Shadowbred

CHAPTER ELEVEN

4 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms

Nobles from nearby Yhaunn, Tulbeg, Surd, and Ornstar had been streaming into Ordulin for days to attend the moot. The city was thronged. A steady stream of caravans rattled down Tildaryn's Road from Yhaunn's docks, bringing grains from the distant markets of Ravens Bluff and Procampur. Perishable foodstuffs were teleported from distant locales directly to city warehouses. The city's mills turned night and day. The markets were well stocked and prices were only slightly above average. The people cheered their new overmistress for her decisiveness. The influx of nobles and food put the citizens of the capital in an almost festive mood.

Meanwhile, Mirabeta had dispatched Elyril to supervise the arrest of any remaining nobles in the city known to be loyal to Endren. Most had heard of the warrant ahead of time and fled before the Helms could take them into custody, but that bothered neither Mirabeta nor Elyril. Without Endren, the nobles resistant to Mirabeta's ascension were headless. They would hole up in their manses or upcountry estates and accept whatever outcome the moot decided.

The city was firmly in Mirabeta's hands, in Elyril's hands, and indirectly, in Shar's hands. The people supported their new overmistress. The ugliness that had occurred in the High Council and on the streets faded from memory.

Ringed by a dozen armed and armored Helms, Mirabeta and Elyril stood outside their carriage on the cobblestone road near Ordulin's southern gate to await the arrival of the Saerloonians. A crowd had gathered around them, eager to see the Overmistress of Sembia, eager to see the pomp that went along with the Saerloonian delegation's arrival. Mirabeta waved to her citizens and they cheered.

Knowing precisely when the Blades would attack. Mirabeta had dispatched a force of Helms a few days earlier to meet the Saerloonian delegation on the road. Ostensibly the Helms were an honor escort, but Mirabeta's true purpose was to win the Saerloonians' goodwill by providing aid either during or soon after the Blades' attack.

"Sending out the Helms was a masterstroke, aunt," Elyril said, rubbing her temples. She had not been able to snuff any minddust before leaving the estate and her head ached from the lack.

Mirabeta held her smile as she waved to the crowd. "Mind your tongue and feign surprise, niece."

The Saerloonian delegation and the Ordulin Helms appeared in the distance. A rider ahead of the main body sped forward. A cloud of dust from the dry road heralded his progress. The crowd murmured in anticipation. As the rider drew nearer, Elyril recognized his green uniform as that of one of Ordulin's Helms.

"One of Raithspur's men," she said.

Many in the crowd made the same observation. The murmur of the crowd grew louder when the blood on the rider's tabard became visible. Mirabeta and Elyril, accompanied by four Helms, stepped forward to meet the man.

The rider pulled his horse to a stop before the overmistress and dismounted. Road dust covered him. He'd seen perhaps twenty winters and had only a thin beard. He bowed to Mirabeta.

"What has occurred?" Mirabeta asked, loudly enough to be overheard.

"The Saerloonian delegation was attacked, Overmistress," the young Helm said. "We arrived in time to aid them. Several of our men were killed as well as several among the Saerloonians."

Mirabeta put her hand to her mouth in shock. Elyril gasped in feigned surprise, though the matter could not have unfolded better. The crowd grumbled with anger.

"Who attacked?" shouted several voices in the crowd. "Who?"

Mirabeta waved them to silence and asked the young man, "Who were the attackers, soldier?"

The soldier hesitated, then said, "They appeared to be men in service to Endren and the Hulorn of Selgaunt."

The crowd gasped. Mirabeta appeared shocked. Elyril had to control a sudden desire to giggle. Several members of the crowd shouted expletives, cursing Selgaunt and Saerb and Endren. Others looked less sure.

"How many among you are wounded?" Mirabeta asked.

"Nearly a dozen, Overmistress."

Mirabeta turned to the Helm nearest her and ordered him, "Summon Jemb to the gates. I want priests here on the doublequick."

The Helm saluted her and sped off through the crowd and into the city.

The crowd watched in a hush as the rest of the Saerloonian delegation approached. Dust covered the carriages and two of them rode on bent axles. The Ordulin Helms rode in a protective circle around the Saerloonian delegation. Raithspur rode foremost. The broad, bearded captain of Ordulin's guard spotted Elyril and Mirabeta. He spurred his horse forward and dismounted.

"We came upon the Saerloonians while they were under attack from dogs out of Selgaunt and Saerb. They fled when they saw us."

"Did you take any of them alive?" Mirabeta asked.

Elyril tensed, touched her holy symbol.

"None," Raithspur said. "And they collected their dead while their wizard's spells delayed us."

Elyril breathed out. Mirabeta said, "A pity, but well done, Captain Raithspur. I have summoned priests to the gates. Gather any that are wounded and we will see to them."

Raithspur turned and issued orders as the delegation dismounted. The soldiers assisted their wounded fellows. The Saerloonians all eyed Mirabeta with unfeigned gratitude.

The drivers of the Saerloonian carriages stepped down from their seats, placed wooden steps on the ground, and opened the carriage doors. The Saerloonian nobles and their advisors stepped forth, glittering in their finery despite the combat. Elyril thought they looked none the worse for wear. She noted a priest of Gond among their number.

The crowd greeted their appearance with a cheer. The nobles seemed taken aback by their reception but managed smiles and waves.

Elyril recognized only one of the faces, that of Genik Ressial, a wealthy Saerloonian merchant whose family had made its fortune in spices and exotic fruits from the south. Road dust coated his jacket, breeches, and boots. His dark hair hung lank over his pale face.

He must have been the delegation's leader because he approached Elyril and Mirabeta as soon as he recognized them. When he reached them, he bowed. "Overmistress Selkirk. Mistress Elyril. Forgive our appearance. The road has been a hard one."

"Do not be silly, Master Ressial," answered Mirabeta.

"Your troops saved our lives, Overmistress."

"Saerloon is our friend and ally, Master Ressial," Mirabeta answered.

"It was fortuitous that you sent out the escort, Overmistress," Elyril observed.

"Indeed," Genik said with a solemn nod. "We had heard the matter with Endren had reached a head, but we had not expected such treachery. This is civil war!"

"Who could have expected this?" Mirabeta answered. "The minds of traitors are impossible to fathom."

Again Genik nodded and Mirabeta smiled.

"But now you are among friends," she said, and touched his arm.

She looked to the rest of the Saerloonian nobles and proclaimed, "You are all among friends now. The traitors failed of their purpose as all traitors must. Your delegation is received with warmth. Welcome to the capital."

The crowd cheered and the nobles bowed and curtsied. Elyril, too, smiled. No doubt the Saerloonians would support whatever Mirabeta wanted to do to put down the "rebellion." As one of Sembia's leading cities, the voices of its nobles would carry much weight in the moot.

Elyril thanked Shar and resolved to reward herself with minddust.

The news of the attack on the Saerloonians burned through Ordulin like wildfire. Mirabeta hired rumormongers to stoke the flames. The news incensed the nobles who had arrived already for the moot. Mirabeta spent the day collecting oaths of loyalty and promises of troops from the nobles. Urlamspyr pledged loyalty, as did the nobles of Mulhessen. Only Daerlun remained neutral, and that mattered little. The Daerlunians were more Cormyrean than Sembian.

Elyril used enspelled rumormongers to start the call among the people that Mirabeta be elected permanent overmistress with war regent authority. She would let the sentiment stew in the heat of the city for a time before encouraging her aunt to broach the subject with the assembled nobility.

She spent the evening with her aunt, creating the edict that would be read throughout the city the next day. It would take Sembia into civil war. Despite the fact that she had been integral in arranging events, Elyril's hand still shook as she read the paper aloud.

"Yesterday, soldiers from Selgaunt and Saerb engaged in a most cowardly and ignoble surprise attack on members of the Saerloonian delegation as they made their way to Ordulin for a moot of their peers. This attack appears to be retaliation for the arrest of the murderer Endren Corrinthal and in furtherance of his and his co-conspirators' attempt to seize power in Sembia through force of arms."

Elyril paused and smiled at the irony. She continued. "This treason will not stand. As of yesterday evening, I have dispatched troops to ensure peace in the nation, see to the safety of the rest of the delegates, and bring the traitors to justice. The assembled nobles have pledged full cooperation and resources. I have called a muster in Ordulin and Saerloon. The leaders of this insurrection will be held accountable for their treasonous deeds.

"Meanwhile, the nobles already assembled here will convocate in a moot-a rump moot-that will determine the next course for the state."

Mirabeta had already asked each of the nobles to dispatch to Ordulin or Saerloon as many men-both Sembian army and city guardsmen-as they could spare. Assembling the army would take time, but the process was under way.

Meanwhile, Mirabeta had dispatched five hundred Helms westward to act as escorts for some of the outlying nobility. She also sent forth the full force of Malkur Forrin's Blades to eliminate the Selgauntans. Mirabeta's spies in Selgaunt indicated that a small delegation had left the city three days earlier. They had no idea of the danger into which they were riding and would be dead before they ever heard Mirabeta's edict. Mirabeta would simply claim that they had been killed in a foiled attack on forces loyal to Ordulin.

Events were unfolding as well as Elyril could have hoped. She knew Shar was driving events. She continued to watch for the sign, for the book. The Shadowstorm was coming, she knew, and she rejoiced.

Mirabeta nodded at the edict. "Get it to the criers."

Elyril preferred to seal it and send it along later. She carefully folded the edict.

"This has been all too easy," Mirabeta said to Elyril. "I suspect other forces at work."

Elyril offered another explanation. "The realm has been on the edge of a sword since the Rage. The drought and Rain of Fire compounded the tension. Sembia has been ripe for change for a generation. You are its agent, Aunt. The only other forces at work are historical ones."

Mirabeta nodded, thoughtful.

Elyril changed the subject lest her aunt start to delve too deeply into causes.

"Aunt, what of Endren Corrinthal?"

Mirabeta looked up and made a dismissive gesture. "What of him? He is under constant guard in his tallhouse. None see him and he sees no one."

Elyril nodded. "But he remains a latent danger. Someone will try to free him. There are many among the nobility who will frown at your ascension but do nothing to stop it, unless they have a leader. Endren is that leader. You must ensure that he cannot ever serve as the lynchpin around which your opposition forms."

Mirabeta nodded thoughtfully. "I could order his execution. His guilt is now beyond doubt. No one will protest."

As much as Elyril wished to see Endren dead-mostly because it would hurt Abelar Corrinthal-and his soul trapped in her holy symbol, she thought an official execution too extreme. Mirabeta had won much goodwill with the people of Ordulin by appearing above politics. Endren's execution would be perceived as political retaliation.

"Perhaps you could make an example of him instead. Imprison him."

"He is already imprisoned."

Elyril shook her head. "He is arrested. I am suggesting that he be imprisoned, not in Ordulin, but in Yhaunn. In the Hole."

Mirabeta looked shocked, then intrigued, then pleased. She smiled. "Endren Corrinthal in the Hole of Yhaunn. The thought pleases me."

"I thought it might," Elyril said. "And if he were to die while serving his sentence…" she shrugged. "That would not be surprising to anyone."

The Hole of Yhaunn was the most notorious official prison in Sembia. Few who were sentenced to serve there ever emerged. At one time a mine, the Time of Troubles had left it a zone of dead magic. Elduth Yarmmaster, the overmaster before Kendrick Selkirk, had converted it to a prison and sent his political and mercantile rivals there to labor and die in the dark.

"Well conceived, Elyril. I will order it tomorrow." Mirabeta cocked her head and said, "I think you enjoy the trappings of power, not so?"

Elyril smiled uncertainly and nodded.

"Never forget who holds the true power," Mirabeta said sternly. "You are an advisor to the overmistress. Nothing less. But nothing more."

"I know well who holds the power," Elyril said, and brushed her fingers over the invisible holy symbol of Shar at her throat.

Elyril returned to her room and snuffed nearly a palmful of minddust. The headache that had plagued her all day vanished in an instant. She stripped off everything save her invisible holy symbol and danced with the shadows that painted the walls, while Kefil sang her a dirge and she thought of the Lord Sciagraph's touch.

Later, naked and sweating, she empowered her sending ring. When she felt the connection to the Nightseer open, she sighed with excitement. War is begun in Sembia, Nightseer. The people believe that Selgaunt and Saerb have taken up arms against the overmistress.

Rivalen answered, Well done, dark sister. The night shroud you.

And you, Nightseer.

Rivalen despised her weakness for minddust but deemed her too useful to discard-yet. He sat in his study and admired his coin collection. He pondered the fivestar he had taken from the dead Overmaster's bedchamber. The date on the obverse was not only the year in which Kendrick Selkirk had died, it was the year in which Shar had lit Sembia afire. Soon, Rivalen would quench the fire with shadow. The most high would have the basis for a new empire, and Shar would have the foundation for the Shadowstorm.

He activated his sending ring and concentrated on the dark brother in Selgaunt. The connection opened.

Nightseer, said Vees Talendar.

Civil war is begun in Sembia, Rivalen said. The overmistress will make war on Selgaunt and Saerb.

Rivalen sensed Vees's surprise. As always, Rivalen had provided his underlings with only the information they needed at any given time. Vees processed Rivalen's words and said, Selgaunt and Saerb cannot stand against the massed power of the rest of Sembia.

No, Rivalen answered. But they need not stand alone.

Silence lay between them. Rivalen knew that Vees was absorbing the implications, looking back and seeing the connections, wondering how he had not recognized the secret for what it was.

I am humbled, Vees finally said. You are the Nightseer, Prince Rivalen.

Rivalen said, When the time is right, I will require an introduction. Lay the foundation with the hulorn.

Of course, but… the hulorn is on his way to Ordulin for the moot even now. He is three days gone. If Mirabeta Selkirk is moving openly against Selgaunt…

Who would succeed him? Rivalen asked.

No one as easy to manage as he. The Uskevren pup is a fool, ideally suited to our purposes.

Do what you will, dark brother, just ready the ruler of Selgaunt, whoever that may be, for my arrival.

Yes, Nightseer. A pause, then, Prince Rivalen?

Speak, dark brother.

Rivalen sensed Vees's hesitation. Finally the nobleman said, The night shroud you.

And you, dark brother.

As the connection closed, Rivalen knew that Vees had left something unsaid. Such was the nature of their faith, secrets upon secrets upon secrets. Rivalen eyed his coins and wondered how much of Shar's plot he did not understand. She too provided her underlings-even her Nightseer-with only the information they needed at any given time.

He pushed such thoughts from his mind. He would need to wear a convincing face when he met Selgaunt's hulorn. It amused Rivalen to think that he would be perceived as coming to the rescue, even as he laid the foundation for conquest.

Vees had nearly informed the Nightseer of his suspicions regarding the Hulorn's new counselor, Erevis Cale, but decided to keep it to himself. Rivalen would find out in his own time and it pleased Vees to keep a secret from the Nightseer. After all, the Nightseer had kept a secret from Vees. Had Vees known that a Sembian civil war was the Lady's will, he never would have allowed Tamlin to leave the city for Ordulin. The hulorn was too valuable a pawn.

Vees spoke aloud to his shadow, a habit he'd had for decades.

"Erevis Cale is a shade," he said. "I saw the light dim around him when he grew angry, saw the shadows emerge from his flesh when it seemed he might strike me."

Vees did not understand how it was possible, but he knew it to be true. Like the Nightseer himself, Erevis Cale was composed of shadowstuff.

"How can that be, Lady?" he asked Shar, but the goddess kept her own counsel.

Vees drummed his fingers on the walnut desktop thoughtfully. He sat alone, behind closed doors, in the darkened great room of his family's tallhouse on Galorgar's Ride.

"There is something else about Cale that I dislike. Something… secret," he said, and smiled. He was not certain he could manage Tamlin with Cale acting as the Uskevren advisor. And Vees would need to manage Tamlin with care in the near future. The Nightseer had told him as much-Vees would need to arrange an introduction between Tamlin and Rivalen.

"I think Cale should die," Vees said. He imagined Cale asprawl on his secret altar, screaming, bleeding shadows and blood as Vees gutted him like a fish and offered him to the Lady.

"Yes. He should die. Unfortunately, I cannot allow that to happen just now."

Vees had no choice but to get word to the hulorn that he was riding into danger. Mirabeta could have dispatched troops already. They had made no secret of Tamlin's departure. He held no fondness for Tamlin, but were he to die or be made a hostage in the first blows of a Sembian civil war, the Old Chauncel would take another six months to elect a replacement. Vees could not allow the city to go leaderless for so long, not when Prince Rivalen wanted an introduction. And he knew that the Old Chauncel would not elect him to the office. He had spent far too long cultivating the perception that he was a dilettante.

He rose, walked to the sideboard, and opened a bottle of Berdusk Red, a full-bodied wine that reminded him of blood. A gobletful always relaxed him. He poured some and returned to the desk. He took a mouthful, swished it, and swallowed.

"Much better," he said. He drank the glass down and resigned himself to saving lives rather than taking them-at least for a while-and rang the brass bell for his manservant.

Zend knocked once on the chamber door and entered. The short, gray-haired steward looked overworked despite his finely-tailored vest and pantaloons. Bags hung under his droopy eyes and wrinkles creased his face. He had been with the Talendars for over two decades.

"My lord?" Zend asked.

Vees pushed back his chair and stood. "Send messengers to the head of each of the Old Chauncel families. All are to meet in the great hall in the Hulorn's Palace within the hour. I have grave news. No advisors, Zend. The heads of the families only."

Zend's eyes widened, but he nodded and turned to his task.

"Wait, Zend," Vees said. "Before you do that, send word to Captain Onthul of the Scepters to attend me immediately. You will find him in the city barracks. Alert him and the city grooms that he is to ready fifty of his swiftest riders for immediate departure. They will be gone several days. I will explain when he arrives here."

Zend waited a moment to see if Vees had any further orders.

"Away, man!" Vees said with a wave, and Zend ran off. "Zend!"

Zend returned, a longsuffering frown on his face.

"Have the carriage readied."

Zend nodded, waited.

"That is all, Zend."

Zend waited a moment longer, turned, and hurried off. Vees could hear the steward issuing orders to the rest of the staff in the tallhouse.

While Vees waited for Captain Onthul, he changed from his evening coat and loose tunic to a jacket and stiff-collared shirt suitable for a meeting of the Old Chauncel.

As always, Zend proved efficient. The carriage was ready shortly after Vees finished changing his clothes. Captain Onthul arrived soon after.

The towering, bearded captain of Selgaunt's Scepters wore enough mail to cover two men. He had to remove his helm before entering the great room lest he lose it to the door jambs. A broadsword hung at his belt. Scars laced his hands and forearms. He smelled like a stable, but Vees knew him to be a man who took his duty to the city seriously.

"Lord Talendar? You sent for me on a matter of importance?"

Vees nodded. "Captain, the hulorn is in danger."

Onthul stiffened. "Lord Uskevren is three days gone from the city-"

Vees waved away Onthul's words. "I know, Captain. I know." Vees paused for drama. "But our spies in Ordulin have informed me that dark events have occurred there."

"Dark events? Please speak plainly, my lord."

Vees said, "I do not have details, but it appears that the overmistress has seized control of the city and that the army is rallying behind her. For reasons that remain unclear, Mirabeta believes that Selgaunt has allied with Saerb in an attempt to unseat her."

Onthul's brow furrowed. "Impossible. Raithspur would not stand for it."

Vees nodded. "Captain, the hulorn must be informed and recalled. We can sort out events after he is safely returned."

"We have mages in the city who could-"

"No. The hulorn bears magic items that screen him from scrying. Unfortunately, those same items prevent simple magical contact. We must reach him without magical aid."

Onthul seemed dumbfounded by events. His gaze moved here and there, unfocused. He shook his head and spoke dully. "This is… unexpected. We all heard of Endren's treachery, but this, this is-"

"Captain Onthul," Vees said. "Dispatch riders immediately. They must get to the Hulorn before ill befalls him. Do you hear me, man?"

Onthul focused on him, frowned at Vees's tone, and nodded. "I will dispatch my riders immediately, Lord Talendar."

Vees nodded briskly. "Good man. I will inform the Old Chauncel. The Scepters and Helms should be put on alert. Round up anyone in the city who is on official business of Ordulin or otherwise associated with Mirabeta Selkirk. Off, man. Now."

Onthul nodded and hurried from the chamber, muttering to himself. He hit his helm on the door jamb as he exited, cursed, and continued on without turning around.

Vees poured himself another glass of wine, drank it in a single gulp, whispered a prayer to Shar, and exited his tallhouse.

His carriage rattled through Selgaunt's evening streets-still littered with filth and refugees-to the hulorn's ornate, many-spired palace. Pennons atop the spires whipped in the cold breeze that blew off the bay. The wind carried the promise of winter.

Vees ignored the absurdly grotesque statuary with which the former hulorn, Andeth Ilchammar, had populated the palace. He would have to remind Tamlin to remove it. Assuming the hulorn lived.

The palace chamberlain, Thriistin, met Vees's carriage as it pulled to a stop, and opened the door for him. The middle-aged chamberlain wore formal attire and Vees wondered briefly if he slept in it. He seemed fully dressed no matter the hour. The lacquered carriages of the rest of the Old Chauncel crowded the paved semicircular carriageway that fronted the palace. The drivers stood together in a crowd, no doubt gossiping about the urgent meeting.

"All of the members of the Old Chauncel have arrived already, Lord Talendar," Thriistin said. He had not shaved and a day's worth of whiskers speckled his face. "They are gathered in the main conference room."

"Very good, Thriistin."

Vees hurried up the limestone stairs and through the flagged hallways, his bootsteps echoing off the walls. Thriistin struggled to keep pace with him. Torchlight flickered on the portraits of past Hulorns.

Ahead, the doors to the conference room stood open. The thrum of conversation carried through the doors at the end of the hall. Vees rehearsed his words as he walked. He reminded himself not to appear too decisive. Vees Talendar, after all, was a fop and dilettante.

The moment he entered the high-ceilinged, wood-paneled chamber, all eyes turned to him and the room fell silent. The patriarchs and matriarchs of Selgaunt's leading families regarded him with questions in their eyes. Few wore the jewelry and finery typical of such a gathering, though all wore gowns or jackets. Vees saw the tension in their faces. Recent events in Selgaunt, in all of Sembia, had left the nobility on a blade's edge. They appeared as if they expected a killing stroke to fall at any moment. They soon would get it, Vees thought.

"What is afoot, Vees?" asked the bearish Rorsin Soargyl. His jacket was too small, his head too large.

Vees moved to the head of the table and pressed his palms on the surface.

"I will not waste your time, for there is much planning to do after tonight. I have received word from Ordulin that Mirabeta Selkirk has seized power with the backing of the army and declared Selgaunt and Saerb her enemies."

The table exploded in shouts.

"In Sembia!"

"What nonsense is this?"

"She is mad! This will not stand!"

Vees did not try to shout over the tumult. He waited for the table to quiet. When it did, he said, "You all know of the recent events involving Endren Corrinthal. The overmistress believes that Selgaunt was involved in the assassination of her cousin and Endren's attempted coup."

"Endren attempted no coup, Talendar," said the elderly Thildar Foxmantle, with surprising heat.

Vees acceded the point with a tilt of his head. "I know only what has been repotted, Lord Foxmantle."

"What has been teported is a lie," Thildar said, his gray beard shaking. "I know Endren Corrinthal. He is incapable of what he has been accused of."

Vees waved away the objection. "Be that as it may, I wanted this body to be aware of events."

"The Hulorn is riding to Ordulin," said Kelima Toemalar. Diamond pins held her hair up. Her fleshy arms stuck out of the sleeves of her red gown like sausages. "I was planning to leave soon myself. We must send word for him to return. He is in danger."

Vees nodded. "Captain Onthul is assembling a force of cavalry to catch the hulorn's party and escort him back to Selgaunt. They will leave tonight and ride until they find him. We can only pray that they reach him in time. Magical means will not avail us."

"Well done," several of the Old Chauncel said, nodding around the table.

Vees tried to appear humbled by their praise.

Glowering, red-bearded Ruttel Luhn rapped his fist on the table and stood. "How can Mirabeta Selkirk suspect Selgaunt to be involved in Endren's treachery? We have done nothing." He glared at Vees. "Or have we, Talendar? Now is not the time for secrets."

Vees almost laughed at the choice of words. Before he could answer, Thildar Foxmantle stood and glared at Ruttel. The scene was almost comical. The thin elderly Foxmantle stared daggers across the table at the much larger Ruttel Luhn.

"I will not repeat myself, Luhn. Endren Corrinthal committed no treachery."

"So you say," Luhn answered, his deep voice booming. "But you know no more than the rest of us. I will ask again, Talendar: Has the hulorn put the city at risk through some ill-conceived alliance with the traitors in Ordulin? That is something the Uskevren's father would have done."

The table erupted in shouts and epithets. Vees held up his hands for peace and the room settled. "The Hulorn has done nothing to merit Mirabeta Selkirk's suspicion. Perhaps you have, Luhn? You protest the loudest."

"You are a fool, Talendar."

"And you are dividing this council, this city, when it must stand united."

Nods from around the table. Luhn muttered inaudibly and lowered his head. Vees said, "I am certain we will clear up this matter soon enough. Meanwhile, it is imperative that Selgaunt speak with only one voice-the hulorn's voice-and that matters be kept quiet from the rest of the city for now. Let us keep the rumors at bay as best we can. This council will meet daily to stay abreast of events while we await his return."

Heads nodded agreement.

"Thriistin will see to the details and communicate them to you." Vees looked around the table, from one worried expression to another. "There is nothing more to be done tonight, lords and ladies. Return to your homes."

With that, the gathering broke into small, chattering groups. Vees did not linger. He ensured that Onthul's riders had left the city, then journeyed alone to Shar's temple on Temple Avenue. He spent the night offering praise to the Lady and repeating the supplication.

The next day, an edict from Ordulin reached Selgaunt through magical means. Vees and every member of the Old Chauncel received the missive. Vees chuckled as he read it. He knew that no Selgauntan forces had attacked the Saerloonian delegation.

Mirabeta Selkirk had created a war from lies.

No, he thought, and corrected himself. The Nightseer had created a war from lies, and done so in Shar's name.

"In the darkness of night, we hear the whisper of the void," he said, and crumpled the edict into his fist.

The whisper soon would become a scream.

I pick my way through the forest for what feels like hours, or maybe days. I have no way to mark the passage of time. The red glow in the air never changes and the crystalline sky is as still as stone. I keep my eyes away from the dark things that live on the other side of the sky.

I stay along the bank of the brook. As other brooks join it, it turns to a stream. As other streams join it, it turns to a rapidly flowing river that roars over frequent cascades.

Through breaks in the trees, I sometimes catch a glimpse of the wall ahead. As I draw nearer, its dark bulk fills my vision, demarcating the border of the world. A smell in the air grows stronger as I draw closer, a smell like rotten eggs, like sulfur, like…

Brimstone.

The voice at the wall returns, mocking me with laughter.

I steel myself by recalling my duty, my promise to Courage. I tighten my grip on my glowing yellow mind blade and continue on. I see no animal life. I am alone in the thought bubble. Or almost alone. I look up at the sky, to the crack, to the black wriggling things that lurk on the other side. I feel them watching me, hungering for me.

Has the crack lengthened? I am not certain.

I push it from my mind and press on. The stink of brimstone grows ever stronger. A haze of black smoke forms in the air and a dark film covers my skin. I tear a strip of cloth from my shirt, dip it in the cool water of the river, and tie it around my nose and mouth to help chase away the smell. The moment I cinch it, a crack like snapping bone sounds from above me. I whirl, stand, and look up.

The crack in the sky has opened into a gash. Wriggling, faceless black forms squeeze through and rain down through the hazy air. Terror seizes me-blind, irrational fear. My heart thunders; my breath leaves me. The mind blade sags in my hand.

"And the sky shat its fears," says the voice at the wall.

I know the voice speaks the literal truth. The things falling from the sky are fears given form, dark and obscene. They can be nothing else.

My legs feel weak under me as one after another of the dark things falls to earth and crashes through the trees. There are dozens, hundreds.

"He is losing himself in the Source, Magadon. Losing himself forever. Part of him does not want you to succeed. His fears are coming for you."

I see the fears in my imagination, sniffing for me through the forest.

"Hurry," says the voice at the wall. "If they catch you…"

I nod as if the speaker can see me.

I know I must move faster to outrun the fears. But the terrain is difficult. I am moving slowly. What else can I do?

"The river, Magadon."

"The current is too strong," I say, then realize what I need to do.

I scramble up the riverbank and comb through the forest until I find a trunk of darkwood about the length of a tall man and about as wide around as a barrel. I know the wood to be reasonably strong yet unusually light.

I try to move the log nearer the river but find it too heavy, darkwood or no. I will have to dig it out into a makeshift boat right where it is. I know how. I have seen fishermen in a village on the shores of the Dragonmere turn logs into boats in a matter of hours.

But I do not know if I have hours.

The log will make a poor boat, but I do not need a seaworthy vessel. I just need something that can stay afloat on the river for a time so I can ride the current away from the fears. The river will be safer and faster than the forest.

A scream that trails off into a howl sounds from somewhere in the distance. I hear madness in the howl, and hunger.

The fears are on the hunt.

I look about the forest, see only pine, darkwood, cypress, and stillness. The voice at the wall chuckles.

I curse, pull the makeshift mask away from my mouth, and set to work. I cut at the log with my mind blade and shave off the bark. I hack hunks from what I hope will become the bow and then flatten the top. The mind blade slices through the darkwood efficiently. The sound of my blade chopping wood echoes through the forest. I know the fears will hear me but I press on, deeming the gamble worth it.

By the time I am done with the rough work, I have shaped the log into something that resembles a one-man boat. I stand over it, gasping, sweating. The smoky air causes me to cough but I fight through the fit.

I set to digging out the interior and find my blade ill-suited to the task. Sweating, shaking, angry and afraid, I straddle the half-completed boat and curse.

"Demon's teeth!"

How long have I been at it? The fears must be coming, must be near. "I need a godsdamned axe," I mutter.

In answer to my will, the sword hilt in my hand reshapes itself into a haft. The blade shrinks and transforms from a sword to a large, glowing wood axe.

I stare at it wide-eyed, then set to work.

Each strike throws up a huge divot of wood and I make rapid progress. Lift and strike; lift and strike. My arms burn but I do not stop, cannot stop. I am not precise and the boat looks hollowed out by a drunk, but I think it will do. I just need it to stay afloat with me so I can ride the rapids and escape the fears.

A howl sounds from somewhere to my left. Another answers from somewhere to my right. Both sound near. I freeze in mid strike, gasping. The sweat that coats me makes me go cold.

I examine my work. Good enough. If it floats like a boat, well and good. If it floats like a log, I will just ride it down the damned river.

I straighten up, wincing at the stiffness in my back, and shake the fatigue from my arms. I concentrate on the axe and mold it back into a blade. I tuck it into my belt.

Not far away, something moves in the forest, something dark and predatory. Adrenaline washes away my fatigue but I know the rush will not last. My muscles border on exhaustion.

I bend, grab the front of the dugout, and heave.

I laugh when I lift the front off the ground and it sounds the same as the mad laughter from the voice at the wall.

A howl from nearby. Another. Close. I hear crackling in the woods.

They are coming for me.

"Move," I say to myself. "Move." My arms burn. My legs feel like lead. But I drag the boat through the undergrowth, slipping, struggling, grunting, cursing.

In my mind I imagine the dark things prowling through the forest, following my scent-the scent of fear. The image keeps me going, pushes me on.

I lose my footing, curse, get up, and yank the boat forward another stretch. The strength in my legs is fading. My breath is a bellows. Fatigue makes me dizzy. When is the last time I had water?

I can hear the river's current ahead through the trees.

"Almost there," I say. "Keep moving."

Movement behind me turns me around. I see two black forms perched in the fat lower limbs of two cypress trees. Each is as large as a mastiff. They look vaguely manlike, with a head and four limbs, but their skin looks as smooth as oiled leather.

They howl and their mouths are voids. The sound steals my breath. They leap from one tree to another, deftly landing on large limbs. Leaves shower the earth. The fears' oval heads lack facial features save for three wet vertical slits where their nostrils should be, and a gash for a mouth. Spiderwebs of spit hang between their open jaws.

I cannot help myself-I catch my breath and scream with terror. Pointed tongues emerge from their mouths and taste the air, taste the fear.

Terror energizes me. I fairly pick up the boat and scramble for the river. I hit the bank, see the flowing water below.

I hear the fears leap to the ground and I spare a glance back. Sweat drips into my eyes. The fears howl, and up close, the sound is nauseatingly wet. They bound forward on all fours, leaping through the undergrowth, heads jutting forward, strides eating the distance.

I turn, give a pull for all I am worth, and get the boat over the top of the riverbank.

Behind me, the fears crash through the undergrowth, breaking saplings. I hear their wet respiration. They are nearly upon me.

I push the boat over the bank, run beside it as it descends the slope, and hop in as it picks up speed. The bow hits the water and its movement stalls. I jump out, heart racing, not daring to look back, and get behind it and shove.

"Move, godsdammit! Move!"

The voice at the wall laughs.

"The gods damn you straight to the Nine Hells!" I swear, and push, and push, and push.

"Mind what you wish," the voice says.

The fears growl from atop the bank. I cringe, expecting an impact at any moment. I do not even think to draw my blade; I only want to run.

The boat moves farther into the river and the current seizes it. I lose my grip on it, curse, run as best I can through thigh-high water, grab it, and pull myself in without tipping it.

I lay in it face up, staring at the cracked sky. I realize too late that I do not have an oar or anything else with which to steer but I do not care. Sweating, terrified, I sit up, draw the mind blade, and stare back at the receding riverbank.

I do not see the fears. They are gone.

For the moment.