Shadowbred

CHAPTER ONE

25 Eleint, the Year of Lightning Storms

Black clouds roiled in the night sky. Lightning flashed, splitting the dark. Thunder rolled and boomed. Swells like mountains rose and fell on the sea. Rain fell in torrents. The mizzenmast of Night's Secret bent in the wind. The whole of the caravel creaked from the battering of the storm. Loose rigging and shredded sails snapped like whips in the gusts, but the dark pennon bearing the symbol of Shar and flying from high atop the mainmast held its ground against the storm. Rivalen smiled at that. The black circle bordered in violet looked like an eye, Shar's eye, guiding them to their goal.

Rivalen stood on the lurching deck of Night's Secret and tried to keep his footing as the bow again rose skyward, crested a swell, and skidded down a mountain of water. The crew, experienced hands all, gripped lifelines nervously as they lurched across the slippery deck to obey Captain Perin's shouted commands.

Rivalen knew they were close to Sakkors. The augury he had cast whispered as much in his ear. The first part of his quest would soon reach its end.

More than a year earlier, a cry had sounded across the Weave and the Shadow Weave, the warp and weft of magic, and resounded across Faerun. Every spellcaster of power had heard it, though probably only a handful had understood the language, that of ancient Netheril.

I am here, proclaimed a voice in Loross. Help me.

Rivalen's father, the Most High Telemont Tanthul, had immediately deduced the origin of the plea, as had Rivalen himself. Its only possible origin was the mythallar of Sakkors, a sentient artifact created thousands of years earlier by one of Netheril's High Arcanists, Xolund the Maker. The revelation that a second mythallar had survived Netheril's fall had sent a ripple of excitement through the rulers of Shade Enclave. Divinations had been cast, auguries consulted. Eventually, Rivalen's brother, Brennus, a prodigy in the use of divinations, had located the site of the mythallar. Rivalen and Brennus had been dispatched to find it.

And they were nearly upon it.

Rivalen reached into the pocket of his rain-soaked cloak and removed a worn platinum coin. The octagonal currency had been known in ancient Netheril as a thurhn. Time had rounded its corners and worn the stampings-twin lightning bolts crossed over a mountain on the obverse, a date on the reverse-almost into illegibility. The coin had been minted in Sakkors long ago, when the city had flown in the sky on an inverted mountaintop. Like all the other floating cities of Netheril, save Shade Enclave, Sakkors had plummeted to earth when Karsus the Mad had attempted to achieve godhood. His meddlings temporarily unraveled the Weave, and the Empire of Netheril had died in a rain of falling metropolises.

Shade Enclave had survived only because the dark goddess Shar had helped Rivalen's father shunt the city into the Plane of Shadow. Shade Enclave had abided there for centuries, had absorbed the darkness of the plain, and had only recently returned to Faerun.

Rivalen squinted against the rain and watched the coin, waiting. He nodded with satisfaction when his eyes, attuned to see dweomers by merely looking for them, saw a soft red glow emanate from the center of the platinum piece. The spell on the thurhn was of negligible power, little more than a magical mintmark designed to prevent counterfeiting, but its appearance indicated that they were nearing Sakkors's mythallar.

The quasi-magic in the coin had been common in ancient Netheril, but was nearly unknown in Faerun's present era. The coin derived its power from a mythallar, and the mythallars of the empire had done far more than fly cities through the sky. They allowed spell-casters to create magical items in the mythallar's presence without physically or psychically taxing the caster. The physical and mental drains of spellcasting, ordinarily natural boundaries that limited a spellcaster's ability to forge magical items, were thus overcome by the presence of a mythallar.

The quasi-magic went quiescent if items were taken out of proximity of the mythallar, but that had not stopped a profusion of quasi-magical items from rapidly transforming society in the empire. Rivalen remembered those days well-magic had permeated almost every facet of society and culture. The ancient Netherese had used magic and magical items for even the most mundane tasks, from street cleaning and waste disposal to flavoring food or carving a joint of beef.

The presence of such vast quantities of magic had served only to make the empire's fall all the more spectacular when the Weave unraveled and magic failed.

But before the Fall Xolund of Sakkors had improved on the mythallar's design. He had infused his enclave's mythallar with a rudimentary sentience. The self-aware artifact called itself the Source, and unlike all other mythallars, its sentience allowed it to direct or withhold its magical power as instructed. Instead of powering all items in its proximity, it could focus all its power on a single item, on none, or on many.

The development of a sentient mythallar had caused a stir among the arcanists of the empire, but the Fall had ended any attempts to duplicate Xolund's feat. Sakkors's mythallar was unique. And Rivalen wanted it.

He peered through the storm and across the churning sea for Secret's twin, New Moon. The darkness did not hamper his vision-Rivalen was a creature of darkness, bonded to it, and saw through it as if it were day-but the rain obscured his surroundings. He spotted the caravel two long bowshots to starboard, bobbing on the swells like a toy. Both Moon and Secret would have been lost to the storm but for the water elementals Rivalen had bound to his service. The living waves surged through the turbulent ocean alongside both ships, righting them when they listed, shielding them from swells that would have swamped them.

Rivalen's younger brother, Brennus, stood beside him, clutching one of the many hemp lifelines that webbed the deck. Shadows crawled over Brennus's exposed skin, betraying his nervousness. Like Rivalen, like all the Twelve Princes of Shade Enclave, Brennus was a shade. He usually traveled in the company of two homunculi, but the storm terrified the little constructs. They cowered belowdecks.

"The storm is sent by the kraken," Brennus said, and he lurched as the ship slid down another swell. His shining eyes, the color of polished steel, glittered in the darkness. "It's not natural. We must be close."

Rivalen held up the Sakkoran coin for Brennus to see. "Not close. We're here."

Abruptly, the storm abated. The rain, thunder, and lightning ceased. Secret and Moon floated on a quietly rolling sea. The clouds parted to reveal a starry night sky.

The soaked crew of Secret was too exhausted to do much more than give a hoarse cheer. Captain Perin issued orders to assess the damage to the masts, sails, and rigging, and to get a headcount. The men snapped to.

Rivalen and Brennus used minor magics to dry their clothing and gear.

"How fare you?" a sailor on Secret shouted across the water to New Moon. His voice carried easily over the calming sea.

"Wet but no worse!" came the shouted answer. "All hands accounted for."

Rivalen's augury was nearly at its end, but before expiring, it revealed to him an approaching danger. He secured the thurhn in his pocket.

"It's coming," he said to Brennus.

"Now?"

Rivalen nodded.

"Ready yourself and the crew, Captain Perin!" Rivalen shouted to the captain. "Something comes."

The brothers shadowstepped from mid deck to the rail, covering the distance in a single stride. There, they scanned the sea while the crew heeded Rivalen's warning and took up crossbows and belaying pins.

"My princes?" the captain called from the sterncastle.

Rivalen did not reply, but gripped the medallion of Shar he wore on a chain around his throat and stared at the water. Brennus held a duskwood wand in his hand. Shadows leaked from their flesh and cloaked them both.

"I see nothing," Brennus said.

"Wait," Rivalen cautioned.

They waited, waited… then saw it.

About midway between the two caravels, a soft red glow rose up from the depths and stained the sea crimson. It grew brighter like a rising sun, spreading through the water like pooling blood.

The crew saw it, too. They shouted, pointed, rushed to the rail, not knowing what they would soon see. Rivalen had said nothing about the creature, fearing he would not have been able to secure a crew.

"The glow…" Brennus said.

"Must be from the mythallar," Rivalen finished.

Brennus nodded. "It bears the mythallar with it?"

Rivalen nodded and frowned. Caution would be necessary in defeating the kraken. They could not risk damaging the mythallar with poorly chosen spells.

Brennus turned to Rivalen, a question in his eyes. "Strange that the Source has not contacted us, is it not? We know it to be sentient. We are close enough. It should have contacted us. It called to us before."

Rivalen nodded and said nothing. He'd had the same thought but did not want to give his concerns a voice. Brennus tapped his wand on the rail, demonstrating enough anxiety for both of them.

"Perhaps an attack has weakened it, or destroyed its mind? Perhaps it is now too weak to suit our purposes? Perhaps…"

Rivalen pointed a finger at his brother. Shadows poured from his flesh, betraying his agitation. "Enough, brother. We will know soon. Speculation is pointless."

Brennus looked chastened. "Of course."

The red glow grew brighter.

"What is it, my princes?" the captain asked. "What comes?"

The crew's curiosity was giving way to alarm. They eyed the brothers and the sea nervously. All were Sharrans, and all would die for Rivalen, but that did nothing to quell their fear. They would have been more frightened had they known the truth.

"We capture it, if possible," Rivalen said.

Brennus looked at him sidelong. "That will be quite a capture, brother."

Rivalen allowed himself a tight smile before he drew on the Shadow Weave and incanted a series of arcane stanzas. Brennus watched for a moment, noting the spell Rivalen was casting, then put aside his wand and mirrored Rivalen's efforts. Their voices merged, arcane power gathered, and both moved their hands through an intricate set of gestures.

The magic of their spell gave substance to the darkness and a net of shadows formed on the surface of the water, backlit by the red glow of the mythallar. The lines of the net's mesh were as thick as a man's arm. The brothers poured power into the spell until the net of shadows reached across the water, nearly touching both Night's Secret and New Moon. The water between the ships looked not unlike an enormous chessboard.

"That must be quite a fish," one of the crewman jested. No one laughed.

Rivalen and Brennus held the magic of the shadow net taut, waiting.

The glow grew brighter.

"Now!" Rivalen said.

He and Brennus released the pent-up magic of the spell and the giant net shot downward at the kraken, closing as it went. The net was powerful enough to scoop up everything in the sea between the ships to a depth of a hundred fathoms, killing most everything it touched, and trapping and weakening the kraken.

A rush of bubbles rose to the surface as if the sea were boiling. Hundreds of dead fish bobbed upward, their lives extinguished by the enervating touch of the net. A shriek, like nothing Rivalen had ever heard, carried up from the depths and out of the sea.

As one, the crew of Night's Secret backed away from the rail. Sailors exchanged alarmed glances.

"Steady, seajacks," shouted the captain. "We've a sound ship under our feet and two princes of Shade aboard. Steady."

"We have him," Brennus said, and leaned over the railing.

Rivalen was uncertain.

The red glow flared as the kraken broke free of the net, shot upward, and breached the sea. A glistening, dun-colored mountain of flesh exploded out of the water. Spray flew as high as a bowshot into the sky. Tentacles as tall as towers squirmed into the air and blotted out the stars. The tatters of the net of shadows clung to the massive limbs and dissipated into nothingness.

The crew of Night's Secret shouted in terror. Crossbows twanged but the bolts were too small to affect the kraken. The roiling sea set the ship to rocking, nearly tossing Brennus overboard. Rivalen grabbed his cloak and jerked him backward. Brennus steadied himself on the gunnel and cursed.

"At your stations, seajacks!" Captain Perin shouted. "At your stations! Harpooners to starboard!"

The tentacles retreated under the sea and the head of the kraken-sleek despite its enormousness-broke the surface. Rivalen saw what he had never expected to see outside of Shade Enclave: a Netherese mythallar.

Another shriek from the kraken split the night.

The glowing, crystalline shard of the mythallar, as big as a mature oak, stuck out of the kraken's head like an enormous unicorn's horn. The creature's flesh had grown over to enclose the huge crystal.

One of the kraken's huge eyes-partially visible above the waterline-fixed on New Moon, and the great creature dived under the surface. The mythallar's glow highlighted the kraken's form in silhouette. Its massive size surprised even Rivalen.

With a single undulation of its body, the kraken darted like an arrowshot toward New Moon. The panicked shouts of the crew carried over the water.

Brennus began a series of complex gestures and incanted the words to a spell to blast the kraken with dark energy. Rivalen took hold of his brother's hands and interrupted the spell.

"No. You could damage the mythallar."

Brennus's eyes flared. "Those are worshipers of Shar, brother. Men serving us."

"I know." But Rivalen also knew that he could not risk the mythallar. He needed it; Shar needed it.

The kraken plowed into New Moon without slowing. The ship, a three-masted caravel from the Pirate Isles, disintegrated in a cacophony of cracking wood, roiling water, screaming men, and the shriek of the kraken. The creature dived under again, circling below the floating debris.

Flailing men and hunks of broken ship dotted the sea's surface, lit from below by the light of the mythallar. The kraken's silhouette glided under the men. They screamed in terror.

The crew of Night's Secret watched it all in fearful, silent awe.

"My princes," shouted Captain Piren, the fear evident in his tone. "No ship on the sea can outrun that beast."

"We are not running, Captain," answered Rivalen over his shoulder.

Two harpooners hurried to the rail. Rivalen eyed the powerfully built men bearing iron pikes tipped with sharpened hooks. Rivalen waved them back. Harpoons would not harm the kraken. Nor would most of his spells, at least not before the creature could destroy the ship. He would have to try something else.

The kraken swam under New Moon's surviving crew and jerked several of the men under the waves. They left behind only ripples; they did not even have time to scream. The kraken abandoned its sport with New Moon's survivors and turned toward Night's Secret.

The wide eyes of Night's Secret's crew darted back and forth between the onrushing kraken and the two princes of Shade. Rivalen felt Brennus's gaze on him, too.

"See to the rescue of Moon's survivors," Rivalen said. "At least a dozen men are still in the water. Use the elementals."

Brennus cocked his head in puzzlement. "What do you intend?"

"To end this," Rivalen answered, taking his holy symbol in hand.

Brennus grabbed him by the wrist. Shadows coiled around them both.

"This is not a time to test your faith, Rivalen. A stronger shadow net might hold it still."

Rivalen removed his brother's hand from his arm. He had made a lifelong habit of testing of his faith, and Shar had rewarded him for it. He saw no reason to change his practice.

"No net will stop it, Brennus. But faith will. Watch."

With that, Rivalen spoke an arcane word and empowered himself to fly. He stepped off the deck and streaked toward the kraken. The dorsal hump of the creature's body rose above the surface, so large it could have been an island. The glowing mythallar spike rose from the sea like a standard and led its charge.

Rivalen felt the weight of the enormous creature's gaze, but answered with his own. The kraken's body pulsed, churning the sea behind it, and accelerated toward him. It shrieked from an unseen beak.

Rivalen pulled up, hovering just above the surface of the sea. He recited a prayer to the Lady of Loss and felt her presence near him, frigid and calm. He took comfort. He was her instrument and would not fail.

Drawing on the Shadow Weave-Shar's Shadow Weave-he spoke the arcane stanza for one of his most powerful charms. He completed the spell as water and tentacles exploded out of the sea and reached for him.

Rivalen's magic reached into the mind of the kraken, established a link between man and beast. The spell pitted Rivalen's will against that of the kraken.

"Stop," Rivalen said, and the spell sent his voice careening through the corridors of the kraken's brain.

The creature's mind and comprehension were as immense as its body. The kraken had lived centuries, spent decades in contact with the sentient mythallar, learning, growing, knowing. Its mind was keen, incredibly powerful.

But it was no match for Rivalen Tanthul.

Rivalen had lived for millennia, had learned spellcraft at the sides of the most powerful arcanists Toril had ever known, had survived the horrors of the Plane of Shadow for centuries, had battled the primordial malaugrym on their home plane, had melded his physical body with the stuff of shadow, had served and continued to serve as high priest to one of the most powerful goddesses in the multiverse.

The kraken's mind quailed before Rivalen. The huge creature submitted and stopped.

Rivalen hung in the air, surrounded on all sides by tentacles as thick as wine vats. He could have reached out and touched them. They smelled of fish and the sea. Suckers dotted the limbs, each of them as large as a war shield.

"Lower your limbs and be still," Rivalen ordered.

The tentacles sank into the sea and the kraken held its position below him. Rivalen reached into the kraken's mind and learned its name: Ssessimyth.

Behind him, the crew of Night's Secret cheered and praised Shar. A cloud passed before Selune, obscuring its light. Rivalen knew it to be a sign of his goddess's approval.

He looked over the sea to the survivors of New Moon and saw the water elementals scooping them up in turn, bearing them toward Night's Secret. More than half the crew of New Moon had been lost to the kraken. Rivalen felt pangs of regret. They had been loyal servants.

He flew along the kraken's body until he reached its head. There, he studied the mythallar. The flesh of the kraken's head grew along much of its length, and the open wound and folds of rubbery skin out of which the crystal protruded looked swollen and inflamed. Removing it from the creature would be difficult and painful for the kraken, but probably not fatal. That was well. Rivalen was certain he could find a use for the enspelled creature.

Rivalen found the swirling whorls of color within the artifact's crystalline depths seductive, hypnotic. He lowered himself and placed a hand on it. The shadows around his body swirled about him defensively. The kraken spasmed as though startled.

"Be still," Rivalen commanded the creature, and it was.

You are the Source, he projected to the mythallar. Do you understand me?

No response.

He frowned. He had neither the time nor the resources to spend repairing another mythallar. The arcanists of Shade Enclave had only recently repaired the damage Mystra's Chosen had done to his own city's mythallar.

Brennus, powered by his own spell of flying, flew out to him. The two brothers hung in the night air over the subdued kraken, in the light of the mythallar, while the crew of Night's Secret took aboard New Moon's survivors. Brennus eyed the kraken and shook his head.

"Shar favors you indeed, brother. Forgive me for doubting."

Rivalen waved away the apology and ran his fingertips over the mythallar. His touch left fading streaks of shadow on the glowing crystal.

"I tried to contact it and received no response. It does not appear damaged. What can you see?"

Brennus cast a series of divinations. With each spell, his expression showed increasing puzzlement.

Rivalen knew his brother could study a subject for tendays at a time. "Speak, Brennus. What is it?"

Brennus shook his head. "I am not certain. The mythallar is weakened, though it appears to hold enough power for our purposes. But…"

"But?"

"But I cannot elicit even a superficial response from the sentience. For the moment, it's as inert as any other mythallar."

Rivalen frowned. "Has its mind been destroyed?"

Brennus shook his head.

"No. The intelligence still exists. My spells detect the mind. But it is… torpid." He looked down on the mythallar in puzzlement. "As if hibernating." He looked at Rivalen. "To heal, perhaps?"

"Can we awaken it?"

Brennus shrugged.

Rivalen offered his disappointment to the Lady of Loss as sacrifice. Even if the mythallar's sentience was forever lost, the crystal might still be used.

"It can serve our purpose, asleep or awake."

Brennus nodded absently, still puzzling over the mythallar.

"I am going below," Rivalen said.

Brennus cocked an eyebrow and looked at his brother in astonishment. "Below? Now?"

Rivalen nodded and removed the ancient Sakkoran coin from his pocket. Thousands more were probably scattered on the sea floor. If he found a quality specimen, perhaps he would add it to his collection.

Seeing the coin, Brennus jested, "I do not think the kraken will charge you a fee for transport."

Rivalen smiled and said, "I want to see the ruins."

Brennus grew solemn, nodded.

Rivalen lowered himself onto the kraken's head. Ssessimyth's flesh was rubbery, cold, and slick, but Rivalen sat on his knees and kept his balance. He took his holy symbol in hand and offered an imprecation to Shar. Magic coursed through him and the tingle in his chest told him the spell had taken effect-he could breathe water.

He followed with the arcane words to another spell and when he felt the magic charge his hands, he spun shadows from the air and shaped them with his fingers into a short rope and a barbed piton as long as his forearm. By the time he was done, both were as solid as if they were real.

"What are you doing?" Brennus asked, but he must have guessed, for he floated backward a few paces.

"Remain still," Rivalen ordered Ssessimyth, and he drove the shadow spike deep into the kraken's flesh. The gargantuan creature seemed not to notice. Rivalen looped the rope of shadows through the piton's eye and held both ends in his hands.

Brennus shook his head and smiled. His fangs-a royal affectation-glinted in the starlight.

"Descend to the ruins," Rivalen said to Ssessimyth.

The kraken immediately dived under the surface and shot downward like a bolt from a crossbow. The terrific speed almost stripped Rivalen from his perch, but his great strength, enhanced by the darkness, allowed him to keep his hold on the shadow rope. He expelled the air from his lungs and inhaled to fill them with water. The ever-present shadows around him held the cold and pressure of the depths at bay.

Led downward by the soft red glow of the mythallar, the kraken dived for the bottom of the Inner Sea toward a city that had last been in the light of the sun over two thousand years earlier.

The silence and isolation underwater surprised Rivalen. Sediment clouded the sea, probably churned when the kraken had left the bottom. It was like moving through mist. Rivalen could see only a short distance in front of him despite the light of the mythallar.

After a time, the kraken leveled off, partly rolled its body, and began to wheel a slow circle. Rivalen clutched the rope, leaned over, and looked down.

The ruins of Sakkors materialized out of the misty murk like a specter. The destruction shocked Rivalen. The inverted mountaintop upon which the flying city had stood had come to rest on its side. The position made the once-horizontal plateau into a vertical cliff. Caves in the cliff suggested the activity of creatures, but Rivalen saw no life. Perhaps whatever creatures had lived there had moved on or died.

The sideways landing had dumped the city off the plateau. Thousands of buildings lay in a heap on the sea floor at the base of the artificial cliff. Rivalen recognized the outlines of some of the structures-the shattered dome of the temple of Kozah, the once-tall spire of Xolund's tower. Rivalen wondered what Xolund's final thoughts might have been as his city fell into the sea. He wondered what the Source's thoughts must have been. He shook his head and remembered a day, thousands of years earlier, when he had walked the streets of Sakkors, when he had taken counsel with Xolund himself. Sakkors had not been as grand as Shade Enclave, but it had been a beautiful city nevertheless.

And it would be again.

Rivalen thanked Shar for sparing Shade Enclave the fate of Sakkors. He promised her that he would resurrect the sunken city. He would bring it up from the bottom and back into the air, just as Shade Enclave had emerged from the shadows to fly again in Faerun's sky.

Through the mental connection of his spell, Rivalen willed the kraken to move closer. He longed to examine the mountaintop in more detail.

The powerful magic that had first severed the top of the mountain from its root appeared also to have preserved it nearly intact, despite the impact and the passing of years. This bade well. The Shadovar of Shade Enclave could repair a damaged mythallar, could use magic to rebuild a city in a month, but Mystra's Denial-an edict issued by the goddess of magic in response to Karsus's Folly, an edict that prohibited the casting of certain powerful spells once common in ancient Netheril-made it difficult and costly for even the most high to cast the spell necessary to remove the top of a mountain and use it as a base for a floating city. Mystra's Denial meant that the empire could never be fully replicated.

But a new Netheril could rise. The raising of Sakkors would be its harbinger.

Rivalen decided that he had seen enough. He took the thurhn from his pocket and dropped it into the depths. It reflected the red light of the mythallar as it sank, tumbling, to the ruins. He would recover his coin when he recovered the city.

He took one last look behind him, committed the ruins to memory, and commanded the kraken to surface.

He found Brennus waiting for him, still hovering over the sea. Rivalen was still able to use his spell to fly, so he leaped off the kraken's back and recited a minor magic that dried his clothing and gear.

"What did you see?" Brennus asked.

"The destruction of the city is complete," Rivalen answered. "But the mountaintop is intact. You should see it, Brennus. The spire of Xolund's tower is discernible, as is the temple of Kozah."

"Kozah. That is a name I have not heard in a long time." Brennus smiled slightly. "But, no. I do not want to see it until it joins Shade Enclave in Faerun's sky."

Rivalen nodded and smiled, feeling satisfied. The first task set to him by Shar and his father was almost complete.

"We should inform the most high that we have been successful," Brennus said.

"Agreed."

Brennus put a hand on Rivalen's shoulder. "And I have some thoughts about how to awaken the mythallar's sentience."

Days later, far removed from Sakkors and the Inner Sea, Rivalen sought his father, the Most High Telamont Tanthul. Striding into his father's parlor, pennons of shadow formed spontaneously in the caliginous air and clung to his high collared silk shirt and linen breeches. Rivalen had become so accustomed to the touch of the shadows over the centuries that he scarcely noticed them anymore. Shadows saturated Shade Enclave just as the Inner Sea saturated Sakkors.

Dim lights provided the only illumination in the rich, duskwood-paneled chamber. A thick gray rug decorated with an azure spiral motif covered the floor. Plush chairs and two claw-foot divans provided seating. Books and scrolls covered most of the walls in the circular chamber. The Most High's mammoth darkwood desk sat centermost, itself covered in scrolls and tomes. Rivalen's father read voraciously everything he could find. Rivalen knew that the Most High had made a secret arrangement with the keeper of tomes, the master of Faerun's greatest library, Candlekeep. The most high had provided the keeper with some rare tomes from ancient Netheril, written in the original Loross. In return, the keeper allowed the most high-through his agents, of course, or in disguise-full access to Candlekeep's collection.

Rivalen spotted his father on the far side of the parlor, standing before a magical wall map of Faerun. Rivalen saw no sign of Hadrhune, his father's counselor and Rivalen's chief rival for his father's ear.

"Central Faerun," said the most high, and the magical map changed perspective, expanding to show the details of the heartlands of Faerun-Cormyr, Sembia, and the Dalelands.

Rivalen prepared to announce himself but the most high said, "You and Brennus have found Sakkors. Its mythallar is ours."

Rivalen no longer bothered to ask how his father knew what he knew.

"Yes, Most High."

The most high turned to face him. His knowing, platinum-colored eyes stared out of a narrow, expressionless face. Rivalen had inherited his father's sharp nose and imperial bearing. His father's royal cloak, originally violet, was so dark as to be almost black. As much shadowstuff as flesh, Telamont seemed to float rather than stand. The outline of his body blurred with the darkness in the room. Shadows swirled constantly around him, longer and thicker than those that circled Rivalen. The shadowstuff had not yet so consumed Rivalen. But it would.

"Well done, Rivalen."

The most high's praise was hard won. Rivalen enjoyed the moment.

Telamont moved past Rivalen to the darkwood desk and removed the crystal stopper from a bottle of nightwine. He poured two glasses and gave one to Rivalen. Rivalen held it but did not drink; he never did.

"The mythallar is undamaged?" his father asked.

Rivalen swirled the nightwine, inhaled its piquant aroma. "Structurally it is undamaged. And its magic appears intact, if somewhat weakened. But the sentience within is… unconscious. At this point, it is nothing more than a slightly weakened, ordinary mythallar."

The most high sipped his drink and frowned. "The sentience in the mythallar would be a formidable weapon to add to our arsenal. Awaken it, Rivalen."

"Easier spoken than accomplished, Father. Brennus has learned the name of someone we believe may be able to awaken it. I wanted only your permission to proceed."

"Who is this person you seek?"

"A mind mage who travels the Dragon Coast. He is of no political consequence and will be missed by no one."

"A mind mage? Unusual in this age. This will not distract you from other matters?"

"What other matters?" Rivalen asked.

Telamont smiled enigmatically. "You have my permission, Rivalen." He clasped his hands behind his back and floated back to the wall map.

Rivalen followed, thoughtful.

"We should proceed with the raising and reconstruction of Sakkors," the most high said. "Your brothers Yder and Clariburnus should lead the effort while you and Brennus pursue this mind mage."

"As you wish, Most High."

"Yder and Clariburnus are to use all resources at our disposal. I want the city rebuilt within the month."

"Yes, Most High."

A month would be an ambitious timeline, but with magic and slave labor-especially that of the krinth, a strong but dull race born of slaves and shadow demons-it could be done.

Rivalen stood at his father's shoulder and studied the map. It showed Sembia centermost: roads, cities, towns, temples, all clearly marked. Rivalen had long advocated moving against Sembia, a rich realm with fertile upcountry farmland and several southern ports.

Rivalen had discussed the plan with his father at length, had planted the roots of Sembia's overthrow long ago, even before Shade Enclave had returned from the Plane of Shadow. Rivalen controlled cells of Sharrans in almost all of Sembia's major cities.

The most high said, "The Heartlands are ripe, Rivalen. The Rage of Dragons has weakened them. Drought has weakened them. The Rain of Fire has weakened them. Their internal political squabbles and this elven Return have weakened them. We must not let them rot on the vine."

"Most High?" Rivalen asked, not daring to hope.

Telamont continued, "We have spent over a year scrabbling in the dirt, looking for trinkets from the empire while we sought alliances with the child kings who now rule Faerun. Wasted efforts, I think. Do you agree?"

Rivalen licked his lips and carefully worded his reply. "We have recovered what magic there is to recover from the ruins of the empire, Father. That time is past. And our attempts at diplomacy have been met with scorn and mistrust. Cormyr and Evereska still blame us for the depredations of the phaerimm. The elves that have returned to Cormanthor gather strength while we speak. The time for diplomacy, too, seems past."

The most high gestured at the map, indicating all of Faerun with a wave of his arm. "Faerun is covered by petty realms ruled by petty kings, little better than the Rengarth tribesmen who once peopled the lands under the flying cities of the empire. Even the elves have degenerated into barbarism. What have any of them accomplished since the Fall? The Empire of Netheril gave them the pinnacle of magic, arts, and science, and they preserved none of it." His father faced him, his platinum eyes aglow. His voice softened. "What is now Sembia once was called Arnothoi by the elves. Did you know that, Rivalen? It was all rolling forest and grassy meadows."

"I did, Most High." Rivalen's collection included a coin of magically preserved, polished wood from Arnothoi. He knew the elven realm's history.

The most high pointed to upcountry Sembia, not far from Daerlun. A wisp of shadow spiraled from his fingertip and kissed the map. "I walked a meadow there with Alashar, long ago. A stream divided it in two. Goldslips covered the banks. Your mother loved how the flowers looked in the sun."

Uncomfortable, Rivalen said nothing. His father seldom waxed sentimental, and the subject of Rivalen's mother, Alashar, always made him squirm. Rivalen had murdered her, after all.

Telamont exhaled a cloud of darkness. "Let the Sakkoran mythallar be the last artifact of old Netheril that we seek. Trying to resurrect the old empire is a fool's task. Instead, we will build a new one. Do you agree?"

"You know my thoughts on this, Most High."

"You have prepared the way in Sembia, yes?"

"All is ready, Most High. "

"Proceed, then."

A thrill went through Rivalen and he saw Shar's will made manifest in the news. "Shar favors your course, Father."

The most high's eyes narrowed. "She has given you signs?"

Rivalen's hand went to the holy symbol around his neck. "Yes. Ever since Variance recovered The Leaves of One Night, the Lady has been generous with her favor."

Variance Amatick was Rivalen's underpriestess and archivist, second only to Rivalen in Shar's hierarchy in Shade Enclave. Over a year and a half earlier, she had recovered a lost book long sought by Shar's faithful-The Leaves of One Night. Rivalen purported to have locked it away in the temple's vault. In truth, he bore it with him always. The book revealed Shar's one moment of weakness. Most of the faithful believed that the moment had passed long ago; Rivalen knew that it had not yet occurred. But that was a secret he kept to himself.

Telamont said, "If Shar has spoken to you clearly, Rivalen, inform me of her words."

"You know I should not," Rivalen answered. "The Lady's secrets are for the ears of her high priest. Forgive me, but that is the way of her faith, Father. Of your faith."

The most high's eyes flared.

"I am the Most High, Rivalen. And your father."

Rivalen did not quail. "I am her high priest and servant."

"You are also a servant of the most high," said a voice from behind them-Hadrhune's sibilant, reptilian voice. Rivalen turned to see Telamont's chief counselor rise from one of the parlor's chairs, dripping shadows. He clutched his ever-present darkstaff in his hand.

Rivalen had not noticed him upon entering. He wondered if Hadrhune had been in the room the entire time.

Hadrhune continued. "Your loyalty is to the most high first, Rivalen Tanthul. To Shade Enclave second, and to your goddess only third. Or so it should be."

Rivalen glared. "A false choice, Hadrhune. The interests of all three are aligned."

Hadrhune smiled. "I wonder what would happen should they become misaligned? What would you do, Prince?"

Rivalen held Hadrhune's gaze. "I would never allow them to become misaligned."

"So you say," Hadrhune said, and waved a hand dismissively.

"Enough, Hadrhune," Telamont commanded. "Rivalen, enough."

Both men stared at one another but bowed before the most high's anger. Rivalen's father went on. "We must respect my son's religious zeal. He answers to what he believes to be a higher calling. Isn't that so, Rivalen? Shar has called you to a greater purpose, has she not?"

Rivalen stared at Hadrhune and nodded.

"And Hadrhune seeks only to serve me and this city."

"As do I," Rivalen said tightly.

Telamont nodded and shadows flowed from him. "The time has come to build a new Empire of Netheril. See it done, Rivalen. Find this mind mage first, if you must. But see it done."

"As you wish, Most High."

Rivalen gave Hadrhune a final look and turned to leave. As he walked from the parlor, he realized that he had been standing in the room at the very moment when a new Netherese Empire had been conceived. He gave Shar praise and thanks.

Now he had one man to kill and another to capture.