Telamont's will was gone. Galaeron found himself torn between pride in having matched wills with the Most High and apprehension over his comment about hope. What had he meant about hope being so much stronger? Probably, it was just some ploy to make Galaeron yield to the Most High's will, to surrender himself to shadow, but there had been something about the way it was said that made him feel otherwise, a note of revelation in Telamont's voice that suggested a flash of insight. His tone in agreeing to trade Galaeron's cooperation for Vala's life had been one of ridicule, as though he knew the offer would never be accepted.
A dark voice whispered that Telamont was playing him for a fool. There was only one way to escape, and Galaeron refused to use it. Half the Shadovar in the enclave had to be laughing at him at that very moment. Galaeron resisted this line of thought by reminding himself of what happened the last time he used the Shadow Weave, of how he had alienated Vala and nearly gotten Aris killed. If Telamont had provided an easy escape, it was because it was no escape at all. Galaeron had sworn an oath never to use shadow magic again, and it was an oath he intended to honor.
Galaeron occupied himself for what seemed the multi-verse's next eternity, arguing back and forth with the dark voice inside his own head, knowing there was only one escape and knowing as well that a fate worse than death awaited him if he took it. Had he been confident that he would know when the Chosen shattered the mythallar and the city fell, perhaps he would have had the fortitude to wait.
As it was, the uncertainty was more than he could bear: the fear that Shade would crash into the sands of Anauroch and be fifteen centuries buried with him still there in that dark moment wondering if his plan would ever succeed, wondering if Vala would live to see her son again, wondering if Takari had ever forgiven him for the selfish fear that had made him turn her away. The image of a black, drop-shaped body appeared his mind and began to grow larger. The thing had three bulbous protrusions that, considering the fang-filled mouths at the end, might have been heads. A trio of arms, each ending in three hands with a single eye in the palm, sprouted from its body in three unlike places. The phantasm-for he had no doubt that that was what it was- reminded Galaeron vaguely of the sharn he had freed when they destroyed the first lich Wulgreth.
I have been looking for you, Elf.
Galaeron's jaw dropped. For once, his shadow self seemed too stunned to take advantage of the situation, and he experienced a moment of internal silence that he had not enjoyed since making the mistake that had allowed his shadow to invade him in the first place.
What, no 'hi ho, old friend?' the sharn asked. No, 'well met, Xrxvlayblea?'
'W-hat, uh, how…?'
'That will do, I suppose.'
The sharn-Xrxvlayblea-was floating in the shadows before Galaeron, all ton and a half of him, or it, or them, or however one referred to a blob of three-headed… stuff. It waved the eyes in several of its palms over Galaeron.
'Y-you're real?' Galaeron stammered.
One of the heads shot up close to Galaeron's face and spewing drool from its fangs, snapped, 'Did I not say I would return to repay the favor you did me in Karsus?'
'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
