Dawn of Night

CHAPTER 7 EPIPHANY OF THE SELF

They sped through the overgrown cemetery toward an unknown danger, trailed by a cloud of wraiths.

Another wraith emerged from each crypt they passed, as if their very presence summoned the creature from its tomb. Cale continued to hold forth Weaveshear. He managed to channel waves of the Shadowlord's power to keep the wraiths at bay even though he had pulled the mask from his face. Cale couldn't breathe easily with it on. Sweat soaked his tunic. He was exhausted. Beside Cale, Jak held his holy symbol before him. The halfling frequently stumbled, and Cale could see that he was wilting.

"I'm getting thin, Cale," Jak said, in a voice gone hoarse.

"Hold on, little man," Cale said. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Get us to the gate, Magadon! Hurry!"

Despite the rush of "memories" flooding Cale's consciousness, he no idea what to expect at the gate.

The guide nodded and picked up the pace. Cale and Jak struggled to keep up while backstepping. Together, they set up an invisible wall of resistance that prevented the wraiths from closing. But they could not hold it forever. Though the wraiths had not yet made a determined push, with each step they increased the pressure. More and more the creatures tested the limits of Cale and Jak's collective strength.

The shadow fog grew so tangibly thick around them that Cale felt like he was moving through water; or perhaps he was just exhausted. The wan glow of Jak's bluelight and the blazing eyes of the wraiths provided the only light.

"Here!" Magadon shouted.

"Dark!" Riven oathed.

Cale and Jak turned to see a wide declivity before them, swathed in a churning cloud of darkness. In the center of that cloud hulked a horror, the originator of the fog, the master of the wraiths. From the misshapen spheres of its huge body and head sprouted masses of black, rubbery tentacles, each as thick around as Jak's waist, and fifteen paces long. The tentacles reminded Cale of the tendrils that had transformed him into a shade back in the Fane.

A cluster of eight spiderlike eyes, as black and unforgiving as flecks of obsidian, looked out from over the creature's clacking, insectoid mandibles. The monster was spinning a pinwheel of shadow strands from its body into the fog the way a black widow spun her webs. Somehow Cale knew that the creature was a darkweaver-the gatekeeper left behind by Kesson Rel. The wraiths-the dead of Elgrin Fau-were its thralls, and the shadowstuff was its tools.

The darkweaver sprawled atop a wide, oval platform of black-veined marble that sat in the center of the declivity.

Once a place for solemn ceremony, the platform had come to serve as the darkweaver's roost. Immediately behind the creature, two rune-encrusted obelisks rose from the platform, each as tall as a hill giant and as big around as the trunk of a mature elm. A curtain of translucent golden energy hung between the magical posts, sparking and sizzling like lightning. Occasionally, the energy coalesced into a bright gold wall and shot a flash of light into the dark sky-the source of the light they had seen from the city's outskirts.

This was the gate of Kesson Rel, Cale knew. The shadow sorcerer's final jest; the Chosen of Mask's final betrayal. Cale had no idea where it led-perhaps back to the world of Elgrin Fau, but perhaps not. Still, he knew it was a way out, and that was enough.

Cale needed to get out. Desperately. The longer he stayed on the Plane of Shadow, the more of its darkness sank into his skin and polluted his soul, further transforming him, filling his mind with memories that could not possibly be his own. He felt as if something was pushing around the edges of his mind, probing for weakness, trying to worm its way into his consciousness and overwhelm his identity. He held it back only by the dam of his will. And he couldn't hold it back forever, anymore than he could hold back the wraiths forever.

A cloud of shadows roiled around the darkweaver. It appeared as though the creature were swimming in waters of pitch. Its alien eyes fixed on them and its front tentacles squirmed in agitation, reminding Cale of a nest of giant snakes. It keened through its mandibles, the sound alien and menacing.

The wraiths responded as if that keen was a war horn summoning them to battle. As one they uttered a moan and threw themselves against the divine force channeled by Cale and Jak.

The two friends held for only an instant before their wall of resistance shattered with an audible crackle of energy. They staggered, pushed backward by the power backlash, while the dead of Elgrin Fau swarmed forward like a cloud of bats, red eyes seething.

Behind them, the darkweaver's mandibles began to churn. Its tentacles squirmed obscenely, but it didn't leave its position directly in front of the gate. It was Kesson Rel's guardian and it would not leave its charge.

"We make a stand here, then," said Riven above the rain, eerily calm. His sabers whirled as he watched the approaching wraiths. "Back to back. Nothing gets close and lives."

Magadon took a knee and set his bow to singing. Cale marveled at his rapidity. Arrow after arrow flew into the cloud of wraiths as they streaked forward. The head of each missile glowed white, charged by the power of Magadon's mind. Some flew harmlessly through the wraiths' insubstantial bodies, but others struck home, eliciting agonized moans from the undead. Jak, his face wan from the psychic war with the undead, drew his short sword and dagger and took a step nearer to Cale.

Cale spared a glance behind, at the gate behind the darkweaver. He knew that golden glow was their only hope. He hesitated, made up his mind, then grabbed Magadon and Riven by the cloaks.

"Not here!" he said. "We make for the gate. Mags, keep firing."

Cale knew that if they could cut their way through the darkweaver quickly, they might escape the wraiths and gain the gate. They needed only to hold the wraiths at bay for a bit longer.

Heedless of the poor footing afforded by the wet grass, the four pelted down the declivity, directly at the wriggling tentacles and black eyes of the darkweaver. Magadon came last, covering their retreat by firing into the swarm of wraiths.

Despite the dire situation, Cale felt a momentary flash of hope.

As they closed, two of the darkweaver's front tentacles rose before it and began to wave hypnotically.

In his head, Cale heard a soft, reasonable, but strangely-accented voice say, Stop for moment, and place weapons at your feet. This be only a misunderstanding. You be not harmed if you stop now. Gate be by you used.

Despite the poor syntax, Cale felt the magic in that command pull at his will. Weaveshear vibrated slightly in his hand, and Cale resisted the compulsion.

Jak didn't.

"A misunderstanding," the halfling said thoughtfully, slowing. "That makes sense."

He reduced his run to a jog and sheathed his blades. Nodding agreement, Magadon too lowered his weapon and slowed his pace. The wraiths moaned in anticipation, still speeding forward.

Cale and Riven slowed their own pace, nearly slipping on the rain-soaked grass. Jak and Magadon stopped all together, looking around with bemused expressions. Cale and Riven tried to pull them along, but they resisted.

"Move," Cale ordered the halfling.

"He'll let us use the gate," Jak said. "Ease down, Cale."

"Nine Hells!" Riven oathed. The assassin and Cale looked at the darkweaver to see its tentacles scrabbling up the declivity toward them. The squirming motion of those limbs made Cale want to vomit.

Riven looked past Magadon to the advancing cloud of wraiths. He took fistfuls of Magadon's cloak and shook him.

"Mags! It's a spell. Don't be a fool!"

But Magadon only stared vacantly and said, "It's a misunderstanding, Drasek. Put down your weapons. You'll see."

Riven's face twisted in disgust and he shoved the guide away. He fixed his gaze on Cale and asked the question with his eye.

Cale gave a nod; there was little else to do.

"This is where it ends," he said.

He pulled his holy symbol from his vest, wrapped it around Weaveshear's hilt, and pushed Jak down behind him. Shadows streamed from Cale's flesh.

The halfling pulled at his cloak and said, "It's a misunderstanding, Cale. You can scabbard the steel."

Cale ignored the halfling and said to Riven, "I've got the wraiths and Jak."

"I've got Mags and that thing," Riven answered, nodding at the darkweaver.

"I'll hold them off as long as I can," Cale said, eyeing the advancing swarm. "You finish that abomination fast, and we might yet make the gate."

Riven only smiled.

They spaced themselves a pace or two apart, enough room to provide them some space to maneuver, but not enough to allow attacks from the rear.

Ready, the First and the Second of Mask awaited their foes.

The wraiths reached them first, swooping upon them like dark birds of prey, eyes burning. Cale stood in front of Jak and faced the onslaught, ducking, slashing, dodging, and stabbing. Each time Weaveshear struck the body of a wraith, a portion of the creature boiled away into wisps of foul, sulfurous smoke. The creatures were all around him. He could not help but strike one with each slash. Their moans of hate and pain filled his ears; the image of their red eyes burned itself into his brain.

"Cover me, Cale!" shouted Riven, as he darted out of the melee, dragging Magadon by the cloak. The assassin charged the darkweaver, saber blade whirling.

Ten pairs of red eyes followed Riven's back and started to give chase. Cale spun away from the wraiths near him and leaped in front of the would-be pursuers. He drove Weaveshear through one incorporeal body, then another. Both moaned, bleeding greasy black smoke, and retreated.

"Be quick, godsdamnit!" he shouted after Riven.

He would not be able to hold for long. As it was, he could not effectively keep the wraiths from Jak. Despite his best efforts, some flew past him after Riven and Magadon.

He was an island in an ocean of black. The wraiths attacked from all sides, from above, even emerging from the ground under his feet to attack from below. Their icy touch passed through his enchanted leather armor as though it did not exist and pulled at his life-force, chilling him to the bone. He managed to resist the pull of their touch time and again, and somehow knew that he could do so easily only because of what he had become. Still, the cold engendered by their fell touch was slowing him down.

He forced three wraiths back with a flurry of cross slashes from Weaveshear, then whirled around to check on Jak. A blanket of wraiths covered the halfling. Still deluded by the spell, Jak struck at them with his hand as if they were nothing more than annoying insects. But they were not, and each time they put their dark hands to the halfling's flesh, Jak grew a little paler, a little weaker.

Cale lunged at the wraiths attacking Jak, slashed the head from one-it vanished in a cloud of smoke-stabbed another through its chest. It too vanished, but another took its place. And another. There were too many.

Cale scooped Jak into his right arm and held him protectively against his body. The halfling was ice cold. With Jak in one arm, Cale knew that he would not be able to move effectively, but it was the only way he could protect his friend.

"Put down the steel, Cale," Jak said through chattering teeth. "This is a misunderstanding."

Cale ignored the halfling, brandished Weaveshear, and channeled the power of Mask through the blade.

"Down to the shadows," he said in a firm voice, his sympathy for the city's dead washed away by the heat of combat. Weaveshear pulsed forth a wave of divine power, amplified in power by Cale's anger. The wave obliterated a handful of wraiths; another handful fled the battle. But more took their place. He decided then and there that he would kill Jak himself before allowing the wraiths to drain the halfling's soul.

Desperate for another option, Cale stole a glance over his shoulder at Riven. The assassin wasn't faring much better. The darkweaver's tentacles had already walled in Riven and Magadon. Riven was unable to get close enough to strike at the creature's body. The huge appendages swung wildly at the assassin and guide, narrowly missing Riven but knocking Magadon to the ground. Riven answered with a flurry of saber slashes and yanked Magadon to his feet. Above them, still more wraiths hovered, awaiting an opportunity to attack.

Cale looked once more at the gate, the darkweaver, the wraiths, and realized that it was hopeless to fight. They were never going to reach the gate. If they persisted, they were all going to die. Riven wouldn't be able to finish the darkweaver before the wraiths had claimed them all.

"Hold as long as you can, Riven!" Cale shouted, not sure if the assassin could hear him. "I'll return."

With that, Cale did the only thing he could. Still clutching Jak, and not knowing whether his ability would work while carrying another, he tried to shadowstep as far away from the cemetery as he could.

For an instant he felt the strange sensation of rushing air and rapid motion, then he and the halfling materialized on an empty street somewhere in the middle of Elgrin Fau. Only the patter of the rain, Jak's chattering teeth, and the sound of Cale's breathing broke the silence of the street. He hadn't traveled as far as he'd hoped. His ability to shadowstep obviously enabled him to cover only so much distance. But they had escaped the wraiths.

Jak, still pale and weak, groaned, "Cale, what are you do-"

Cale shadowstepped again, still hoping to get outside the city-and he succeeded. He and Jak found themselves on the low ridge that overlooked the ruins of Elgrin Fau. From there, they couldn't see the cemetery, and the buildings below looked quiet in the rain.

Cale looked into the halfling's wan face and asked, "Are you all right? Jak?"

The halfling nodded, though his eyes were heavy with shame. Being removed from the necropolis seemed to have allowed him to shake the effects of the darkweaver's compulsion spell.

"I'm all right," he said. "I can heal myself. Go."

Cale thumped Jak on the shoulder and said, "Stay here. I'll be back."

He shadowstepped back into the city. Again, he materialized on an empty street. Hoping he wasn't too late, he took another step toward the cemetery, and materialized in the midst of a maelstrom.

Wraiths swirled everywhere and the darkweaver's tentacles thrashed about. Riven stood in the middle of it hacking wildly and shouting. Cale could see that the assassin was weakening. Riven's blows were wild; his speed a heartbeat slower. To Cale's left, Magadon lay on his back in the grass, barely visible through the crowd of wraiths that surrounded him and fed on his life-force.

Cale took the wraiths near Riven by surprise. Lunging forward and swinging Weaveshear in a wide arc, he sliced through three with a single swing. The stench from their dissipating bodies made him gag.

"Riven!" he shouted.

The assassin whirled on him, unleashing a vicious cross cut at Cale's throat with one of his sabers. Cale barely interposed Weaveshear in time to parry.

"Riven!"

Riven's good eye registered recognition. He grinned a mouthful of stained teeth.

"It isn't over yet!" the assassin shouted.

"We are leaving!" Cale countered.

Riven nodded, ducked under a swooping wraith, and split it open it as it passed. Cale impaled one, then another. Brandishing Weaveshear, he turned and channeled Mask's power at the wraiths surrounding Magadon.

"Away, darkspawn!" he commanded.

Four wraiths withered before the onslaught of divine might, leaving behind only moans and wisps of dark smoke. A tentacle wrapped around Cale's ankle and pulled him from his feet. Riven hacked it off with two swings of his sabers. It squirmed near them in a paroxysm of pain, spitting black blood and wisps of shadow. Cale jumped to his feet and bounded forward. He grabbed the groaning Magadon, clasped Riven by the forearm, uttered a prayer to Mask, and tried to shadowstep.

It worked, even with his two comrades. They found themselves standing in the rain on a quiet side street, surrounded by ruins. The only sound was that of their labored breathing. Before Riven or Magadon could speak, Cale shadowstepped again, and the three comrades appeared near Jak on the ridge overlooking the city.

For a time, they all sat there in the grass, in the rain, and said nothing. Even Riven, who moments before had seemed lost in the adrenaline rush of combat, seemed to have deflated.

In the distance, the golden light of the gate again flashed, a tantalizing reminder of a way out. Cale stared at it, thought, and made up his mind.

"Regroup," he said. "After we've recovered, we go again."

Incredulous expressions looked out from pale faces.

He explained with half the truth. "We know where the gate is now. We know what's guarding it. We can prepare and get through."

The rest of the truth was that he had to get through.

Magadon said, "You said that you don't know where it leads, Erevis. A divination to determine-"

Cale cut him off with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head.

"Divinations do not work here, Mags. Besides, wherever it leads, anywhere is better than here."

"Cale..." Jak began.

"We go again!" Cale snapped, and instantly regretted it.

Jak recoiled. He struggled to keep the hurt from his eyes.

"All right," the halfling said, voice thick with emotion. "We go again."

He climbed unsteadily to his feet, and Cale had to control the urge to go over and help him stand.

Riven's voice sounded from behind Cale, "No."

Cale's grip on Weaveshear tightened as he turned to the assassin.

Riven's good eye took in the blade, took in Cale's expression, and narrowed dangerously. Even Riven's ordinarily sallow face looked pale from the wraiths' attacks. He still held a saber in each hand. He raised one and pointed it at Jak and Magadon.

"Look at them, Cale. They can't go through that again. Fleet can barely stand. There are too many. You got us out of there-" he nodded back at the city-"and you're going to get us out of here."

His gaze took in all of the plains.

"We can do it," Jak said, but Cale heard the lie in the halfling's voice.

He chose to ignore it. He had to escape.

Cale said to Riven, "We're going back."

Riven shook his head and took two steps nearer to Cale, until they stood nose to nose.

"No, we're not," the assassin said. "Listen to what you're saying, Cale. You're desperate to get out of here, even more than Fleet. Why is that?"

Because I'm afraid of what's happening to me, Cale thought but did not say. He felt himself transforming into a man like Sephris Dwendon-seeing things that others did not, hearing a god in his brain, going mad.

Instead, he said, "Take one step back, Zhent. Now."

Riven's good eye narrowed to a slit, as though he was considering the seriousness of the threat. He took a step back but continued to face Cale.

"You're ready to sacrifice me, yourself, fine," said the assassin. "But Fleet? That transformation darkened more than your skin, Cale. I'm not sure you're even a man anymore."

That hit too close to the mark. Cale remembered his thought, born in the heat of battle, that he would kill Jak rather than let the wraiths take him. Hot with rage, he grabbed Riven by the cloak and pulled him close.

"No," Cale hissed. "I'm not just a man. Not anymore. I am the First of the Shadowlord." He stared Riven in the face. "And that's what bothers you, isn't it, Second?"

Riven's good eye flashed and his nostrils flared. Cale could feel the tension in the assassin's body.

"Among other things," Riven said, his voice low and predatory.

Cale released the assassin's cloak, took one step back, and drummed his fingers on Weaveshear's hilt. Wisps of shadow trailed around his face.

"And?" he asked, daring Riven with his eyes to further escalate the exchange.

Riven tightened his grip on his sabers, but before the assassin's snarl could form into a coherent reply, Magadon jumped to his feet and interposed himself between them.

"That's enough!" the guide said. He looked into Cale's eyes, then into Riven's. "Back off, Drasek. Erevis. Just . . . back off."

The assassin continued to stare daggers into Cale, but he did as Magadon requested. Cale's own ire vanished as quickly as it had risen. He just felt tired: He slumped, leaned on his blade.

Magadon turned angrily on Riven and growled, "You. You keep pushing and pushing, though you see his struggle and understand it full well. Stop it. Besides, he's as human as me, and probably more than you."

Cale appreciated what Magadon was trying to do, even if it was not entirely correct. Riven would have none of it.

"I'm pushing for a reason," the assassin said as he sheathed his sabers. He looked into Cale's face. "And he's not human. He was hit by wraiths too, same as you and me. Look at him. Unscathed. He's no more human than your father."

Magadon glanced up sharply at that. Had he been closer, Cale would have punched the assassin in the face for salting the wound of Magadon's heritage.

"What did you say?" Magadon said, his voice eerily calm.

"I've known you the better often years, Mags," the assassin said. "I know what you are."

Magadon said through gritted teeth, "And I know what you are, Riven."

The assassin waved a hand dismissively and said, "I've never tried to hide it." He looked past Magadon to Cale. "Like I said, you're our way out of here, Cale. Not the gate. Stop fighting it."

"You said that before, Zhent," said Cale, glaring, "and it's still the same nonsense."

"Not so," Riven sneered. "I've seen it, Cale, dreamed it. You're the only way we're getting out of here. And you're the reason we're still here. You're still hanging on to what you were. You're changed. We're changed. You keep saying it with words, but not feeling it. Let it go. Stop fighting."

Cale simply stared. He could frame no reply, because there was no reply to be made. Deep down, in that secret part of his brain that he kept walled off, he knew that Riven spoke the truth. Cale had been fighting it, and fighting it hard since the moment he'd opened his eyes to see a starless sky. He was not human. He never would be again. He'd told himself as much, had seen it in Jak's haunted eyes, heard Magadon state it across a fire, but he'd held it at bay with the wall of his will, kept the reality of it from infecting his psyche. And that wall was crumbling.

Tears started to form in his eyes-whether from frustration, fatigue, fear, or some combination of all of them, he didn't know-but he blinked them back. He wouldn't give Riven the satisfaction.

The assassin stared at him, waiting.

"Cale?" Jak asked tentatively.

He'd voluntarily transformed his body to save Jak, but had fought the transformation of his soul. He couldn't fight it any longer. He was too tired, and he was a shade. A monster.

What had he done to himself?

Weaveshear fell from numb fingers. His legs went weak. He fell to his knees and turned his face to the ground. He would have screamed his anger into the night, but he couldn't muster the strength to shout. Instead, he simply sat there and let the rain wash over him. After a moment, he raised his gaze and looked upon Riven. The assassin returned his look, expressionless, and nodded.

Cale nodded back. Staring at Riven all the while, Cale made a conscious decision, steeled himself, and surrendered to what he had become.

He thought he could hear Mask laughing.

Darkness entered him, enveloped him, a cocoon of night.

Knowledge flooded Cale-the full scope of his abilities as a shade. He knew then that his body resisted magic, that he could form animated duplicates of himself out of shadowstuff, could turn invisible in darkness, could travel between worlds. He saved them from the destruction of the Fane when his instincts tapped those powers. Having embraced it, he knew he could do it at will.

He was the Divine Agent of Mask, the Champion of the Shadowlord. He knew the names of the others who served Mask in a similar capacity: Drasek Riven, Kesson Rel, Avner of Hartsvale.... Proxies, Chosen, Agents, Seraphs-they had many titles. But among them all, Cale was the First and Riven the Second. It was Cale and Riven who would retrieve for the Shadowlord what he had lost.

Groaning, Cale gripped his head between his hands and tried to prevent his skull from exploding under the pressure of the influx of knowledge.

He knew in that instant that Riven was right. Cale was their way out. The irony was that Cale could not have escaped the Shadow until he surrendered to it. He knew that Mask had planned it that way. Mask planned everything that way.

Time passed, he didn't know how long, and gradually his head ceased pounding. He sat on his knees in the grass. Around him, everything stood quiet except the patter of the rain. It would never wash him clean, he knew. Not anymore.

Thazienne. .. .

A touch on his arm. He looked over and saw Jak, concern writ clear in the halfling's green eyes.

In Luirenal, the halfling said, "It doesn't matter, Cale. I'm your friend. I'll always be your friend"

It did matter, but Jak's simple words brought Cale more comfort than anything else could have. He even managed a smile.

"I know. Thank you, Jak." He cleared his throat and said, "Earlier, when I snapped at you-"

Jak waved it away.

"Forgotten," he said.

Cale nodded, patted the halfling's arm. Still a little lightheaded, he leaned on Jak and climbed to his feet. He took a deep breath and looked to Riven and Magadon.

"Riven was right," he said. "I know how to get us back to Faerun."

Riven looked only mildly smug. Magadon looked both pleased and alarmed.

"How?" the guide asked, hope in his voice.

"I'm going to shift us there," Cale replied. "But first we need to have a conversation. I've been considering something for a time. We need to handle it before we leave this place." He looked an apologetic glance at the halfling. "Jak, stay here."

"What?" the halfling asked in surprise. "Why?"

"Trust me," Cale said.

He offered a smile. It was better if Jak knew nothing of what Cale was about to propose.

The halfling looked perplexed, and maybe a little hurt, but he nodded anyway.

* * * * *

Jak tried to hide his frown as Cale steered Riven and Magadon out of easy earshot. The halfling knew that Cale must have a good reason to exclude him-likely due to a discussion of what Cale sometimes referred to as "methods"-but that lessened the sting only a little. Besides, Jak wished Cale had spoken to him about it beforehand. Jak didn't need to be sheltered from hard choices, not anymore. His views on what was acceptable had changed since his torture at the hands of the slaad.

Merely recollecting that agony made his eyes water. He still bore the scars of slaad claws on his chest and on his soul. He supposed he always would.

But in the aftermath of that pain he had come to realize that sometimes-but only sometimes-principle must give way to pragmatism. It was a hard lesson, but a true one. Otherwise, the slaadi and those like them would always win.

Sometimes good people have to do hard things, he thought, recollecting Cale's words to him on that rainy night outside of Selgaunt.

He knew the words stank of a rationalization, but he knew too that they were true. The truth was just so ugly that it sometimes needed to be rationalized.

He wondered what hard things his three companions were discussing just then. He wondered if his old friend Sephris would still consider him a seventeen.

He pulled his pipe, quickly gave up trying to light it in the rain, and instead twirled it in his fingers; a nervous habit. He eyed his comrades sidelong, trying not to listen, but unable to keep himself from watching.

Cale spoke softly but earnestly, gesturing often with pointed fingers and clenched fists. At first Magadon looked confused, but after a time the guide nodded slowly and said something in reply to Cale. Riven took a step back, as though Cale was threatening him, and shook his head. His voice rose in anger.

"No," the assassin said. "That's madness."

Cale shot a concerned glance at Jak and replied to the assassin in an intense whisper. Shadows bled from his hands and exposed skin, as if his intensity was squeezing darkness from his pores. In a thoughtful tone, Magadon too said something to Riven, evidently reinforcing Cale's point.

Riven shook his head again, but less forcefully. He looked at Cale with narrowed eyes and asked a question. Cale didn't blink, and Jak heard his reply clearly over the rain:

"You already know why."

At that, Riven showed his signature sneer, but Jak saw the insincerity of it. If he hadn't known better, Jak would have sworn he saw fear in Riven's eye.

Magadon put his hand on the assassin's shoulder and offered him comforting words. Riven glared at him, brushed his hand aside, and said something in a sharp tone. Magadon frowned and took a step back.

Cale spoke to Magadon in a language Jak did not understand. Magadon answered in the same tongue, but slowly.

For a moment, Magadon, Cale, and Riven simply looked at each other. Riven said something and nodded. To Jak, the assassin's tone sounded as final as a funeral dirge.

"Do it," Cale said to the guide, loud enough for Jak to hear.

Magadon visibly gulped but nodded. He put his fingers to his temple and closed his eyes. A halo of white light formed around his head. The glow expanded, and moved to encapsulate Riven. While it glowed, Magadon spoke softly to the assassin. Then the guide nodded at Cale, who added something further, again speaking in a strange language. Throughout, Riven said nothing. Abruptly, the light flared out.

For an instant, a veiled look came over Riven's face but quickly vanished.

What in the Nine Hells just happened? Jak wondered.

Cale caught Jak's eye and smiled softly-an insincere smile-before nodding at Magadon.

Riven said, "What are you doing?"

Cale responded softly. Magadon then asked something and Cale nodded. The guide hesitated for a moment, put his fingertips to the side of his head and closed his eyes. A moment later, a nimbus of angry red energy formed around his skull. It flared brightly. Another such halo formed around Riven's head. The assassin gripped his skull in his palms, groaned, and collapsed. Cale said something in a terse manner to Magadon, and another red nimbus formed around Cale's head. He too groaned and collapsed to the ground. Magadon took a deep breath, then screamed in pain and fell to the dirt himself.

All three lay on the ground unmoving.

Jak couldn't help himself; he ran over and knelt first at Cale's side. To his relief, the tall man was breathing.

"Erevis," he said, shaking Cale gently. "Cale."

Cale's yellow eyes fluttered open and Jak forced himself to stare into them. Cale blinked and groaned, obviously disoriented. When his eyes regained their focus, he sat up, shook his head, and climbed to his feet. Magadon and Riven both were rubbing their temples, groaning, and struggling to sit up.

"What happened?" Jak asked, even though he knew he shouldn't.

A curious expression crossed Cale's face, and Jak thought he might have been struggling for words.

Finally, Cale said, "Precautions, little man. Let's leave it at that."

To that, Jak said nothing. Cale obviously wanted Jak ignorant of what had transpired. Jak hoped his friend knew what he was doing.

With nothing else to do, Jak removed his holy symbol and uttered prayers of healing over each of his companions. Even Riven, perhaps still too disoriented to protest, accepted the spell. The warm energy flowed through Jak and into his comrades. It seemed to bring each of them back to themselves, at least somewhat.

None of them spoke of what had just transpired. To Jak, each of them looked at though they had just awakened from a deep sleep.

* * * * *

When Cale had drained the last of his waterskin and recovered himself as fully as seemed possible, he looked around, eyed his friends, and said to them, "Let's leave this place."

Jak said, "We're just waiting for you to tell us how, my friend."

Cale didn't bother to explain that he had an intuitive feel for the overlap between Toril and the Plane of Shadow.

Instead, he simply said, "Watch."

He concentrated for a moment, attuning himself to the correspondence between the two planes. When he had his mental hands around the connection, he opened his eyes and traced a glowing, vertical green line in the air with his forefinger. At any moment in time, he knew, the Plane of Shadow and Toril were separated by a planar barrier as thin as the cutting edge of an elven thinblade. Cale could slice open that barrier at will.

Putting his palms together and making a knife of his hands, he poked them through the center of the glowing line and drew them apart, as though he was parting draperies from before a window in Stormweather Towers's great hall. The line expanded after his hands to become a rectangular curtain of ochre light hanging in the air-a gate back to Toril.

The appearance of the gate evoked a grin from Jak.

"After all this," the halfling said, shaking his head, "and it was just that easy."

Cale didn't bother to tell his friend that it hadn't been easy at all, that the transformation back in the Fane had changed his body, but it was only a short time ago that the place had transformed his soul.

Instead, he nodded at the portal and said to Jak, "That's home. You're the first, little man."

Jak hesitated for only an instant. He beat his hat on his thigh to free it of mud, donned it with verve, smiled broadly, and hopped through the gate.

Magadon followed.

"Well done, Cale," he said, and stepped through, bow held at his side.

Before Riven stepped into the gate, the assassin stopped and looked Cale in the face.

"I had to do it, Cale," the assassin said. "I'd seen it."

"Maybe," Cale said.

Riven frowned, then said, "You're the First, Cale." He nodded at the gate. "And that's not home anymore. Not for us."

"Go through, Riven," Cale said.

Just as the assassin was about to step through, something registered with Cale. He grabbed Riven by the arm.

"The teleportation rods," he said. "They didn't crumble to dust, did they?"

Riven looked him in the eye and replied, "We had to go through this, Cale. I know what I saw. You had to be our way out."

In his mind, Cale heard Sephris say, Two and two are four.

"We all could have died," Cale said.

Riven shrugged.

"Where are the rods now?"

"I threw them in the bog," the assassin said with a smile, "the moment I understood the vision."

"Afraid you couldn't have resisted temptation?" Cale asked.

Riven grinned.

Cale released Riven's arm and said, "Go through."

Riven did.

Cale lingered for a moment in the glow of the gate and spared one last glance around the Shadow Deep. Its darkness seemed familiar to him, comforting, like the companionship of an old friend. Its gloom felt more protective than oppressive. He knew that Riven had spoken the truth. The gate to Toril did not lead home, not for him, not anymore.

But for a moment at least, he would turn his back on the darkness.

He stepped through the portal. It felt like slipping into warm water.