The Siege by Troy Denning

that sounded almost like someone humming. The song sent a shiver down Keya’s spine. She had heard Dexon’s sword talking while he slept and seen Kuhl’s grow pallid because he had neglected to plunge it into a vat of mead that day, but this was the eeriest oddity of all. The melody was joyful and light, as though the weapon enjoyed its bloody work.
    The three Vaasans finished the phaerimm quickly, then cut off its tail barb and fell to arguing as only Vaasans could about who deserved the trophy. Khelben appeared behind the trio and silenced them with a sharp word before turning to Keya with a grateful bow.
    “Quick wit and brave deeds, Keya Nihmedu,” he said. Tall and dark-bearded, Khelben had a grim manner that lent a sullen dignity to even his simplest acts. “You have our gratitude.”
    “It was nothing.” Keya spoke the word of passing, then motioned the wizard and the others over the Meadow Wall. “I was never in danger.”
    “But we were,” said Dexon, the darkest of the dark and burly Vaasans. “They would surely have taken us by surprise. I could kiss you.”
    This caused Keya to cock her brow. “Really?”
    Weighing somewhat less than a rothé and possessed of a flashing white smile, Dexon was the handsomest of the Vaasans. She whispered the word of closing to seal the mythal behind them, then smiled up at the human. “Well, why don’t you then?”
    Dexon’s jaw dropped, and he began to leer at her with that hungry look that seemed to come to the Vaasan eye at the slightest flash of skin. Though Keya knew her friends on the Long Watch were revolted by humans in general and by being ogled by them in particular, she did not withdraw her smile. The truth was that once a person got to know them, humans were really rather fun. She
     
    had even come to enjoy the glances that they cast her way—at least those Dexon cast her way—whenever they went to bathe in Dawnsglory Pond.
    When the Vaasan seemed too shocked to do more than stare at Keya, Burlen stepped forward to take his place. “What’s wrong with you, Dex? You can’t keep our hostess waiting.”
    Burlen spread his burly arms wide and closed his eyes … and suddenly found himself holding a glowering Khelben.
    “Keya is the one who deserves the reward, Burlen, not you.”
    Keya giggled at this, causing the archmage to turn his glower on her.
    “And you, young lady, should be careful of baiting bears. I’m sure Lord Nihmedu would take a dim view of you kissing something with more wool on his face than a thkaerth.”
    Keya raised her chin. “I’m sure he would, Sir Blackstaff, but Galaeron is neither here nor my keeper.” She sneaked a glance at Dexon, then added, “Now, pray tell how your scouting mission went?”
    Something like humor may have flashed in Khelben’s dark eyes, but it was gone before Keya could be certain. Speaking over his shoulder, he turned and started across the meadow toward the cliff gates.
    “Lord Duirsar has reason to be concerned about the shadow sky,” he said. “The Vale is dying outside the mythal even faster than it is inside.”
    Keya stumbled and, were it not for the speed with which Dexon’s hand leaped out to catch her, would have fallen. The life of the Vale, both inside the Meadow Wall and beyond it, was what sustained the mythal.
    “We must find a way to tear that shadow from the sky, and quickly,” Khelben continued, “or we will soon be fighting phaerimm in the streets of Evereska.”
     

    Galaeron stood in the cold stillness at the Most High’s side, peering down into the world-window, watching a miles-long column of mixed volunteers trudge along the knee-deep mud trough that had once been the Trade Way. There were folk from ail over the northwest—Evermeetian elves, Adbarrim dwarves, Waterdhavian men— but only the Uthgardt barbarians seemed untroubled by the blizzards and constant downpours that had been plaguing western Faerűn all spring. The rest of the volunteers were coughing and