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the walls of his own palace.
    He locked gazes with Storm and said, “Whatever happened that day in Shadowdale, the last thing Evereska— or Faerűn itself—needs is war with the Shadovar, too.”
    “Whatever happened?” Storm fumed. “I have told you what happened! The Shadovar are as bad as the—”
    “Come now, Sister,” Laeral said. Almost as tall as Storm, she had the same silver hair but emerald eyes instead of blue. “Exaggeration serves no one, and I have
     
    seen for myself what the Shadovar can do against the phaerimm. We need all the help they can provide.”
    “Help from a nest of vipers will prove poison in the end,” Storm retorted.
    “We are asking for no more than was Netheril’s in the days of our fathers,” Aglarel said. “Leave us to Anauroch, and no one on Faerűn need fear Shade Enclave.”
    “Anauroch is not Waterdeep’s to grant or deny,” Piergeiron said, trying to guide the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Just as Evereska is not the Shadovar’s to quarantine.”
    “I could not agree with you more, Lord Piergeiron,” Aglarel replied. “Which is only one of the reasons we should establish a coordinating council. I’m sure we can all agree that it would be in Evereska’s best interest if our nations shared in the responsibility of making these sorts of decisions.”
    “A magnanimous gesture, Prince Aglarel, considering that the Shadovar have dealt the phaerimm the few losses they have suffered in this war,” Laeral said warmly. She knew whereof she spoke; her beloved Khelben “Blackstaff Arunsun had vanished during a battle early in the war, and she was spending much of her time at the front trying to determine what had become of him. “I am certain Lord Imesfor would welcome such a council.”
    Before the elf could voice his approval or disapproval, Storm asked, “Who would lead this council? The Shadovar?”
    Aglarel nodded without hesitation. “For now,” he said, “it appears we are best equipped to assume that duty.”
    When dragons kneel before halflings! scoffed Brian the Swordmaster. As one of the Masked Lords of Waterdeep, his words came to Piergeiron as a barely audible whisper. They’re trying to take control of the war zone.
    Aglarel cast a brief glance in Brian’s direction, then
     
    looked back to Piergeiron and said, “If the Lords of Waterdeep find our leadership uncomfortable, we would not be adverse to naming Lord Imesfor master of the council. It is, after all, his home that is in peril.”
    Piergeiron was almost too astonished to reply. The discussions between the masked lords were shielded by the same magic that protected their identities, yet Aglarel had plainly heard what Brian had said.
    “The lords will discuss the council you propose later—in private,” Piergeiron said, “but we do appreciate your suggestion.”
    Many of the spectators in the hall would be mystified as to why he did not immediately agree to name Lord Imesfor the council leader, but they had not seen how the elf trembled at the slightest sound or heard the screams that echoed through the palace halls whenever he retired to his room to attempt the Reverie, Gervas Imesfor was in no condition to lead a horse, much less a political and military alliance of this magnitude. Piergeiron felt quite certain that Aglarel had known that when he proposed it.
    I’m sure our deliberations would be more meaningful if we knew more about the nature of the shadowshell, Deliah said, still pressing for details. Like nearly every respectable wizard on Faerűn, she seemed more alarmed by the Shadovar’s mysterious magic than by the evil of the phaerimm. If the prince is concerned about spies, perhaps we could meet later—
    “I am at liberty to reveal the nature of the shell only to our declared allies,” Aglarel said, drawing an audible gasp from three of the lords who had not previously realized he was listening in on their private conversations. “However, it is difficult to