Shadowrealm

CHAPTER TEN

5 Nightal, the Year of Lightning Storms

Drawn blades and an alarmed shout of "Shades," met the arrival of Cale and Riven. Cale held up his hands. Riven already had his sabers clear of their scabbards.

"We are friends," Cale said.

"Hold!" Abelar shouted, his eyes on Cale.

Abelar, Regg, Jiiris, Roen, and a dozen other members of Abelar's company stood in a circle on the shore of a river Cale assumed to be the Mudslide. The Lathanderians relaxed, and sheathed their weapons. Apologies and greetings followed. Abelar embraced both Cale and Riven.

"I am pleased to see you both. We could use your blades and talents."

Downriver, Cale saw the inkblot of Sakkors hovering in the air. Opposite that, he saw the charred, churning clouds of the Shadowstorm as they ate the sky. Between them sat Abelar's company and the Saerbian refugees, just as Rivalen had said.

"Our blades and talents did nothing against Kesson Rel. We failed, Abelar."

The Lathanderian kept his expression neutral. "But you live, still. We will find another way."

'We may have found one. We need a word in privacy. You and Regg."

Abelar looked to Regg and Regg nodded and said to his company, "See to your duties. Get everyone near the river. No closer to that city, though. Summon food. Keep everyone as warm as possible."

Nods and murmured assent, then they moved off.

"Jiiris," Abelar called, and the red haired warrior brought her horse over. She nodded to Cale and Riven, though Cale saw distant hostility in her eyes. Perhaps she blamed them for Abelar's turn from Lathander.

"You do not have to ask," she said to Abelar. "I will see that Elden eats."

He smiled at her. "Thank you."

When the four men were alone, Cale said, "Ordulin is in ruins, as we suspected. Its people have been consumed by the storm and raised as shadows serving Kesson Rel. The storm transforms Sembia as it moves."

"The Morninglord's light," Regg oathed.

"He is more powerful than we thought," Cale said.

"Much more," Riven added.

Abelar shook his head. "Darkness grows. You see our straits." He nodded at Sakkors. "The Shadovar will prevent us from crossing the river on orders of the Hulorn. I misjudged Tamlin Uskevren badly. He did not seem a man to countenance this. When I met the two of you, I thought it you I should worry over, not him."

Cale smiled at that, recalling their first meeting. "Tamlin is desperate to prove himself and easily steered. I misjudged him as well. It is… unfortunate."

He could think of no better word. He was just pleased Thamalon had died before seeing his son sink so far.

" 'Unfortunate' understates his culpability should something happen to these refugees," Regg said.

Cale took the point. "The Hulorn is not behind this. Prince Rivalen of Shade Enclave is. Tamlin-the Hulorn-is just a tool."

"What does he hope to gain, this Shadovar prince?" Regg asked. "These are ordinary folk."

"Our assistance," Cale answered, and the shadows around him spun.

Regg and Abelar's expression formed questions, waited for answers.

Cale and Riven told them of their encounter with Rivalen, of the deal he offered if Cale and Riven helped him with Kesson Rel.

"He makes hundreds of innocent people the stakes in his play," Regg said.

"He is a Sharran," Abelar said simply, and Regg grunted in agreement.

"I am sorry," Cale said, and the darkness around him crowded close. "We did not intend for your people to be caught up in any of this.

"You are not at fault," Regg said, but Cale felt otherwise.

Abelar nodded at Regg's comment. He looked to Cale. "I have seen you use the shadows to move yourself and others from place to place. Can you take the refugees through the darkness, remove them to safety? Avoid this Sharran plot all together?"

Cale considered. Once, he had attempted to transport an entire ship and its crew across the Inner Sea. Instead, he had inadvertently taken the ship from Faerun to the Plane of Shadow. He knew he could not safely move the refugees as a group.

"In twos and threes, perhaps, but I think the Shadovar would learn of it and exact payment from those who remained behind."

"At least some would get to safety," Regg said. "Elden could go first, with Endren."

Cale watched the war in Abelar's head do battle in his expression. He shook his head. "No. We cannot put everyone else at risk to save a few. If matters become desperate and there is no other way…"

Cale said, "If we assist Rivalen, all of you will be granted passage."

"If he keeps his word," Regg said, his tone doubtful.

"He is a Sharran," Abelar said again, as if that were all that needed said.

"He wants Kesson Rel dead," Riven said. "I saw it in his face. Cale?"

"Agreed."

Riven withdrew his pipe, shielded it from the rain, and used a tindertwig to light it.

"Why?" Regg asked. "To dispense with a rival? Is this prince strengthened if Kesson is defeated?"

Riven shrugged.

Cale said, "We have few options. Kesson is more than a match for us alone. We were fortunate to escape at all."

Riven exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"You have another?" Regg asked, nodding at the pipe.

The question seemed to take Riven by surprise. He eyed the Lathanderian over his pipe, grunted an affirmative, found his spare wooden pipe, tamped it, and provided it and a tindertwig to Regg.

"My thanks," Regg said. He propped the stem between his teeth, lit, took a long draw, and exhaled with a satisfied sigh.

"Been a while since I've enjoyed a smoke. That's good leaf."

Riven nodded. "Grown east of Urlamspyr."

"Good soil there," Regg said, nodding. "Or was, before the drought. Good folk, too."

"Aye, that," Abelar said.

Silence fell, as if the folk of Urlamspyr were already dead in the storm and the four men were paying their respects in silence. Smoke, shadows, and worry clouded the air.

"You believe this Sharran, then?" Abelar finally asked Cale.

"Hells, Abelar, I rarely believe my own god," Cale replied. "I believe Rivalen wants Kesson Rel dead. He says he has a way to do it but needs us."

"Why?"

"I don't know but it seems he needs a… special servant of Mask."

Regg looked away, as if made uncomfortable by the statement, and blew out a cloud of smoke.

"You?" Abelar asked.

"Us," Cale answered, indicating he and Riven.

"How long will you be gone?" Abelar asked. "We have only a short time before the storm reaches us. We will have to do something before that."

Cale shook his head. "I don't know. We don't know where we're going, what we're doing."

"Then you are at the Sharran's mercy," Regg said.

"Hardly," Riven answered, and tapped the pommel of one of his sabers.

"When will you go?" Abelar said.

"We meet him at midnight," Cale answered.

"An hour holy to Sharrans," Regg said.

"And to Mask," Cale said, and Regg looked away.

Silence fell, and all eyes drifted to the Shadowstorm, all of them measuring the distance it would close between then and midnight.

"We will march into the storm if necessary," Regg said. "Gain you the time you need."

"Let us hope it is not necessary," Cale said.

Abelar changed the mood with a lighter tone. "A meal. And rest if you need it."

Regg blew out another cloud of smoke, snuffed the pipe, tapped out the burned pipeweed and held it out to Riven. "Your pipe."

"Keep it," Riven said. "Until we sit down together for another smoke."

Regg looked Riven in the face. He seemed to want to say something, but instead just nodded, and tucked the pipe in his beltpouch.

Darkness fell. So, too, did the rain. The refugees in the Saerbian camp settled in for sleep, nestled against the river between Sakkors and the Shadowstorm. Abelar and his company stood assembled at the outskirts of the camp, on the side facing the Shadowstorm.

At midnight, Cale asked the Shadowlord to provide him with spells and Mask obliged. Cale's mind filled with power.

"Ready?" he asked Riven, and the assassin nodded.

Cale pictured in his mind the one-time Saerbian camp at Lake Veladon. Riven drew his sabers. Cale drew Weaveshear.

Cale tried to reach through the dormant connection with Magadon.

Mags, hang on. We have another way to kill him.

No response. He toyed with the idea of returning to the Wayrock to check on Magadon but decided that he could not spare the time. Besides, he could do nothing there other than bear witness to Magadon's slip into the void. He served his friend best by finding a way to kill Kesson Rel.

A little apart from Cale and Riven, the Lathanderians appeared to be readying themselves for battle, for a possible march into the Shadowstorm. Cale caught Abelar's eye and raised a hand in farewell. Abelar returned the gesture. Meanwhile, the men and women of his company checked and rechecked straps, secured shields, and donned helmets.

Cale drew the darkness around himself and Riven, left the Saerbians alone in the shadow of the Sakkors, and rode the shadows to Lake Veladon.

They appeared in darkness and rain. The remains of the Saerbian camp littered the lake's shoreline, the flotsam of war. Broken wagon wheels, a shattered axle, fire pits, buckets, a few sacks, a slashed waterskin, a tent that had been left behind, the snap of its flap in the wind like the crack of a whip.

The front edge of the Shadowstorm, a black shroud darkening the land, was within sight and drawing closer. The wind screamed. Thunder and lightning assaulted Faerun, more intense than that experienced by Cale and Riven within the storm.

"It's growing stronger," Cale said.

Riven nodded.

With his shadesight, Cale watched the storm's darkness twist and wither the trees it engulfed, brown and curl the grass. A clutch of rabbits burst from their burrows and sprinted away from the storm. Squirrels and raccoons scrambled down trees and fled. To his right Cale saw deer and foxes, even a lumbering bear, bound past in the distance.

Sembia would never be the same. Sembians would never be the same. "Rivalen!" he shouted into the wind.

He and Riven stood side by side, blades out, awaiting the appearance of the Shadovar prince. Shadows leaked from Cale's flesh, from Weaveshear.

Rivalen emerged from the Shadowstorm, backlit by a flash of lightning. A stride through the shadows brought him to Cale and Riven's side.

"It is growing stronger and moving faster," Rivalen said. "We must hurry."

Odd, Cale thought, that two men could want the same thing but for such different reasons.

"Hurry to where?" he asked.

"We travel to Kesson Rel's world of Ephyras, where we will find a temple at the edge of nothing. Within is a weapon for a Chosen of Mask."

"Sounds like we don't need you, then," Riven said to Rivalen.

Rivalen showed his fangs. Smile or grimace, Cale could not tell.

"How did you learn all this?" Cale asked Rivalen.

"My secret," the shade prince said.

"What kind of weapon?" Cale asked.

The shadows around Rivalen churned. "I do not know."

"Dark and empty," Riven said, shaking his head and forcing a laugh.

Rivalen stretched out his hands and gathered the shadows to him as fauna streaked over their boots and the wind threw up a blizzard of leaves, twigs, and pebbles. The water of Lake Veladon seethed.

Cale found the shadows Rivalen gathered to himself, shadows shot through with the prince's power, surprisingly familiar. He caught a gleam in Rivalen's hand, thought at first it might have been the prince's holy symbol, but then saw it for what it was-a gold coin, a Sembian fivestar.

He had no time to puzzle over it before the darkness engulfed them all. Before they moved between worlds, Cale reached into his pocket and took his holy symbol, a silken mask, in hand.

Abelar and Regg stood side by side, watching the darkness grow in the night sky. Selune, if she were not new, was curtained off from Faerun by the Shadowstorm. The wall of black filled their field of vision, filled their world. It pulsed and lurched like a living thing. The severity of the thunder and lightning elicited a steady stream of gasps from the Lathanderians.

"They will have to return quickly if they are to stop it from reaching us," Regg said. He put his hand to the holy symbol he wore on a chain at his throat.

"Roen has used his divinations on the storm," Abelar said. "An intelligence guides it. Kesson Rel, I presume. It grows in power with each hour that passes. He tells me the very air within it will drain a man's life."

"We have wands," Regg said. "We can ward the company."

"Aye," Abelar said, "but what else is within that storm?"

"Shar is in that storm," Regg said softly.

"Aye."

Regg cleared his throat and said, "If Cale does not return before matters greatly… worsen, I think we will have to march on it, Abelar. If an intelligence guides the storm and the creatures within it, we can perhaps slow its approach by offering resistance."

Abelar suspected that there would be no returning from such a battle. And he knew Regg thought the same thing.

"Light will battle against darkness," Regg said. "Lathander's servants will face Shar's. It is fitting that we face it so, I think."

"I do not think it will come to that," Abelar said.

"If it does," Regg said. "I say we march."

Abelar winced inwardly at the word "we." He could no longer hold his peace. He faced his friend. "If we march, you will have to lead the company."

Abelar's words eroded the resolve in Regg's expression. "What… what do you mean?"

"I cannot leave my son, Regg. Not again. Not even for this."

Regg studied his face, and Abelar imagined his mind whirling behind the calm facade of his expression. Abelar saw no judgment in his friend's eyes, but neither did he see understanding.

"The sun rises and sets," Regg said. "So be it. I will lead."

Cale noticed the cold first, an unearthly frigidity that settled in his bones and chilled him to his core. Wind assaulted his ears, the sound the anguished howl of a trapped animal as it surrendered to death. He pulled his cloak tight as the darkness that had brought them dissipated.

"Ephyras," Rivalen said, glancing around.

They had materialized on the decaying corpse of a world. Black, barren earth with the consistency of sand stretched out in all directions for as far as he could see. Dry gullies cut deep, jagged lines in the dead earth but he saw no water to form them. The wind blew up dust cyclones here and there, little black spirals that frolicked on the grave of the world before losing their coherence and collapsing. If there had ever been vegetation on Ephyras, Cale saw no sign; it had long ago dried out and crumbled away.

The air smelled faintly of ancient decay, like the memory of rot. Long ribbons of shadow floated through the air, squirming in the wind like worms. A tiny, exhausted red sun hung in the sky, ringed by a collar of absolute black. Its wan, bloody light made no real attempt to light the world, merely colored it in a hue that hinted at slaughter.

As Cale watched, the darkness ringing the sun expanded slightly, reducing its glowing core to an even smaller circle. The darkness was choking off the sun.

"Dark," Cale oathed.

The dimness of the light allowed him to see stars twinkling faintly in the black-gray vault of the sky, appearing and disappearing behind the long columns of ink-black clouds that streaked across the heavens. Cale did not recognize any of the constellations. Lightning flashed now and then, long, jagged bolts of green that seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon, as if they ringed the world.

The sight of it all caused an ache in Cale's head, made him dizzy. He felt pressure building in his ears, numbness in his extremities, then realized of a sudden that his feelings had nothing to do with the sight of a dying world. Something was wrong.

He turned to Riven and Rivalen but his body answered him awkwardly and he stumbled and nearly fell to the black earth. He felt heavy, dulled. He grabbed at Riven's cloak, tried to speak, but found his mouth stuffed with cloth, his lips numb.

The expression on Riven's face suggested the assassin was experiencing a similar feeling. He staggered backward, out of Cale's grip, and slumped to the ground. Cale's legs failed him and he, too, fell. He hit the ground on all fours, collapsed, rolled onto his back in a bed of dead earth on a dead world looking up at a dying sun.

The shadows swirled around him, but neither they nor his regenerative flesh could combat the effect. He knew it for what it was. He and Riven had experienced it in the Shadowstorm. Ephyras's air drained life. He should have known.

Clutching his mask, he tried to invoke a protective ward, but his numb lips garbled the words. Rivalen appeared over him, golden eyes staring out of the black clot of his hood. The Shadovar appeared unaffected by the life draining effect of the air, of the world. He must have kept permanent wards on his person.

The shadows around both of them roiled and touched. The prince reached down for him, took him by the arm, and pulled him easily to his feet.

"You need to ward yourself," Rivalen said. "I assumed you had."

The prince intoned a spell and energy flowed into Cale, enough to let him stand on his own feet. He shook off the prince's touch, wobbled, gathered himself, and managed to mouth the words to a ward before Ephyras again stole his strength.

The moment the spell took effect, the numbness began to leave him. He felt his heartbeat return to normal, inhaled a deep breath. He pushed past Rivalen to Riven, kneeled, and cast the same ward on the assassin. Riven's wide eye cleared. He blinked, breathed, sat up with a grunt, and spit.

"Negative energy," Cale said. "Same as the Shadowstorm."

A thought tugged at him, but flitted away before he could pin it down. He stood, pulling Riven to his feet after him.

"How can there be a temple here?" Riven said. "No one could survive."

"It must have been different here, once," Cale surmised. He looked at Rivalen, who surveyed the world as he might his own domain. Shadows leaked from him in long strands.

"Rivalen?" Cale asked. "What happened here?"

Rivalen seemed not to have heard him.

Cale started to ask again, but Rivalen spoke, awe in his tone.

"Another Shadowstorm is what happened here."

The words took Cale unawares. He and Riven shared a look.

Rivalen's hand went to the black disc at his throat, a symbol not unlike the one Riven wore, a symbol eerily reminiscent of the dying sun and the black collar choking it to death.

"In the darkness of night," Rivalen said. "We hear the whisper of the void."

Cale felt chilled. "How can there be another Shadowstorm?"

"There are many worlds," Rivalen said, his voice distant, the shadows around him dark. "Ephyras is older than Toril. Here, the Lady has already triumphed."

"Triumphed?" Riven asked.

Cale thought of Sembia, of Faerun, of all of Toril. "You're telling us that the Shadowstorm withers a world, and kills its sun?"

"And more still," Rivalen said, his voice the disconnected utterance of a man in a trance. "Nothingness is the end. Soon Ephyras will be gone entirely. Annihilated."

Cale echoed the word, said it softly, the way he might a blasphemy. "Annihilated."

He found himself looking at the dust, the death, the darkness, wondering if there were still more worlds that Shar had killed. He supposed there must be. She was responsible for the deaths of millions.

"There were people here," he said, not a question.

Rivalen made no comment, though the shadows around him whirled.

"Dark and empty," Riven oathed. "A whole world? A whole world."

"All worlds die in time," Rivalen said. "In time, all existence ends."

"How can you look upon this and offer prayers?" Cale asked. He took the prince by the shoulder, pulled him around to face him.

Rivalen's eyes flashed. He took Cale by the wrist, for a moment they tested one another's strength, but determined nothing. They released one another and Rivalen stared into his face.

"How can you not feel awe as you watch a sun die?"

The shadows around Cale swirled. "Death does not awe me. Death is easy."

"You are broken, Shadovar," Riven said, contempt in his words. He advanced to stand beside Cale.

Rivalen stared at Cale, at Riven. "I acknowledge the truth that the fate of all worlds, of all of existence, will be the same as Ephyras. Is that broken?"

"You don't acknowledge it," Cale said. "You elevate it to an article of faith. You worship it."

"That is broken," Riven said.

The shadows around Rivalen whirled, as if stirred by the wind. "We are here because I wish to stop the Shadowstorm on Toril. To prevent this." His gesture took in Ephyras.

"And I cannot figure that out," Cale said.

Riven eyed the Shadovar, and said to Cale. "I trust him about as far as his blood will spray when I cut his throat."

Rivalen leaned forward, his golden eyes ablaze. He towered over the assassin. "If I wished you dead, you would already be so. Do you think there is anything that I would do that you could thwart?"

Riven had both sabers free in a heartbeat. "Why don't we find out?"

Cale shook his head. "Why stop it, Rivalen? This is what your goddess strives for."

Cale's question diffused the tension between Riven and Rivalen. The Shadovar prince stepped back and said, "My reasons are my own."

"Not good enough," Riven said.

Cale asked, "You can live forever but worship annihilation?"

"I do not worship it. I told you. I simply acknowledge its inevitability."

"You seek rule over a realm whose fate is dust and death," Cale said. "Why?"

"I forge meaning for myself in the face of ultimate meaninglessness."

"But nothing you do will matter."

The darkness around Rivalen whirled and he tilted his head to acknowledge the point. "In time."

And all at once Cale understood Rivalen. "In time" was the crux of Rivalen's life, the fulcrum that balanced meaning and meaninglessness. The prince wanted to control the pace of approaching annihilation. He wanted it to happen tomorrow, never today.

"You don't want to stop the Shadowstorm on Toril," Cale said. "You want to delay it, have it happen when you want it, on your terms."

Rivalen regarded Cale for a long while. "You also must struggle with meaning, Maskarran."

"Can the Shadowstorm be stopped?"

The prince stared into his face.

"Can it?"

Rivalen's eyes flared. "No."

Cale could find no words. Riven did, all of them curses.

"But it can be delayed," Rivalen said. "Delayed for a time that is long even to Shadovar high priests. For the moment, that aligns our interests."

"For the moment," Riven said, and glared at Rivalen.

Rivalen kept his gaze on Cale. "Perhaps we should seek the temple lest Toril experience Ephyra's fate sooner than any of us would like."

Cale considered that and nodded. There was nothing for it.

Brennus felt the magical ring on his finger open a connection between him and his brother.

We are on Ephyras. It is a dying world. The Lady's will is manifest here. The time is drawing close, Brennus. You must determine how to capture Kesson Rel's divinity once it is freed.

Brennus listened to the words, heard the hint of exaltation in his brother's tone, and seethed. He wished he could reach through the connection and choke Riven to death, hear his stilted, dying gasps, leave his corpse to end in nothingness with the rest of Ephyras.

Brennus? Rivalen asked.

I am still seeking after the answer, Rivalen. You will know when I know.