Twilight Falling

CHAPTER 10

Cale sat in the chair in their room at the Lizard, preparing for communion with his god. Jak and Riven were already asleep in their cots. Cale was to wake Riven before dawn, but doubted he would. He knew he would not be able to sleep that night.

No candle lit the room but Selune's light through the shutter slats cast silver lines on the floor. Cale waited. Though Selgaunt's churches stopped tolling after the tenth hour, Cale knew intuitively when the midnight hour began. A benefit of serving the Lord of Shadows, he supposed.

He calmed himself, and cleared his mind. Time passed. When midnight arrived, a cloud passed before Selune and cast the room in utter darkness. A sign from Mask.

The darkness mirrored Cale's mood. Dark thoughts filled in his mind, violent, bloody thoughts. He reached out his consciousness to his god and requested spells that would harm his enemies. Mask answered. Cale's mind filled with power, the power granted him by the Lord of Shadows.

At that moment, Riven began to toss in his sleep, muttering in the strange tongue Cale had heard him speak previously. For a fleeting instant, Cale thought he understood the words-an ancient tongue once used by worshipers of the Lord of Shadows in the deep of night-but the meaning danced just out of reach of his understanding before dispersing like smoke.

Jak's voice, jarring in the dark, gave Cale a start.

"You all right, Cale?"

Riven's muttering must have awakened the halfling. Jak was sitting up in his cot, looking at Riven.

"I'm fine, Jak," Cale replied. "Go back to sleep."

The halfling nodded at Riven and said through a yawn, "What in the Nine Hells is he dreaming about?"

Cale didn't answer.

"Probably don't want to know anyway," Jak said, chuckled, and lay back down to sleep.

Cale didn't bother to wake Riven for his watch. Instead, he spent the night murdering the last of the butler in his soul. From then on, he wanted nothing in him but the killer.

A steady rain fell, soaking Cale's cloak. The gray clouds turned the dusk of evening into the darkness of night. The surface of the Elzimmer churned in the downpour. Before them rose the High Bridge. Wide enough to accommodate three wagons abreast, the great span had stood for hundreds of years, withstanding countless battles and mage duels. The thick oak footings of the span rose from the river's waters like the legs of giants. It looked as immovable as a mountain, but Cale knew better. The Uskevren had fought a battle there months before against the summoned horrors of Marance Talendar. The magic released during that combat had set the bridge to shaking and nearly brought it down.

Guard sheds stood at each end of the bridge, and a larger barracks complex sat in the center. Pitch torches sizzled in the wind and rain, the flames dancing as though to avoid the downpour. Just outside the near shed stood four Scepters, each armed with poleaxes and dressed in the green weathercloaks of the Scepters. They eyed Cale, Riven, and Jak suspiciously as the three approached. Cale knew the High Bridge guards to be notoriously difficult to bribe. He didn't bother to try. Instead, he presented his Uskevren house badge and announced the three to be on Uskevren business. The bedraggled bridge guards let them pass without further inquiry.

The rain thumped a drumbeat on the wood beams. Probably due to the weather, Cale, Riven, and Jak were the only traffic on the bridge. The river flowed under their feet.

From the far side of the bridge, the Twisted Elm stood perhaps a half hour or so up the road. Ordinarily, Cale would have been able to see it from the bridge, but the rain and darkness made visibility poor. They stalked down the muddy road. The eighth hour approached.

"Near enough," Cale said. "Let's prepare."

He took out his holy symbol, traced an invisible symbol in the air before him, and recited a prayer that would ward him against fire. He cast the same ward on Jak, but when he turned to Riven, the assassin held up a hand.

"Save it, Cale."

Cale shook his head and insisted, "Take it. To the Hells with your professional pride. This is about getting the work done. Remember the fireball Vraggen used at the Stag?"

Riven hesitated.

"This will ward you against fire," Cale said. He hesitated before adding, "It is a blessing from Mask."

That last seemed to help convince the assassin.

Riven nodded once and accepted the spell without another word. When Cale finished the incantation, Riven pulled his holy symbol out from beneath his cloak and wore it openly.

Still holding his mask, Cale continued his prayers, asking the Lord of Shadows to bless their efforts in the battle to come.

Jak too began to pray and cast: a ward against divinations and the half-drow's mind-reading on each of them, a ward against detection on the half-sphere, a spell to protect each of them against lightning, and finally, a request for the Trickster's own good fortune in the battle to come.

Afterward, the halfling looked up at Cale and said, "It's as good a plan as any, Cale, but there's no guarantee that they won't see me, even invisible. A powerful caster may be able to penetrate my non-detection ward. And I still haven't figured out how the half-drow saw me back in the alley."

"There's never any guarantees when steel is drawn, Fleet," Riven said as he ran a thumb along each of his blade edges in turn. "Not ever."

Cale looked the halfling in the eyes and tried to communicate an assurance he didn't feel.

"They won't see you," Cale said. "Not this time."

To that, Jak said nothing, but Cale could see he was still bothered. Cale kneeled down and looked him in the face.

"You all right with this?" Cale asked. "What you have to do?"

The plan required an invisible Jak to take down an unsuspecting target.

Jak looked sidelong at Riven before answering, "I'm all right."

Cale held his gaze. "Little man, these whoresons killed nine guards when they attacked Stormweather, and they tried to kill me."

"And me," Riven said, though Cale doubted that helped convince Jak.

"The gods only know what they've done to Ren," Cale continued. "They deserve worse than a sword in their back. They need to be put down, and pity should not cause you to hesitate even a heartbeat. Understood?"

Jak nodded-slowly, but Cale saw conviction in his green eyes.

Riven spit and sneered, "You're wasting words, Cale. We already know Fleet doesn't have any qualms about sticking steel in a man's back. Do you, little man?"

They all knew the assassin was referencing that night when an invisible Jak had driven a short sword through Riven's kidney.

"Keep your mouth shut, Riven," Cale spat over his shoulder.

Jak eyes narrowed but he laughed without mirth.

"No, he's right, Cale," the halfling said. "I won't hesitate to put a blade in a back. In the backs of certain men, at least." The halfling stared meaningfully at Riven. "I haven't yet done it and regretted it. I haven't yet stuck someone who didn't deserve exactly what he got."

Riven's sneer deepened. He shot Jak an unfriendly wink.

Jak spat in Riven's direction before turning back to Cale.

"I'm ready," he said.

Cale smiled, thumped him on the shoulder, and said, "Then let's do this."

He reached into his belt pouch, removed his potion of flight, and handed it to Jak.

Before drinking it down, the halfling incanted the words to another prayer. When he finished, his body and gear faded from sight. Even the falling rain didn't reveal his location.

"Our priority is Ren," Cale said. "After that…"

"Anything goes," Riven said, unsmiling.

From somewhere in the air above them-the potion must already have taken effect-Jak's disembodied voice said, "My spell and the potion will only last a limited time. We ought to hurry."

With deliberation, Cale put on the velvet mask that served as his holy symbol and drew his blade.

"Let's move," he said to Riven.

Before they had taken three strides, Jak's voice sounded from just behind Riven, "Watch your back, Zhent. Never know if someone's about to stick it."

Riven's one eye narrowed in anger and he muttered a soft curse. Cale couldn't help but smile.

Jak hovered a dagger toss above Cale and Riven. He experimented a bit to get accustomed to the flight granted him by the potion. Thought controlled movement. If he willed himself forward, he flew forward; if he willed himself up or down, he moved up or down. And he could hover. The sensation felt. . fun, and he would have enjoyed it if the situation had not been so dire. He drew his short sword and dagger.

"Space yourselves," Cale said from below, his voice muffled by the mask he wore.

Jak nodded. It would not do for all of them to be caught by surprise in one of Vraggen's spells. He distanced himself from his comrades, eight or nine paces ahead and a dagger toss above. Riven and Cale walked abreast, but fully five strides apart.

Cale held his long sword in one hand and the half-sphere in the other. Jak thought his friend looked sinister in the mask. He wondered why Cale had donned it.

Riven stalked down the road on Cale's left, a magical saber in each hand. To Jak, the Zhent always looked dangerous. Working with Riven reminded Jak of something his father had said when Jak had brought a stray dog back to the burrow: We can't keep it because it's feral, and you never know when a feral animal will turn on you. You just always know it will.

In truth, the thought of putting his blade in Riven's back tempted him, but only for an instant. He would kill when necessary and deserved, but he was not a murderer.

In moments, though, he would come as close to murder as he cared to.

But they deserve it, he told himself, and he clutched his holy symbol. Cale had said as much and Jak believed it.

From below and behind, Cale said, "We go when you go, little man. Unless they force us to go sooner."

"I hear you," Jak said.

When Jak attacked, all of the Nine Hells would break loose.

"And don't dally, Fleet," Riven growled.

"Piss off," Jak said, but was not sure the Zhent heard him.

They continued up the road. Jak considered scouting ahead, but decided against it-he couldn't be sure that Vraggen and Azriim wouldn't see through his invisibility, and he didn't want to prematurely alert them. Instead, he stayed in position above Cale and Riven. The rain continued, soaking the ground. Soon blood would join it.

A long bowshot ahead, the Twisted Elm materialized out of the dusk. The huge, magisterial tree could not be missed. It dominated the otherwise flat plain. Its canopy was wide enough to shade a hamlet. Lines in the bark of its trunk spiraled up the bole in an unusual pattern that gave the tree its name. It looked like the threads of a giant carpenter's screw, as though a god had reached down from the heavens and twisted the tree as it grew.

Below those stately eaves, Jak saw four figures. He could not make out features, but from their respective clothing, size, and bare weapons, Jak marked them as Vraggen, Dolgan, the easterner, and a woman. Probably the woman who had led the attack on Stormweather Towers. Behind them, perhaps ten strides farther up the road, stood two other figures: one bound and standing perfectly upright and rigid-an enspelled Ren, Jak figured-with the other, Azriim no doubt, guarding him with a bare long sword.

Jak quietly reported all that to Cale and Riven. Cale nodded. He and Riven picked up the their pace. Jak followed suit, going high and praying to the Trickster that any divination spells Vraggen or the half-drow might have in effect would not penetrate his non-detection spell.

When Cale and Riven neared the tree, the woman, the easterner, and Dolgan stepped a few paces out in front of Vraggen. Dolgan's axe was longer than Jak was tall. The easterner said something to Vraggen and the wizard began to cast. Jak knew why. They saw only Cale and Riven. They were looking for Jak.

Jak whispered another prayer to the Trickster, tried to will himself undetectable to Vraggen, and circled around behind them. Closer, he could see that the wizard's outline was shifting and blurred, the result of an illusion that made it difficult to determine where the wizard ended and the spell began. Jak didn't need a spell to know that other magic, without visible effects, probably also protected the wizard.

After Vraggen completed his divination, his gaze swept the area around the elm, though not the air. Dolgan and the woman did likewise, though they had no spell to assist them. They showed no sign that they noticed Jak.

Jak could not contain a fierce smile. He descended a bit and hovered in the area between Azriim and the tree. From there, he had a good view of the entire field of battle.

Cale and Riven stopped ten strides from the Twisted Elm. Cale set the half-sphere on the ground and rested the edge of his blade against it. Riven stared at the easterner. The rain continued to fall. For a few heartbeats, no one spoke. Each side simply evaluated the other.

Cale broke the silence.

"You begin to cast a spell, and I destroy it," he said.

"Where is the halfling, Cale? I instructed you not to trifle with me."

Riven spat and sneered.

Jak couldn't see Cale's face from behind the mask but could imagine his scowl.

"I don't take instructions from you, mage," Cale said. "And the halfling is out of this." He tapped the half-sphere with his blade. "Now, bring forward Ren and you'll have the other half of your sphere."

Vraggen smiled. "The fact that you refer to him by name tells me all I need to know. Toss the rest of the globe to me, then you'll have your … Ren."

"No," Cale said. "You have a five count." He raised his blade a handswidth above the half-sphere. "One."

"I'll kill him where he stands, Cale. Then you. Do not-"

"Two."

Even in profile, Jak could see Vraggen's narrow face twist in frustration. His hands clenched into fists.

"Very well, Cale."

When he turned his head to call back to Azriim, Jak's breath caught. The mage looked right through him to the half-drow. He showed no sign of having noticed Jak.

"Azriim," he said. "Proceed."

Jak exhaled.

Without hesitation, the half-drow took Ren's left hand, already missing three fingers, and rapidly sliced off the rest, one by one. The careless manner in which the half-drow performed the mutilation, like a butcher with a beef shank, made Jak's stomach churn. Blood poured from the fingers. Ren said nothing, moved nothing. To Jak, the silence was worse than screams.

Azriim stepped on the fingers and ground them into the grass with his boot toe. He looked at Cale with his mismatched eyes and grinned.

Jak turned to see Cale's body go rigid with tension.

Just give him the sphere, Jak silently pleaded. Give it to him.

Cale's plan called for Jak to kill Vraggen after Ren was safe, but Jak feared Vraggen would take the lad apart piece by piece first.

"He is held immobile by my spell, Cale," Vraggen said, "but I assure you, he sees, hears, and feels all that is transpiring. Imagine the agony he felt when his fingers were severed, the pain only compounded by his inability to scream."

"Three," Cale said. He gripped his blade tightly and stared holes into Vraggen.

The mage stuttered in surprise, but managed to recover quickly.

"V–Very well." He called over his shoulder, "Again, Azriim. His hand."

Jak didn't want to watch but found himself transfixed. Dolgan, Serrin, and the woman also seemed enthralled by the war of wills in which Ren's flesh was the battlefield.

The half-drow grabbed Ren by the wrist and extended his arm, as though he meant to chop it off at the elbow. Ren remained exactly as Azriim posed him. His appearance brought tears of sympathy and rage to Jak's eyes. His face was bruised and swollen. He had been badly beaten and the stumps of his fingers pointed accusingly at Jak, seeping blood.

Azriim raised his blade high. His mismatched eyes looked through Jak and asked the question of Vraggen.

Just as the mage was about to nod, just as Azriim's shadowed eyes glowed bright with the thought of doing violence, Cale, as calm as the Dragon Sea doldrums, stated above the rain, "Four." He raised his blade.

Vraggen blinked and froze. In that instant, Jak knew that Cale had won. Jak wondered how far Cale would have let it go.

The mage whirled to face Cale squarely.

Cale's expression was veiled by his mask, but Jak suspected it was tortured. Ren had paid the price for Cale's victory. Jak knew why Cale had donned the mask in the first place.

"Don't you dare do it, Cale," Vraggen commanded, and he signaled Azriim to stand down.

With a disappointed sigh, the half-drow lowered his blade. Jak exhaled-he had not realized that he'd been holding his breath-but softly, so that the sound of his breathing would not give him away.

Cale too lowered his blade, though he set its edge on the sphere. Shadows danced between the crystal and the steel.

"Now that we understand each other, mage, bring me Ren. Now!"

"Bring him," Vraggen said to Azriim, his voice tight.

With surprising strength, the half-drow wrapped his arm around Ren and dragged him forward. Jak scrambled aside, eyeing him as he passed. He could have buried his short sword in the half-drow's neck.

When Azriim brought Ren up near Vraggen, the mage held up a hand adorned with two silver rings.

"That's as far as he goes," Vraggen said, eyeing Cale. "No more negotiations. Give the half-globe to Dolgan or Azriim will slit the guard's throat right now."

For a moment, Cale said nothing. Under the eaves of the Twisted Elm, it seemed as though the world was holding its breath. Rain pattered through the leaves.

"Done," Cale said at last, and Jak knew that Cale was counting on him to do something. Cale kneeled and picked up the half-sphere. "Riven, get Ren."

The assassin started forward, both sabers at the ready.

"The globe, Dolgan" said Vraggen.

The big man, his ring mail chinking and his axe in hand, moved toward Cale.

Riven and Dolgan gave each other a wide berth as they passed, but each eyed the other darkly.

Jak flew closer to Vraggen. The mage's blurry, shifting outline made choosing a vital spot to strike less than exact, but Jak did the best he could. As soon as Riven secured Ren, Jak would make his move.

As Riven strode past the easterner and the woman, he locked eyes with the man and shot him a sneer.

"We'll get our dance yet, dog," Riven said to the easterner. "Never fear."

The little easterner only smirked and ran a thumb along his falchion blade.

Riven reached Ren at the same moment that Dolgan reached Cale.

"Take your hands off him," the assassin said softly to Azriim, "or I'll take your hands off you."

Azriim grinned and unhanded Ren. Riven glared at Vraggen. There was no fear in his one eye.

At that moment, Jak loved Riven.

Dolgan took the half-sphere from Cale in the same instant.

Gracefully, with his eye on the half-drow and Vraggen throughout, Riven sheathed one saber, bent at the waist and scooped the mutilated guard over a shoulder. He staggered under the burden.

"Heavy?" asked Azriim.

"Sod off," Riven hissed.

Glaring at the half-drow, he slowly began backing off. The woman and the easterner slid out wide as he approached.

With only a passing glance at the sphere, Dolgan turned, threw it to Vraggen, and backed a step away from Cale. The mage caught it and spoke a word of power. Instantly, the other half of the globe materialized in his free hand. He placed the two together and held them up to Azriim, who stepped to his side.

The half-drow studied the whole globe for only a heartbeat or two before he nodded.

"I have it now," Azriim said. He looked up and took a step toward Riven, then another.

Dark! Jak knew then that this was going to go bad. He alit on the ground only a short distance behind Vraggen-he wanted the leverage afforded by solid earth under his feet. He stalked forward, as silent as a tomb.

Riven sensed it too, but he was caught in the no-man's-land between the easterner and the woman on the one hand, and Vraggen and Azriim on the other. Jak saw that Riven's knuckles were white around his saber hilt.

The easterner and the woman also took a step toward him, cutting off his avenue to Cale.

Dolgan looked at Vraggen, looked at Cale, looked back to Vraggen. He reminded Jak of a Calishite racing shorthorse waiting to lunge from the stable.

Jak continued to close on the mage. Five strides. Four.

Vraggen smiled mirthlessly-a tight hard line that looked nearly a grimace-and said, "Our business is concluded, Cale."

Three strides. Two. One.

"So now you die," said Vraggen.

The mage grabbed an iron rod from an inner pocket of his cloak and began to incant.

Jak drew back his blades to strike.

"Now!" he shouted, and drove his steel with a snarl into the blurred image of the mage.

His invisibility spell instantly dispelled as he attacked. His dagger found only air, but his short sword bit into flesh and grated against ribs. Jak shoved it home, burying half the blade into Vraggen's ribcage. The magical words on the mage's lips gave way to a surprised gasp and a grunt of pain. He collapsed to his knees, dropping the sphere. Jak pulled back his dagger and stabbed hard for the spot right beside his short sword-

— and Vraggen vanished with a soft pop. Air rushed to fill the void the mage had just vacated. The momentum from Jak's stab sent him off balance but he caught himself with a fist on the wet ground.

Contingency spell, his mind registered. Vraggen must have pre-programmed a transport spell to teleport him away if he was badly wounded. Blast and burn!

Combat exploded around him.

Riven tossed Ren to the ground and jerked his other saber from it scabbard, just as the easterner and the woman rushed him with blades held high. Riven, not waiting to be flanked, bounded left and met the woman's charge with one of his own. His blades whirled so fast they hummed.

Taken aback by Riven's onslaught, the woman tried to abort her charge. She slipped on the rain-slick grass and fell. Riven took one cut at her but she rolled aside with only a nick. Before he could try another, the easterner was upon him.

Meantime, Dolgan lunged forward, axe held high, and took an overhand swing at Cale that could have split a fence post. Cale thumped the axe's haft with his long sword and knocked Dolgan's blow off line, all the while mouthing the words of a spell. The axe buried itself in the wet grass and soil.

Dolgan recovered quickly, released one hand from his axe, and flashed a punch to Cale's chest. The blow knocked Cale back a step but he somehow managed to finish his incantation and grab Dolgan by the wrist with a hand glowing red and charged with power.

The big man's arm seemed to explode from the inside. Gashes erupted on his skin and blood poured from the holes. The bones of his forearm twisted and broke. He screamed, dropping his axe and clutching his spell-wracked arm. Cale stepped past him, stabbing him through the side as he did.

Eyeing the woman as she regained her feet, Cale began again to incant.

Jak caught motion from the corner of his eye-Azriim. He spun to face the half-drow just in time. Azriim's long sword cut a path for Jak's throat. Jak leaped back, deflecting the blow with his short sword. Iron rang on iron. Azriim lunged forward, dropped low, and stabbed for Jak's gut. Jak barely managed to slap the stab aside, though it skinned his ribs. Wincing, he danced backward and tried to open some space to allow him to cast, but the half-drow followed up immediately. A stab. A slash. Another. Another. Jak's arm went numb. Azriim was far stronger than his size would indicate.

Desperate to buy himself a few heartbeats, Jak threw his dagger. The half-drow dodged aside but the small blade nicked him in the abdomen. If it harmed the half-drow, he showed no sign. Jak pulled his holy symbol and hurriedly incanted a spell that would hold Azriim immobile.

Nothing!

The half-drow grinned at him with those perfect teeth and rushed forward, blade high.

Jak backstepped as fast as he dared on the wet grass. He shot a glance to his right.

"Cale!" the halfling called. "Help!"

Cale was just finishing his own spell and he showed no sign of having heard Jak. He pointed a finger at the easterner dueling Riven. The easterner emitted a grunt and suddenly froze in mid-lunge, knees bent, falchion thrust forward. Jak saw that both Riven and the easterner already had taken and given several slashes.

"End it," Cale commanded Riven, and in his cold voice Jak heard no pity.

Without a moment's hesitation, Riven swatted the easterner's falchion from his grasp and stabbed him through the chest with both sabers. He jerked them free with a flourish. Blood fountained from the wounds.

Cale moved to engage the woman and Jak could watch no more. Azriim was upon him again. The half-drow unleashed an overhand slash at Jak's head. Jak stuck his short sword in its path but the impact of the blow drove the edge of his own blade back into his face and opened a cut above his eye. Blood flowed down his face. He grunted, spun aside, and lashed out with a vicious stab. Azriim sidestepped it and swung his blade in a crosscut. Jak ducked beneath it just in time and danced back, but too slowly. Azriim's boot clipped his forehead and a stab took him in the shoulder. Sparks exploded in his brain, pain in his arm. His vision went blurry and he went down, flat on his back and looking up at the sky. Rain pelted his face. He wanted to jump to his feet but his body wouldn't answer.

In that moment, Jak knew he was going to die.

The half-drow appeared over him, his mismatched eyes devoid of emotion. He took a two handed reverse hold on his long sword-an executioner's grip. Jak tried to call for Cale but the blow to his head had left him able only to inaudibly mouth the words.

He forced himself to keep his eyes open. He would see death when it came.

Azriim lifted his blade high, held it for a half a heartbeat, stabbed down-

— Riven appeared from nowhere and at a full run slammed his shoulder into Azriim's unprotected ribcage. Jak heard bones crack. The half-drow grunted and his breath blew from his lungs. The stab that would have killed Jak instead pierced only the earth beside him.

Though the blow from Riven should have flattened Azriim, he somehow kept his feet, rolled with the impact, and tossed the assassin from him with a strength that his slight frame should not have possessed. Riven landed five strides away, rolled, and leaped up. He shot the half-drow a hard grin and whirled his blades.

"Try something a little bigger, prig," Riven challenged.

Azriim, bent and gasping from the broken ribs, looked to his left to where Cale fought with the woman. Jak followed his eyes.

Without the easterner's speed or Azriim's strength, the woman was no match for Cale's bladework. Already she bled from several wounds. Cale lunged in, feinted high, drew her blade up, and abruptly stabbed low. The steel skinned her hip and she stumbled. Cale followed with an overhand blow that would have opened her throat had she not stuck an arm in its path. Cale's blade sank deep into her forearm. She screamed and as she did, her voice deepened, became more bestial.

She began to change.

Her body grew taller, and thickened. Her nose and mouth expanded and she offered a mouth full of fangs. Her hands lengthened, and her fingers birthed claws. Her alabaster skin turned darker, and began to grow ridges, scales.

"Let us begin again, Erevis Cale," she spat.

Wide-eyed, Cale took a step back.

"Elura!" Azriim shouted. "Don't!"

In mid-transformation, she whirled to look at the half-drow, a question on her metamorphosing face.

"Don't!"

She cocked her head and a long, forked tongue licked the ridges of her lips. Jak felt certain that an unspoken communication passed between her and the half-drow.

"Leave him," commanded the half-drow, indicating the easterner.

Simultaneously, each of them quickly pulled out their bronze teleportation rods, twisted them, and disappeared. Dolgan clambered to his feet, leaking blood from his side and arm. Again he had survived seemingly mortal wounds. He too removed his teleportation device, manipulated it, and vanished.

Jak, still dazed, took a few moments to whisper a healing prayer to the Trickster. The battle was over.