Shadowstorm

CHAPTER SEVEN

21 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms

Cale, Riven, and Magadon materialized not at the center of the cemetery, as Cale had intended, but at its edge, just outside the low, crumbling stone wall that described its perimeter. Black moss clung to the wall and the still, damp air stank of old rot.

Within the wall, darkness gathered as thick as fog. Even with his shadesight, Cale could see only twenty paces through the miasma. In the distance he could just make out the dim, diffuse green glow of the gate. The distorting swirl of darkness and shadows made it appear leagues away. The flash flared and died, flared and died, like a heartbeat.

A city of crumbling gravestones, crypts, and mausoleums stood between them and the gate. Grass and weeds overgrew it all.

"There must be some kind of ward," Cale said, to explain why they had not materialized near the gate. Strangely, he felt little correspondence with the darkness inside the cemetery. He felt only the shadows and darkness very near him. He understood why. The cemetery's shadows belonged to another.

"We go afoot," he said.

Magadon looked out over the cemetery. The gate flashed again.

"That's a lot of ground to cover," the mindmage said.

"And a lot of wraiths," Riven added.

"It is," Cale answered to both of them. He intoned a prayer to Mask that would shield him and his companions from the soul-draining power of the undead creatures. He touched himself, Magadon, and Riven in turn.

"If they come, this will preserve our souls, but the cold of their touch will still steal your warmth. We stay together at all costs."

Riven, evidently resigned to their course, said, "We move fast and straight. Right for the gate."

They all shared a look, nodded.

Cale vaulted the wall and dropped into the cemetery's deeper darkness. The air closed in around him. It felt thick in his lungs, oily on his skin. His breathing sounded loud in his ears, while everything else sounded far away and muffled.

Small gravestones worn smooth by time dotted the grass at his feet. Ghostly structures-crypts and mausoleums-lurked at the edge of his sight.

Riven and Magadon dropped to the ground beside him.

"The darkness is different in here," Magadon said, and waved his hand in the air. "Like cobwebs."

"Damned air is like a vise," Riven said. He cleared his throat and spit. "Tastes foul."

Cale nodded. The darkweaver spun strands of shadows the way a spider did a web. Cale imagined the creature lurking at the center of its shadowy net, waiting, feeling the vibrations in the shadows caused by their approach.

Shadowlord's power flow through it and surround them.

Riven and Magadon closed ranks with him and they moved in lockstep in the direction of the gate. The wraiths closed on them, swirled around the edge of Cale's power, glared at them from outside the radius of Magadon's light. The creatures engulfed them like an unholy fog. Cale could not see where they were going.

"Mags?"

"Still this way, Cale," Magadon answered.

"Back to your rest!" Cale shouted at the wraiths, and pushed more power through his holy symbol. Divine energy flowed through him and into the air. It crashed into the wraiths, cutting a tunnel through the swarm. Moans chorused in Cale's ears.

Cale, Magadon, and Riven pushed through the opening. But there were so many. They pressed against Cale's power. The strain was draining him. Magadon's light was dimming. They would not be able to shield themselves for much longer, and when the barrier collapsed…

Dark hands reached up out of the cold earth and clutched at them. Riven and Cale saw them and jumped aside but Magadon was too slow. The mindmage gasped at the touch of the undead and his light dimmed further.

The wraiths took advantage and swarmed forward in a black tide. Cale braced himself and channeled divine power through Weaveshear and his mask.

"Away!"

But the wraiths did not slow. Moans sounded from all around. Black hands reached for them from all sides. Red eyes surged forward.

Cale shouted as the black tide broke on them. He took Weaveshear in two hands and tore through one, two, three wraiths. They moaned as parts of their forms boiled away in foul-smelling black smoke. Cale barely felt any resistance as he cut through the incorporeal creatures. Riven twirled, spun, ducked, his blades whirling and whistling through the wraiths' forms.

Magadon stabbed his mindblade downward into the earth at the creature that had attacked him. Oily dark smoke and a moan rose from the sod.

The wraiths were a black blizzard, their forms swarming around them, grasping, shrieking. Ghostly hands reached through Cale's clothing, armor, and body to clutch at his heart. The cold caused him to gasp, slowed him. Many of the wraiths simply flew through the companions, one after another, the unearthly chill of their forms taking its toll on flesh before they darted away.

Cale, Riven, and Magadon's blades slashed and cut but the tide of wraiths was unending. Magadon's mindblade slashed through the torso of a wraith, stabbed another through the torso, but two of the creatures penetrated his guard and reached into his chest. He screamed and fell to his knees as one, another, and another wraith flowed through him. His scream died; his mouth hung open, frozen. His mindblade fell from his hand and dissipated.

Cale drove back a handful of wraiths with a series of furious slashes, then bounded to Magadon's side. He sliced Weaveshear through a wraith as it emerged from Magadon's body and the creature dissolved into black fumes and a fading moan. He held the blade over his head and summoned as much divine power as he could. Shadows gushed from the blade and his voice boomed over the battle.

"Away, dead of Elgrin Fau! Our quarrel is not with you but with Kesson Rel! Away!"

Power veined the shadows leaking from the blade and the wraiths writhed, recoiled, and withdrew. They hovered at a distance, ringing Cale, Riven, and Magadon in a wall of black forms and burning eyes. Whispers replaced the wraiths' moans.

Riven helped Magadon to his feet and steadied him. The assassin drew darkness from the air with his fingertips, charged his hands with its power, and placed them on Magadon. Magadon's face regained its color and he visibly strengthened.

Riven thumped him on the shoulder and relaxed his grip on his companion.

"Cale?" Riven asked, eyeing the wraiths.

The creatures hovered motionless, regarding them, whispering.

Cale shook his head but held Weaveshear at the ready. He did not know what to make of their strange pause. He did not think he was holding them at bay; he did not feel them challenging his power. The wraiths' whispers sounded like falling rain.

"What are they saying?" Magadon asked.

Despite his facility with several languages, Cale did not understand the wraiths. Struck with an idea, he hurriedly intoned the words to a prayer that allowed him to understand and speak the tongue of any creature. As he uttered the final syllable, the cloud of wraiths fell silent and parted.

Through the gap flew four wraiths, each as large as three of the lesser wraiths. The fell creatures flew toward the companions. Dread and cold went before them.

"Big bastards," Riven said, and spun his blades.

Cale had never seen them before, but he knew their identity nevertheless. He remembered as if he had learned it in a dream: The Silver Lords of Elgrin Fau.

"Hold your ground," he said to Riven and Magadon, as if they had any other choice.

The wraiths floated forward until they hung in the air face-to-face with the companions. Their black misty forms towered over Cale. Their red eyes smoldered. They had the vague forms of men, but each was as large as an ogre.

"Lord," Cale said in their language.

Riven and Magadon looked at him sidelong.

One of the wraiths whispered, "You have spoken the name of the damned."

Another whispered, "You name him as enemy."

Cale knew they meant Kesson Rel. He nodded. "I am sworn to kill him and take from him what he stole from the Shadowlord."

The cloud of wraiths around them burst into urgent whispers. Cale caught only snippets: "Avnon Des," "the Chalice of Night," "the Conclave," "the Hall of Shadows."

The larger wraiths looked sharply upon the lesser and silence fell.

"You have walked this ground before," the wraith said. "Name yourselves."

Another of the large creatures reached out an insubstantial hand toward Riven. The assassin tensed and readied his blades.

"Hold," Cale said tightly.

"Him or me?" Riven asked, blades still ready.

Cale smiled despite the tension of the moment. "Both."

Riven held and the wraith stopped before touching him. Its ghostly fingers hovered near the holy symbol that hung on a chain about his neck, then withdrew.

Cale held up his mask. "I am the Right Hand of the Shadowlord." He nodded at Riven. "And he is the Left."

"A servant of the Shadowlord murdered this city."

The horde of smaller wraiths broke into a chorus of whispers. Cale heard the building hostility. He nodded.

"Now it is to be set right. Let us pass."

"Nothing can set it right," the Silver Lord hissed, and the cloud of wraiths crept in closer.

Cale inclined his head, conceding the point. "No. But Kesson Rel can be made to pay."

The wraiths' whispers died out and the four larger wraiths regarded Cale for a moment before they turned toward each other. They crowded together closely, as if in discussion, though Cale heard no words pass.

Cale, Riven, and Magadon shared glances but no words. Many moments passed before the wraiths turned back to the companions.

"His life is ours to take. But we are bound to this place by his craft. You must bring him to us. Swear it or die."

Cale shook his head. He was done with promises. "No."

The wraiths swirled in agitation. The air turned frigid. Red eyes flared. The circle of lesser wraiths around them closed in. The larger loomed over them.

"Cale…" Riven said.

Cale said, "I will return him here if I can. If I cannot, I will kill him where I find him. If that comes to pass, I will bring you proof of his death."

The wraiths fell silent, considering his offer. Finally, one of them said, "So be it."

Another said, "You must pass his creature alone. We are bound not to harm it."

"We are not so bound," Riven said.

With that, the wraiths flowed apart and opened a path toward the gate for the three companions. Cale, Riven, and Magadon shared a look, then started through. Cale felt the wraiths' eyes on them throughout. The creatures reached for them as they passed, as if to touch them, but never did.

When they emerged from the mob of wraiths, they could see ahead the raised circular stone platform upon which the darkweaver crouched. The gate glowed behind it, suspended between rune-covered twin pillars. A swirl of pitch wound around the platform, clung in ribbons to the darkweaver's enormous, spiderlike body. Eight tentacles as thick as barrels and as long as a dagger toss sprouted from the creature's sides. Clusters of black eyes dotted its form.

The gate flashed brightly and Cale caught an image within it of a black spire suspended over a void.

The darkweaver saw them and its tentacles churned. It lifted half its body from the platform and hissed. A voice in Cale's head said, Lay down your weapons and approach. No harm will befall you. You may use the gate as you wish.

Cale felt the magical compulsion behind the words but resisted it. He knew the darkweaver's message was a lie. He looked to Riven and Magadon. Both were clear-eyed; both nodded.

"Oh, we'll approach," Riven said, low and dangerous.

"We go," Cale said, and rushed toward the dais. Riven and Magadon sprinted hard after. The army of wraiths behind them followed on their heels, moaning in anticipation.

The darkweaver hissed again, lifted itself on four of its tentacles, and shambled its girth partway down the platform. It reared up its front, opened a sphincterlike mouth large enough to swallow a man whole, and vomited a cloud of shadows. The darkness roiled forward like a storm and engulfed Cale and his companions.

Cale felt around mentally for the sense of the darkness and found it, distant but there. He stepped through it in a single stride to appear on the platform behind the darkweaver's hulking form. The energy from the gate behind him made the hairs of his arms stand on end. He ignored it, reversed his grip on Weaveshear, and drove it into the creature's gray flesh. Shadows poured out of the gash and the darkweaver squealed in agony. It twisted its body and lashed at Cale with three of its tentacles. Cale dived under one blow, and intercepted the second with his upraised blade, severing the thick appendage and leaving it flopping and bleeding shadows atop the dais. A third thudded into his side, cracked ribs, and knocked him from the platform. He hit the ground in a heap and his breath went out of him. The darkweaver loomed over him.

Yellow light pierced the darkweaver's cloud of shadows, and Riven and Magadon rushed forward out of the darkness. Riven held his sabers before him; Magadon held his glowing yellow mindblade-the source of the light-in his fist. Cale noticed for the first time the thin black streaks that ran the mindblade's length.

The darkweaver braced its tentacles on the ground and leaped off the dais and into the air. Magadon pointed a hand at the airborne creature as a red glow haloed his head. A beam of white luminescence shot from his palm, hit the darkweaver in mid air, and sent a few chunks of seared flesh flying off. Hissing with pain but undeterred, the darkweaver hit the ground nearly atop the mindmage, tentacles flailing. A writhing limb clipped Magadon on the side of the head and knocked him to the ground. A second wrapped him about the torso, lifted him from his feet, and began to squeeze.

Riven lunged at the creature, his blades and body a whirlwind as he chopped his way through the darkweaver's tentacle attacks. He ducked, spun, leaped, dodged, all while cutting his way to Magadon. Chunks of the weaver's flesh flew off in all directions; shadows spilled from the wounds.

Cale shouted the words to a spell that powered his hands with baleful, black energy. He stepped through the shadows, appearing atop the darkweaver's humped back, and slammed his fist into the creature. The energy streamed out of him and split the creature's flesh. A deep hole opened, and stinking shadows leaked from it.

The darkweaver shrieked with agony and bucked, throwing Cale from its back. Cale hit the ground in a roll and rode the momentum onto his feet. A tentacle tried to sweep his legs out from under him but he jumped over it. As he came down he drove Weaveshear's point through the tentacle and pinned it to the earth.

Magadon freed a hand and another burst of energy from his palm hit the creature in the face and destroyed several of its eyes. Riven sent another severed tentacle flopping to the earth.

The darkweaver shrieked, its ruined flesh gushing shadows.

Cale shadowstepped atop the creature's back and drove Weaveshear into the wound created by his spell. The blade sank all the way to the hilt. The darkweaver hissed, spasmed, and collapsed. It did not move.

Cale leaped off it, breathing hard.

"All right?" he asked his comrades.

"Fine," said Riven, wiping his blades on his trousers.

"Better than this pile of dung," Magadon spat, and hacked the corpse of the darkweaver with his mindblade, once, twice, a third, a fourth. By the time he was done, he was smiling like a madman.

Cale and Riven shared a look. Cale's gaze lingered over the seemingly corrupted weapon.

Magadon's smile vanished. Without offering an explanation, he let the blade dissipate.

A hiss escaped the carcass of the darkweaver. At first Cale thought it was not dead, but then black fumes went up from its flesh in a cloud. The stink caused Cale to gag and cover his mouth. Magadon vomited.

The three backed away from the carcass as the hissing grew louder. They watched as the creature's body began to dissolve before their eyes, shrinking, collapsing on itself, boiling away into foul gas.

When it was gone, Cale sheathed Weaveshear and said to the wraiths, who still watched, "That is the first of Kesson Rel's servants to fall."

The wraiths whispered and surged forward, circling the spot where the darkweaver's body had been.

Cale, Riven, and Magadon climbed the stairs of the platform and walked up to the gate. The glowing green curtain of magical energy stretched between two stone pillars as thick as oaks, both covered in runes. The shadows around Cale poured into the gate, drawn by its power.

The wraiths floated forward and gathered around the platform, an ocean of black forms and red eyes. They whispered their pain and hate at Kesson Rel.

"Your promise binds you," the Silver Lords said in a whisper. "Bind you… bind you… bind you."

Cale looked out on them, the lost, and nodded.

"There's an army of them," Magadon said, his eyes wide.

"That there is," Cale answered.

The three men turned to the portal, shared a glance and a nod, and stepped through.

Abelar thundered northward across the plains. Late autumn and the prolonged drought had dried and faded the whipgrass. He pushed Swiftdawn to her limit. With each of Swiftdawn's strides, he cursed himself anew for leaving Elden behind in Saerb. He'd had little choice-his father had needed him in Ordulin and Elden could not easily travel-but he cursed himself nevertheless. His presence in the capital had accomplished nothing. But his absence from Saerb might cost him his son. He had no illusions about what Forrin would do to his son should he take him alive.

Two days out of the plague-afflicted village, he caught up with his company. They were making camp near a drought-shrunken pond under the fading light. The last rays of the setting sun cast the plains in gold and the sky in red.

He saw figures pointing to him, calling out. He held up his blade and caused it to flare with white light.

"It is Abelar!" someone shouted.

Abelar roared into the camp. Smiles and a chorus of hails greeted him. He swung out of his saddle, gave and received thumps on the back. Regg strode through the throng, grinning, but with a question in his eyes.

"The village, Abelar?" Regg asked.

The men and women around them went quiet.

Abelar touched the holy symbol he wore about his neck. "The Morninglord shined on the village, on me, on us. After you left, I spent the night in meditation, praying for the sick mother, asking the Morninglord to strengthen her, to let her hold on until I could heal her affliction. When morning came the dawn sun filled the sickroom with light the color of a rose."

The men and women around him murmured.

"We saw that dawn," Roen said from behind him. "All marveled at it."

Abelar nodded, continued. "As I stand here now, I swear that all who stood in the light of that dawn were healed. All of them. The entire village. It was miracle."

Regg bowed his head.

Roen said, "The light of renewal. The Morninglord is gracious."

Abelar nodded solemnly. "It is good to see you," he said to Regg. "All of you."

Regg clasped his forearm. "And you."

He and Regg had stood together through blood and steel for years. Neither had fought a battle without the other in more than a decade.

Regg said, "The miracle could not have been for naught. All will be well with Elden and my father, I think."

"You speak my hopes," Abelar said.

After the company ate, the men settled in for the night and Abelar lit a short candle. He meditated, prayed, and thanked Lathander for his blessings. He slept little. When the candle burned down, he roused the men and the company set off in the pre-dawn darkness. He did not like to start a day's ride in darkness, but he wanted to cover as much ground as possible. They had two hours behind them before they paused at dawn to greet the rising sun. Afterward, they rode hard and fast.

He let Swiftdawn set the pace. A gift from Lathander after he had matured in his faith, she was superior to an ordinary warhorse in every way: faster, stronger, more intelligent. Regg's mount, Firstlight, was of the same sire and exhibited the same qualities. The rest of the company's mounts struggled to stay with them but Abelar did not slow.

"Ride, Swiftdawn," he urged her. "Ride."

She whinnied and tore across the plains. Firstlight answered with her own snort of excitement and matched her stride for stride. Both horses neighed encouragement at the mounts near them.

Abelar reveled in the sunlight, and prayed to the god who had blessed his son's Nameday with light, to keep his son safe.

Regg spoke over the pound of hooves. "Kaesa is a wise woman. She will flee before Forrin's forces ever arrive. Everyone will."

Abelar nodded but knew his friend was overly hopeful. The Corrinthal estate of Fairhaven lay to the east of Saerb itself. No one in it, including Kaesa, Elden's nurse, would learn of the approach of Forrin's forces until it was too late to flee anywhere.

And war would hit the whole area hard. Saerb had no strategic value of any kind and it was not built with warfare in mind. It had no walls and no standing army. Abelar had not mustered his forces there precisely because he did not want to give the overmistress an excuse to bring battle to the city.

Forrin could have only two purposes in marching on Saerb-to draw Abelar into battle, and to make the fate of the city an example to others who might defy the overmistress. To do the latter, Forrin not only needed to burn, he needed to kill. Abelar figured he would send an advance force ahead, probably under cover of night, to cut off any possible retreat of Saerb's residents. The entire population would be penned and slaughtered. The overmistress and her vile niece would not restrict war to warriors. Yhaunn would be Mirabeta's excuse. Forrin would be her instrument.

Abelar dug his heels into Swiftdawn's flanks and rode.

Cale, Riven, and Magadon appeared on the other side of the gate.

"Still the Plane of Shadow," Magadon observed.

Cale was not so certain. The gloom felt… different.

They stood on a platform high above a wide, concave basin of smooth rock, not unlike a drained lake bed. Polished smooth by time, the surface of the basin glistened like black glass. The gate they had stepped through sizzled behind them. Sheer stone cliffs surrounded the basin on all sides, giving it an effect like a bowl. The jagged peaks of nearby mountains rose above the walls, looking like enormous fangs. Cool air stirred the men's cloaks.

Over the center of the basin floated a tower of black rock, a spear jutting into the gloom. Tall thin windows and numerous balconies dotted its facade. Clots of deeper darkness floated around it. Creatures of shadow-their forms impossible to distinguish in the distance-flitted through the air along its sides, in and out of the apertures. Green crystals dotted its surface here and there and cast a baleful luminescence. The glassy surface of the basin dully reflected the tower's image and the reflection pointed directly at Cale, Riven, and Magadon.

Four thick chains, the links as thick around as a man's waist, anchored the spire to the basin, as if it would otherwise launch itself like a quarrel. Directly below the floating tower swirled a vast pool of inky shadows, churning slowly, hypnotically. Ropes of shadow, eerily similar to veins, rose out of the pool, wound their way up the chains, and spiraled around the tower.

Looking upon that roiling pool put a pit in Cale's stomach. As he watched, three man-shaped shadows coagulated from the ink, struggled free of the pool, and burst into the air to join their brethren flitting about the tower.

A walkway of black metal, wide enough to accommodate two wagons abreast, described an enormous octagon around the basin, caging the tower. Like the tower, the walkway floated in the gloom, seemingly supported by nothing.

"We are moving," Magadon said, nodding at the walkway.

The motion was ponderous but Magadon was correct. The walkway was slowly rotating around the tower. The tower's reflection in the basin moved with them. Cale did not try to understand how.

A large metal platform stood at the intersection at each of the walkway's eight corners. Each featured two towering poles of rune-encrusted metal, all of them as tall as a giant. Shadows spiraled around them. Between each pair of poles hung a sizzling curtain of dim green energy.

"More gates," Magadon said, and nodded behind them at the curtain they had stepped through. "This one comes from Elgrin Fau. What of the others, I wonder?"

"Some kind of nexus," Cale said.

"A planar crossroads," Magadon said, nodding. "But to what purpose?"

Riven oathed softly and pointed a blade at the sky.

Cale looked up to see dark clouds streaking by so rapidly that they looked smeared across the sky. Lightning ripped the heavens, a sudden storm of bolts that flashed so fast and frequently that the entire sky looked veined with them. It made Cale dizzy to look upon it.

As fast as it had started, it ceased.

"What in the Nine Hells?" Riven asked, blinking from the flashes.

Magadon squinted up at the sky. "Clouds streaking past. An entire lightning storm in a heartbeat." He looked at Cale and Riven, thoughtful. "Time is passing differently here relative to the outside."

"But where exactly is 'here'?" Cale said,

"Doesn't matter," Riven said. "We're not staying for a visit. We find Kesson Rel, kill him, get clear."

Before Cale could respond, a bass voice from their left said, "If that is your intent, then you are tardy. Kesson Rel has been dead these thousands of years. Well, thousands of years as time passes outside the Calyx."

Out of the gloom of the walkway to their left stepped an enormous form. The towering, gray-skinned giant looked like a man but stood three times Cale's height. Black eyes looked out from a gaunt, craggy face that could have been carved from stone. Long white hair contrasted with the shadows that clung to his form. Disproportionately long arms dangled almost to the giant's knees. He wore no armor, but his gray flesh looked hard enough to turn a blade. The hilt of a sword stuck out over his shoulder. A leather bag that could have contained a man hung from his side.

Cale and Riven backed up a step but held their blades at the ready. The giant's eyes lingered over Weaveshear.

"Your weapons are unnecessary," the giant said.

"We will see," Riven answered, and slowly spun his sabers.

"Name yourself," Cale demanded.

The giant inclined his head. "I am Esmor. And you are the Right and Left hands of the Shadowlord. This place is the Adumbral Calyx. The Divine One rules here, not Kesson Rel. I will take you to him and he will explain matters."

Cale had never heard of the Divine One or the Adumbral Calyx.

Before Cale could respond, another giant stepped out of the gloom to their right. The damned creatures walked the shadows as easily as Cale. The newcomer looked similar to Esmor in appearance, except that his pate was bald.

"I've got left," Cale said to Riven, and kept his face to Esmor.

"I've got right," Riven said, and took position before the other giant.

Esmor nodded at the second giant. "This is Murgan."

"Greetings, Right and Left," Murgan said.

Esmor said, "Murgan will accompany us to the spire."

Magadon's black-streaked mindblade flared into existence. The giants blinked in the sudden flash of yellow light.

"We have not yet agreed to go anywhere with you," Magadon said.

A flash of anger showed in Esmor's black eyes but he reined it in quickly. Cale did not like the look of it.

"But you must," Esmor said. "The Divine One wishes you brought to him."

Cale kept Weaveshear at the ready. Darkness leaked from its tip. "You named us the Right and Left. How did you know that?"

The giant adopted an affected smile. Everything about the creature was false.

"The Divine One knows many things," he answered.

Cale looked to Riven, to Magadon, back to the giant. "Take us to him."

Esmor looked at Murgan and something passed between them. Both seemed pleased. Murgan brandished a thin shaft of black crystal and pointed it at the tower. A thin ray of darkness shot from the wand, hit the tower near a large doorway, and stuck to it. The ray broadened and thickened until a flat expanse of shadow stretched from the walkway to the tower, forming a bridge.

"Move quickly," Esmor said, and stepped onto the span.

Cale, Riven, and Magadon followed, blades still at the ready. Murgan brought up the rear and boxed them in. Cale looked back to see the bridge disappearing behind them as they moved along it. There would be no retreat.

Other bridges formed suddenly, extending from the other platforms of the octagon to the spire. More giants walked across them. The creatures seemed to have been stationed at the other platforms.

The giants had been waiting for them, Cale realized. He hurriedly signaled Riven in handcant. The giant lies.

Riven shot back, Agreed. This is an ambush.

Cale felt a familiar tingle under his scalp-Magadon's mind link. The connection opened and Magadon said, I do not trust them.

He is a liar, Cale said. And this is a trap. They were waiting for us at the gates. Look at them all. They knew we were coming but not where we were coming from.

How do we play it? Riven asked.

Cale shook his head. He did not have enough information.

The carrion birds are gathering, Riven said, nodding at the sky, at the gathering cloud of shadows that swooped and wheeled above them, red eyes burning. Hundreds more wheeled around the spire.

Mags, can you get inside Esmor's head without him knowing?

Surface thoughts, Magadon said. Any deeper and he will know.

Do it, Cale said. He needed to know more about their situation.

He could sense even this, Magadon said.

They were halfway to the spire. The basin glimmered below them. Undead shadows whirled above. The roiling black pit under the spire continued to birth its abominations.

Do it anyway, Cale said, and readied himself for things to get ugly. Beside him, Riven tensed. Cale felt a slight pressure in his head, indicating that the mindlink had gone quiescent.

Magadon did not break stride, merely closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment. Esmor scratched at his ear but otherwise showed no sign that he sensed the mental intrusion.

Cale felt the tingle of the reactivated mindlink.

The Divine One is Kesson Rel, Magadon said. And he plans to ambush us within the tower.

Elyril awakened, still groggy from minddust, to an irritating tickle on her ring finger. She lay in dim lanternlight in her room in Yhaunn. Kefil snored on the floor at the side of her bed. The book brought her by Shar's agent lay beside her and her hand rested on it protectively. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers. She sat up and hung her legs off the bed. Her head felt as if it had been beaten by maces.

Nightseer?

Dark Sister, Rivalen answered.

Elyril shook her head to clear it. I was sleeping, Nightseer. I-

I know, Dark Sister.

His words and tone snapped Elyril to clarity. How could he have known she was sleeping?

You have well served the Lady of Loss, Rivalen said. War is now inevitable in Sembia.

The Nightseer's praise left her unmoved. She served him only until she could wrest from him the remainder of the book to be made whole. Then, she would usher in the Shadowstorm and serve Shar beside the Divine One. Then, the Nightseer would bend his knee to her. She smiled, reached back, and ran her fingertips over the book.

The Shadowstorm, too, is inevitable, Nightseer.

It is, Rivalen agreed. Your work is done now.

Elyril cocked her head, puzzled by the comment. Nightseer?

You know the provenance of the war, Dark Sister. That secret must be kept.

She sat up straight, troubled. I will keep it, Nightseer.

I know.

The tickle on Elyril's finger turned to a twinge, an ache, a sting. She exclaimed, jumped to her feet, and pulled at the ring. She could not so much as turn it. It felt grafted to the bone of her finger. Her heart raced.

"No, Nightseer! You do not know-"

There is nothing I do not know.

The purple amethyst in the ring flared and the silver band blackened. An agonizing stab of pain ran the length of Elyril's arm and started to spread into her chest. She gasped in pained horror as her fingers shriveled into thin twigs covered in wrinkled skin. The Nightseer's ring shrank to maintain its hold on her finger even as the magic spread to her hand, turning it to a husk. The magic crawled up her forearm, killing a little more of her with each breath.

She screamed. How could you do this to me?! How?!

Your bitterness is sweet to the Lady, Rivalen said, his voice soft, almost sympathetic. I offer it to her as you die. Dark journey, Elyril Hraven.

The connection ended. The pain did not.

Elyril screamed with agony and railed with rage as the magic of the Nightseer's ring consumed her body. Kefil climbed to his feet and circled her excitedly, tail wagging.

Did the Nightseer bend his knee to you? Kefil projected.

She kicked at the dog, lost her balance, and fell to the floor. He licked her face.

"Get away!" she screamed.

He sat back on his haunches, panting.

The door to her room flew open and there stood the balding steward in his nightclothes.

"Help me!" she said, and climbed to her feet.

He stood still, shocked, wide-eyed.

"Help me!" she screamed, and ran toward him, arms outstretched.

He mouthed an oath, turned, and fled the room.

Elyril raged after him from the doorway. Her entire arm was little more than a withered stick. She felt the magic root in her chest, neck, and face. Half of her was melting like a candle, collapsing on itself. She whirled around and Kefil put his paws on her chest and tried to lick her face. His weight drove her against the wall.

"Away!" she screamed, and pushed him with her good arm.

Have you summoned the Shadowstorm? he asked, tail still wagging, eyeing her adoringly.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" She put her hands-the one a mere nub-to her ears. She screamed, terrified, dying. Panicked, desperate, she scrambled around the room searching for a blade with which to cut off her hand, her whole arm, if necessary. If she could only get free of the ring…

She turned over the night table with her good hand, threw drawers to the floor, toppled a small armoire, tossed her bedding about the room. The book to be made whole fell to the floor. So, too, did an oil lamp, which broke and sent its contents spraying across the floor. It ignited and spread immediately to the toppled side table and bedding. She did not find a blade. She found only the book to be made whole and hugged it to her breast.

"Divine One!" she wailed. "Volumvax! Aid me!"

Her speech was slurred. Half her face hung slack, ruined.

Kefil lingered around her, standing in her shadow, whining. You are mad, he said.

Her leg shriveled under her and she fell to the floor. The fire spread to the wall tapestries and they burst into flame. Heat and smoke filled the room. She coughed, gagged, cried.

Kefil licked her, whined more. She pushed him away with her good foot. He fled the room at last, tail between his legs. As he exited the doorway, he said, You are mad and none of this is real. You have always been mad. None of this is happening…

Elyril sat in the middle of the inferno and stared at the shadows on the wall. She eyed the wreckage of her body, and an uncontrollable giggle shook her. She saw it all, then, understood fully, and knew what she was to do.

She called to mind a transformative spell that might save her, a spell she had never before used on herself, though she had on others. She giggled again, inhaled smoke, and fell into a coughing fit.

When she recovered, she touched her holy symbol and struggled with her ruined mouth to speak the magical phrases that would transform her body.

The bed caught fire. The sheets curled as they burned. The heat in the room blistered her already shriveled flesh. The smoke set her eyes to watering. She ignored it all and carefully pronounced each word of the spell. When she completed it, she held her desiccated arm before her body and watched the magic transform her flesh again. Her skin darkened, became insubstantial shadowstuff.

The Nightseer's ring blackened further, the amethyst flared anew, and a charge went through her metamorphing body. Her nerves blazed with pain. She screamed, but her spell, corrupted by the Nightseer's ring, continued to transform her. When the magic turned her fully insubstantial at last, the ring fell through her hand and rolled into the flames.

Free of the Nightseer's spell, she cavorted in the fire. She saw the book to be made whole and flew to it. When she touched it, it turned as insubstantial as she and she held it to her breast.

She laughed aloud and collected the Nightseer's ring. Her touch turned it insubstantial and she secreted it on her person. She was living shadow. She could read Shar's portents in her own transformed flesh.

Screaming not in pain but in ecstasy, she fled the residence for Selgaunt, for the Nightseer. She would yet be the author of the Divine One's Shadowstorm.

And she would make the Nightseer pay.

"I have a ring to return to you, Prince Rivalen," she said.

Mirabeta placed the sealed missive into Rynon's pudgy hand. Vendem, in human guise, stood beside her, smiling his overlarge teeth at Rynon. The house mage's uncomfortable expression showed his discomfiture.

"You are fat," the dragon said to him.

Rynon looked like he had been smacked. He colored; stuttered, finally said, "And you, sir, are a rude cretin."

"Tasty though, I'd wager," the dragon said, eyeing the mage up and down.

Rynon looked with shock at the dragon, at Mirabeta, said, "Overmistress, this is most irregular. This person is…"

Mirabeta cut him off. "You will transport yourself, my letter, and Vendem to the Lady Merelith. After she has read and acknowledged the contents of my missive, you are to return to me."

"Provided I do not eat you first," said Vendem.

Rynon refused to look at the dragon. "Will I be returning alone, Overmistress?"

She smiled and nodded. "Vendem will remain in service to Lady Merelith."

Rynon bowed to Mirabeta, glared at the dragon. "I pity her."

Vendem grinned.

"Leave now," Mirabeta ordered.

Her letter to Merelith explained the true identity of Vendem and that he was in service to Mirabeta. The letter further ordered Merelith to proceed with an immediate attack on Selgaunt. With Vendem leading the attack, the siege of Selgaunt would be no siege at all. It would be a slaughter.

Mirabeta would have all of Sembia consolidated under her rule before Deepwinter.