The Sorcerer

CHAPTER ELEVEN

1 Eleasias, the Year of Wild Magic

Malik pulled himself up inside the false coffer in his treasure vault and kneeled there in the cramped darkness, his breath coming heavy and fast, his throat raw and aching where Yder had nearly crushed it. An alarming rasp and rattle was building behind him as his pursuers scurried up the tunnel, and even with the gifts of stealth and endurance bestowed on him by the One, he would need to hurry if he wished to stay ahead of them. It would not be easy, not when every gasp of air fanned the anguish burning in his crushed gullet, but he had to reach the palace before Yder and inform the Most High of the prince's treachery. In circumstances such as these, a ruler's findings were always dictated by the one who arrived first. Voices began to whisper up the tunnel, and

Malik knew he would be doing well to gather even the bags containing his most valuable gems before they entered the vault behind him.

"Accursed giant!" he hissed. Only Aris knew about the secret tunnel, as Malik had made him construct it secretly at night, when everyone assumed he would be sleeping. "Why am I vexed with friends who never think of anyone but themselves?"

Vowing that the giant would pay for his selfishness, Malik released the latches that held the coffer closed. Using his back to lift the lid, he rose to a crouch. The vault was dark, quiet, and enormous. Save for perhaps two dozen coin boxes and gem bags, it was also mostly empty. Building a temple was expensive-even when wealthy converts donated much of the material in exchange for Aris's statues-but Malik had no doubt the investment would prove worthwhile. Once the interior frieze work was completed, he planned to start charging a hefty fee to come and stand in the narthex. Any who wished to see the sublime work in the rest of the temple would be required to convert-a process that would require a substantial offering as proof of the novice's sincerity.

A Shadovar helmet thunked into the low lintel where the tunnel crossed the treasure vault's foundation. Reminded of the urgency of his situation, Malik slipped out of the coffer and lowered the lid as quietly as possible. The latches clicked softly as they reengaged, and he began to fumble for the magic lamp he kept on the floor at the corner of the coffer.

Instead of the smooth loop of a lamp handle, his hand found what felt like the scuff-roughened toe of a veserab-hide boot. Malik's mouth went instantly as dry as dust, and he reached for the curved dagger hidden inside his cloak. A strong hand caught him by a horn and lifted him off his feet. A second hand, still shaky because of the tendons Malik had slashed but more than strong enough to hold him motionless, clamped hold of his wrist.

"Not this time, my behorned friend," said Yder's hissing voice. "Not even you surprise me twice."

The prince bent Malik’s hand back until he screamed and let the dagger fall free.

"The One will not stand for this!" Malik warned. He thought for a moment that Mystra's curse might actually permit the threat to stand, but soon heard more words tumbling from his mouth. "He will certainly punish me terribly for allowing you to interfere with the completion of his-"

The prince released Malik's wrist and brought his fist up. The blow drove Malik's jaws together with a tooth-shattering crack, and he had just enough time before sinking into darkness to wonder what would have happened to him had Yder hit him with his good hand.

Wet, pale, and tiny, the Chosen looked like a trio of newborn whelps-like a trio of stillborn whelps, as motionless and silent as they were. Worried that the fall to the vestry floor might have been too long for such small creatures- even on his hands and knees, the distance was more than six feet-Aris reached down and nudged Khelben with the nail of his index finger.

Nothing happened, except that Khelben flopped onto his back.

Aris placed a fingertip on Khelben's chest and felt nothing. Of course, given their size differences, searching for a heartbeat was akin to a human feeling for the pulse of a locust.

"Wake up," he whispered. "You must be tougher than that-you're Chosen!"

When Khelben remained motionless, Aris sighed and rolled first Storm, then Laeral onto their backs. When neither moved, he placed them side-by-side and checked for signs of life as he had with Khelben.

"Hey-watch those fingers!" warned a tiny female voice.

Raising his brow in surprise, Aris put his hands down and lowered his head to within a yard of the floor, now squinting in an attempt to keep the Chosen in focus at such a close distance.

"My apologies," he whispered. "I was only feeling for a-"

"We know what you were feeling for," chuckled a second tiny woman. "And I thought an artist would be different!"

Aris turned his head from side to side, trying to get a better view of the three figures stretched out beneath his head. None of them seemed to be speaking or moving, but considering that they were Chosen, that meant very little.

"Up here, big fella," said the first voice. "Beside you."

Aris turned in the direction of the speaker and found himself looking into a pair of tiny, ivory-colored blurs. He leaned away, and the blurs slowly resolved themselves into the beautiful faces of Alustriel Silverhand and Dove Falconhand. Still only half the size of his thumb, the two Chosen were dressed in flowing black cloaks that, as they hovered beside him, gave them the appearance of some sort of shadow sprites.

"Where did you come from?" Aris gasped.

"We've been keeping an eye on you," Dove said, chuckling at his surprise.

"This is no time to play games," Aris complained. He glanced down the passage to make certain that his guard, Amararl, was still out in the nave as he had promised-and to be sure that there were no other Shadovar approaching the vestry. "Yder is here with a small army."

"I'd call it more of a strike team," Alustriel said. "When we realized where it was going, we thought we'd better tag along and see what was happening."

"A good thing we did, too," Dove said. "This is the first time we've found you alone."

"It's the first time I've been alone-as you can see." Aris waved a hand at the motionless Chosen on the floor. "Was it too long? I didn't eat anything, but I don't think anyone expected it to take this long."

Alustriel's voice grew reassuring. "They'll be fine, as soon as I wake them."

She flew down to the floor and kneeled beside Khelben, then began to slap his face and whisper his name into his ear.

"They went into a magical hibernation." Dove explained. She hovered near Aris's head, watching down the passage with him. "After the third or fourth day without food-earlier, if they refused to drink water you'd already drunk-their bodies would have started to draw on the Weave to sustain them. Even a giant could not have withstood that much magic flowing through him for very long, so they used a spell to shut down."

"Like bears when the snow comes."

"Something like that. Except there's still been a little magic flowing through your body. It gave you the strength to work at Malik's tempo, but it's also done some damage- affected your coordination and perception, made it difficult to do things that should be easy." Dove pointed at a lopsided likeness of Cyric on the wall. "As soon as you burn off the last of that energy, you're going to fall asleep for a very long time. Before that happens, you should eat. Eat as much as you can keep down."

"As much as I can keep down?" Aris's mouth began to water at the prospect. "When can I start?"

"Soon," Dove laughed, "but first, keep watch while I remind the Blackstaff where he is."

She gestured at the floor, where Khelben's eyelids were fluttering and his chest rising at regular intervals. Alustriel had moved on to Laeral.

Khelben's eyes opened. He took one look at the images of madness decorating the vestry and scowled in alarm.

"You had better hurry," Aris said. "One look at these walls, and he's liable to think he's gone to the Nine Hells."

Dove was already dropping to his side. She pulled her hood back and let her silver hair spill free, then took Khelben’s arm.

"Now don't start hurling spells around," she said. "There's nothing to worry about"

"Of course there's something to worry about-" Khelben pushed himself into a seated position-"can't you see what Aris has been carving?"

Out in the nave, Amararl peered into the vestry passage with a beetled brow.

Aris looked down at the five Chosen, gestured in the direction of the nave, and said, "My guard's patience is coming to an end."

"Let's risk a few moments longer, in case we have need of your knowledge," Khelben said. He turned to Dove and Alustriel. "What progress have you made? Given that the city still floats, I take it you have not destroyed the mythallar."

"We haven't even found it," Dove confirmed. "Asking Galaeron’s help is out of the question. He's been locked inside the Palace Most High since we arrived, and we can't go inside."

"Dare not go inside," Alustriel corrected. "It seems to be a nexus in the Shadow Weave. The closer we approach, the weaker our connection to the Weave. If we were to enter…"

"No use in getting ourselves killed," Khelben agreed.

"But we have made this," Dove said as she produced something from inside her cloak. It was so tiny that it took a moment for Aris to recognize it as a folded sheet of parchment. "This shows most of the city, save for what's within the walls of the Palace Most High."

Khelben took the parchment and began to open it.

"Maybe Aris can help us," he said.

"I fear not. I've never been to the mythallar." Aris peeked out into the nave and found Amararl starting toward the vestry passage. "I should go, before-"

"I said help." Khelben spread the parchment on the floor and continued, "Even if you don't know where it is, you have a better idea of where to search than we do."

Aris regarded the parchment dubiously. Though it had opened to the width of Khelben's arm, it was little larger than a thumbnail to him.

"How can I read a map I can barely see?" he asked.

"Try," Dove said.

Aris glanced back to find Amararl coming down the side aisle toward the vestry, then he sighed and stooped down to obey. The instant his eyes fell on it, the image floated off the parchment and began to expand, growing so large he could barely take in all he could see.

Amazed, Aris diligently studied the map, systematically running his gaze along each street and down every service passage. It didn't take him long to realize that the image was adjusting itself to his scrutiny, sliding past beneath him to keep centered the object of his attention, growing larger or smaller depending how long his eyes remained fixed on a certain area.

Amararl's voice came down the passage, "Aris?" He sounded more worried than demanding. "What are you doing in there? What's that light?"

"Our bargain was for privacy!"

Though the voice that boomed this sounded like Aris's, it was from Alustriel's tiny mouth that the words came.

"Our bargain was for a few minutes of privacy," Amararl corrected. "It has been ten-and I heard voices."

"Echoes," Alustriel retorted. "The temple is filled with Yder's warriors."

Amararl considered this a moment, and said, "Warriors who will be returning soon. If you're not here, I'll say you ran off."

"And I that you allowed me to," Alustriel said. "Therefore, I suggest you return to your post. Tell me when you hear someone coming."

"I'm your guard, not your servant!"

"There is no difference, now," Alustriel shot back. "Unless you wish to meet the same end as Gelthez or Karbe."

She raised her tiny hand and nicked her fingers in a spell, then said in her normal voice, "Never mind him, Aris. We can still hear if he sounds an alarm, but now he can't hear or see anything in this room."

Aris spent another five minutes studying the map, then finally looked through the translucent image at the Chosen below.

"I just don't know," he said. "If I had to guess, I'd say it was inside the Palace Most High."

"That was our first thought too," Dove said, "but during the battle Galaeron described, the phaerimm were using magic. Unless they've learned to tap into the Shadow Weave-"

"We've seen no sign of that," said Laeral, who was standing with her sister Storm at Khelben's side, "but it still doesn't mean you don't have to go through the palace to reach it."

"Yes, it does," Storm said. The phaerimm got there."

"With the aid of a malaugrym," Dove pointed out. "It might have been able to sneak them through the palace."

"Would you trust your life to a Malaugrym?" Storm countered. Without waiting for a reply, she continued, "If the phaerimm can get there, so can we."

"If we can find it," Laeral said. "If Galaeron can't help us-"

"We'll have to ask Vala," Khelben finished.

"Her, I can help you find," said the giant.

Aris shifted his scrutiny to the great plaza of gloom sculptures that surrounded the Palace Most High, then slowly moved his gaze along the edge until he came to a huge, many-spired mansion with a procession of flying buttresses and a long tunnel of barrel vaults.

"You will find her here, somewhere inside Escanor's palace."

The Chosen studied the map from below for a moment then Khelben said, "It would be nice if any of us had actually met her. The Shadovar were obviously trying to lure

Galaeron back with all those rumors about her being Escanor's slave. What if they're just that — rumors?"

"A good point," Storm agreed. "Vala and her men were in service to Melegaunt, and I have it on good authority that she slew three phaerimm for them in Myth Drannor."

"Vala and her men served Melegaunt in order to keep an oath their ancestors had sworn," Aris said. "Their duty was discharged when Shade returned."

"But that does not mean she is Escanor's slave," Storm pressed. "Ruha said that it was her choice to remain with the prince."

"So Galaeron would escape before his shadow took him," Aris said. Storm's aspersions were beginning to irritate him, and he let it show. "She loves Galaeron as a crane loves its mate. If she is with Escanor now, it is not by her choice."

Storm raised her brow at his tone, but shrugged and gave a little nod.

"If you say so, Aris."

"I do," he said. "If you wish her help, all you need do is say you are friends of Galaeron's."

"Good," Khelben said. He began to fold the parchment, and the map went dark. That" s just what we'll do. My thanks for your help, Aris. We'll try to fetch you before the city falls, but that may be — "

"We are all risking much," Aris interrupted, "but only Galaeron's sacrifice is certain. If you value that, save Vala first The rest of us are here by choice."

"If that is what you wish, my friend." Khelben met his eye and nodded. "We will do what can be done."

Malik awoke to the sound of snakes hissing into both ears. Judging by how he felt, they had bitten him a dozen times, a hundred times. His head throbbed and his back ached. There were pins of light piercing his eyes and rivers of fire coursing through his veins, and he had a bladder that felt like two gallons of wine in one gallon of space. The snakes were about to draw him into quarters. They had him by each wrist and each ankle, and they were all pulling in opposite directions. His arms were ready to pop from his shoulders and his legs to divide what no man ever wished to have divided.

As Malik's head began to clear, the hissing grew softer and more distant, and he realized it was not snakes hissing into his ears. It was voices, the whispering voices that filled the throne room of Telamont Tanthul.

If he was in the presence of the Most High and in so much pain, there could only be one explanation.

Yder had beat him to the palace.

"It is not true!" Malik screamed. "Whatever the prince says, it is all a terrible lie!"

For once, his curse did not compel him to say more, and the whispering quieted. A strange sloshing sounded beside him. Malik opened his eyes and saw white fire in his brain. He closed them again, and the fire went away.

"Why do you torment me like this?"

He tried to turn toward the sloshing and found his head held motionless by a strap across his brow.

"I have done nothing wrong!"

"Oh, but you have, Seraph," hissed a cold voice-a familiar cold voice. "You have stolen from the Hidden One."

"Stolen?" Malik cried. "What have I stolen… aside from a few dozen coins from the pockets of worshipers in my own temple?"

"The worshipers themselves," the voice said. "You have stolen the Lady's faithful."

Malik was greatly relieved to recognize the voices as Prince Yder*s. If Yder was doing the speaking, then they would not be in the Palace Most High, and it could not be Telamont Tanthul who had ordered the terrible punishment

A pair of cold fingertips pulled Malik’s eyelids open. The brilliant fire returned, but this time the white fire was only a silver light as blinding as the sun, and there was a chasmal darkness in the center-with two blazing eyes and a heart of cooling embers.

"The Lady is angry, Malik."

As Yder spoke, Malik's eyes grew accustomed to the pain, and he discerned a pair of huge hooked horns crowning the head of the dark figure above him.

"In-d-deed," Malik stammered. "I can see that for myself… though in truth I must say she does not look very ladylike to me."

This caused a strange murmur of gasps and chuckles to spread outward behind Yder. There followed a moment of silence, and Malik had the sense that his captor had turned away to glare at his followers.

"Make a joke of your own god if you wish, little man," Yder said, "but when you make fun of the Hidden One, it is the Lady who laughs."

The prince's fingers pressed down until Malik thought his eyeballs would burst

"Who was joking?" Malik cried.

The murmur that followed this was even louder than the first. Yder*s hand came away from Malik's head.

"Silence!"

The command was muffled, as though the prince had turned his back when he spoke it. Malik blinked the spots from his eyes and again found himself staring at the dark figure overhead. It was a ghastly demon as large as Aris and as black as night itself, with long curving talons at the end of outstretched arms.

Yder returned his attention to Malik and said, "Mock the Hidden One again, and I shall pull your brains out by your own antlers."

The prince grabbed Malik by one of his horns, and a dark hand appeared on the hooked horn of the figure overhead.

Malik bit his own cheek, lest he cry out in astonishment and give the prince an excuse to do as he threatened. The monster above was certainly his own shadow, but that gave him no hint of relief. Melegaunt Tanthul had once summoned the wretched being to serve as a guard, and the accursed thing had made clear it would like nothing better than throttling Malik with its own hands.

"You are learning, Seraph," Yder said. "Perhaps this will not be as difficult as I feared."

"Not difficult would be good," Malik agreed. "I am a captive in the temple of Shar the Ni-?"

Yder struck him a blow that returned his thoughts to their muddled state.

"Do not speak the Hidden One's name!"

"I am only trying to be certain," Malik complained. "How do you expect to convert me, if you will not tell me who it is I am to worship?"

For the first time, Yder's face came into view. He was wearing the black skullcap and purple mask of the high priest.

"You would convert?" he asked.

Malik’s chest began to grow cold and tight, as it had when Fzoul Chembryl had asked a similar question in the hidden temple of Iyachtu Xvim. At the time, he had been weak from torture and assured only of a life of impoverishment in servitude to a mad god, and nothing would have pleased him more than to find protection in the church of some other deity. But that had been before he understood how impossible it was for him to betray the One, and before he had established what promised to be-in addition to the altar that would give Cyric control over the Shadow Weave-the wealthiest temple in all Faer?n.

"Convert?"

The tightness in Malik's breast became a smashing weight. The heart beating-slurping-in his chest was not his own, but a rotting mass of curd that, in a fit of the deranged genius of the mad god, the One had plucked from his own body and traded for Malik's mortal-though far healthier-heart. Since that day, the mere thought of betraying Cyric brought crushing agony. It was all Malik could do to continue speaking.

"Certainly I will convert." His chest felt as though someone was standing on it. "I will convert you and all of your followers to the Church of Cyric, the One and All!"

The weight vanished.

Yder’s fist came from nowhere, catching Malik in the side of the mouth. Two teeth came loose and got caught in his throat. Malik began to choke.

"Trifle with me all you wish," Yder said. "The goddess relishes your blood on her altar."

Malik’s only answer was a cough. He grew dizzy from lack of breath, and the world started to close in around him. He fought to stay conscious, summoning his anger by imagining his wealth in the hands of Prince Yder and his filthy Sharists.

"Nothing to say?"

Yder struck him again, and Malik's mouth grew so full of blood that it bubbled over his lips and spilled down his cheeks onto Shar's altar.

"That is good, Seraph," Yder said. "You are learning to please the Lady."

Unable to do anything else, Malik stared at the monstrous shadow hanging above him. A purple crescent appeared where the traitorous thing's mouth should have been-a smile. It thought he was going to choke to death.

Malik continued to cough.

"You will convert, Seraph," Yder said. "All you control is how long it takes."

"The Hidden One rules all," said someone behind the prince.

A chorus of whispers filled the chamber as Shar's worshipers repeated the paean. Had he not been so busy coughing and choking, Malik would have laughed. He might die upon Shar's altar or even rot upon it, but he would never convert. That was the one thing he did not control at all.

Malik's vision narrowed to a black tunnel, then went completely black. Yder's voice came to him from far away, demanding that he pay attention and not insult the Hidden One by closing his eyes upon her. The prince's cold fingertips settled on his eyelids and pulled them open, and that was the last thing Malik felt before sinking into a soft bed of unconsciousness.

The next thing was the heel of a large hand slamming him between the shoulders, and the icy fingers of another one dangling him upside down by his ankle.

"Breathe, you craven little ranag!"

The hand struck Malik again. The teeth upon which he had been choking flew from his lips, along with a mouthful of blood and bitter-tasting bile. He started to gasp and cough at the same time, two conflicting actions that left him helplessly hiccupping for breath.

"Did you really think you could escape that easily?" Yder demanded. "The Hidden One will not be deprived of her pleasure."

Malik opened his eyes and was blinded by the same painful radiance as when he had returned to consciousness before.

"And I am most thankful for that," Malik said, "though I know it is likely to cost me a month of terrible agony!"

Knowing Yder would interpret his gratitude as progress toward a conversion, Malik would have liked to stop there and enjoy the reward any good torturer would bestow on him as incentive for further progress-but Mystra's curse would not allow it

"Now I can finish what I have started by converting you and your followers to the Church of Cyric-" Malik tried to bring his hands up to cover his mouth, but found his wrists manacled together behind his back. The words continued to spill out-"so that I may spare my soul the danger of having to present itself at the Shattered Castle after I have failed to seize control of the Shadow Weave for the One, as he instructed."

Yder shook with such a rage that the chains binding Malik's wrists began to jingle. Malik cringed and tried to guess whether he would lose fewer teeth by clenching his jaw or leaving it to hang slack, but the blow never came. Instead, the prince remained silent and continued to hold him upside down, allowing Malik a few precious moments to study his surroundings.

They were, as Malik had guessed from the altar, in a temple to Shar-though it was certainly far from what he had imagined such a place would look like. While the walls were covered with the expected images of mysterious women and dark disks limned in purple flame, the chamber itself was blindingly bright, so much so that the shadows dancing on the walls seemed more real than the worshipers standing motionless in long rows of pews. There were easily a thousand Shadovar there, all submerged to their knees in a glimmering pool of mirror-bright fluid. As thick and viscous as quicksilver, the liquid was slowly flowing out toward the edges of the chamber, where it gathered at the walls and vanished down the drainage pits in lazy whirlpools.

Malik recognized the liquid instantly. It was the same thing that he and his friends had found inside the Red Butte in Karsus, spilling out of the Karsestone that Galaeron had used to summon Shade back into the world.

The prince hoisted Malik by the chain between his manacles, forcing his arms up and back until he thought his shoulders would break.

"In my centuries," Yder said, "I have learned a few things about pain."

Malik felt sick to his stomach. Though the One had blessed him with the ability to suffer any amount of agony and still have the strength to perform his duties as Seraph, that did not mean he was immune to pain. Quite the contrary.

It seemed to him that he always felt pain more acutely than those around him-and usually a great deal more of it

As Yder turned back toward the altar, Malik was not all that surprised to find himself looking at a luminous white boulder about the size of a horse. There was a jagged fissure down the center, and from this crack poured a steady flow of the silvery liquid that had filled the temple.

The stream was, Malik knew from his earlier adventures in the Red Butte, the last whole magic in the world. Seventeen centuries earlier, a mad Netherese archwizard named Karsus had tried to steal the godhead of Mystryl, the goddess of magic at that time. It had been a terrible mistake. The Weave had filled Karsus to bursting and killed him on the spot, and it had split into the Weave and the Shadow Weave. The luminous white boulder was Karsus's heart-all that remained of the mad archwizard-and the silver magic pouring from it was all the remained of the original, unsplit Weave.

Though Cyric's rancid heart began to slush so hard that Malik could barely hear himself think, he forced himself to remain calm. The Karsestone, as they had dubbed the boulder, was undoubtedly an artifact of untold power, but it seemed to Malik that for Shar's worshipers to tolerate its bright light inside their hidden temple, it had to be something more-something much more.

"The Karsestone!" Malik gasped as though he had just realized what he was looking at, for it was important to his plan that Yder did not realize how much Malik understood about what he was seeing. That seems an odd altar for followers of the Nightsinger."

"Shadow is born of light," Yder said.

The phrase was repeated by a thousand whispering voices as Yder hoisted Malik onto the stone and laid him facedown.

"All the same, so much bright light must be a great insult to your goddess… unless the Karsestone is the source of the Shadow Weave, of course." Malik swore a silent oath, for it been Mystra's curse that compelled him to add such a clumsy probe, then he hastened to add, "Or the one you worship here is not really Shar, but some other Hidden-"

Malik's face smashed into stone as his tactic succeeded in angering the prince and distracting him from the gaff.

"I told you never to call the Hidden One by name."

"My apologies," Malik said. His voice sounded rather nasal, for his nose had been shattered and was pouring blood down over the Karsestone. "I only meant that this is certainly the last place the Most High would look for his stolen Karsestone."

"What makes you think it is stolen?" Yder asked, not quite able to keep the smugness from his voice.

Ever wary of the Seraph's ability to escape, the prince pinned Malik’s neck to the stone with one hand while he removed the chain from the manacles and attached it to a ring hanging from an iron post alongside the altar. Malik didn't know whether to be glad his plan had worked or ashamed it had taken so long for him to see the true nature of things.

For the Shar worshipers to tolerate the Karsestone's brilliance in their temple-and, more importantly, for the goddess not to strike dead the ones who permitted it to be there-the boulder had to be of inestimable value to the Nightsinger. Malik no longer doubted that much-it was the source of the Shadow Weave, as Mystra's curse had caused him to blurt out, or something that she wished to keep hidden from the other gods.

More terribly, if Shar considered Shade a safe place to hide such a thing-and if Telamont Tanthul truly had given the Karsestone to Yder for the Hidden One's temple-then she had to feel secure in her control of the city. For Shar to feel secure in her command of the Shadovar, she had to control the Shadow Weave itself.

"The spiteful hag!" Malik cried. "She has commanded it all along!"

"Curse her now all you wish, Malik."

Yder spun him around then flipped him onto his back and fastened another chain to his second manacle.

"Before this is done," the prince added, "you will sing her praises."

"And you will lick the offal from my boots!" Malik shot back. "The Shadow Weave is Cyric's by right! Am I not the one who saved the life of that fool Galaeron so he could betray his word to Jhingleshod and steal this stone?"

It was his own anger that compelled him to say this and not Mystra's curse, but he knew it was a mistake the moment the words spilled from his mouth. Yder's yellow eyes turned as bright as the sun. He bared his ceremonial fangs and bent so low that Malik feared the prince would bite his nose from his face.

"Is that why you came here?" he demanded. "To steal the Hidden One's crown?"

Malik said nothing and looked away.

"Answer!" Yder commanded. "Answer, or I will feed you to your own shadow."

The prince pulled his head aside so that Malik could see his shadow's hateful eyes glaring down at him. No longer did the monstrous thing seem dependent on Malik for its form. It looked as thick and as solid as any giant he had ever seen. Malik looked away on the pretext of meeting Yder's angry gaze.

"Do you think I am afraid of my own shadow?" he demanded. "I am favored of the One. I have seen a thousand things that were a hundred times worse… though never any who know all the wretched things I have done in my life."

"Look!" Yder grabbed Malik's aching jaw and forced him to stare up into his shadow's angry eyes. "You have seen the trouble Galaeron's shadow has brought on him. What do you think yours would do, were I to let it inside you?"

"Why should I fear such a thing?" Malik squeaked. "If a shadow is all the things I am not, this one is undoubtedly as charitable as I am selfish, as trustworthy as I am corrupt, as brave as I am craven. My shadow would only make me all the things that women desire and men admire."

"What of Cyric?" It was the shadow that asked this question-and that flashed a brutal purple smile as it did so. "How would he feel about a Seraph who was all those things?"

The blood went cold in Malik's veins, and he swung his gaze to Yder.

"What was your question again?"