Shadowbred

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

11 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms

At Vees's urging, Tamlin decided to meet the Shadovar representative unaccompanied by other members of the Old Chauncel.

"The Shadovar prefer quiet negotiations," Vees told him.

Tamlin stood behind a polished conference table in a meeting room in the palace. Magical protections shrouded him, and the chamber itself was screened against scrying and magical transport. Glowballs in the corners of the chamber provided light.

The Shadovar delegation had arrived at twilight by magical means. A score of dark-armored men with wide swords had walked out of the night and entered Selgaunt through its Mountarr Gate. A ceremonial guard of Scepters escorted the delegation through the city's streets, and the dark strangers were the talk of the taverns. Tamlin provided the Shadovar with lodging in the eastern wing of the palace. After allowing them time to get settled, he requested a formal meeting with the Shadovar ambassador, Rivalen Tanthul, a prince of Shade Enclave.

Tamlin did not know what to expect. He had never met with anyone from Shade Enclave, and the stakes could not have been higher. Selgaunt needed assistance from outside of Sembia, or it would fall to the gathering army of the Overmistress. Tamlin, his family, the Old Chauncel, and the nobility of Saerb would all hang as traitors.

He calmed himself by recalling the words his father had oft spoke before important trade meetings: No matter their station, all men are men. Tamlin whispered the words to himself as he listened to the approaching footfalls of Rivalen Tanthul.

Vees stood beside him. Both men wore their finest jackets and stiff-collared shirts. A silver tray of sweetmeats, bread, cheese, and two bottles of red wine had been laid out on the table. A banner bearing Selgaunt's arms hung from the ceiling. Tamlin thought the room was lacking in the ceremonial trappings merited by the meeting, but they had done what they could on short notice.

"Here we go," Vees said to him softly. "Their appearance is unusual. Do not let it alarm you."

The door to the chamber opened and Chamberlain Thriistin, dressed in his finest attire, announced the ambassador.

"My Lord Hulorn, I present Rivalen Tanthul, Prince of Shade Enclave, emissary of the Shadovar."

The darkness swirled like mist around Thriistin as a towering figure strode past him into the chamber. Rivalen Tanthul stood only slightly shorten than Mister Cale. Golden eyes shone out of a dark, angular face that featured a large, sharp nose. Long black hair hung loose to his broad shoulders. His drab cloak did not hide the narrow sword at his hip. Darkness alternately clung or flowed from him.

Tamlin realized immediately that Rivalen was a shade, like Mister Cale. He managed to meet and hold the Shadovar's gaze.

"Prince Rivalen," he said, and bowed.

"Hulorn," the Shadovar said, and his deep voice sounded as if it had emerged from the bottom of a well.

Thriistin scurried around Prince Rivalen, poured wine into three goblets, and took his leave.

"Please sit," Tamlin said, and gestured at the comfortable armchair before the table. "And enjoy the food. The wine is from my personal vineyards."

Rivalen walked up to the table but did not sit. He brought the shadows with him and the light in the room dimmed.

"You are gracious, Hulorn," Rivalen said. He lifted the wine and inhaled its bouquet but did not drink.

"I regret the informality of our reception," Tamlin said. "I hope you understand."

"Formality is a crutch for the foolish," Rivalen said, and held up his goblet. "To Selgaunt."

Vees handed Tamlin a goblet. He raised it and said, "To the Shadovar."

"And to a new friendship between us," Rivalen said.

"Indeed," Vees said with enthusiasm.

The three men sat. Vees started the discussion. "It is a pleasure to see you once more, Prince Rivalen. I trust the Talendar stone has met your expectations?"

Rivalen nodded. "It has." He eyed Tamlin. "My Lord Hulorn, I know it is customary for ambassadors to exchange gifts and pleasantries before discussing weighty matters, but I propose-since we are dispensing with formality-that we ignore such trivia and move directly to the point."

Tamlin nodded. He said, "Very well, then. You are a shade."

Vees choked on his wine. "Hulorn, that is-"

Rivalen held up a dusky hand to silence Vees. He wore several rings, all of them silver or platinum and of archaic design. One of them was an amethyst ring not unlike the one favored by Vees.

"That is so," Rivalen said. "In the interest of serving the good of all our citizens, a fortunate few among my people are selected to become shades."

Tamlin could not hide his surprise or keep in his words. "Fortunate? I have heard others describe the transformation as a curse."

Rivalen smiled and Tamlin noticed his fangs for the first time. He presumed they were an affectation but could not be certain. "Only those who do not understand it would so describe it. Where have you heard such a thing?"

Vees cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

Tamlin hesitated. "I… read of it. I have studied what I could of shadow magic. A trifling amount, I assure you."

Rivalen regarded him with a half-smile. "Your reading habits are unusual, Hulorn. I am impressed."

Tamlin could not help himself. He preened. Rivalen continued. "The transformation into a shade is no curse, nor is it painful. It is a blessing. But it demands of its recipient a lifetime of service to the city."

Tamlin well understood the burden of service. "Intriguing."

Rivalen breathed in the wine. "I could arrange for you to learn more. Perhaps a tour of Shade Enclave at some later date?"

"I would like that," Tamlin said, and found that he liked Rivalen Tanthul, liked him a great deal. He seemed… certain of himself.

"We were about to discuss weighty matters," Vees offered.

Tamlin dared one more personal question. "You said the transformation demands a lifetime of service. How long is that lifetime? How old are you, Prince Rivalen?"

Vees looked agog. His mouth hung open.

Rivalen's eyes flared but he did not hesitate. "I am nearly two thousand years old."

Tamlin's mouth fell open then. "Two thousand," he said softly. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine. To live so long, to be immune to disease, to regenerate wounds. Tamlin well understood how Rivalen could call the transformation a blessing. Mister Cale was a fool.

"I can see you are interested in learning more, Hulorn, and I am pleased by your interest. Most of those we have encountered since our return are small minded about such things. They see darkness and assume evil. Let us plan further discussion of it later. Not as representatives of our governments, but as friends."

Tamlin smiled, quite pleased with the offer.

"I see I needn't have been here to broker anything," Vees said with a laugh. "You two already are boon companions."

Tamlin leaned forward in his chair and decided to be frank. "Prince Rivalen, you are aware of recent events in Sembia?"

Rivalen nodded. "Of course. A most unfortunate turn." He shook his head and looked thoughtful. "It is difficult to know in these days who works for good and who for ill."

"That it is," Vees said sadly. "That it is."

Tamlin could not keep the indignance from his tone. "I assure you that I am no traitor to my nation, Prince Rivalen, if that is what you mean, nor is any noble of Selgaunt. Or of Saerb, for that matter. Mirabeta Selkirk has lied and murdered her way into a civil war so that she can seize and hold power."

Rivalen looked across the table at Tamlin. Shadows swirled around him. Tamlin wanted to quail before the golden eyes but held steady.

"What you describe is consistent with some reports that we have received. The overmistress wishes to be queen, it would seem. I have lived a long time and seen her like before."

"The things some will do for power," Vees said, and shook his head.

Rivalen continued. "But even had I not heard those reports, still I would have believed you. Even our brief exchange here has shown me your measure. You are no traitor."

The words gave Tamlin great satisfaction. He hid his pleasure behind a drink of his wine. "Yes, well… I am but one man, and Selgaunt is but one city. We are in need of aid. Military aid."

"If I may be so bold, you are in need of much more than that," Rivalen said. "Your city is overcrowded, filthy, rife with disease and hunger. Your priests hold disease and starvation at bay but for how long? How will they cope with winter, or when the siege begins and their spells are needed for other things?"

Tamlin neither acknowledged nor denied Rivalen's words, though both of them knew the Shadovar spoke truth. Rivalen continued, "The situation in Selgaunt, indeed, in all of Sembia, is dire. I am authorized by my father, the Most High, to offer assistance."

"What form will the assistance you offer take?" Tamlin asked.

"We are a magical people, my lord," Rivalen said, and shadows swirled around him, as if to make his point. "Many powerful priests and wizards work for the betterment of our city. And while the military forces with which we could aid you are not numerous, they are nevertheless formidable, and highly mobile."

Tamlin had no doubt, but he feared the price to be paid.

"What do you ask in exchange?"

Rivalen leaned back in his chair and gestured casually with his hand, as if he were requesting trifles. "I ask that the ties between our people become much closer. I would need a formal treaty between our cities, an embassy in Selgaunt, and an informal position as advisor to the hulorn. We also would request a trade alliance-the specific terms of which would be negotiated, of course-and use of your port for importing and exporting goods. Should the conflict in Sembia turn in favor of Selgaunt-and with Netheril's assistance, I believe it will-we would expect you to advocate a similar arrangement with a few other key cities of the realm."

"Netheril?" Tamlin asked, puzzled. "You mean Shade Enclave."

Rivalen shrugged noncommittally and Tamlin let the issue die. In truth, nothing Rivalen had requested surprised Tamlin, nor did anything cause him concern. The Shadovar could have asked for much more and he would have given it. Tamlin was not in a position to haggle. He said, "We would expect a reciprocal arrangement with regard to the embassy. And the port access would be subject to an annual usage fee, of course."

"Of course," Rivalen said.

Tamlin shared a glance with Vees before saying to Rivalen, "Your offer is not unreasonable, but I would need a show of good faith to take to the Old Chauncel."

"I understand," said Rivalen. "I can arrange for significant amounts of food to be transported into the city. Shadovar troops can have it here in a matter of a few days. At the same time, their presence will bolster your defenses. Would that serve?"

Tamlin was not certain how much he liked the idea of Shadovar troops entering Selgaunt, but the city did need the food.

"That is a start," he said.

"Here is an end, then," said Rivalen. "Vees informed me that you have organized an attempted rescue of Endren Corrinthal, the nobleman of Saerb. He is imprisoned in Yhaunn, I believe."

Tamlin eyed Vees with disapproval, but said to Rivalen, "Vees's tongue is loose, but that is correct."

"We can be of assistance with that as well."

"Indeed? How?"

"I have men who…"

Tamlin shook his head. "Out of the question. My agent would not welcome that kind of assistance."

"He is a bit unstable," said Vees.

Rivalen pressed his lips together, thoughtful, and said, "A distraction, then? At the moment of the attack? Surely that would assist your man? And a free Endren helps our cause greatly."

"It would have to be quite a distraction," Tamlin said, half-jesting.

Rivalen smiled and showed his fangs. "As I said, Lord Uskevren, we are a magical people. Yhaunn is allied with Ordulin against you and therefore against Shade Enclave. Consider it the first blow of our new alliance. I will endeavor to make it a memorable one. You need only alert me when the rescue is about to occur. I will see to the rest."

Tamlin nodded and smiled, feeling satisfied. He had made the decision that gave Selgaunt its best chance of survival. He said, "We have reached agreement in principle."

"Excellent," Rivalen said.

"Very good," Vees said.

Rivalen said to Vees, "I understand the temple your family has financed is nearly complete."

Vees nodded. "Indeed. Nearly so. When it is, I would be honored to give you a tour. There are some architectural flourishes that I am sure you will appreciate."

Rivalen nodded in agreement.

"And speaking of a tour," Tamlin said to Rivalen, "I intend to take you up on your offer of a tour of your city, Prince Rivalen."

Rivalen smiled politely. "I shall look forward to it."

Cale awakened at midnight inside Mask's temple. Shirtless, he sat cross-legged on the floor and prayed to the Shadowlord for power. He also offered his gratitude for the opportunity to truly say goodbye to Jak, to bury him. On the Sembian plains, Mask had whispered to Cale that he was almost there. Cale was all the way there now.

Spells filled Cale's mind, sparked in his brain. Cale knew he would not be able to use the spells in the attack on the Hole, but he would use them before they got in and after they got out.

He remained awake the rest of the night, smoking Jak's pipe. When morning arrived he dressed, checked and rechecked his gear, sharpened his blades, and sought out Riven.

He found him outside in the sun, watching the dogs roll in the grass. The wind off the sea was cool. The dogs noticed Cale, ran over and sniffed him. They whined at the stump of his wrist, but he patted them with his other hand and they licked him in greeting.

Riven and Cale discussed final points of strategy while the dogs played. They would enter quickly and quietly, take a guard alive, and force him to take them to Endren. The Hole did not keep many prisoners, so Endren would not be hard to locate. After they had him, they would get the hells out.

Easy. Except that it would be hard.

In the distance, Cale could see the hilltop where they had buried Jak. Riven followed his gaze.

"We could have used Fleet on this job," Riven said.

Cale nodded. "The shadowwalkers?" he asked.

Riven shook his head. "I only see them at night. They'll be along."

They spent the rest of the day preparing themselves. Cale knew they would have to kill guards to get Endren out. He told himself that it was justified, that he was trying to rescue an innocent man for the greater good of Sembia. But he knew that was a lie. He was prepared to rescue Endren and kill guards because he thought and hoped that it would somehow lead him to Magadon. Mask had promised him that Sembia's plight would lead back to Magadon, and Cale believed the Shadowlord. And if Cale had to kill strangers to get to his friend, he would do it. He would not like it, but he would do it.

Late in the day he and Riven took a meal together. Cale found it strange to be doing something so ordinary with Riven, something friends did together. He was not sure if Riven was his friend, but he knew they understood one another as no one else did, save perhaps Mask himself. If that was not friendship, it was still something Cale appreciated.

Before they finished their meal, a familiar buzzing sounded in Cale's ears-a sending. He tensed, shadows swirled. Tamlin's voice spoke in his mind.

The Shadovar offer a distraction at Yhaunn. When will you make the attempt? My spell allows you to respond. Use fewer than two score words.

Cale frowned, still displeased that Tamlin had taken Vees's advice and made common cause with the Shadovar. He debated whether to respond at all. Riven must have read his expression.

"What is it?" the assassin asked across the table.

"Tamlin Uskevren and the Shadovar are offering to provide a distraction to coincide with our move against the Hole."

Riven's eye narrowed. "The Shadovar? What kind of distraction?"

Cale shook his head. They stared at one another across the table. Both knew the attempt on the Hole was dangerous. A distraction could help.

"Take it," Riven said.

Cale considered, nodded, and responded to Tamlin:

After moonset tonight, he sent, and the buzzing in his ears stopped.

"That will have to be something special to be worth our while," Riven said.

Rivalen Tanthul's voice echoed through the corridors of Ssessimyth's mind.

Swim for Yhaunn. After moonset, destroy the harbor and dock ward.

Ssessimyth knew where Yhaunn lay. He knew the location of most every city on the coast of the Inner Sea, at least those that had existed before he had been bonded to the Source.

Thinking of the Source pained him distantly. He still longed for it. He sometimes felt as though the Source were still bonded to him, still one with his flesh. But he knew the sensation to be a phantom created out of his memories, out of his hopes. Rivalen and his shadowy brothers had magically removed the crystal from his flesh, torn it out in a shower of blood and veins and brain matter and pain.

But Ssessimyth knew it was for the best. Rivalen meant him well.

He undulated, propelled a vast amount of water into and out of his body, and cut through the cold depths. Had he been hunting, he would have kept to the deepest water and knifed surfaceward only after spotting prey, only for the kill. But he was not hunting and he made no effort to disguise his bulk or his passage. The cluster of his tentacles trailed behind him, waving rhythmically with each undulation. The sea cleared out before him. Nothing in the water could challenge him. He was supreme in his domain.

He headed east and north along the Sembian coast. His pace devoured the leagues. He swam silently under ships, and past outposts of sea elves and warbands of tritons. He grew hungry and dived for the depths. He coasted near the bottom, the motion of his body tossing up a churn of sea floor behind him. Whalesong sounded in the distance, a poem of love and loyalty. Ssessimyth swam for it, spotted a mother humpback and her nearly grown calf far above him.

He angled upward for the whales. Before the mother saw him, he was upon her. He rammed his head into her abdomen, whirled, and wrapped his tentacles about her body and squeezed. He was ten times her weight; she had no chance. She spun in his grasp, sang in terror, but could not escape his strangling hold. She grew exhausted quickly and issued a single command to her offspring.

Flee!

The calf sped off into the deeps, singing despair for its mother. Ssessimyth allowed the calf to escape and held the mother in the net of his arms until she suffocated. He devoured her, tearing off huge chunks of her flesh in his beak. Blood and fragments drifted toward the sea bottom but scavengers did not approach. They would wait until Ssessimyth departed.

After he completed his meal and let the humpback female's bones sink to the bottom, he sped for Yhaunn. As he approached, he twisted his tentacles into an arcane arrangement and recited the words to a spell known to all of his kind. Magical energy went forth from him and sped surfaceward to summon a storm.

An hour later he breached the surface. Clouds blocked the stars and a cold winter rain pounded the sea. The rain cooled the warmer waters near the surface. Cool water better allowed Ssessimyth to control his buoyancy. In the distance, he spotted through the rain the cluster of lights that was Yhaunn.

He sped toward the harbor, gaining speed as he went.

After sunset, Nayan and his shadowwalkers returned. When the darkness grew deep, Cale, Riven, Nayan, and the shadowwalkers rode the night into an alley within the walls of Yhaunn.

Wind-whipped rain thumped against their cloaks, so cold it was nearly sleet. The group pulled up their hoods and stepped out of the alley and onto a main thoroughfare.

Two- and three-story wooden buildings with steeply-pitched tile roofs lined the paved street, crammed so closely together they fairly melded into one long structure that ran the length of the block. Streams of the city's effluvium raced down the city's open sewer channels on either side of the street. The downpour slicked the stone.

The late hour and freezing rain left no passersby on the street. A few wheelbarrows dotted the walks, and an unhappy horse, soaked and shivering, stood tied to a hitching post outside a shuttered inn. Lights burned in a few second-story windows. Lanterns hung from hooked poles that lined the avenue. The rain had put out several. The others shook in the wind.

A boy holding an oversized cloak over his head darted out of an alley and untied the horse from its hitch. Cale and his companions sank into darkness out of habit and the boy never noticed them.

"Here," the boy said to the horse, and pulled the recalcitrant animal down the alley.

They continued down the street until they reached a plaza that featured a bronze statue of a wizard in the midst of casting a spell. Sleet glazed the statue's outstretched arm and hand. From the plaza, Cale got a good look at the whole of the city.

Yhaunn lay in the bottom of a shallow, sloped quarry, not unlike an immense bowl. The city was sectioned into tiers built in stages down the quarry's slope like giant steps leading downward to the sea. Walled earthen ramps bridged the tiers. At the bottom of the city stood the deepwater harbor, the piers, and the ramshackle buildings of the poor. Ships crowded the piers and despite the rain and hour, Cale could see several forms moving along the piers in quivering lantern light. Beyond the piers the Inner Sea stretched into the distance, dark and foreboding.

The tall towers and mansions of the wealthy stood atop the highest tier. From that lofty perch the rich were afforded a pleasant view of the sea and a less pleasant view of their less fortunate citizens. Yhaunn's buildings, even its noble mansions, did not show the architectural variety of Selgaunt. Most were square with a rounded turret or two, and all featured the pale limestone that once was pulled out of the quarry.

Between the two extremes of the mansions and wharves stood the cramped wood-and-brick forest of buildings in which lived Yhaunn's laborers, traders, craftsmen, and artists. A four-domed mansion in the center of the city and the tall, magically-lit spires of a guildhouse just above the wharves created a meager skyline.

The city gave Cale the impression of being overstuffed, of overflowing its bowl. The buildings sprawled over every square of ground within the quarry and crawled up the sides.

Cale turned and looked behind them. Overlooking the noble manses, and built not within the quarry but on top of its cliff wall, stood the Roadkeep-Yhaunn's treasury, barracks, and gaol. A ramp of piled earth and crushed stone led down from the Roadkeep into Yhaunn. No traffic moved upon it. The night was too old, the sleet too heavy.

Cale knew they would find the Hole under the Roadkeep. He led his team through the city, walking the shadows to avoid using the ramps that led from one tier to the next.

They moved quickly and reached the highest tier of the city. The wide earthen ramp that led up to the brooding spires and walls of the Roadkeep lay before them. Torches and lanterns burned on the Roadkeep's walls. Cale saw a few soaked Watchblades-Yhaunn's guardsmen-walking the walls. The cliff face fell away beneath the castle. At its bottom lay what Cale assumed to be the Hole.

The Hole stood on one side of the ramp that led up to the Roadkeep, against the northwestern wall of the quarry. From the outside, the entrance to the political prison appeared as little more than a fortified stone box built against the cliff face. The mine entrance must have lay within, leading down into the quarry. A portcullis was the structure's only means of ingress. A handful of Yhaunn's Watchblades guarded it. All wore weathercloaks and a signal horn. Cale had no doubt that many other guards were stationed down in the mine.

The clouds hid the moon, but Cale assumed moonset to be near.

"Let's get into position," he said over the hiss of the sleet.

Gravel and loose stone covered the area around the small stone building. A few heaps of cast off stone and rubble provided cover.

Cale pointed, his team nodded, and all of them walked the night to an area behind one of the heaps.

"We wait," Cale said.

The shadowwalkers, still holding their silence, sat cross-legged on the ground and closed their eyes. The rain and cold seemed not to bother them. Cale presumed they were meditating. It reminded him of Magadon, which reminded him of his purpose.

Riven peeked at the mine over the heap of loose stone. "This is no dwarven delve," he said. "It can't be that deep. We'll be in and out quickly."

Cale nodded. He joined Riven in eyeing the structure. Five guards leaned casually on their halberds, their hoods pulled low against the weather.

"Where does magic stop working?" he asked Riven.

Riven shook his head. "I do not know."

Cale decided to learn what he could. He held his mask in his hand and intoned the words to a simple spell that allowed him to see magic. The shadowwalkers opened their eyes and crowded around him as he cast. The mask tattoos on their faces gave them a sinister appearance.

When the spell was complete, Cale perceived a glowing aura around enchanted items. Cloaks, rings, earrings, amulets, boots, and gloves worn by the shadowwalkers glowed in his sight, as did Riven's blades, his armor, a gold ring on his left hand, and two or three small items in a belt pouch.

Cale looked over the stone at the guards. Two of the guards bore swords that glowed. The portcullis, too, showed enchantment. Magic functioned at least up to that gate. Cale informed his team and all nodded. They waited for the distraction the Shadovar had promised.

A rumble shook the city. At first Cale mistook it for thunder. He looked up but realized the sound came not from the sky but from near the docks. Shouts and screams followed, audible even over the sleet. The sound of snapping wood and crashing stone carried through the city.

Cale, Riven, and the shadowwalkers rose to their feet, looking toward the docks. In the heavy rain, they could see little.

More shouting, screams, rending stone, snapping wood. The entire city shook.

"What in the Hells is happening down there?" Riven said.

Cale was curious, too, but resisted the impulse to view the docks. Instead, he waited for an opportunity to attack.

Above them, the guards on the walls of the Roadkeep pointed down at the docks. Pairs of armed men on horses thundered down the ramp, shouting. Cale could not make out their words. More and more shouts sounded, screams, the rumble of crashing stone.

The guards before the Hole's portcullis shared nervous glances. They shouted something to an unseen comrade within the stone structure and one finally sped off in the direction of Cale and his team. Cale, Riven, and the shadowwalkers melted into the shadows and the man passed by without noticing them.

Another impact sounded and the ground vibrated under their feet. Cale waited for the guards at the entrance of the Hole to abandon their posts, but it appeared they would not budge.

"It's not going to get any better," Cale said to Riven, who nodded. Whatever the Shadovar had done, they had to take advantage. The rest of the city appeared occupied, at least.

"I will get inside," Cale said. "Clean up those outside."

Riven nodded. Nayan nodded.

Cale wrapped himself in the night, turned invisible, and charged the Hole. The guards did not see him and he shadowstepped within the structure. The entryway opened onto a hallway that lead to a watch station fitted out with wooden chairs and several tables. A dozen or so guards stood about, sat, or chatted. Cale could see that the noise outside had interrupted some gambling-loose coins and playing cards lay scattered on two of the tables. All eyes-tired eyes-focused on the portcullis. They looked right through Cale.

A swinging iron gate stood at the back of the room. It opened onto a large, archway-shaped hole in the cliff face-the entrance of the mine. Lanterns lit it and Cale could see that it was not a vertical shaft. It was a sloped tunnel that led downward.

Using his magic-finding spell, Cale checked the men for magical gear. Several items glowed in his sight. The gate to the mine did not, however, and Cale wondered if the gate denoted not only the entrance to the mine but the point at which magic ceased working.

"Phraig," a bearded guardsman said to a younger man. "Go see what in Helm's name is happening."

Cale flattened himself against the wall as Phraig hurried past him, then caused the darkness to eat the light in the room. It turned pitch, though Cale could see through it clearly.

"What the-?"

The men leaped to their feet and drew weapons. Fatigue made their movements awkward, imprecise. Cale moved among them, unseen, silent, the perfect killer.

"Back to back," shouted the bearded man.

"I can't see to go back to back," answered another.

Outside at the portcullis, Cale could hear the shadowwalkers and Riven battling the guards.

Phraig drew his blade and shouted a belated alarm.

"We are attacked!"

Cale moved behind his first kill and raised Weaveshear. He stared at the back of the guardsman's throat… and hesitated.

Recalling his promise to Jak, he reversed his grip on Weaveshear and slammed the hilt into the head of one guard, then another, then another. They fell hard to the floor, collapsing in a heap of armor and the clatter of dropped weapons. Cale could not be certain that all of them would live-he'd had to hit them hard to ensure unconsciousness-but surely most of them would.

Outside, Cale could hear fists thumping into flesh, men grunting, crying out.

Cale dodged a few wild swings taken blindly in the dark, but his work was easy. The guards were men-at-arms of limited experience. Cale and Riven could have cleared the room almost as easily even if they had walked in and announced themselves. In moments, he had all of them down except Phraig, who stood with his back against the wall, panting with fear, blade held before him.

"Belum? Corz? Who still stands?" Phraig called.

Cale moved silently beside Phraig and put Weaveshear to the young man's throat. "Be still or you will die."

The young man gave a start. His brown eyes were wide in the dark. His lip trembled and he lowered his blade. Sweat pasted his brown hair to his forehead. Cale let the light return and Phraig's eyes went wider still when he saw all his fellows down and only one other man in the room.

"Open the portcullis," Cale said to him.

"No need," Riven called.

The shadowwalkers appeared around Cale and Phraig, stepping out of the darkness.

Phraig gasped at their sudden appearance. Riven, too, winked into existence. Cale questioned Riven with his surprised eyes.

Riven pointed at the gold ring on his left hand. "From the Sojourner. Works a few times per day. How else could I get supplies to the island, Cale? I've a few other items, too."

Phraig eyed the shadowwalkers' tattooed faces, the disc Riven wore at his neck.

"You're priests of Mask," he said.

"Endren Corrinthal," Cale said. "Take us to him."

Fear in his eyes, Phraig said, "I don't know where he is."

Cale saw the lie. So did Riven, it seemed.

Riven stepped before him. "Lie again and I will split you, boy. Clear?"

Phraig looked into Riven's face and must have seen the seriousness in the assassin's eye.

"I know where he is."

Riven nodded, looked around the room. He saw that Cale had left the guards alive. Cale expected a rebuke, but Riven simply said to Nayan, "Bind them."

The assassin had vowed to help Cale keep his promise to Jak. It appeared he would.

The shadowwalkers each produced rope from their packs and rapidly bound the guards.

"This one is dead," said Nayan, holding the body of one of the guards.

"And this one," said Dahtem.

Cale cursed. Phraig softly spoke the names of his fallen comrades.

"Corz and Draeg. He was just married three months ere."

Cale said nothing, nor did Riven. The shadowwalkers left the dead where they lay and arranged the rest along one of the walls. None of the guards stirred throughout the process. Cale had put them out cold.

"Asir has the key to the mine gate," Phraig said, indicating one of the guards near Nayan. The shadowwalker skillfully rifled the guardsman's pouches and pockets, collected the key from a pouch, and tossed it to Cale, who threw it to Riven.

"Let's move," Cale said, putting the dead guardsmen behind him.

The moment Riven placed the key in the mine gate, a sound carried from outside, a shriek so loud it froze them all, a shriek that Cale had heard once before. Shadows boiled from his flesh. The hairs on the nape of his neck rose. He put his hand over Riven's and prevented him from turning the key.

"What?" Riven said.

"Wait here," Cale said. "Right here."

Heart pounding, hopeful and fearful, he shadowstepped past the portcullis, past the dead guards outside, and into the city. He scanned the skyline, selected the first tall building he saw, and walked the darkness to the roof of a three-story inn. From there, he looked down at the docks, at chaos.

The fleshy gray mound of the kraken's enormous body fairly filled the harbor, displacing so much water and mud that the lower tier of the city had flooded. The whole dock ward was little more than a soup of bodies, broken ships, and destroyed buildings. The beast must have swum into the harbor at full speed and run itself partially aground on the docks. Tentacles flailed through the city streets, toppling buildings, crushing people and animals. The gash in its head-the open wound in which the Source had once lay-had scarred to a thick rubbery line. The Source was gone.

Panicked citizens thronged the streets, rushing up Yhaunn's slope for higher ground. At the same time, groups of Watchblades tried to move down the slope and control the chaos. Others fired crossbows into the kraken. It was like throwing pebbles at a dragon.

The earthen ramps that led from one tier to the next filled with terrified people. The low stone walls that lined the edges of the ramps did not prevent the mob from forcing a few people over to fall to their deaths.

At the harbor, a trio of wizards zipped about in the air above the kraken, raining fire, lightning, and glowing bolts of energy onto its body. The spells seemed not to trouble the gargantuan creature. Groups of armed men, wizards, and priests gathered here and there and started down the slopes. The city was organizing its defenses rapidly.

For Cale, all the connections suddenly fell into place, all Mask's words. The Shadovar commanded the kraken and the kraken was no longer bonded to the Source. The Shadovar therefore had the Source. For what purpose, Cale could only guess. And only one man alive had previously contacted the Source and lived-Magadon. Mask had told Cale that Sembia's fate was tied to Magadon. Tamlin had thrown in with the Shadovar.

But there was more.

The kraken shrieked again and the sound sent hundreds of panicked people roiling forward. Cale saw many citizens cowering on rooftops, swimming through the debris.

He turned to go back to the Hole-he still had to get Endren out-but stopped. He watched another building topple, watched a woman get crushed between a floating timber and the side of a building.

He had to help.

He shadowstepped to the entrance of the Hole. Riven had the gate open. Skelan was eyeing the passage.

"Magic doesn't work beyond the gate," Riven said, then noticed Cale's expression. "What is it?"

"The Shadovar have Magadon," Cale said to Riven.

Riven's eye narrowed. "The Shadovar? How do you know?"

"The kraken is destroying the city. The Source is gone."

The words took a moment to register with Riven. "The gods-damned kraken? Dark and empty!" He looked into Cale's face. "Let's go have a chat with these Shadovar."

Cale nodded. "Afterward. We get Endren first. How many men do you need?"

Outside, the kraken's shriek again split the night. The whole city shook under its onslaught. Cale got a disturbing mental image of all of Yhaunn sliding down the quarry's slope and sinking into the sea, just as Sakkors had slid off its floating mountaintop to lie in a heap.

"What do you mean?" Riven asked. "What are you going to do?"

The shadowwalkers watched them closely.

"Help get some people out of the way of that monster," Cale said. "How many do you need to get Endren?"

Riven stared for a moment at Cale, then turned to Phraig and grabbed him by the shirt. "How many guards are down there, you little pissdrip?"

Phraig stuttered, finally managed, "A score and a half,"

"How far is Endren?"

"Not far," Phraig said.

"Not far and thirty guards," Riven said, considering. "Leave me half."

Cale nodded. "Nayan-you, Erynd, and Dahtem are with me." To Riven and the shadowwalkers, Cale said, "Kill only if you must."

Riven frowned.

"Only if you must," Cale repeated.

Riven looked into his eyes and nodded.

"If we are not out in half an hour…" Riven started.

"We'll come in after you," Cale finished.

"If we're not out in a half-hour, there won't be anything to come after."

Cale nodded, and the First and Second clasped forearms. Then Cale, Erynd, Dahtem, and Nayan moved through the shadows to perch on nearby rooftops. From there, they got a full view of the destruction.

Squads of Watchblades rolled ballistae down the streets, forcing them through the ocean of terrified citizens, trying to get a shot at the kraken. Meanwhile, more than a dozen wizards flew in the air above the harbor, firing destructive energy at the creature. Entire platoons of Watchblades perched on the edge of one of the lower tiers, firing clouds of crossbow bolts.

The huge creature shrieked again and the entire city rumbled. A tower collapsed in a pile of dust and falling stone. Two tentacles rose into the air, flailing for the wizards. The enormous limb struck a wizard and he spun into the harbor, broken and lifeless.

"Pull out any trapped citizens," Cale said, pointing at stranded women, children, and men cowering on rooftops or in alleys. "Get them to higher ground."

Nayan looked at him, a puzzlement in his dark eyes. "That is not our way," he said.

"It is now," Cale replied. "Do it."

The shadowwalkers nodded, and all four men rode the shadows down to the harbor.

Riven put a punch dagger against Phraig's back.

"Do you have a wife, boy?" Riven asked him.

Phraig hesitated, but a prod of the blade elicited a nod.

"Here it is, then. We're going to move fast. You're going to tell anyone we see that everything is fine. That will keep you alive for your wife. You say anything I don't like or slow us down and my steel finds your kidney. You'll bleed to death in less than a thirty-count. Your wife will grieve for a while but she's probably a young woman. She'll find another husband while you rot in the ground."

Phraig looked Riven in the face, defeat in his eyes.

"Understood?" Riven asked.

"Understood," answered Phraig in dull tone.

Riven knew his team's survival depended entirely on speed and surprise. He intended to leave the guards in the mine no time to think, no time to plan.

"Let's go," Riven said to his group.

The moment they stepped through the gate, Riven felt something go out of him. The feeling may have been of his own invention, but he knew that magic no longer functioned.

The tunnel descended at an increasingly steep angle. Wooden timbers reinforced the ceiling. The widely spaced lanterns hanging on the walls left alternating patches of darkness and dim light.

"Two in front of us, two behind us, along the walls," Riven said to the shadowwalkers. "Stay dark."

He had seen the shadowwalkers operate. With or without magic, they were the best he'd ever seen in wearing the night.

Shadem and Vyrhas hugged the wall to his right, Dynd and Skelan to his left. As he expected, they merged with the darkness of the corridor. Their footfalls made no sound.

Riven prodded Phraig with the dagger and they moved double-quick down the corridor. The shadowwalkers led them, invisible as ghosts.

"No surprises," Riven whispered to Phraig.

The young guardsman nodded. "There's a drop shaft ahead, with a lift. It… it's guarded."

"How many?" Riven asked.

"Two," Phraig said.

"Shadem, Vyrhas," Riven said. "Take them down. They live, if possible."

Ordinarily, Riven would leave no one alive behind him. But he had made Cale a promise, and as much as he disliked it, he intended to keep it. He clutched his saber in his fist. Its missing magic made the otherwise enchanted blade feel heavier than usual. He made no effort to mask the sound of his approach. Ahead, he could see that the tunnel opened onto a larger chamber.

"Talk, boy," he whispered to Phraig.

"Two coming down," Phraig called.

Riven hustled Phraig down the tunnel. It opened onto an irregular, rough-hewn chamber with a large hole in the center of its floor. A low stone wall circled the hole and a four-legged frame of timbers straddled it. Thick hemp lines hung from pulleys set into the frame, directly above the shaft. Riven guessed the lines to be attached to a lift at the bottom of the shaft.

Two guards with tired eyes stood near the lift mechanism. Chain hauberks draped their fat bodies. Blades hung at their belts. Their helms lay on the stone wall at the edge of the lift. Both looked curiously at Riven as he and Phraig walked into their view.

"Well met," Riven said, as disarmingly as he could manage. He prodded Phraig and the boy said, "Birg, Nilmon, this is-"

Shadem and Vyrhas stepped out from behind the men. Each grabbed a man in an armhold around the throat and leaned back to lift them off the ground. The guards did not so much as gag. Their legs kicked, and their eyes went wide as the shadowwalkers choked them into unconsciousness.

"Well done," Riven said.

"Gods," Phraig said softly.

Riven knew the guards would not remain unconscious for long. He left Phraig for a moment and smacked each man in the temple with the hilt of his dagger. That would keep them down for a time.

"How many at the bottom?" he asked Phraig.

Skelan and Dynd looked down the shaft.

"Uh, another two, at least," Phraig said. "And…"

Riven heard the hesitation in the boy's tone and knew Phraig had not told them everything. He stalked over to Phraig and held the punch dagger before his face.

"Speak it, boy."

"I may have… misspoken when I said there were only thirty guards."

Riven's eye narrowed. "How many?"

"Twice that," Phraig said, and winced as if he expected a blow.

Riven almost gave it to him. Instead, he looked to Shadem, Vyrhas, Dynd, and Skelan. None of them looked concerned. They were in it all the way. He liked them more and more.

Riven turned back to Phraig. "Sixty men? Even at this hour?"

"At all hours," Phraig answered. "The Nessarch is well paid to ensure that no one escapes. This duty pays the guards double their usual draw. We choose lots to see who'll get it each month. I'm lucky to have the work."

Riven's anger rose and he could not keep it from his face. Phraig blanched.

"You feel good about being part of this, boy?" Riven said. "Enslaving these men? Working them until they die?"

Phraig's eyes looked everywhere but Riven's face. "Slaves? No. I am… I mean, I'm just doing my job."

Riven sneered and pricked Phraig's cheek with the dagger. The boy recoiled, bleeding. "Me, too. Is this lift the only way in or out?"

The boy nodded, dabbing at his cheek. "There used to be others, but they were sealed off."

Riven said, "Guards at the bottom, what else?"

Phraig answered so fast Riven knew he was not lying. "The barracks, mess, and supply rooms are in the large, finished tunnel to the right. The cells arc to the left. They will not be guarded at this hour. The prisoners are chained within them. The rest of the tunnels are for mining."

"How many prisoners?" Riven asked.

"A dozen, maybe," Phraig said. "They don't last long. Every tenday some new ones walk in and some old ones are carried out."

Riven glared at him. "Just doing your job, right?"

Phraig looked away and made no answer.

Riven considered having his team scale the shaft but felt it unwise to put his whole team at risk for a fall. He said to Dynd and Skelan, "We need the lift."

The two shadowwalkers nodded in understanding. Both stepped atop the low wall, leaped out to take hold of the ropes, and shinnied down. Vyrhas and Shadem stepped up and looked over the edge of the platform. Riven and Phraig joined them.

Dynd and Skelan slid rapidly, silently, little more than black smears in the darkness.

Dim light from the bottom showed that the shaft descended perhaps two bowshots straight down. Riven had no idea how the original miners had sunk such a shaft. The ropes fell like plumb lines to a winch inset into the wooden lift that sat at the shaft's bottom.

About three-quarters of the way down, Dynd and Skelan swung toward the wall, released the rope, and fell. Phraig gasped. Riven cursed. But both used their hands and feet against the wall to control their otherwise precipitous descent. They landed atop the platform with a hollow thump.

Riven heard a curse from below and the two shadowwalkers bounded out of sight.

A shout of alarm was cut short and the light trickling up the shaft flickered as men fought in the torchlight. The dull thud of fists and elbows finding flesh and the chink of armor sounded up the shaft.

Silence.

Vyrhas and Shadem shared a look and started over the edge of the shaft, but Dynd reappeared on the lift. He examined the winch for a moment and started to crank. The mechanism clinked with every turn of the crank arm. Riven winced at the sound.

It seemed to take a lifetime before Dynd got the lift up the shaft. The winch cylinder was geared to allow even a single man to lift a heavily loaded platform.

"Well done," Riven said to Dynd. "Skelan?"

"Below. He lives," answered Dynd.

Riven, Phraig, and the three shadowwalkers climbed onto the lift and Dynd cranked them downward. When they reached the bottom, they found Skelan crouched over three guards. He was bleeding from a wound on his arm and a scratch on his face. The guards' helms and blades lay scattered on the ground. From the angles of their necks, Riven knew the guards were dead. Skelan held a finger to his lips for silence and pointed past them down the tunnel.

Riven turned to see a long, wide corridor, well lit with torches, extending into the distance. He could hear snatches of conversation coming from down the hall. He leaned in close to Phraig and said, "Even a croak I don't like and you die. Take me to Endren."

The guard nodded, fearful, and led them down the damp, cramped corridor. There was no light, so Riven removed a bronze sunrod from his pack and struck it on the ground. Its tip, treated with an alchemical substance, burst into light as bright as a candle.

The damp air got in his lungs and tickled his throat but he held down the cough. "Same as above," he said to the shadowwalkers. "Get on the walls ahead of us. Move, boy."

The shadowwalkers vanished as they hustled through low, timber-reinforced passages that stank of loam, stagnant water, and some pungent indefinable odor. Phraig led them first left, then right. They reached a corridor that looked newer and less meticulous than the rest of the mine.

A score or more wooden doors with small barred windows dotted the corridor. The stink of vomit, piss, waste, and rot hung in the air.

Two hulking half-orcs with axes lunged from a side corridor with a snarl. They wore leather jacks and skullcaps.

Riven shoved Phraig to the ground, sidestepped a downward chop that would have severed his arm at the shoulder, and slashed open the half-orc's throat. Blood sprayed but the creature kept his feet and swung backhand at Riven's head. He ducked under the blow and stabbed the half-orc through the chest with his saber. The creature expired on his blade, snorting blood. Riven drove his punch dagger into the creature's temple, just to be sure.

Meanwhile, Dynd, Vyrhas, and Skelan emerged from the darkness and unleashed a flurry of kicks, elbows, fists, and throws that disarmed the half-orc, broke his jaw, shattered a rib, and finally crushed his windpipe.

Riven grabbed Phraig by the scruff of his neck and jerked him to his feet.

"I don't give second chances, boy," he said, and raised the punch dagger.

"No! I didn't know! The half-orcs are jailors. I assumed they stayed with the guards at night, not near the cells. I didn't know."

Riven gritted his teeth and controlled his desire to kill the boy. None of his team had been hurt. He let Phraig go.

Coughs sounded from behind the cell doors, and a few moans.

"Which is Endren's?" Riven asked.

Phraig pointed at a door about halfway down the corridor.

"Get the keys off those," Riven said to Vyrhas, pointing at the dead half-orcs, each of whom bore a large ring of keys at his belt.

They hurried to Endren's cell, tried a few keys until they found the right one, and opened the door.

Endren Corrinthal looked up at them, bleary-eyed, blinking in the light of Riven's sunrod. Filth covered him. He wore only a frayed tunic and leather breeches. Sores and bruises covered his exposed skin. Circles shadowed his eyes. An unkempt gray beard sprouted from his cheeks. A rusty iron manacle ringed his left wrist and a thick chain attached the manacle to a ring in the wall. A tin plate lay near his feet. A puddle of rancid water was near enough that he could drink from it.

"Who are you?" he croaked, and the question ended in a fit of coughing. Endren couldn't have been in the Hole more than a few days and already looked near death.

"We're taking you out of here," said Riven.

"Out? Out?" Endren leaned forward, the chain rattling. "Did my son send you?"

"No. Shadem, Vyrhas, get him free." To Endren, Riven said, "Be still and quiet."

Shadem and Vyrhas hurried into the small cell and examined Endren's manacle. The half-orcs' keys didn't work. They pulled a pouch of pries, pliers, files, and picks from their pockets and set to the lock.

"Me, too," moaned a voice from across the hall. "Me, too."

"Silence," Riven barked, but it did no good.

Another voice joined the first, and another. Soon voices in every cell were pleading to be rescued, coughing and moaning.

"There is no more time," Riven said to Shadem. "Can you get it?"

Shadem looked back at Riven and shook his head.

A shout sounded from somewhere down the hall, then a cry of alarm. Someone must have found the guards at the bottom of the lift.

Riven cursed.

"Cut it," Endren said.

"What?"

"Cut it," the old man repeated. "I would have done it myself if I'd had a blade. Cut the damned thing off."

Riven did not hesitate. "Tear me off some cloth to use as a tourniquet."

Shadem ripped strips from his cloak. Together, they tied off Endren's forearm as best they could.

"Prepare yourself," Riven said.

Endren laid his wrist over the block and stared into Riven's eye, unflinching.

"Do it."

Riven chopped downward and severed Endren's hand at the wrist. The old man gritted his teeth and grunted. Blood spurted from the stump. Skelan stanched it with a piece of his cloak.

Riven and Skelan lifted Endren to his feet. The old man was already a shade paler. Riven did not know how long he would last.

"We go."

The shouts in the hall were joined by the tramp of booted feet, the chink of armor. The prisoners continued to moan and plead.

Riven, Phraig, Endren, and the shadowwalkers emerged from the cell and hurried down the corridor. From the direction of the lift, they heard the sound of voices, the tramp of boots, the ring of armor. A whistle sounded, ringing off the walls.

"Shadem, check it."

The shadowwalker disappeared into the darkness toward the voices. Riven and the rest of the team waited a twenty count and Shadem reappeared.

"Two score armed men," he said. "They stand between us and the lift. They are moving methodically and quickly, with a lot of light. There is no way to hide from them."

Riven knew they could not fight their way through, not with Endren.

"Where else?" he said to Phraig.

The young guardsman shook his head. "There is nowhere else. The rest of it is work tunnels for the prisoners. None of them lead out."

"Where do they lead?"

"Nowhere. Most of them are dead ends. The Nessarch doesn't care if the prisoners produce any ore. They're just here to work until they die."

"Most of them are dead ends? What are the rest?"

"What?"

"You said most of them lead nowhere. If I die here, boy, you'll go with me. Think!"

Phraig must have heard the truth in Riven's words, for his eyes showed fear. The shouts from the approaching guards were drawing closer.

"Now, boy!"

"There's a shaft at the end of the northwest work tunnel. It's old. No one knows how deep it is."

"We go," Riven said. He would figure something out when they got there.

A shout from behind them said, "Here they are! Here!"

Riven whirled to see a half-elf in the tabard of a Watchblade pointing at them and shouting over his shoulder. He bore a blade but no torch.

Riven flung his punch dagger-awkwardly, since the weapon was not balanced for throwing-and struck the half-elf in the thigh. The guard grunted and turned to run, but Skelan ran him down, knocked him over, and while the man shouted to his comrades, broke his neck with a hard twist.

But the damage was done. Riven could hear the guards approaching. The light from their lanterns fell on the walls.

"Move!" Riven said.

"He is unconscious," Vyrhas said.

Riven cursed and checked the old man's body. He was alive but there was no way they would escape carrying his unconscious form.

"You cannot make it out," Phraig said.

Riven's glare shut the boy up. "We need time," Riven said to the shadowwalkers.

They understood. Skelan said, "I will give you some. Go."

The shadowwalker took a position at the intersection of the tunnels and melded with the darkness. He had not even frowned at the idea of sacrificing himself.

Riven did not like it, but there was little else to do.

"Lead us, boy," he said to Phraig, and drew his other saber. "Fast."

Vyrhas bore Endren. Riven and his team rushed through the corridors. His saber kept Phraig at a run. They darted down corridors, Riven's light leading the way. The remaining shadowwalkers moved in front of them and behind.

After a few moments, they heard shouts and the sound of combat behind them. Riven froze, turned. The chink of steel, the shout of men. He almost ordered his whole team back to rescue Skelan, but thought better of it.

"Keep moving," he said. He did not intend for the sacrifice to be in vain.

They reached a rough-hewn work tunnel. The sounds of combat had faded but the shouts and bootstomps had not. The guards were still after them.

A few mining tools lay scattered about and loose rock dotted the floor. At the end of the corridor, a hole in the floor opened like a mouth. They approached it cautiously, gasping, sweating.

Riven pointed his sunrod down the shaft. No bottom was visible. He dropped the rod and it fell and fell. After a time, its light vanished.

"They say the miners found it when they constructed the mine," Phraig said. "They say it leads to the Underdark."

Riven ignored the boy. "Can you climb with him?" he asked Vyrhas, the largest and strongest of the shadowwalkers.

"Yes," Vyrhas said. "But not fast."

Riven knew the guards would not follow them down the shaft. They would follow it to the bottom and find a way out from there. Perhaps magic would function farther down in the mine, making escape easy.

"Start downward," he said to his team. To Phraig, he said, "This is where it ends for you, boy."

The young guardsman held up his hands. "No. I did what you asked."

"Just doing my job," Riven said, and brandished his saber.

Phraig would have run but Dynd blocked his retreat. "Don't!" the boy gasped.

Riven held his saber before the young man's face. "Those words are scant comfort when you're on the wrong end of them, aren't they?"

Before Phraig could reply, Riven slammed his pommel into Phraig's cheek. The boy fell like a sack of turnips. Riven hoped the boy would rethink his course when he awakened. He did not mind killing or worse, but he despised anyone who purported to do so only because it was their job.

Shouts sounded from down the corridor. Light bobbed from lanterns. He lowered himself over the edge of the shaft and started down after the shadowwalkers.

Cale materialized atop a two-story building. The entire first floor was flooded. The kraken's body filled his vision, filled the harbor, filled the city. It shrieked and the sound nearly knocked him flat. More fire and lightning fell from the wizards flying overhead.

Cale spotted a woman and two adolescent children, a boy and a girl, perched atop the steep roof of a three-story shop. Cale could not save everything, but he could save something, and would. He stepped through the shadows and materialized in their midst.

The woman screamed and the children recoiled.

"There is nothing to fear," Cale said as the kraken shrieked and destroyed a building across the street. Shouts from all around, screams. The kraken shrieked again.

Cale stepped near the family, pulled the shadows about them, and stepped through the darkness to the uppermost tier of the city.

Before the stunned woman and her children could do anything more than marvel, he shadowstepped back to the building on which he had found the family and looked about for others trapped by the kraken's rampage. A block away, one of the kraken's tentacles wrapped around a spire, flexed, and pulled it down.

Cale spotted an elderly man struggling in the churning water. He walked the darkness to him. The man grabbed at him in a panic, taking them both under. Cale pushed him away, surfaced, and used the shadows to move them both to safety.

The man, soaked and shaking, said in a trembling voice, "The gods bless you."

And so it went for a half-hour that felt like a lifetime. While the Watchblades, wizards, and priests of Yhaunn fought the kraken, managed the panic, and tried to save their city, Cale pulled more than two score citizens from the creature's path, and the shadowwalkers did likewise. Throughout, Cale kept an eye on the Hole, waiting for Riven.

"Come on," he said, willing Riven to emerge. "Come on."

Voices sounded at the top of the shaft. Lantern light trickled down. Riven and the shadowwalkers froze in silence, tried to merge with the stone.

The beam from a lantern shone down the shaft, scoured the sides. It fell on Riven, on the shadowwalkers.

"There!" said a voice. "There!"

More shouts and the twang of crossbows. A bolt skipped off the stone near Riven. Another. One sank into Dynd's thigh. He grunted with pain, slipped, but held his perch.

"Faster," Riven said. "Faster!"

But he knew they were too slow. Endren was slowing Vyrhas and the smooth walls made climbing difficult. The crossbows continued to sing. Bolts skittered off the walls. Head-sized chunks of rock joined them, crashing and bouncing down the shaft's sides. One clipped Dynd on the shoulder. He lost his grip and started to fall but Shadem grabbed him by the wrist and planted his hand on the stone. Both men slipped a body length, but both steadied themselves.

More rocks fell, coming like rain. One whizzed by Riven so close he felt the wind of its passage. Another shower of bolts whizzed around their heads.

"You're all dead men!" shouted one of the guards, and the rest laughed.

Riven could not argue the point. They were dead if they kept climbing. And they had no other choice.

Riven steadied his footing, steadied his heart, and took his magical knife from his belt pouch. The magic it held usually caused its edges to glow red, but it lay dark in his hand, inert in the magic-dead Hole.

"Let go," he shouted to the shadowwalkers.

They eyed him across the shaft, their tattooed faces dark in the lantern light from above.

More bolts sizzled down the shaft. One nicked Vyrhas. He grunted with pain. Endren slipped, but Vyrhas held him.

"If it's deep enough, the magic may work before we hit bottom. I'll use my ring. You use the shadows. It's all we have."

The shadowwalkers shared a look, nodded.

Riven pushed himself away from the wall and went into a free-fall. The air roared past his ears and he plummeted downward into darkness. He held his holy symbol in his right hand, the dagger in his left, willing its dark blade to spark back to life.

From somewhere far below, he saw a dim light. His sunrod. The bottom.

He cursed as the bottom rushed up and his dagger blade began to shine.

Cale saw Riven's team materialize out of the shadows outside the Hole's entrance. They bore a body and they were missing one man. Either they had not gotten Endren out, or one of them was still in the mine. Cale cursed and rode the shadows to their side.

He saw that Riven was alive and the relief he felt surprised him. Dirt and blood covered the assassin. Vyrhas carried the limp body of a gray-haired man dressed in filthy, tattered clothes. Cale assumed him to be Endren and could see that the man was bleeding. A bloody rag wrapped the stump of his wrist. Shadem and Dynd both bore wounds but seemed unharmed. Skelan was missing.

The darkness swirled around them and Nayan, Erynd, and Dynd stepped from the shadows.

"What happened?" Cale asked.

"Guards," Riven said. "Skelan bought our escape. He's not coming out."

"Hells," Cale cursed.

Nayan put a hand on Cale's shoulder. "It is our honor to die in service to the Shadowlord."

"The Hells it is," Cale said.

The kraken shrieked from down in the bay, the city rumbled, and spell explosions lit the sky. Cale decided that he had done all he could for Yhaunn. The city would drive off the kraken sooner or later, or it would not.

Cale took Endren by the hair and pulled back his head. The man's eyes fluttered open, rolled back in his head.

"You'd better be worth it," Cale said, and intoned a healing prayer. The energy flowed into Endren and his breathing steadied. To Nayan, Cale said, "Take him to the Wayrock and await us there. If we don't return, get him to his son. Riven, you're with me."

"The Shadovar?" Riven asked.

Cale nodded and pulled the darkness about them. The shadowwalkers did the same.