promise.'
They reached an archway and passed through into a small corner chamber with windows of thin-sliced obsidian on two walls. Beyond the windows, the customary murk that swaddled the enclave appeared to be almost nonexistent, allowing a spectacular-if rather darkened-view of Anauroch's sands rolling past below.
Telamont motioned Galaeron to a chair next to one of the windows and took the one opposite, then said, 'The promise she made was to kill you if your shadow self takes over.'
Galaeron nodded. 'I need to know she's there to keep it.' 'No, you don't.'
Hadrhune appeared unbidden at the Most High's side, again running his thumbnail along the deep groove in his staff. Telamont ordered wine for himself and Galaeron, and the seneschal dug into the groove so deeply that the tip of his thumb paled to light gray.
Telamont continued, 'Vala will never need to keep that promise, not while you are in my company.'
Galaeron inclined his head. 'You are capable of many things, Most High, but even you cannot solve my shadow crisis for me, as you have said-'
'Many times myself.' Telamont raised a sleeve to silence him, and Galaeron saw the translucent form of a withered claw silhouetted in gray against the faint light of the obsidian windows. 'But if you are going to lie, lie to me, not yourself.' Galaeron frowned. 'What are you saying?'
'You know what I am saying,' Telamont said. 'At least your shadow does.' 'That I don't want Vala to go because I'm jealous?' Telamont remained silent.
Galaeron rose and strode across the room, nearly bumping into a small writing table before he noticed it floating in the murk. 'Elves don't get jealous.'
