Shadowstorm

CHAPTER ELEVEN

29 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms

Dawn's light showed distant smoke on the horizon. The faint stink of it hung in the air. Saerb was still a few leagues to the east. The smoke was to the northeast, not from Saerb, but from the direction of the Corrinthal estate. Abelar did not call for a Dawnmeet. He stared at the smoke, his heart and mind racing.

"It cannot have been Forrin. We would have seen signs of his forces."

"Agreed," Endren said, and Abelar heard the concern in his father's voice.

Regg said, "It could be nothing more than a brushfire."

Abelar nodded but the expanding pit in his stomach belied the gesture. It did not smell like a brushfire. And even if Forrin's main body had not yet reached Saerb, he knew that an advance force of scouts or raiders could have attacked the estate. Forrin had already shown his willingness to target civilians.

Abelar, Endren, and Regg stared at the smoke in silence for a time while the company geared up. Abelar's hand went to his holy symbol. He chose to believe the smoke came from something other than the Corrinthal estate. He did not think Lathander would have granted the miracle back in the village, would have returned his father to him, only to have Abelar fail to reach his son in time. But belief did not chase his fears.

"Mount up," he said to his father and Regg, then called Jiiris to him. Her green eyes mirrored his fears back at him. She understood what the smoke might mean. Everyone did. Abelar held onto his emotions and kept his voice level.

"Ride on to Saerb. We're ahead of Forrin's main force. Endren, Regg, Roen, and I will take two score men to investigate… the smoke."

She nodded, reached as if to touch his hand, but stopped just short.

"I would rather accompany you, Abelar."

He shook his head. "No. Take the company to Saerb and organize an evacuation. Regg's father will be at Oakhaven, and he is ill. Send men to secure his safety. Then send word to the nobility that we are to muster on the western shore of Lake Veladon. Make sure they know that my father rides with us, that he is calling the muster."

Jiiris nodded. "And from there?"

Endren put in, "Depends on our numbers. And Forrin's. Once our forces are assembled, we'll evaluate."

Abelar said, "We will meet you there. Be wary, Jiiris. There may be raiders afoot."

She lowered her gaze, nodded. "I am sorry, Abelar."

He refused to acknowledge the implication of her words.

"Stay in the light," he said to her.

She looked him in the eyes, firmed up. "And you, my lord."

The company said its farewells. The bulk of the men moved east to Saerb. Abelar, Endren, Regg, Roen, and a score more headed northeast toward the smoke, toward the Corrinthal estate, toward Elden.

They pushed their mounts into a gallop. Abelar tried to keep alert for any signs of raiders but he could not focus. The grass and the trees blurred in his vision.

The men spoke little, and the silence was telling. Abelar felt numb, dazed. With each of Swiftdawn's strides, he felt a little more of him shaken loose. He could not stop imagining one horrible end or another for his son. Tears wetted his cheeks and he gave Swiftdawn her head. She pulled away from the rest of the group. Abelar heard his companions calling after him but he ignored them. He had to see. He had to know.

And he had to be first.

The smell of smoke grew stronger as he dashed through the grasslands and woods that he knew well enough to navigate in his sleep. Clouds masked the sun. Abelar's mouth went dry as he neared a familiar rise that would allow him to see the estate. He slowed Swiftdawn, topped the rise, and saw the destruction below him.

"No," he said, and the tears started anew. He had expected it, but expecting it did nothing to prepare him for the sight of it.

He heeled Swiftdawn and she tore off down the rise and toward the estate.

The gates lay flattened on the ground, trampled underfoot. Dried blood spattered the gatehouse. Flames had consumed the manse and barracks. Both were little more than blackened skeletons of wood and stone. They still radiated heat. The village stood unmolested, but unoccupied and ghostly. The stables, too, remained, but they were empty of horses. Abelar halted Swiftdawn near the gatehouse. He saw no bodies.

Perhaps most of them had fled. Perhaps Elden was safe in Saerb even now.

"Hail!" he called. "Anyone!"

A murder of crows, startled by his shout, took flight from behind the manse. Their caws mocked his hopes. His heart climbed up his throat.

"Abelar!" Endren called from behind him.

The rest of his companions had reached the rise. They, too, saw the destruction, the crows.

"Wait, Abelar!"

His companions thundered down the rise and over the plains, but Abelar did not wait. He had to see. He whickered at Swiftdawn and she walked him around the ruins of the manse. Spots of churned earth dotted the grounds; blood stained the grass here and there.

His people had not fled. They had fought. And fallen.

He rounded the manse to see a pile of corpses heaped behind it. Dozens of them. Arms and legs jutted from the pile. Empty eyes stared out at Abelar. They had been cast into a pile like so much offal. Perhaps the raiders had thought to burn them but changed their minds.

Abelar felt lightheaded. He clutched at Swiftdawn's mane to keep from falling.

A few stubborn crows still worried at the corpses, poking at eyes, pulling at scraps of flesh.

Taken with a sudden rage, Abelar leaped off Swiftdawn, drew his sword, and ran at the birds. They cawed and took wing before he reached them, one of them with a grisly strip of flesh hanging from its beak.

Abelar stuck his blade in the earth and sank to his knees beside the bodies. He saw familiar faces among the dead-Erkin, Silla, Wrelldon, Mern, many others. He wanted to look away, fearing he would see Elden's face staring back at him, but the pile drew his gaze like a lodestone.

"How could you allow this?" he said, and meant both himself and Lathander. "How?"

Endren, Regg, Roen, and the rest of the men rode up.

"Name of the gods," Regg oathed.

Endren said nothing, merely stared, stricken.

Both dismounted and walked to Abelar's side. Regg put a hand on his shoulder, Endren a hand on the other.

"Forrin dies for this," Endren said softly. "By all the gods, he dies."

Abelar nodded. His grief left no room for anger, but Forrin would die for it. He leaned on his sword and rose to his feet.

"We separate them," he said to the men. "I want to see my son."

None of his men made eye contact. All nodded. Endren looked away.

As one, the men set about the grisly work of pulling apart the death-stiffened bodies. They grouped them into men, women, and children.

"Bastards," Endren said throughout. "Bastards."

The men took care to place the bodies in the sunlight and most murmured prayers to the Morninglord as they worked. Abelar did his share but he felt dead himself. His mind turned to everything he had not done with his son, everything he had never said.

"They are only hours dead," Roen said.

Abelar had arrived hours too late. Hours. He nodded.

Regg said, "Brend, examine the tracks at the gates. Learn what you can."

Brend, dark-haired and only a head taller than a dwarf, was the most proficient tracker in the company. He hurried off to the gates.

The men continued to disentangle the bodies. They called out the names of those they recognized. Abelar looked up sharply when Regg spoke Mriistin's name. The old priest had served the Corrinthals and Lathander for over two decades. Abelar had first learned of Lathander from Mriistin.

Shaking his head to clear it of memories, Abelar turned over a woman's body-Kaesa, Elden's nurse. Her brown eyes stared up at the sky. Blood stained her cloak and nightdress. He called out her name, his voice as dull and gray as the sky.

Endren looked up, eyes troubled, no doubt fearing Elden's name would soon follow. He and Regg moved to Abelar's side.

"Poor girl," Endren said.

"Aye," Regg said.

Despair sat heavy on Abelar's shoulders. Kaesa had been like an older sister to Elden. She had been like a daughter to Abelar. He lifted her from the earth, carried her over to the rest of the dead, and laid her gently on the earth. He returned to the place where he had found her.

"Help me," he said to Regg and Endren, and the three men searched the bodies for Elden. Abelar's heart pounded with trepidation. Soon they had identified all of the dead.

"He is not here," Endren said.

"Could he have escaped?" asked Regg, a touch of hope in his tone.

Abelar shook his head. Elden went nowhere without Kaesa. He looked at the burned manse, imagined his son dying in the flames. He could not bear it. Tears flowed anew.

Regg took him by the shoulder and held him up. "Abelar, he could have run away in fear. He is small. He could be hiding somewhere."

Endren seized on the possibility. "Yes. Search the grounds. The stag woods are his favorite."

Abelar said, "Call for him, Father. He will answer you if he is there."

Endren looked at him curiously. "He will answer you, too. Come."

Abelar shook his head. "I must do something else first. I will join you apace."

Regg tapped Endren on the shoulder. "Come. We ride."

Regg, Endren, and the men mounted up and Regg issued orders about where to search.

"Roen," Abelar called.

"Commander?"

"Hold a moment. I need something from you."

Roen looked a question at him but slid off his horse. Meanwhile, Regg, Endren, and the rest of the company galloped off.

"Elden is not in the stag woods, Roen," Abelar said.

The tall priest kept his face expressionless. "Nothing is impossible, Abelar."

"No, it's not," Abelar said. "Pray with me, Roen."

"Commander?"

Abelar's eyes welled but he did not care. "Pray with me. We are going to ask Lathander whether Elden lives. I will have the word from him. Now."

Roen's expression softened. He put a hand on Abelar's shoulder.

"I will pray with you, Abelar. But I am unable to cast so powerful a spell as will allow me to commune with Lathander. I-"

Abelar knocked his arm down and gripped him by the shoulders, more harshly than he intended. "I am not asking you to cast a spell, priest! I am asking you to pray with me to our god for my son."

Roen looked at him wide-eyed, nodded. "Of course. I am sorry. Of course."

Abelar removed his hands. Softly he said, "I'm sorry."

"It is nothing," Roen said. "Come. Let us pray."

Together, the two servants of Lathander kneeled in the grass, under a gray sky, in the shadow of ruins and death. While the men of Abelar's company scoured the grounds calling for Elden, Roen and Abelar clasped hands and prayed to their god. Abelar laid his shield in the grass beside him, the rose facing the sky. They recited the traditional prayer together. "Dawn dispels the night and births the world anew. Morninglord, light our way, show us wisdom, and in so doing allow us to be light to others."

Roen continued. "Let your light shine through the darkness of the deeds done here and illuminate the hearts of your servants. Your faithful follower Abelar Corrinthal would ask you about the fate of his son."

Abelar squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked between the lids and flowed down his cheeks, into his beard.

"Please give us a sign, Morninglord," Roen said. "Show us whether Elden Corrinthal is alive or… not."

Abelar, head bowed, felt as if he were awaiting an executioner's axe. He dreaded a sign, but he had to have one. If Lathander could send a miracle to a village to heal a plague, surely he could spare a sign for one of his faithful.

Nothing.

"Morninglord," Roen said. "Your faithful servant humbly requests some small token-"

"A sign," Abelar said, his voice too loud, his tone too demanding. He opened his eyes. "Give me a damned sign. I have dedicated my life to you and asked for nothing."

"Abelar…" Roen said.

"Is he alive?" Abelar slammed his fist on the face of his shield. "Is my son alive? Tell me!"

"Abelar Corrinthal," Roen said, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Times of crisis are a test of our faith."

"My son is not a plaything for tests!" Abelar shouted.

Roen merely looked at him, held him by the shoulder.

The priest's unwavering touch and steady voice calmed him. Abelar remembered his words to Denril at the Abbey of Dawn. He had condemned the Risen Sun heretics for wanting Lathander to change the world for them instead of changing it for themselves. His voice broke as he said to his god, "I am not asking you to do my work. Please, Morninglord. I am asking you to show me the way. Please, show me the way!"

Roen said, "It is not always clear…"

The clouds above them parted and sunbeams drenched Abelar's shield, lit up the battle-scarred rose enameled on it.

"Look, Abelar," Roen said, his voice hushed.

Hope pulled Abelar to his feet.

The rose flared and the scars of countless combats vanished. It was made anew.

"Blessed light," Roen breathed, staring in awe.

"He is alive," Abelar said, and looked to the sky, to the sun. "Where, Morninglord? Where?"

A peal of thunder rumbled the sky to the east.

"East," Abelar said.

Roen stood, speechless, his hand on the holy symbol at his throat. He shook his head. "I have never seen…"

Abelar held the priest by the shoulder with one hand and held his sword aloft with the other. He caused it to flare with white light, bright enough to summon his riders.

"To me!" he shouted. "Now, to me!"

He lifted his shield and kissed the rose as his men tore back to him at a gallop. They gathered around him, questions in their eyes. Abelar looked into the eyes of his father, his men.

"Lathander has shown me that my son lives."

"There is no question," Roen said, a touch of awe in his tone. "I saw it myself."

The men murmured, whispered supplications and thanks.

"The sun rises," Regg said, and the men all nodded.

Abelar searched their faces for Brend. "Brend, speak of what you learned."

"Four score," the tracker said. "Perhaps a hundred. All mounted. They rode-"

"East," Abelar finished, and sheathed his blade.

"The tracks are less than a day old, Commander," Brend said.

Abelar nodded. "Eighty of Forrin's men have Elden. They must. And they may have others. No doubt they intend to rendezvous with the rest of their army as it approaches Saerb."

He paced a circle amidst his men, holding the gaze of first one man, then another. "I intend to stop them."

Nods around.

"I intend to rescue my son."

He looked at the burned ruins, at the bodies, and his heart hardened. "And I intend to punish every one of those riders for the crimes they have committed here."

More nods, scattered, "Ayes."

"We are only a score of men."

"But we stand in the light," one said.

"Aye," echoed Regg, nodding approvingly at the young warrior. "That we do."

Abelar nodded. "I'd have your swords with me but I will not order it. Any man may ride for Saerb and meet up with the rest of our company. There is no shame in it."

"Bah," said Regg, and turned a circle on Firstlight. "All are with you."

Abelar looked into the faces of his men, took their measure. None looked away. None looked hesitant.

Pride and hope lightened him. Lathander had provided him countless blessings, none more important than the men and women who rode with him.

"Roen, I want you with me," he said. "But a priest must see to the fallen."

Roen nodded. "Driim, see that the dead are laid to rest."

Regg added, "Knest and Morrin, you are Driim's hands."

"There is honor in that work," Abelar said, and Driim, Knest, and Morrin nodded, though they looked crestfallen.

Abelar whistled for Swiftdawn. She came running and he climbed into the saddle.

"The rest of us ride," he said.

"Like the Hells are at our heels!" Regg shouted. "Ride!"

Trewe blew a clarion blast and the entire company thundered off under the light of the noon sun.

Cale, Magadon, and Riven materialized on the rise overlooking Elgrin Fau. They said nothing. The task before them was too big for words.

Below, the ruins crowded close to the shadow-shrouded earth. The light from the gate flashed its mockery into the darkness. Cale imagined the army of wraiths gathered around it, waiting for word from him.

"They will want to know he's dead," Riven said.

Cale nodded. "That will wait. First, the dragon."

"Now?"

"We wait a day," Cale answered. "No longer."

He remembered Magadon's expression as he had opened the mind of the gnome woman. He remembered the words Magadon had said to him days before-I am falling, Cale, slipping away with every moment. He remembered the black streaks in Magadon's mindblade. He could not waste time.

He held his holy symbol in hand and cast one healing spell after another on his comrades. By the time he finished, they were mostly hale.

"Eat," he said to them. "Rest. Tomorrow will be harder than today."

Riven chuckled at that.

They camped on a rise overlooking Elgrin Fau. The next day they would face Furlinastis.

Gobitran's head felt like it had been hit with a warhammer. Each beat of her heart sent a stab of pain from her temples to the crown of her skull. Her ears rang like war gongs. She opened her eyes, tried to sit up, but the room spun wildly. She swallowed and tried to keep down her last meal.

The shadow giants were already gone. None had stopped to help her. No wonder, considering the tortures she sometimes put them through.

They had left her for dead, and she would have been so but for the magical iron ring she wore that regenerated her flesh. The Divine One had given it to her.

The skin of her scalp still tingled. She felt still the echo of the half-fiend's violation of her will, of his mental fingers rooting through her mind, sifting through her knowledge, sorting through her memories.

She had never felt anything like it before, but she had fought, had kept her secret tucked away in the dark corner of a dark hole, just as the Divine One would have wished.

She sat up, endured the nausea, and wiped the drool from her mouth.

The shadows coalesced in the room and the Lord Sciagraph formed from the pitch. His presence dominated her vision. His deep voice filled her ears.

"You have done well, Gobitran. You have well served both me and the Lady of Loss."

She licked her lips and crawled forward to clutch at the hem of his leather robe. She inhaled its smell, his smell. "You are Shar's Shadow, Divine One, and I am your servant."

"You preserved the secret? The mindmage discovered nothing?"

She pressed his robe against her cheek and turned her head to look up into his dark face. His black eyes looked down on her, pierced her. She wondered why he did not already know the answer. Surely he had scried the events in the chamber.

"He and the Maskarrans learned only what you wished, Divine One. They destroyed your simulacrum and think you dead. They know that Furlinastis the Cursed holds what is rightfully yours."

"How did they respond to that revelation?"

Gobitran looked up, not understanding the question. "Lord Sciagraph?"

The Divine One grabbed her by her topknot and jerked her off the ground to face him. She winced at the pain but dared not protest. The Lord Sciagraph's smooth, impassive features belied the anger in his eyes.

"I have sought the dragon for millennia. You have assisted in this in recent centuries." He shook her by the topknot and she swung like a pendulum. "How did they respond to the dragon's name? Did they know it?"

She did not understand how he could know so little. Was he not the Divine One, Shar's Shadow, the Lord Sciagraph? She tried to nod but could not. "Yes, Lord Sciagraph. They knew the name. The one-eyed Maskarran cursed when I named the dragon. The tall one knew the dragon and where he was to be found. He knew. Scry them, Divine One. See where the dragon has hidden from you all these years. Kill him and take back what is yours."

The Lord Sciagraph's eyes grew thoughtful and he dropped her to the floor.

"I cannot scry them," he said softly. "The Shadowlord cloaks them, just as he cloaks Avnon Des and the dragon. They cannot be found. They are ghosts."

His fist clenched and Gobitran bowed her head in fear of his anger. He said, "I can only wait, confined to this spire." He shook his head and placed his palm over the adamantine and amethyst holy symbol he wore on a chain around his neck.

"The servants of the Shadowlord trapped a part of me in the dragon. The servants of the Shadowlord must free it now."

"Curse the Lurking Lord," Gobitran said.

"It is appropriate that matters stand thus, Gobitran," the Divine One said. "The Maskarran will serve me in ignorance and when they realize their folly, their despair will be sweet to the Lady."

"I hear her voice in my dreams of darkness," Gobitran said.

The Divine One lifted her to her feet.

"As do I, Gobitran. Come, we must prepare. The Shadowstorm is at hand. My imprisonment is nearly at an end."

Hurried boot steps in the hallway carried through the study door. Tamlin looked up from his desk.

A brisk knock sounded on the door and Thriistin's urgent voice called out, "Hulorn! Hulorn!"

"Enter," Tamlin said, and rose from his desk. His hands shook. He crossed them behind his back as the door to the study opened.

Thriistin stood in the archway, breathing heavily, his gray hair mussed, his shirt partially untucked.

"What is it?" Tamlin asked, alarmed.

Thriistin spoke between gasps. "You must come to the walls, my lord."

Tamlin found his own breath difficult to draw. "The walls?"

Thriistin nodded. "The Saerloonian army is arriving."

Tamlin's mouth went dry. "Arriving? So soon? How? We have received no word of a march, merely a marshal-"

The bell of the Tower of Song rang, repeated peals that did not signal the hour but instead signaled a citywide alarm. The huge gongs of Lliira's Temple of Holy Festivals joined it and kept time. Soon all of the bells, chimes, drums, and gongs of the city's temples sounded in unison. Tamlin's heartbeat pounded in his ears more loudly than all of them.

"You must see for yourself, my lord," Thriistin said. "Lord Rivalen is already about."

Mention of the Shadovar ambassador helped calm Tamlin. He took a deep breath, steeled himself. "Captain Onthul and Rorsin have been notified?" he asked Thriistin.

"Captain Onthul, yes," Thriistin answered. "Rorsin, I do not know."

"Send a messenger to him immediately. Where is Lord Rivalen now?"

"The Khyber Gate, my lord. At Rivalen's order, all refugees at the gate were granted entry and it is now sealed. A carriage awaits you outside the palace."

"Very good," Tamlin said, and managed to keep his voice calm. "Go, Thriistin."

The chamberlain bowed and scurried off. The moment Thriistin turned the corner of the hallway, Tamlin took a moment to quiet his heart and compose himself. When he had a grip on his emotions, he quietly and quickly spoke the words to a series of spells that warded him against harm. He went to his desk, collected his weapon belt and rapier, buckled it on.

As ready as he would get, he put on a brave face and walked the halls to the carriage. A few servants within the palace watched him pass. They asked no questions-word must have spread already-but he saw the fear on their faces.

He stepped out of the double doors of the palace just as the warning bells of Temple Avenue rang their last. A lacquered carriage awaited him in the circular cobblestone drive. The driver stood beside the open door, awaiting him.

Tamlin took a step forward and his legs went weak under him. He caught himself on the stone banister that lined the wide stairway. The driver pretended not to notice. Tamlin gathered himself and descended the stairs to the carriage.

"My lord," said the driver, and assisted him in.

He climbed inside, wondering what in the Nine Hells he would see when he reached the walls. The driver took his position on the bench, slapped the four-horse team with the reins, and the carriage lurched into motion.

The moment he cleared the palace grounds, he perceived the fear and tumult in the streets. Squads of armed Scepters and Helms bustled down the avenues toward the walls, strapping or pulling on helms, vambraces, and gauntlets as they went. Fearful residents hurried through the streets, heads down, as if braced against a storm. Shopkeepers gathered here and there before their storefronts, speaking with animated gestures to their neighbors. Wagons and carts sped recklessly down the thronged roads. Tamlin's driver showed little interest in slowing for pedestrians.

"Do not run anyone down!" Tamlin barked at him through the window.

The rattle of the wheels on the cobblestones muffled the driver's reply but he slowed the team. Uncertainty filled the eyes of those who stared into Tamlin's carriage as he passed.

Presently they reached the Khyber Gate. Armored men and women, all bearing crossbows and blades, dashed up the gatehouse stairs and took station along the wall beside their fellows. Sergeants barked orders at them, moved along the forming lines. Artillerists manned the four swivel-mounted ballistae above the gate. Tamlin eyed the gates. Despite the spells, despite the added bands of iron, they still looked fragile to him.

Tamlin spotted Prince Rivalen atop the wall, staring out at the field beyond. A second Shadovar, smaller in stature, stood beside him. The darkness swirled around both.

Some Scepters near Tamlin shouted, "The Hulorn is come!"

Tamlin nodded at his troops and tried to appear unafraid.

Rivalen and his Shadovar companion turned and saw him. Where Rivalen's eyes glowed golden, the second Shadovar's eyes glowed like iron. Rivalen raised a hand in greeting and Tamlin answered likewise. The shadows swirled around both Shadovar and in a blink they stood before Tamlin.

"Gods, man," Tamlin said, startled.

Scepters around him cursed with surprise.

Rivalen bowed slightly and gestured at his companion. "Hulorn, this is my younger brother, Brennus. I summoned him the moment I received word of the Saerloonians' arrival. Shadovar troops are not yet available, but they are on the way. Meanwhile, I thought some assistance better than none."

Brennus's iron-gray eyes fixed on Tamlin. "Greetings, Hulorn. My brother speaks highly of you."

Tamlin felt himself color. "Well met, Brennus Tanthul. Any assistance is welcome, especially that of the Tanthuls. Prince Rivalen has been an invaluable aid to me."

Rivalen inclined his head.

"So I have heard," Brennus said.

Two tiny, gray-skinned creatures with eyes the color of Brennus's stuck their bald heads out of Brennus's black cloak. With their leathery skin and blunt features, they looked carved from clay. Tamlin recognized them as homunculi, tiny constructs.

"Greetings, Hulorn," they said in unison, their voices annoyingly high pitched. "We also are Tanthuls."

"My homunculi," Brennus explained. The naked, sexless creatures climbed his cloak and took perch on his shoulders. "I dabble in such things."

"Things?" the homunculi asked angrily. They stuck their tongues out at Brennus.

Rivalen studied Tamlin. "You are warded. That is wise."

"Not well, though," Brennus observed, likewise eyeing Tamlin up and down.

"Well enough for now," Rivalen answered. "There is time yet."

Tamlin did not ask how Rivalen and Brennus could have sensed his wards. The spellcraft of the Shadovar no longer surprised him. He felt inadequate before them-as a leader, as a mage, as a man.

"Come," Brennus said. "You should see your enemy."

Tamlin nodded, started forward.

Rivalen put a hand on his shoulder. "If I may, Hulorn."

Tamlin understood, nodded.

The darkness coalesced around them and Tamlin felt a sickening lurch. When the darkness parted, he found himself standing atop the wall, flanked by the Shadovar Princes. He wobbled for a moment before finding his balance. What he saw caused him to wobble still more.

On the field outside, beyond the range of any of Selgaunt's weapons, an army gathered. Hundreds of men stood arranged around Saerloon's standard. Tamlin could not see the details of the pennons in the distance but he knew Saerloon's symbol well-a single human eye of white, surrounded by a black border, with a pupil made up of two tall, slim gray towers with a gold key between them.

As Tamlin watched, another score of men under Saerloon's colors materialized from nothingness. Then another score, another, then another. He looked to the Shadovar for an explanation.

"A teleportation circle," Brennus observed. "Powerful magics."

"Cadellin Firehands?" Rivalen asked.

Tamlin did not recognize the name and Brennus shrugged. His homunculi mimicked the gesture. He said, "Possible. But Lady Merelith has the resources of the churches of Mystra and Azuth at her disposal. She is using them well."

Tamlin knew that temples of the Magister and Goddess of Magic stood in Saerloon. Anger rose in him, fed by fear. "Our priests ring their bells and cower in their cloisters while Merelith's transport her entire army to our doorstep?"

"So it would seem," Brennus answered, the darkness clinging to him. "She has avoided the need to feed an army on the march and has taken Selgaunt by surprise."

"Why has she not teleported her army into the city?" Tamlin wondered aloud.

Brennus answered, "The risk of an errant teleport would be high, with the quarters so close. Assembling her forces would be impossible. They would have battle before all arrived. No, she is doing exactly as she should."

Tamlin eyed the Shadovar prince sidelong. "Let us not admire her too much."

Brennus chuckled, showing ornamental fangs like Rivalen's. "Be content that I do not."

Rivalen's eyes flared gold and he turned to Tamlin. "Hulorn, if you wish it, I can call upon priests who will fight. A handful only, but powerful. They are priests of Shar."

Tamlin stared at him, considering.

Rivalen said, "Your own priests will balk. Even your people may."

Tamlin looked out on the Saerloonian forces, and back at his own meager defenses. Another two score Saerloonian troops appeared from nothingness and fell in with their fellows. He made up his mind.

"To the hells with Selgaunt's priests. And I will quell any concerns among the people. Call your priests, Prince Rivalen. We need all available assistance."

Rivalen and Brennus shared a look and the shadows about them coiled. Rivalen inclined his head. "Of course, Hulorn."

Together, the three men, surrounded by the soldiers of Selgaunt, watched their enemies gather. Another teleportation point opened, another. There was little the Selgauntans could do.

Saerloon's soldiers appeared a hundred men at a time. Tamlin spotted the standards of a few mercenary bands among their number. Soon there were thousands on the field. The low murmur of the assembling army gathered volume as its numbers grew.

"She has emptied Saerloon of fighting men," Tamlin said softly.

The Saerloonians arranged themselves into loose formations as they absorbed the steady influx of newcomers. Shouted orders carried over the plains. Frequent rat-a-tats of company drums echoed into the night. Horns sounded from distant corners. Standard bearers planted unit, company, and city standards into the earth. Men gathered around them. Thousands of hostile eyes fixed on Selgaunt, its walls, it soldiers. Tamlin watched it all with a growing sense of dread.

Meanwhile, Selgaunt's troops streamed to the walls from other areas of the city and took up their positions. The clink of armor, the thump of boots on stone, and the shouted orders of sergeants and captains sounded all around them. Barrels of pitch and oil were positioned strategically. Men placed ammunition on the ground near them, within ready reach.

Tamlin felt himself in the center of a maelstrom. He found Brennus's homunculi staring at him, smiling.

Brennus said, "Teleportation circles do not allow for the transport of siege engines."

The observation gave Tamlin hope until Rivalen said, "She is no fool. She has something else in mind to breach the walls. Spells."

Tamlin could not imagine spells powerful enough to breach Selgaunt's walls, but he was only a mediocre caster himself. "When will they come?" he asked softly.

Rivalen said, "We will have battle with the dawn. They must know you have Shadovar allies. Merelith knows our power is diminished by the light of day."

The homunculi on Brennus's shoulders sparred with one another as if they wielded blades. Brennus took no notice of them and said, "Agreed. They come with the morn."

The shadows around Rivalen swirled, brushed Tamlin. He found their touch cold but oddly comforting.

"Summon your wizards to the walls, Hulorn," Rivalen said. "I suspect we will need them soon. And I will send word to the temple in Shade Enclave. My priests will be at Selgaunt's disposal."

Tamlin felt a rush of gratitude. He knew that Selgaunt's only hope lay with the Shadovar.

"Thank you, Prince."