Curse of the Shadowmage

Ten

K’shar had always loved the night.

The golden moon of midnight hovered above the low stone buildings of Twilight Hall, its pale-wine illumination conjuring as many purple shadows as it banished. Somewhere in the distance, a nightingale sang in sweet mourning. And despite the lateness of the year, the wild perfume of nightflowers wafted on the wind. Silent and wraithlike, K’shar moved from one pool of darkness to the next, piercing the gloom easily with eyes as brilliant and golden as the moon above. He was at home in the dark; but then, darkness was in his blood.

Twilight Hall, which stood on a green hill in the center of the city of Berdusk, was the western stronghold of the Harpers. It was not, as its name implied, merely a large meadhall or gathering place, but rather consisted of a number of stone buildings clustered around a central courtyard. Yet there was more to Twilight Hall than even this, for much of the compound lay beneath the ground—including the dusky meeting hall for which the Harper fortress was named. Though K’shar had joined the Harpers more than twenty years earlier, he had spent little of that time in Twilight Hall itself. Most of his days were spent traveling the Heartlands, hunting down such prey—be it Zhentarim, Red Wizards, or goblin lords—as the Harpers commanded. K’shar was the best Hunter the Harpers had. This was not a matter of pride, just fact.

Tonight, K’shar was to learn the details of his latest assignment. He could only hope that his new quarry would prove more interesting than the last several. It had been long since he felt challenged by one of his adversaries. The Red Wizards of Thay were always overconfident and thus easily tracked; the Zhentarim were simply stupid. Again and again, the fugitives were too easily caught, too easily slain. When they lay dead at his feet, his blood had only just begun to surge with the passion of the chase, and he was left feeling hollow and unfulfilled. Perhaps, he thought—and not for the first time—he should leave the Harpers. Perhaps he should seek out challenges more worthy of his talents.

K’shar pushed aside these foolish, discontented thoughts. He was bored, that was all. As soon as he began the chase again, he would feel better.

K’shar approached the compound’s central building and stepped into the pool of torchlight by the main door. Two young Harpers stood guard at the portal, and by the surprise on their faces, he knew they had not heard his soft approach. He bared white teeth in a feral smile. Apprentices! he thought wryly.

The young Harpers did not recognize him—this was not surprising, given the rarity of his visits to Twilight Hall—but after examining his letter of summons from Belhuar Thantarth they let him enter, their eyes wide and respectful. K’shar wound his way down through a dim labyrinth of corridors and staircases until he reached a pair of gilded doors. Without hesitating, he pushed them open, striding into the Great Hall beyond.

Instantly, a dozen pairs of eyes riveted upon him. K’shar was striking to look at. He knew this, even as he dismissed it as meaningless. His skin was a deep, burnished color, like ancient bronze; his golden eyes were eerily at odds with his colorless, close-cropped hair. He was unusually tall and thin, a fact accentuated by the tight-fitting black leather he wore, but he showed none of the awkward gangliness that usually afflicted such individuals. Rather, his leanly muscled limbs seemed like supple whips. His slightly pointed ears, tilted eyes, and uncanny grace betrayed the elven blood that mingled with the human in his veins.

The cavernous Great Hall was of ingenious construction. Hewn by dwarven stonesmiths out of the surrounding rock, it seemed not a cavern at all, but a dusky, primeval forest. Countless columns were carved to resemble trees, their stone branches stretching to support the high ceiling. The walls were covered with lifelike leaves of copper and gold that seemed to flutter in the flickering illumination of the rushlights scattered about the hall. The floor, of mottled green-and-brown marble, added to the illusion.

Belhuar Thantarth looked up as K’shar approached. The Master Harper was holding council—hence the presence of so many Harpers in the hall—but when he spotted K’shar, he quickly dismissed the others with a wave of his hand. In moments, Thantarth and K’shar were alone in the stone forest.

“K’shar, I am glad you could come.” Thantarth’s deep voice echoed in the now-empty hall.

K’shar inclined his head slightly. “It is my duty to serve the Harpers,” he said formally, even as a part of him wondered if this was truly so. Was his duty to the Harpers, or simply to the chase?

“It is with a heavy heart that I set this task before you, K’shar,” Thantarth said somberly. “For both of those whom we ask you to seek are—or at least were, until recently—among the most exalted of Harpers.”

While K’shar listened with growing interest, Thantarth explained what had transpired. There wasn’t a Harper alive who had not heard the tale of the Shadowking in Iriaebor. The deeds of Caledan Caldorien and Mari Al’maren were heroic folklore passed down to all Harper apprentices. Thus it was all the more shocking—and intriguing—that K’shar’s new prey were none other than these two legendary figures, now turned renegade.

“Caledan’s transformation must be stopped at any cost,” Thantarth finished firmly. “Whatever his deeds of the past, the Harpers cannot allow a shadowking to walk the Heartlands once more. Mari Al’maren has forsworn her vow as a Harper, and we can assume she will attempt to protect Caledan. While your mission is to find and destroy Caldorien, you are also authorized to … dispose of Al’maren should she block your way.” Thantarth appeared troubled, but his expression was resolute. “Do you accept this mission, K’shar?”

“I accept it, Master Thantarth.” K’shar spoke the words without emotion, but inwardly his heart soared. He could not believe his luck! He had longed for a mission that would test his skills, and now Thantarth had ordered him to hunt down two of the greatest heroes the Harpers had ever known. While it was regrettable that two such extraordinary individuals must die, K’shar felt no personal sorrow. Such decisions were beyond him. He was simply a Hunter.

Thantarth handed K’shar a scroll containing details of the mission. The half-elf scanned it quickly with his sharp, golden eyes. Rumors placed Caldorien in Corm Orp five days ago, and a Harper agent dispatched to Iriaebor reported that Al’maren had vanished. No doubt she had already gone to pursue Caldorien. Last on the parchment was a warning of the perils of Caldorien’s mysterious shadow magic. This part K’shar read hastily. What did he, a creature so at home in the night, have to fear from shadows? He handed the parchment back to Thantarth.

“When will you leave?” the Master Harper asked. “With the dawn?”

“No,” K’shar said softly. “Now.”

“Very well. I’ll see to a horse and provisions for—”

But K’shar had already turned, moving swiftly from the Great Hall. He needed no mount, no food, no weapons. There was no horse that could run faster or farther than K’shar, no sustenance he needed that the land would not provide, and no weapon deadlier than his own two hands. He headed outside, quickly leaving behind Twilight Hall and the city of Berdusk. Soon the dark wall of the Reaching Woods loomed before him in the gloom. He stood on the edge of a vast, ancient forest that stretched all the way from Berdusk to the village of Corm Orp, sixty leagues to the northeast. He would be in Corm Orp by sunrise two days hence.

K’shar glanced once at the stars to fix his bearings. Then, like a stag taking flight, he plunged into the trees, running swiftly, tirelessly, and without sound. Something told him that this was going to be the hunt of a lifetime.

It was twilight on the day after their battle with the gibberlings when the companions reached the trading town of Hill’s Edge. They crested a rise and saw a small cluster of lights shining in the gloom below, next to a sinuous strip of onyx that Morhion said was the River Reaching.

“You might want to take off your Harper badge, Mari,” Cormik advised. “Hill’s Edge is near the west end of Yellow Snake Pass, which means it’s crawling with Zhentarim. The Black Network seems to think the pass is their own personal highway through the Sunset Mountains.”

Mari gave the patch-eyed man a sharp look. “Thanks, Cormik, but aren’t you forgetting something?” She gestured to the collar of her jacket, where in the past she had proudly worn the badge of the Harpers.

Cormik gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry, my dear. I’m afraid I forgot.”

“Are we growing senile already?” Jewel inquired condescendingly.

He gritted his teeth. “No, we aren’t. But we are growing a trifle irritable.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jewel said with a bright laugh. “Personally, I’m having fun.”

They guided their mounts into town, searching for a place to stay the night. Cormik was right. They scouted out five inns, and each showed signs of Zhentarim occupation. While Mari no longer wore the moon-and-harp symbol, her face was known among the Zhentarim. The last thing they needed was to be delayed by an encounter with the Black Network. It looked as though they were going to have to spend the night outdoors.

“Oh, good,” Cormik grumbled. “I simply adore sleeping on the ground. I can’t tell you how much I love getting all those dry, prickly bits of moss stuck down my shirt.”

Everyone ignored him.

They rode out to the western edge of town, toward the bridge over the River Reaching. On the way, they passed one last inn—the Five Rings, according to the brightly painted sign. They almost rode by without examining the place, then stopped, more out of a sense of duty than any hope that this establishment would prove different than the others.

Mari suddenly gave an abrupt laugh. “This place will do just fine,” she told the others.

“Let me guess,” Cormik said dryly. “Either you know something we don’t, or you’ve suddenly been blessed by magical powers of prescience.”

“Er, the first one,” Mari replied glibly. She pointed to the upper left corner of the inn’s front door, where a small symbol had been scratched into the green paint. “It’s a Harper sigil,” she explained. “It means ‘friend.’ Harpers have stayed at this inn recently, which means …”

“No Zhentarim,” Morhion concluded for her.

“No mossy ground!” Cormik countered firmly.

“No more whining,” Jewel sighed thankfully.

The proprietor of the Five Rings was a red-faced man by the name of Faladar, and it was clear from the outset that he was no friend to the Zhentarim. He greeted the companions in the common room, though ‘confronted’ might have been a better word. “I hope you’ll forgive the impertinence,” he said in a tone that was anything but apologetic. “These days I like to ask my guests where they’ve journeyed from.”

“We came from Iriaebor to the south,” Morhion replied smoothly. “We’re traveling the Dusk Road.”

Faladar fixed Morhion with a piercing look. “You didn’t come over Yellow Snake Pass, then?”

“No,” Mari said, “we aren’t from … the east.” The significance of her words was not lost on Faladar. She could as easily have said, “We aren’t from Zhentil Keep.”

At this he grinned, apparently satisfied. “Come in, then, come in,” he said merrily. “You look like honest folk—er, except for that one.” He shot a questioning look at Cormik. “Are you certain he’s in your group?”

“I’m afraid so,” Mari said with an air of resignation.

Cormik gave her a wounded look.

The Five Rings was bustling, but Faladar saw to their needs quickly and with good humor. Soon their horses were stabled, their gear was stowed in a large suite on the second floor, and their bellies were filled with a repast of meat pie and barley beer.

After supper, Jewel and Cormik decided to delve into the underworld of Hill’s Edge in hopes of learning something about Stiletto. The two could have covered more territory if they had split up. However, neither trusted the other to reveal all he or she might learn, and so they went off together. Mari talked with Faladar after Kellen and Morhion headed upstairs.

In their chamber, Kellen watched thoughtfully while Morhion studied his leather-bound spellbook. As Morhion had explained, once a mage used a spell, the memory of it was wiped clean from his or her mind and had to be learned anew. Endless study was one of the many prices of magic. Kellen wondered when he would be allowed to learn spells, but he knew better than to ask. When the time was right, Morhion would let him know.

The door opened and Mari came in. Morhion looked up from his book, and for a moment a smile flickered across his usually impassive face.

“Faladar remembers Caledan,” Mari said, her brown eyes glowing. She sat down and recounted her conversation with the innkeeper. Faladar had been sweeping the front step of his inn when a striking man with dark hair and a blue cloak passed by on a white mare, heading for the bridge across the River Reaching.

Morhion closed his spellbook. “So Caledan is still following the road. How long ago did Faladar see him?”

“Four days ago. We’ve gained a day on him.”

Morhion nodded thoughtfully. “The Shadowstar draws him onward, but he is not certain where he’s being led. I imagine he must pause often, trying to determine in which direction the call is strongest. If we ride hard, we may catch up to him in a few more days.”

“I hope you’re right,” Mari said earnestly. “We can’t let him get to the Shadowstar before us.”

Kellen was just climbing into bed when Jewel and Cormik returned after paying a visit to the local thieves’ guild. The complicated etiquette of the underworld required that local thieves welcome their traveling brethren for a single night. After that, wandering thieves were fair game. Unfortunately, the two had not learned anything specific about Stiletto.

“However, I think we may be getting warm,” Jewel said, her dusky violet eyes sparkling. “Cormik and I got the impression that the thieves in Hill’s Edge started feeling Stiletto’s bite several months before we did in Iriaebor. That may mean they’re closer to his base of operations.”

“That’s something,” Mari said, then explained what she had learned from Faladar. Feeling optimistic, they went to bed. Tomorrow was going to be another long day.

Kellen woke in the middle of the night, with the same strange feeling as he had on the day when he saw the ghost of Talek Talembar. Something was going to happen. Something important. He sat up in bed. Cool moonlight spilled through the chamber’s round glass window. The mark of magic on his left hand throbbed fiercely.

Kellen rose quietly from his bed. The others were sound asleep. He could move very quietly when he wished, and Cormik’s steady snoring helped mask any noise. He slipped out the chamber door and moved down the corridor. As he went, he hummed a soft melody under his breath. The shadows to either side of him swirled, gathering around his slight form in a soft cloak of darkness. He smiled in satisfaction. To passing glances, he would be all but invisible.

Kellen crept down the stairwell, halting when he heard whispered voices below. The first voice he recognized as belonging to Faladar, the innkeeper. The second was unfamiliar, a grating hiss that jarred Kellen’s nerves. Cautiously, he peered between two slats in the stairway railing, into the common room below.

Faladar was arguing with someone. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know any friend of yours,” the innkeeper said indignantly.

“Ah, but you might have seen him,” the other countered in his sibilant voice. He was swathed entirely in a heavy black robe, his face lost in the shadows of a deep cowl. “I am certain you would remember, for he is a memorable individual—a tall man with green eyes. He wears a blue cloak and plays the pipes. Or perhaps you’ve seen his companions—a woman with dark red hair, a handsome mage, and a young boy.”

Kellen bit his tongue to keep from gasping aloud.

Faladar was growing angry now. “I’ve told you that I don’t know your friends. I won’t tell you again.”

“I think you lie, innkeeper,” the black-robed stranger hissed menacingly. “I think you have seen them.”

“Get out of my inn now,” Faladar growled. He raised a meaty fist threateningly. “Get out, or I’ll—”

It happened with eerie swiftness. The stranger snaked out a gloved hand and gripped Faladar’s throat. The innkeeper didn’t even have time to scream. The black-robed man squeezed his hand shut. There was a terrible crunching sound, and a spray of blood splattered against the whitewashed wall. The stranger opened his fist, and the innkeeper crashed to the floor.

Kellen clamped a hand to his mouth to keep from screaming. Fear propelled him up the stairs. Quickly, he slipped back into the chamber where the others were sleeping. He woke Mari first.

“Who’s there?” she asked in sleepy confusion. Kellen realized he still wore his concealing cloak of shadows. He whistled a sharp note, and the dark aura vanished. The others were awake now. Mari gazed at him in surprise. “Kellen, what is it?”

He explained in quick, breathless words. Two minutes later they were ready to go. They didn’t know who was following Caledan, but considering the importance of their mission, and given the stranger’s actions, it would be best to escape first and speculate later. It was a tragedy that poor Faladar had paid for his hospitality with his life, but there was nothing they could do for the innkeeper now.

Morhion opened the round window. “It’s about a dozen feet to the ground below. We’ll have to jump.”

Cormik eyed the window skeptically. “You can’t be serious.”

The mage gave him a flat, unfriendly stare. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“I was afraid of that.”

Jewel went first, leaping nimbly out the window. Morhion followed. It took a good bit of shoving on Mari’s part, but she got Cormik and his paunch through the window. He landed below with an audible thud!, but from his whispered cursing he was quite all right. Kellen was next. He scrambled easily down a vine that was too weak to support the others. Mari came last, landing on her feet as gracefully as a cat.

At first Kellen thought they had made their escape undetected. They retrieved their horses from the stable and rode hard away from the inn; no outcry followed them. Soon he heard the rushing sound of water. They were close to the river now. But then a piercing shriek shattered the chill night air. Wide-eyed, Kellen glanced over his shoulder and saw a dark form running toward them with unnatural speed.

“It’s him,” he gasped. “The stranger I saw.”

“Keep riding,” Morhion instructed. “I’ll stop him.”

The others pressed on while the mage whirled Tenebrous around. He raised his hands over his head, shouting a harsh word. Blazing purple magic crackled between his hands. With all his strength, Morhion hurled the sizzling orb of magic toward their pursuer. The orb struck its target and exploded in a sizzling spray of violet sparks. The stranger was thrown violently backward, tumbling to the ground.

The others reined their horses to a halt and returned to Morhion. The mage smiled sharply in victory. “I think our pursuer will follow us no longer.”

Cormik spoke then, his voice filled with awe and fear. “I think you should have knocked on wood when you said that, Morhion.” He pointed with a chubby finger. “Look!”

Slowly, the stranger rose to his feet.

“That’s impossible …” Mari started to say.

As the moon broke from behind a cloud, they could see that the stranger’s robe had been ripped to shreds by the force of Morhion’s magic. Now for the first time, in the pale light, they could see their pursuer clearly. It was not human.

Jewel swore. “By Shar in all her darkness, what is it?”

Morhion answered her grimly. “It is a shadevar.”

The creature took a halting step toward them. Kellen stared with terror and fascination. He had never seen anything like the shadevar. Its hide was gray and rough like stone. Onyx barbs protruded from the backs of its arms and from its sternum, while more dark spikes rose along its backbone in a razor-sharp crest. Its face was featureless, with two small pits for a nose and two small depressions where its eyes should have been. Its slit of a mouth opened to reveal countless needle teeth, and it let out a snuffling sound as it began moving deliberately forward.

“But this can’t be,” Mari protested. “We killed the shadevar. I saw it die …”

“We killed one shadevar,” Morhion countered. “But in ancient times there were thirteen of them.”

“Might I suggest we continue this argument later?” Cormik said with a note of hysteria. “Perhaps sometime when we’re not about to be gruesomely dismembered?” The shadevar was gaining speed.

“Make for the bridge,” Morhion said quickly. “The shadevari cannot cross large bodies of water. Their nature prevents it.”

The horses required little urging. They galloped wildly toward the bridge. Kellen gripped Flash’s mane tightly; he had given up even attempting to control the little pony. The sound of the river grew louder. The stone arch of the bridge loomed before them in the gloom. Without warning, Mari reined Farenth to a halt. The other horses skidded to a stop.

“Have you gone mad, Al’maren?” Cormik demanded. “Don’t stop now. The thing is gaining on us!”

“No, she is not mad,” Morhion said hoarsely.

The others followed his gaze. In the faint light, they could just make out two figures standing in front of the bridge, blocking the way. Both wore thick black robes.

“By Azuth on High,” Mari swore in a mixture of horror and amazement. “More of them!”

Once, the Fellowship had managed to defeat a single shadevar. Just barely. Now they faced three of the ancient, evil creatures. Morhion looked over his shoulder. The first shadevar loped toward them swiftly. It would be upon them in moments. The other two stood firm before the bridge, and a river too deep to ford. The companions were trapped.

“This way!” Morhion shouted, turning to the left and spurring his mount away from the road. “The edge of the Reaching Woods is less than a mile away. It’s our only chance!”

The others did not stop to argue. They spurred their mounts, leaving the road behind and thundering toward the dark wall of the forest. A cry of inhuman rage rose on the cold night air. Yet, when Kellen dared to glance back a few moments later, the creatures had vanished. Perhaps they had given up. The shadevari were swift, but even they could not outrun a galloping horse.

Jewel spoke up, her smoky voice tinged with fear. “I really hate to be negative, loves, but you might want to look up.”

The shadevari had not abandoned their pursuit after all. Three dark shapes whirled in the air above the riders, soaring on broad wings. The outlines of the creatures were hazy and indistinct, almost as if they were formed of smoke. They looked like some malformed mixture of lizard and bat, only far larger. Riding on the back of each of the flying creatures was one of the shadevari. The shadowsteeds folded their wings and began to dive, stretching out curved talons.

“Don’t look up!” Morhion shouted. “Keep riding!”

Kellen tore his eyes away from the horrible scene in the sky. Fixing his gaze on the approaching line of trees, he braced himself as his horse sped up, fearing that at any moment he would feel sharp claws rake deep into his back, peeling flesh from bone.

Then Flash crashed through a low wall of undergrowth into the forest. Through the lattice of branches, Kellen looked up to see the three shadowsteeds pull up sharply, barely avoiding a collision with the treetops. Screams of pure fury pierced the night, but the terrible cries faded as the horses pushed onward. The winged shadowsteeds could not pursue them into the forest. They had escaped the shadevari. At least for now.

Kellen let out a sigh of relief as they wound their way deeper into the safety of the trees. Then Mari uttered something that made their hearts sink.

“We’ve lost Caledan’s trail,” she said quietly.

After that, they rode for a long time in silence.