Shadow witness

CHAPTER ELEVEN

V›ale strode boldly for the pulsing double doors. The wooden slabs beat faster as he neared, as though in anticipation of his touch. Prom behind the doors he heard only silence, but he could feel Yrsillar's brooding presence. The demon was waiting.

Beside him, Jak's breathing came in fearful gasps.

"Easy," he said, and reached down-to-pat Jak on the shoulder.

The hpHHng nodded, struggled to get himself under control. "I'm all right," he said, though his breathing still came hard.

Cale saw that Jak had sheathed his dagger. He now held his magical short sword in one hand and his holy symbol in the other.

Frightened, the little man had fallen bade on his god for strength. Jak had sheathed a weapon of steel to draw a weapon of faith. Gale envied him.

The felt mask in his pocket brought him small comfort. Perhaps someday faith could be a weapon for him, but for today he would rely only on his steel.

Standing before the doors, he took a breath and kicked them in.

The moment the doors flew open, a wave of terror blew from the shrine like a black wind. Gale's throat constricted and fear threatened to overwhelm him. With great effort of will, he fought down the supernatural terror and stood his ground. It's not real, he told himself, it's only magic.

Beside him, Jak let out a soft moan.

"It's magical, Jak," Gale said, and shook him by the shoulder. "Resist it."

"I know," Jak replied through bared teeth. He clutched his holy symbol in his fist so tightly that it must have cut into his palm. Gale saw blood squeezing from between Jak's white knuckles, but the little man held his ground.

"Well provide you no amusement, YrsillarP Gale shouted into the gloomy shrine.

"Damn right," Jak echoed with as much bravado as he could muster.

No response came from within.

They shared a solemn glance and walked through the open doors.

The shrine here looked much the same as the actual shrine back on their home plane. They saw rows of pews that led up to a raised dais and an altar.

From the opposite side of the room, Trailer's voice boomed, the deep bass of distant thunder. "You've grown some since last we met, Champion." His voice dropped so that each syllable dripped with enough malice to make Gale wince. "Some, but not enough."

Gale scanned the room toward the altar. He saw nothing but shadows and darkness.

"There," Jak softly said, and pointed to the left of the altar.

The shadows and gloom suddenly unfolded, vomited forth the titanic form of Yrsillar. Gale's breath caught in his throat.

The demon lord looked majestic. Where the lesser shadow demons had been lean and wiry, Yrsillar was a mountain of bluish-gray flesh. Powerfully muscled, the demon lord's mammoth chest and rippling torso sat squarely atop a pair of tree-trunk-sized legs. He towered over Gale. Naked, but seemingly sexless, a nauseating spiderweb of purple veins pulsed visibly beneath the hairless, leathery skin of his body, each beat keeping time with the pulsing of the shrine doors, each beat no doubt keeping time with the pulsing of the gates back in the real guildhouae.

Overlong, powerful arms ended in bony, three-fingered hands, each digit capped with a black claw as long as Gale's hand. Membranous wings sprouted from his back and spanned the room. He stood still as a statue, a nightmare carved of stone. The voids of his eye sockets, each as large as a Sembian fivestar, stared holes into Gale's soul.

From the darkness around him emerged the shadow demon that Gale had wounded earlier, a miniature version of its master flitting about Yrsillar like a moth flitting about a flame.

Silently, majestically, Yrsillar stepped to the altar and regarded them coldly.

"Not enough," he said again. From behind the demon lord's shoulder, the shadow demon hissed.

This is just how Yrsillar chooses to appear to us," Jak whispered through the side of his mouth. To heighten our fear, but he's made of nothingness, Gale, nothingness. Remember that."

Gale nodded grimly, his eyes on the demons. "We give him nothing," he whispered in reply.

"Damn right," Jak said, and sounded as though he meant it.

They stepped forward into the main aisle, blades ready, and walked halfway to the raised dais and altar. Yrsillar regarded them in unconcerned silence, hate embodied. Gale felt the demon lord's hunger for them as an itching between his shoulders. He ignored it and spat on the floor in defiance.

At that, the shadow demon hissed, pawed at the air, and flitted about in agitation. Yrsillar said nothing, did nothing, simply stood before them and let their fear build."

Silent seconds passed. They seemed an eternity. Though his heart pounded, Gale braved the buzzard of hate and held unflinchingly Yrsillar's baleful gaze. He refused to bow to his fear.

The stress became too much for Jak, however, and he began to lose composure. His breathing sounded like a bellows and he shifted anxiously from foot to foot.

"Dark," he oathed under his breath, "Dark and empty."

Gale placed a hand on Jak's shoulder and shouted at Yrsillar. "You'll get no fear to feed on from us, ecthain." Defiantly, he held forth his enchanted blade. At that, Yrsillar's wings beat once-and he began to laugh in a booming, mocking chuckle.

"Once more you face me, Champion of Mask, and once more I smell the fear you try to hide. You stink of terror." He shifted his gaze to Jak. "As do you."

The little man let out an alarmed peep. "Trickster's toes," he muttered like a chant, "Trickster's hairy toes."

Gale grabbed a fistful of the little man's cloak and gave him a single shake. "We give him nothing," he hissed. "He wants you to be frightened. Give him nothing."

At that, Jak started to rally. He slid a step closer to Gale so that his shoulder bumped Gale's thigh. The touch apparently gave him strength.

"We give him nothing," Jak softly agreed, and his voice sounded steady. Shaking only slightly, he returned Yrsillar's stare. The shadow demon hissed in rage. Yrsillar beat his great wings in anger and looked sharply at Gale. His mocking tone turned deeper, heavy with hate and dripping with hunger.

"Ill savor your soul, Erevis Gale. As I will that of the other Champion."

Jak's breath caught at that, but Yrsillar did not so much as glance at the little man. "Both of you will live out the rest of your lives in pain. I will hold your souls in thrall, feasting at my leisure." He stepped from behind the altar and down the dais, graceful despite his size. Muscle rippled with every move he made.

As though by prearranged plan, the shadow demon darted like an arrow for the ceiling.

"I will force you to watch impotently as I swallow the souls of the ones you love."

Gale thought of Thazienne defiled by this creature and his rage doubled. Guilt, self-loathing, and hate for Yrsillar fueled his anger. He gripped the enchanted long sword, with both hands, knuckles white with anger.

"Leave him to me," he said to Jak through gritted teeth. "You keep an eye on that thing," he indicated the shadow demon, "and watch my back."

Jak nodded once, vigorously. "We'll watch your back," he replied, and held up his holy symbol in a bloody hand. His gaze went to Gale's pocket and he added meaningfully, "You're not alone, Cale. Remember that. If you accept the call, yon are his Champion."

Cale nodded and gripped his shoulder. Jak smiled and looked up to watch the shadow demon.

If you accept the call…

Tentatively, Cale reached for his pocket, for the symbol of Mask, but stopped halfway.

I won't do it this way, he thought to the Shadowlord. Staring death in the face, most everyone turned to the gods. Cale had never consciously acted out of fear. To turn to Mask now would be to surrender too much of himself. He wouldn't.

You make the first concession, he thought to Mask.

He received no reply, no stroke of divine lightning.

Unsurprised, Cale looked down the aisle and regarded the demon lord.

Yrsillar stood at the end of the center aisle, near the base of the dais. Briefly, Cale wondered what happened to the body of the Righteous Man while Yrsillar manifested here. Was he in stasis? Dissipated? Nothing? He didn't know, and had no time to consider the matter further.

He stared into the voids of the demon's eyes and held his gaze. Yrsillar said nothing but the veins beneath his leathery skin began to pulse faster. His wings fluttered intermittently, filling the room with gusts of fetid wind. He held the slit of his mouth partly open, a half-moon carved in the face of a nightmare. His claws glistened despite the gloom. Cale sensed his hunger, sensed his growing anticipation.

Cale took a step toward himInexplicably, Thamalon's words suddenly rang in Cale's brain-Unbridled aggression can sometimes be an enemy-but he pushed it aside. Unbridled aggression was all he had.

Snarling, he gripped the hilt of his blade in both hands and strode toward the monster that had murdered so many.

The gray-skinned shadow demon eyed Jak evilly as it flitted about the ceiling rafters. Willing to take his eye from it for only a moment, Jak spared a quick glance over his shoulder to shout encouragement to his friend.

"Cale! Remember that you're not alone! Mask is with you if you ask!" Cale showed no sign of having heard him.

Jak looked back just in time to see the demon streaking down for him.

"Dark!" He dived to the side and used the back of a pew for cover. The shadow demon's claws screeched across the wood and tore his cloak, but did not.reach flesh. He regained his feet in an instant. The demon had already darted back into the air. It hovered near the ceiling, willing to wait for another opportunity.

"Feeeeed," it hissed at him.

Cale's fury propelled him forward. Feeling nothing but hate, he walked resolutely toward Yrsillar. He felt apart from himself, numb, as though he were watching the scene unfold from above. With each row of pews that he passed, his anger increased. Yrsillar's veins pulsed faster, his claws opening and closing in reflexive anticipation.

Undeterred, Cale's hate demanded that he advance. His walk turned to a run, his run to a charge. Yrsillar crouched on his powerful legs and held his claws out wide.

As Cale closed the last few strides, he held his blade high and shouted years of pent-up rage into the rafters, sent a lifetime of self-loathing careening into the nothingness of the Abyss. Yrsillar answered with a terrible roar so full of malice that it would have blown Cale to his knees but for his forward momentum.

Only then, in that final moment, did it occur to Cale that Mask had long ago made the first concession, had made two, in fact-the darkness back in the real shrine, and the-golden aura that protected him now.

Too late, he realized, as he bent against the demon lord's roar like a man in a snowstorm. He would have to stand or fall on his own.

Yrsillar made no move to retreat, he merely crouched and held his claws at the ready, a giant predator awaiting its prey. His veins bulged beneath his skin, tracks of livid, sickening purple.

Cale lunged forward and swung his blade toward Yrsillar's chest in a vicious upward are, the stroke so powerful that it cut through the air with a whistle.

As fast as a hunting cat, the huge demon bounded back a step and hopped atop the dais. Cale pursued, reversed his stroke, and chopped downward. Impossibly fast, Yrsillar jerked back. Gale's long sword rang sparking off the altar block.

Little more than a gray blur, a claw streaked for Gale's throat. Using the altar as cover, he dropped beneath the blow and slashed upward with his long sword. The blade cut a swath through empty air. Yrsillar's arm had arced before Cale ever got his blade into position. He jumped back to his feet, held the long sword before him like a pike and lunged over the altar for the demon lord's chest.

Yrsillar swooped up and under with one of his claws. Caught in mid-lunge, Gale's momentum prevented a dodge. Golden light flashed brightly as his

protective spell flared out of existence. The power of the spell seared Yrsillar's flesh but the demon lord did not recoil. Cale whiffed the meaty odor of charred skin. The powerful, dagger-length daws tore through Gale's cloak and split his leather armor from abdomen to throat. A shallow gash opened along his entire torso. The blow stunned him. Warm blood coursed from the wound. Without the protective spell, his soul began to seep from his body/Unable to defend himself, he reeled on the altar, an ironic offering to Mask awaiting the sacrificial knife.

Yrsillar roared, balled his hand, and drove his fist into Gale's chest.

The blow crashed down on Cale with the force of a maul.

Cale careened backward off the altar awl flew through the air, arms flailing. Only the remnant of his enchanted leather armor kept his ribs from shattering.

He crashed four rows deep among the pews and collapsed in an awkward heap of bones and wood. His sword flew from his grasp and clattered away.

Battered and gasping for breath, he knew then that he was a dead man. He had failed Thazienne, had failed Mask, had failed himself. Yrsillar would finish him before he drew another breath.

The shadow demon swooped for Jak. Ready, and still clutching his holy symbol, Jak spat the magical words to a spell, "/rare luxos," and pointed at the diving demon.

Instantly, a glaring light flared in the demon's eyes, turned the milky-white orbs into glowing opals. Blinded in the middle of its headlong descent, it clawed wildly at its face and tried to pull up.

Nimbly leaping pews, Jak dived to the side as the enraged creature crashed to the floor and sent pews flying. Still hissing in anger, it climbed to its feet and flailed about with its daws in a mad effort to locate him.

Teed on you," it hissed, enraged. "Feed."

It swept wide arcs with its daws. Jak scrambled over and under the pews to avoid its reach, but it pressed him relentlessly. His spell would last for hours, but he would run out of room to run long before that.

The shadow* demon sniffed at the air as it lashed about, tike a vile hound searching for the scent trail. Jak knew that despite its blindness it could somehow sense him. He had been invisible in the Soargyl bedroom and still one had sniffed him out. He kept moving, dodging over and under pews.

It stayed on him, always one step behind, but never giving him time to plan a course of action. Jak could sense its hunger for him. It hissed and beat its wings in angry frustration. Purple veins pulsed beneath leathery skin. Its rancid-meat smell made Jak want to gag, but he dared not make a sound. He hid behind a pew, gasping, mind racing, and tried to think.

He dared not close to attack, even from the rear. An inadvertent strike by one of the enraged demon's claws would dispel his protective aura. He could cast the same spell again, of course, but that would take time. Time that he wouldn't have if he were in hand-to-hand combat with the demon. If he went too long without the protective spell, the plane would kill him.

"Feed. Feeeed."

It dosed on him He readied himself and pulled two of his throwing daggers free.

Might as well see if plain steel can hurt it in this form, he thought. He touched each blade to his luck-stone, raised his arm, threw, and darted away.

When the demon erupted in a pained squeal, Jak smiled. Thank you, Lady, he thought to Tymora. The blades had struck home.

Feed on that, wretch, he thought with a grin.

Teeed on you, little creature. Feeeed."

Leaping behind another pew, Jak placed his holy symbol in his belt pouch and jerked another dagger free of its sheath. Pumped full of adrenaline, and focused only on the demon, he suddenly felt no fear. The realization changed him. He had been frightened only moments before and he remembered being utterly terrified back at the Soargyls the last time he had faced one of these creatures.

I'm getting more like Gale every daAbruptly, the demon's hissing ceased and gave way to a series of softly muttered words. Jak didn't recognize the language, but he recognized the intonation and cadence of spellcasting.

By the gods, spells?

He peeked over the pew.

The opalescent glow had vanished from the demon's eyes. The creature had dispelled Jak's cantrip, and now it could see him. Its milky white eyes instantly discovered him.

It stalked forward, wings beating.

"Dark," Jak oathed.

He rose from behind the pew, dagger and short sword ready. The demon's hunger hit him tike a bitter wind, but he vowed not to give in to fear, vowed to give this demonic bastard the fight of its life. The last time he had faced one of these creatures, he'd frozen up, humiliated himself by wetting his pants.

"Not this time," he promised himself.

"Come on," he said through fritted teeth, and beckoned it forward with his bWe*At that moment, a victorious roar from the front of the shrine jerked his head around. He watched as Yrsillar swiped a daw through Gale's midsection, followed by a crushing blow to the chest that sent his Mend flailing through toe air to crash among the front rowsofpews^

"Caler

The shadow demon took advantage of Jak's lapse and leaped forward, quick as an adder to strike the little man.

Though the strength behind the daw nearly knocked the blade from His fist, Jak managed a parry with his dagger, A second claw rake followed. Jak leaped backward out of range then immediately lunged forward with his short sword. He was too slow. The demon backed off in a crouch and hissed, its claws weaving hypnotically through the air.

Jak saw his death in those daws. The demon was too fast, and when it hit him, his protective aura would flare out"Burn me," he said, an idea dawning.

The demon's touch would probably dispel the aura, but in the process its energy would hurt the creature, the original intent behind Jak's spell.

The beginnings of a plan took shape in his mind, a desperate gambit He would probably die, but if he did, he hoped to take the demon with

Gale righted himself and scrambled to all fours, expecting Yrsillar to thunder toward him at any moment. His lungs ached and his head throbbed. Dazed, he crawled for his sword. When he dosed his fist over the hilt, he saw the white vapor of his soul bleeding from the skin on his hand. It billowed bade toward the altar, back toward Yrsillar. Already he was beginning to feel the effect it had on him. He was growing weaker by the instant. In minutes he would be dead. He lifted his increasingly heavy head and looked out over t?e pew.

Surprisingly, Yrsillar remained on the dais. The voids of his eyes focused on Gale and he began to laugh. Gale quailed before that terrible_ sound and ducked back behind the pew, breathing hard.

"I can taste your despair, Erevis Gale," Yrsillar said. "Only now, at tine very last, do you realize your felly."

Summoning his courage, Gale again looked over the top of the pew. Yrsillar made no move to come finish the fight. Instead, he seemed content to let Gale die slowly. With the protective aura dispelled, the gray vapor of Gale's soul flowed into Yrsillar.

While he watched, the great demon sucked in the streams of Ms life-force. The demon's great body shuddered in ecstasy with each mouthful. Gale wanted to vomit. He was watching his soul be devoured piecemeal.

Yrsillar laughed as he feasted. Tfour weakness is apparent to you now, is it not, Erevis Gale?" He gobbled in still more. "So fares the so-called Champion of Mask. So fare any who rely on gods for salvation."

Or course, Gale had not relied on Mask for salvation, had not relied on Mask for anything. He did now. Prayer came hard to him, but he quelled his pride and did it.

Lend me strength, Shadowlord, he thought. If I'm to be your Champion, lend me strength.

His body suddenly grew less sluggish. Shielded from Yrsillar by the pews and invigorated by the prayer, he crawled along the row until he reached the center aisle.

"I will not give up" he vowed, the words hollow in the face of his weakness. "I will not!"

Yrsillar's laughter mocked his resolve. The demon lord continued to devour his soul, piece by piece.

Gale knew he had to retrieve Jak and get the Nine Hells out of here. The little man had been right all along-they should not have fought Yrsillar on his home plane. They needed to get back to their own plane fast or they would both die here.

I let my anger and pride blind me. He should have heeded Thamalon's advice-unbridled aggression had been his enemy. His fear of losing himself had been his enemy. -"

The sudden understanding brought him to reach into his pocket and pull out the felt mask. Its touch brought him comfort. He realized now that espousing a faith did not mean surrendering himself; it meant the possibility of bettering himself. In a flash of inspiration, he realized that his lifelong derision of religion had its true origin not in his fear of losing himself but in his own self-hatred. He had pretended to despise religion because he had deemed himself unworthy of it. But his own standards had been too high, Mask had called him, and Mask knew Gale's flaws.

He thought of Jak and Ansril Ammhaddan, both of them priests, and both of them flawed men, but both good men, too. For the first time in his life, Gale realized that the one did not exclude the other-he could be both flawed and good. With that, he took the final step toward faith.

I accept, godsdammit, he thought to Mask. He only wished he had done so sooner. He had become Mask's Champion only to die at Yrsillar's hands. The irony almost drew a smile.

Still, he'd be damned if he'd die without a fight. He jumped to his feet.

Yrsillar's laughter immediately ceased. "You are going nowhere!"

Gale didn't dare turn around. He ran back toward the double doors as fast as his weakened legs would carry him.

From the corner of his eye, Jak saw Gale sprinting toward him. His protective spell was gone! He trailed the mist of his soul behind him like smoke from a flickering candle.

With Jak momentarily distracted, the shadow demon raised a claw.

Jak staggered backward out of reach. Gale shouted to b?Ti as he closed.

"I'm coming, little man!"‹

The shadow demon turned its head toward Gale.

Seeing his opportunity, Jak charged, arms wide in an embrace. Too late, the demon tried to bound backward. Jak crashed into it and wrapped hisJWtefi^s around its leathery midsection in a great hug. Brilliant golden light flared blindingly bright. As the protective aura dissipated, its energy "Epicxle*iat0 the shadow demon. The stink of charred demon flesh filled Jak's nostrils. The creature screamed, spasmed, and tried to pull away, but Jak held on. Absently, he noted the feel of the creature's skin, cold and flabby, like a wineskin filled with ke water. A claw tore painfully across his back. He screamed but held on. Another daw gripped him around the head, lifted him into the air, and flung him away like a rag doll.

He grunted, hitting the ground awkwardly. Jak looked up to see the demon standing over him, its abdomen and torso horribly burned and smoking.

Gale appeared behind it, long sword overhead. He chopped across and neatly swiped the demon's head off Milky-white eyes widened with surprise, and the shadow demon soundlessly collapsed. Thick purple liquid trickled from its neck.

"Gale!"

"Little man." Gale extended a hand and helped him to his feet "We're leaving."

"Good," Jak said. When he gripped Gale's forearm, he saw their souls bleeding from both of them. Hie gray mist rose from their skin and floated back toward the altar where Yrsillar still stood, eating. Jak felt weakened already, but whether from the drain or the bleeding wound in his back, he couldn't tell.

"You cannot escape me," Yrsillar boomed, but remained on the dais.

Gale steered Jak for the door. "Let's move."

Behind them, Yrsillar began to mouth the words to a spell.

"Dark! I didn't know they could cast spells, Gale. I swear I didn't."

Theyran.

Jak glanced behind them to see that a distortion had formed in the air before Yrsillar. In a voice as loud as thunder, the demon lord spat the final magical syllables of the spell and pointed a clawed hand at Gale and Jak. At once the distortion spread out and took on the shape of a wave, a tide of pure nothingness. Pulsing with power, it undulated toward them like a great worm. Picking up speed, it swallowed pews, floors, and ceilings, and left only blanknessin its wake. Yrsillar and the dais sat amidst an ocean of absolute emptiness.

Jak found the emptiness hypnotic, the oblivion tempting.

"You're going nowhere!" the demon lord boomed again.

"Run!" Gale ordered, looking over his shoulder and pulling Jak along. "Run!"

Jak ran. Trailing wisps of soul in their wake, they ran down the rest of the aisle as quick as they could, crashed through the doors, and sped down the hallway for the gate that led back home.

Right behind them and gaining, the wave burst through the door, wall, and floor. It consumed everything in its path. They reached the gate. Gale lifted Jak to throw him through.

^o," Jak said. "We go together or not at all."

The wave sped toward them. Gale didn't argue. He nodded, picked Jak up, and slung him over his back. "Hang on."

The wave closed in, swallowing everything. Looking into its emptiness, Jak felt dizzy. He closed his eyes and clutched Gale around the neck.

"Go!" he screamed. "Go!"

Gale backed up a few steps, spun on his heel, and sprinted forward. The wall of nothingness seemed about to engulf the colors of the gate; to swallow them in emptiness.:c

"Gale!" Jak was face to face with the void. Bile raced up his throat. They wouldn't make it!

Gale took a final stride and leaped into the air.

Jak's final shout resounded in his mind but Gale could make no reply. He felt his body stretched as thin as parchment and a tingling that quickly grew painful, as though tiny needles had been driven into his pores. There was light and color.

"Oomph!"

"Dllarlk!"

They toppled from the gate and collapsed to the floor in a heap. They quickly disentangled themselves from one another and tried to recover their bearings.

Above them, a pulsing void of emptiness swirled in the air-the other side of the gate that they had just traveled through. With each pulse, it pulled the hairs upright on Gale's arms and head, like a tide trying to pull him back to sea. The pull of the void.

He took a deep breath, inhaled the acrid and coppery air of the real guildhouse. He sat up and looked around.

Corpse after bloody corpse Uttered the hall, over twenty of them, all gutted and decapitated. They were the ghouls he and Jak had slaughtered in their vaporous forms back in the Abyss.

Jak stared at the slaughter. "Dark," he said in wonder.

Looking upon the carnage, Cale felt no horror, just a distant, grim satisfaction. The ghouls were twisted evil creatures-irredeemable horrors-and he and Jak had done what they had to.

He surveyed the rest of the guildhouse, the real guildhouse-wood plank floors, piles of broken furnishings, heaps of filth. The whole was lit by the familiar flickering of torches. They had made it back alive.

He was surprised to find his strength returning, the energy of home apparently replacing that sapped by the Abyss. With the return of feeling came a heightening of pain-his ribs ached sharply and the gash in his torso throbbed with every beat of his heart.

The pain of being alive, he supposed. The pain of the human condition. He welcomed the sensation. Better that than the oblivion of the void.

Revivified, if not quite whole, he looked at Jak with raised eyebrows.

"Jak?"

The little man nodded. "I feel it too. It's replacing the life we lost to the Abyss." After a thoughtful pause, he added, "But it can't replace the life-force consumed by Yrsillar."

Yrsillar. He'd be coming as soon as he realized that his spell had not killed them. Cale climbed to his feet, one hand holding his blade, one hand holding the felt mask.

"Let's do this," he said, and helped Jak to his feet. "Hell be coming."

Jak nodded, pulled out his holy symbol. "First some heating. We're both wounded."

Without waitingfora reply, he chanted the words to a spell and laid a magically charged hand on Gale's arm. Gale's bruised ribs instantly stopped aching and the gash in his torso closed. Jak cast another on himself, sealed the slash in his back and the scratches about his face and head.

"That's it, Cale, that's all I can do," Jak said as he pocketed his holy symbol.

Gale nodded, held up his blade. "Well make do with only these, then."

, Jak chuckled softly, indicated Gale's shredded cloak and torn leather armor. "Not exactly in the best shape for this though, are we?"

"We'll be all right," Cale reassured him. "We've got an extra ally now," He showed Jak the felt mask he held in his hand.

The Mttle man took in Cale's meaning, nodded knowingly. "You've accepted then?"

"I've accepted. Let's go."

Together, they turned and walked for the doors that opened onto the shrine of Mask, his god. Jak fell in beside him.

Before they had taken five paces, the sound of an opening gate from within the shrine gave them pause. The voice of fee Righteous Man, the voice of Yrsillar, came through the doors.

"Erevis Cale! You will face me!" want nothing more," Gale muttered, and made for the doors.

As they walked, Jak grabbed Gale's forearm. "Remember, he's weaker here, but hell still have magic. We need to be careful."

"We will." He looked down on Jak and held up the felt mask. "I have to face him in the shrine. We fought him on his turf. Now well fight him on mine."

Jak eyed the mask, nodded in understanding, and the two friends strode for the shrine.

As he walked- Gale thought of Thazienne, of Tha-malon and Stormweather, of the warped Night Knives, the uncountable dead inadvertently caught in this demonic nightmare. He gripped his blade and the mask tightly. A reckoning was finally at hand. He jerked open the shrine doors.

Burned pews and charred ghoul corpses lay scattered about the room, the aftereffect of the magical globe Gale had exploded in the shrine two days earlier. The rest of the room remained intact, and Yrsillar, now in the form of the Righteous Man, stood in the center aisle halfway between the shrine doors and the altar to Mask. A gate swirled behind him, the doorway through which he had transported himself back.

Having seen the awful majesty of the demon lord in his true form, Gale could hardly conceive how the guildmaster's body contained such a being.

As though in answer to his thought, a distortion began to take shape around the Righteous Man's slight frame. Flickering tongues of nothingness danced around the Righteous Man's body that obscured his human form and suggested the awful magnificence of Yrsillar's true shape. To Gale, the Righteous Man's body seemed ready to burst at the seams, to vomit forth the truth of Yrsillar's being from the lie of the guildmaster's form.

"Gome, then," the demon hissed.

Without hesitation, Jak jerked free two throwing daggers. Silvery blurs in the torchlight, they sliced through t?e air for Yrsillar's throat.

Casually, Yrsillar sidestepped the first blade, then shot forth a thin arm to snatch the second dagger out of midair. Quick as a striking snake, he hurled the blade back at them.

It streaked past Gale's ear before he could move, missing by sheer luck, and sunk all the way to the hilt in the wood of the doorjamb.

"Dark," Jak breathed.

Gale nodded agreement but said nothing. The strength behind that throw had been superhuman, demonic. That meant that the frailties of the Righteous Man's body did not limit Yrsillar in this human-demon form. The realization alarmed him because it meant Yrsillar would not be as weak as they had hoped. It also exhilarated him because it perhaps meant that the demon lord could be killed, not simply transported back to the Abyss;:; v; ' i:^:;•::,: He had no more time to ponder, Yrsillar advanced, strode boldly for them, the limp of the Righteous Man no longer in evidence. The distortion about his body became increasingly defined as he neared. The terrible form of Yrsillar expanded with each step and dwarfed the human body that struggled to contain it.

"Your death will be long, Champion of a paltry power, long and painful."

Gate and Jak spread as far apart as the aisle per* mitted.

"Be careful," Gale said out of the side of his mouth.

"I'm always careful," Jak replied.

Yrsillar ignored Jak and headed directly for Gale. He bore no weapons.

Gale backed off, drawing him in, blade held defensively before him. "Come on," he breathed. "Come on."

From behind Yrsillar, Jak rose up and charged, short sword aimed straight for the creature's back.

Yrsillar whirled halfway around, sidestepped Jak's stab, and backhanded the little man's jaw. Blood and spit flew from Jak's mouth.

"Unngh." Jak flipped head over heels from the force of the blow and crumbled to the shrine floor.

Cale lunged forward and stabbed Yrsillar through the abdomen. He drove the long sword through the distortion and all the way into the Righteous Man's thin body until the tip of the blade burst out the other side his ribs. Blood poured from the wound.

"Arrrgh!" Yrsillar sagged. The demonic distortion faded, shrank back into the body of the Righteous Man. Cale grimaced and twisted the blade. He felt the metal shear at the demon's organs, gave his anger free play.

"That's for the Uskevren, ecthain," he hissed into the wrinkled face of the Righteous Man.

It was Yrsillar's voice that groaned with pain. The demon still had possession of the Righteous Man. Cale drove the blade in farther, pushing the body of the Righteous Man across the aisle.

Yrsillar spat blood and grimaced in pain.

Cale smiled grimly, satisfied and victorious. This was over.

Even as that thought crossed his mind, the body of the Righteous Man suddenly jerked up straight. The voids of Yrsillar's eyes regained their focus and their glare sent a shiver up Gale's spine. The demon lord's grimace of pain twisted into a mirthful leer. He closed a hand around Gale's wrist and began to squeeze.

"Not so easy, Champion."

Though the distortion no longer played about the

Righteous Man's form, the old man's slight body nevertheless exhibited the terrible strength of the demon lord.

Desperate, Cale maniacally jerked the long sword around and opened a hole in the Righteous Man's flesh. Yrsillar laughed into Cale's face and squeezed.

"Ahhh!" His wrist snapped. Still Yrsillar squeezed.

"Ahhhhh!" Bone grated against bone like grinding millstones. Dizzy, he thought he would pass out from the pain.

Unable to stop himself, he released the hilt of his blade. Yrsillar still gripped his wrist.

With all his strength, Cale balled his free hand into a fist-a fist that enclosed the felt mask-and punched Yrsillar in the face. Again and again he struck powerful blows that broke the Righteous Man's nose and split his lips.

With blood streaming down his battered face, Yrsillar only laughed. He lifted Cale by the wrist and shook him in the air like a child's doll. Cale screamed in agony.

Disdainfully, Yrsillar flung him aside. Cale flew through the air and crashed amongst the pews and charred ghoul corpses. Wracked with pain, he righted himself and looked up to see Yrsillar looming over him. Cale had no weapon. He crawled crabwise over the ghoul corpses, cradling his broken wrist.

"I told you that you cannot escape me," Yrsillar taunted, and spoke a word of magic. Five glowing bolts of energy streaked from the demon's extended fingers and slammed sizzling into Cale's chest.

The impact knocked him flat on his back. His chest was on fire. His breath left him. He rolled over onto his stomach and tried to crawl away. Yrsillar followed him. Cale could feel him, could feel the empty holes of the demon's eyes burning into his back.

"And you thought to challenge me! You and your ridiculous god." He laughed evilly. "I have eaten more souls than you have lived days, Erevis Gale.

Then with another magical word, another wave of energy seared Gale's back.

His vision went blurry. He struggled to stay conscious. Desperate, he clutched the felt mask in his spasming fist. Its soft touch brought him a moment of clarity.

He would die with dignity.

I'm your Champion and I won't die like a groveling dog, he thought to Mask.

Another blast of energy sent stabs of pain along his spine. He clamped his mouth shut and walled off the scream of pain that tried to burst from behind his teeth.

Though the effort nearly made him pass out, he flipped over onto his back. Yrsillar stood over him, frail with the Righteous Man's form, but awful for the power he contained.

"Damn you," Gale croaked.

Yrsillar stopped laughing, bent down to regard him with narrowed orbits. "It is you who are damned, Champion," he said. "Your soul is mine. I'll devour most of it, but leave you with just enough to remain sentient, enough so that you can appreciate your fate."

Gale tried to spit in his face, but only managed to dribble saliva down his chin. "The gods damn you," he croaked again.

Yrsillar stood upright and regarded him with amused contempt. "The gods do not damn, fool, nor do they bless. They manipulate. This is where those manipulations have brought you," his mouth twisted into a snarl, "Champion."

Yrsillar reached for him.

Though it took a supreme effort of will, Gale did not try to squirm away. He would not give Yrsillar the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. He would die defiant.

Reflexively, he threw the only thing he had left. The felt mask.

"To the Hells with you," he said.

A bird of cloth, the mask fluttered through the air and softly struck Yrsillar on the chestWithout warning, the air around the demon lord exploded in a blast of silvery-gray light. A roaring sound filled Gale's ears. A sphere of energy encapsulated the demon lord, sizzling and burning him. He roared in pain, reached for Gale in a rage, but the energy held him shackled.

Shielding his eyes, Gale scooted away.

Yrsillar's roars grew more and more pained, his promises more and more dire. The sizzling intensified. "You will suffer an eternity of pain, Erevis Gale! I shall peel your soul like an onion and devour you over the course of millennia. I shall-"

The cascade of silver energy grew brighter and brighter until it reached a sparkling, sizzling crescendo.

"No!" roared Yrsillar, and swung his arms wildly against his confinement. It was a futile effort.

With the suddenness of a lightning strike, the demon's translucent form was torn from the suddenly slack body of the Righteous Man. The mortal separated from the demonic with the sound of ripping cloth. The guildmaster's body fell to the ground unmoving. Yrsillar's writhing demonic form, still contained in the silver energy, was blown across the shrine and into the gate. His screams of rage and pain diminished as his body grew smaller and smaller.

The gate snapped shut with a sudden pop, the sound as final as a funeral dirge. Another such pop sounded from the hallway outside the shrine as that gate closed. Within seconds, the ubiquitous pulsing had ceased. All the gates in the guildhouse must have closed.

Gale looked around stupefied, dazed. The shrine was empty and silent.

It took a few moments to register. Yrsillar was gone. They had won. The realization affected him strangely. He fell back and tried to laugh, but managed only a pained grimace. He wasn't yet ready for laughter. Emotion flooded him though-not happiness, but something he couldn't quite put a name to. His eyes welled. He blinked away the tears.

How? he wondered, but already knew the answer.

Mask had banished Yrsillar, or Gale had banished Yrsillar with the power of Mask. It no longer mattered which. He was now a man of faith.

I accept, you bastard, he thought with a half-smile. I accept.

He lay still and let his emotions run their course. After a few moments, he recovered himself enough to climb unsteadily to his feet. Jak needed him.

He staggered along the aisle, past the body of the Righteous Man. The guildmaster's abdomen gaped from where Gale had slashed it open. The rest of the body looked shrunken and dried out, sucked empty. The felt mask lay on the floor beside it. Gale stooped to retrieve it.

"Caaale," the Righteous Man croaked.

Startled, Cale jerked back.

"Gale…" A thin arm tried to move, failed, and instead a bony finger beckoned.

After a moment's hesitation, Cale moved forward and knelt beside his former guildmaster. "I'm here."

The Righteous Man's eyes fluttered open. Cale gave a start-the sockets sat empty, mere pink holes in his sunken, wrinkled face.

Cale resisted the impulse to touch him, to give him comfort. He felt no affection for the guildmaster, only a distant anger. "What happened? How-"

"You're the Champion," the Righteous Man whispered.

"I am," Cale acknowledged. With his good hand, he picked up the felt mask and placed it in his pocket. "I am." There was nothing more to be said. Jak needed him. He started to rise, but the Righteous Man gripped him by the forearm with surprising strength.

"Wait, Erevis," he wheezed.

The Righteous Man's touch was dry and cold.

"I'm not afraid to die. I'm at peace with the Shadow-lord now. I see his plan." He coughed a bloody foam onto his chin. "But I want to be at peace with you, Erevis, Champion." Another round of coughing. He pulled Cale closer. "I didn't mean for Yrsillar to go free…"

Cale waited another moment but the guildmaster said nothing more. Cale gave him what absolution he could; no one should die with guilt on their soul. "I know," he said, disengaged his hand, and started to rise.

The Righteous Man jerked to consciousness, coughed, beckoned Cale closer. "No, that's not what I meant. I didn't free him…"

Cale stiffened at that. If the Righteous Man hadn't freed Yrsillar, then who?

The guildmaster struggled to say something. A word hung on his blood-flecked lips. Cale leaned forward, clutched the guildmaster's tattered robe with his good hand"Riven," the Righteous Man softly hissed. "Riven and the Zhentarim set Yrsillar free."

Cale knelt over Jak, probed his jaw with gentle fingers. Not broken, though the little man had lost several teeth. His cheeks had swollen enough to distort his face. His head would be fuzzy for hours.

"Jak," he called, and gently nudged his friend. "Jak."

After a few moments, the little man's eyes fluttered open, focused blearily on Cale.

"Cale?"

Cale smiled. "Yrsillar's gone. We won, my friend."

Despite his words, he didn't feel like he had won. He felt little more than tired and angry at Riven and the Zhentarim.

"Gone." Jak's" small hand found Gale's arm and squeezed. The little man sighed and closed his eyes. "How?"

Cale quickly related the story of the combat, of the mask and Yrsillar's banishment. Afterwards, he looked at the mask he held in his hand. "I'm his Champion, it seems."

Jak regarded the mask for a moment, looked into Gale's eyes, and nodded knowingly. "You're his Champion. But you're still your own man, Erevis." He chuckled and said, "That's probably why he chose you in the first place."

"I am still my own man," Cale affirmed. He knew now that he could have his faith and his individuality. Smiling, he used his good hand to help the little man to sit upright. Careful not to jolt his broken wrist, he took his waterskin from his pack and offered it to his friend.

Jak took a sip, swished it around in his mouth, and spat blood. Afterward, he eyed Cale shrewdly. "Can you cast spells?"

Surprisingly, Cale did not find the question alarming. "I don't know. How would I know?"

Jak took another gulp from the waterskin. He swallowed this one down. "You just know."

Cale considered the mask. My holy symbol,he reminded himself. He didn't feel any different- certainly didn't feel like a priest, or a Champion. "Then I don't think so. No, I can't."

"Try it," Jak said.

"How in the name of the gods do I try it? I've never cast a spell before."

Jak looked at him as though he were a dolt. "Dark, Cale, you're not a mage. You don't need years of training. It's a divine gift. You will it to happen."

"Will it? That's it?"

"You will it," Jak said with a nod and a pained wince, "then pray to your god to realize your will."

Cale was incredulous. "That's it?"

"That's it," Jak replied. "Now try it."

Though he felt an idiot, Cale held the mask in his hand, closed his eyes, and willed his wrist healed.

Nothing happened.

"You have to pray," Jak said. "You can do it silently if you need to."

Cale saw Jak's smirk but chose to ignore it. He calmed himself and for the second time that day, prayed silently to Mask, this time for the power to heal. At first nothing happened, but then his consciousness flew open. A dam had burst in his brain.

"Dark," he whispered, awed. A warmth filled him, a presence joined with him and made its will his own. He knew then the feeling of serving something greater than himself, knew then the transcendence of the divine.

His wrist began to tingle. Suddenly, bones and tendons knit back together. The pain ceased. He opened his eyes, held his hand before his face, and rotated his wrist-no pain. The pain in his back and chest, too, had vanished. He had healed. The realization humbled and exhilarated him.

"You're still your own man," Jak reassured him.

"I know," he replied. Mask had made no demands. Cale would have done everything he had done with or without Mask's involvement. A convergence of the mortal and divine interests, Jak had called it.

So be it, he thought. Touching Jak, he prayed, and willed his best friend healed. The swelling in the little man's face diminished until it had all but vanished. Jak's bruises disappeared. His color returned and he shot Cale a grateful smile.

"This is going to be an interesting time, Cale," he said, and rose to his feet.

"Indeed," Cale replied. He gently tucked his holy symbol into his pocket.

Jak's smile fell when he looked around the shrine- ghoul corpses, charred pews, the stink of death. His eyes lingered long on the corpse of the Righteous Man.

"I guess you're finally out of the guild."

"I am," Cale replied. He had, however, entered into a brotherhood of a different sort.

"And I'm out of the Harpers."

"You are."

"So what now?"

Cale too looked around the shrine. The whole guild-house had become a slaughter-pen, an abomination to man and god.

"We burn it," he said. "Gut the entire place. The sewer entrance too. There's oil in a storeroom upstairs."

•(c)• • amp;• • amp;• • amp;• •€›•

They spent the next hour soaking the basement in lantern oil. Cale had seen many such fires set by Night Mask arsonists back in Westgate-he knew how to ensure a good burn. Afterward, he threw a torch on the kindling point. The fire would gut the basement before the flames were even visible from the street outside.

And by then, the building would be lost. Selgaunt's fire-crews would spend their energy preventing the flames from spreading to the buildings nearby. The Night Knife guildhouse was dead. The Night Knife guild was dead, and Cale had been reborn.

Side by side the two friends walked upstairs, from the darkness and toward the light.

"I can't believe it's over," Jak said. The smell of smoke was already strong in the air.

"It isn't," Cale said, and left it at that. This end was only a beginning-his whole life had changed in the course of only two days. He now had to return to Stormweather and face Thamalon with the truth, the whole truth, no more lying. He had to face Thazienne, who by now must have read his note and learned his feelings for her. His life would be different from now on, harder in some ways, but at least he'd be able to face himself.

"We never did find out who Yrsillar meant by'the other,' " Jak observed, as they emerged onto the street.

Cale nodded. His mind had already turned to his next task-Riven had set this entire nightmare into motion.