Twilight Falling

CHAPTER 11

Cale went first to Ren. He would have uttered a spell of healing to close the seeping stumps of the young man's fingers, but in his hunger for violence he had requested from the Lord of Shadows only spells suitable for combat. He regretted that, and wondered if there wasn't a lesson in it.

So instead, he used his dagger to cut off strips of his cloak and with those wrapped Ren's hands. He then traced a symbol of power in the air with his fingers and intoned the prayer that would free Ren from his magical paralysis.

The moment the spell took effect, Ren fell forward, gasping, cradling his hand. Cale caught him under the armpits and kept him from falling.

"My hand, Mister Cale! My hand!"

To his credit, Ren managed to hold back the tears. When it seemed the young guardsman had gathered himself, Cale held him at arm's length and looked him in the eyes. Ren's face was pale, his eyes sunken. He had been through a lot.

"Can you walk?" Cale asked softly.

It didn't please him, but he had to send Ren back to the city alone. This business was far from over.

Ren looked up from his hand and met Cale's gaze, obviously disconcerted by the mask Cale wore.

"Yes, Mister Cale."

Cale nodded, gave him a gentle shake, and said, "Good man. Listen to me. We can't take you back to Selgaunt and it's dangerous for you to remain here with us. Can you make it back alone? Now?"

For a moment, Ren looked as though all of Toril lay on his back, but he rallied quickly. He stood up straight and gave Cale a nod. His severed fingers made him wince.

Cale thumped him on the shoulder and said, "Good. Go directly to Stormweather. Tell Tam-Tell Lord Uskevren what happened to you, what you saw." Cale debated what else to say. "Also tell him that I now have the entire sphere and that there's no further danger to the House. But also tell him the task is not yet done and that I have to see it through. Do you understand?"

"Understood," Ren answered. He released his wounded hand and held out his other.

Cale clasped it.

"Thank you, Mister Cale." He looked beyond Cale to Riven and Jak and added, "All of you."

Cale could say nothing. He didn't feel as though he deserved thanks.

With a final nod, the young guardsman turned and trudged off into the night.

Cale watched him go. He thought Ren would be all right. At least, he hoped so.

He turned to Jak, who sat on the wet grass nearby, his blades lying beside him. The halfling had a cut above his eye where Azriim's long sword must have nicked him. He still looked a little dazed.

"Trickster's toes, Cale," Jak said, shaking his head and forcing a crooked grin, "that was near one."

Cale nodded and tried to return the grin; he couldn't.

The sphere lay in the grass near Jak. Cale walked over to it, kneeled down and picked it up. To his surprise, he saw that the two halves had somehow fused back together. Only a thin seam around the center, like a scar, evidenced its former split. He studied it for a moment before placing it in his pack.

"All this for that," Jak said.

Cale nodded. He turned to Jak and extended a hand.

"You gonna stay on your arse the rest of the night or find your feet?" Cale joked.

Jak smiled, took Cale's hand, and pulled himself to his feet.

Cale put a hand on his shoulder and asked, "You all right, little man?"

"I'm all right," Jak said, but Cale thought he sounded shaken. "How's Ren?"

Jak indicated the direction Ren had walked, but the night and rain had already swallowed the guard's silhouette.

"I don't know," Cale replied. "He'll be all right eventually."

Jak nodded. He kneeled and picked up his weapons. As he did, he looked sidelong to Riven, who was tending the shallow wounds he had received.

"Riven," Jak said, and Cale could see the halfling was embarrassed. "I owe you."

To Cale's surprise, Riven didn't offer his sneer, didn't even look at the halfling.

"You owe me nothing, Fleet," Riven said as he began to rifle the easterner's cloak. He threw coins to the ground, but when he located the bronze teleportation rod, he examined it for a moment before putting it in a pocket of his own. "I've got one rule when blades are drawn-my side walks away. Everyone else-" he thumped a fist into the easterner's chest-"you leave bleeding in the dirt. It's that simple."

"Understood," Jak said. "And that's mutual." The halfling looked at Cale. "Take off that mask, eh? You're both starting to make me nervous."

Cale had almost forgotten that he had it on. He had fought with it on only once before. Wearing it made him feel anonymous, as though he had moral permission to kill. He didn't care for the feeling. He took off the mask, put it in his vest, and patted Jak on the shoulder. For an instant, he wondered what kind of man he would have become had he not met Jak Fleet. The halfling was his conscience, he knew. Jak had softened the edges of his nature almost as much as had Thazienne.

"I don't think Vraggen's dead," Jak said. "I hurt him bad, but not bad enough."

Cale nodded. He didn't think Vraggen was dead either.

"We'll find him again, little man," Cale said. "But first we get the sphere back to Sephris. He can tell us when Vraggen plans to do whatever it is that he plans to do. We'll just have to find out the where and the what some other way."

Jak nodded. He reached for his pipe, remembered that it was raining, and let his hand fall to his side.

"Did you see the woman start to change?" the halfling asked. "There at the end?"

Cale nodded.

"What are these things?" Jak asked. "Not just shapeshifters, and that's certain."

Cale had no answer, but he knew that whatever the woman was in her natural form, it was big, with jaws large enough to eat a meat shank in a single bite.

"Look at this," Riven said, and Cale and Jak turned.

Riven had his ear to the easterner's mouth.

"This one's still breathing," he said. He stepped back and eyed the chest wounds he had given the easterner. "The wounds are already closing." Riven gave Jak a frown, then looked a question at Cale. "We passed an abandoned barn about halfway between here and the High Bridge. Did you see it?"

Cale took Riven's meaning right away and said, "I did."

Cale watched the halfling and waited for the import of Riven's comment to settle in. It didn't take long.

Jak's eyes went wide. He grabbed Cale's hand.

"You're not-Cale, we can't. No."

"Jak…"

Jak shook his head emphatically. "No." His voice lowered to a whisper. "You're talking about torture, Erevis. That's not us."

Cale shook his head.

"I'm talking about interrogation," he said, but the words sounded insincere even to himself.

Jak scoffed, put his back to Riven, and said in a low hiss, "I've seen the result of Zhent interrogations, Cale. That one-" he indicated the easterner with his thumb-"might even be human. He didn't change. We don't know." He crossed his arms over his chest. "No. I won't do it."

"I'm not asking you to do it."

Jak looked up into Cale's face and said, "Yes you are, Cale. Don't try to dodge it that way. Asking me to stand by is the same as asking me to sanction it. Don't."

Cale hesitated but only for a moment. They had little choice.

He kneeled down to look Jak in the eyes. He could feel Riven's gaze heavy on him.

"We need to know what they plan to do with the sphere, little man, and where they plan to do it. I'll try not to let it come to that."

"Try?"

Cale sighed and said, "You said yourself that innocent lives may be at stake." While that was true, innocent lives factored into Cale's thinking only partially. He wanted payback, pure and true. He took Jak by the shoulders. "Listen, now. Sometimes good people have to do hard things. This is one of those times, Jak. If good people won't do the hard things, evil people will always win, because evil people will do anything."

Jak shook his head. His green eyes were troubled.

"So we do evil to stop evil?" the halfling asked. "That's what you're saying, you know."

Cale nodded slowly and replied, "If you like, but what I mean to say is that we must be pragmatic, Jak. And pragmatism is a merciless bitch. We can stand on principle and accomplish nothing, or we can grit our teeth and do what needs to be done."

He stood up, took a step back, and waited for Jak to decide.

"I'll try not to let it come to that," Cale repeated, and meant it.

Jak looked forlorn, and Cale wondered what his friendship with Jak was doing to the halfling. Jak pulled Cale up. Cale worried that he was dragging Jak down.

The halfling eyed Cale, looked at Riven, rubbed the back of his neck. Finally, he nodded.

"I hear what you're saying. Innocents are at stake. I know it." He looked at Cale sharply and added, "But I can't be near it, Cale."

"I know," Cale said, and he felt dirty.

He turned away but Jak grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back around. His green eyes burned with intensity.

"Don't lose yourself in this Erevis. Don't turn into Drasek Riven. You're not that man anymore."

That gave Cale a start. How many times had he told himself those very words?

He looked down at Jak and said, "I know. I won't." He put a hand on the halfling's shoulder. "This is just me learning to do the math."

"What?"

Cale smiled softly. Jak couldn't understand because he hadn't heard Sephris's words.

"Nothing," said Cale. "Forget it." He turned to look at Riven, who had already begun to bind the easterner. "Let's get him to that barn."

Riven nodded and grinned a mouthful of stained teeth. He stepped close to the easterner and looked him in the face, nose to nose.

"I told you we'd get that dance, prig. And I don't care if you're human or not. You know why?"

The easterner, of course, said nothing.

Riven's gaze was dark, his voice low. "Because everything feels pain."

The dilapidated barn sat a bowshot off the road, at the edge of an overgrown field. The farmers must have farmed out the soil and moved to better lands years before. To Jak, the decrepit building looked sinister, but perhaps that was because he knew what was about to happen within.

The rain had picked up. Riven and Cale carried the bound easterner between them. They had gagged him and wrapped him in so much rope and cord that even if he could change his shape, he could be killed easily before he could complete any metamorphosis.

As they neared the barn, the easterner, free of the immobilizing effect of Cale's spell, began to struggle against his bonds. He must have deduced what was coming, must have seen it in Riven's cold eye. Riven cuffed him a few times in the face-hard enough to split a lip.

"It only gets worse after this," the assassin promised, his voice as hard as stone. "You'll have a chance-one chance, when we get in there-to tell us what we want to know. After that…."

He stared and let the threat dangle. The easterner glared hate. Riven sneered.

Cale grabbed the easterner by his hair and said, "Anything about you starts to change, and I start cutting off limbs. Hands, then arms. I'll get creative after that."

Jak figured Cale was acting but still felt nauseated.

"I'll wait out here and keep watch," he said.

"Suit yourself," Riven said.

Cale nodded at him and said, "Stay alert. I don't think they'll be back, but we can't be sure."

Jak nodded, feeling numb while he watched Riven and Cale carry the struggling easterner into the barn. He thought Riven might actually have been whistling.

He hoped it was an affectation to unnerve the easterner, but Trickster's Toes if he could be sure.

Cale struck a tindertwig, shot Jak one more glance, and pulled the doors shut behind them.

Jak moved away a bit and sat atop an overturned feeding trough, careless of the rain. He tried not to think about what might occur only a short distance away.

He prayed that Cale could get the information without resorting to torture. In his minds' eye, he imagined the screams. Chills ran along his spine. The rain did nothing to wash away the filth he felt clinging to his soul.

From within the barn, he heard voices. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to abide.

"Sometimes good people have to do hard things," he muttered. "Sometimes good people …"

A few rusty farm implements and barrels lay strewn about the otherwise empty room of the farmhouse. Riven propped the bound easterner on a barrel in the exact center of the room. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Cale stared holes into the man.

Riven pulled another barrel over and placed it in front of the easterner. The assassin pulled a black leather bag from somewhere. Looking at the easterner meaningfully, he began to remove the contents-blades, wedges, nails, tongs, a poker, a hammer-and placed them atop the barrel. The easterner's eyes went as wide as coins.

Seeing those tools made Cale's legs go weak. To Riven, he said in Amnish, "That's not the play, Riven."

The assassin smiled evilly, as though Cale had suggested a use for the implements.

"We'll see. How do you want to go at him?"

"Ask and answer," Cale replied. "I'll ask."

Riven gave a nod, picked up one of the blades, and ran his thumb along its edge.

"I'll answer," the assassin said.

He glared at the easterner with ice in his eyes and a razor in his hand.

Cale could see the fear in the easterner's face, though he tried to hide it.

Riven walked around the easterner, out of his sight. Cale could imagine the fear that must have instilled. The man tried to squirm around, but his binding held him fast.

Cale looked into the easterner's face.

"I don't know what you are," he said.

Riven was suddenly at the man's side, whispering in his ear, "Doesn't matter."

"I only know the situation you're in," Cale continued.

Riven let the razor play along the easterner's face, just below his eye.

"And it ain't good," he said with a smile.

Cale paced in front of the man, keeping his voice cordial. "You can heal, we know that." He stopped pacing, as though a thought had just occurred to him, and he looked into the easterner's face. "Do you know what that means?"

Cale could see from his expression that he did.

"It means we can cut you," Riven said. "And cut you, and cut you, and you won't die." He nicked the easterner's face below his eye. The man winced, but bled only for a heartbeat before the wound closed. "Not ever."

Cale had to turn to keep the disgust from his face. He could see that Riven was enjoying it, and he knew what would happen if he turned Riven loose on the man. He didn't know if he could allow that. He prayed that he would not have to make the decision. For the time being, though, he had to play it out.

"You know who we are, so you know what we'll do," said Cale. "There will be no end to the pain until you tell us what we want to know."

Riven reached out, and took another tool from atop the barrel. The easterner's eyes followed his every move.

"Flay," he whispered into the easterner's ear. He put that tool back and chose a saw-edged blade. "Slice." He picked up a pair of tongs. "Rip."

Cale let the easterner's imagination work, let him feel Riven's presence beside him. The room smelled of fear. He decided that the time was right to make himself the easterner's friend, the only thing standing between him and a madman with a knife.

"I've seen him work before," Cale said apologetically, indicating Riven. "If you won't talk to me … then you'll have to talk to him."

Riven grinned, circled the easterner the way a vulture circles a dying man.

Moving methodically, staring at the easterner throughout, Cale removed his mask from his cloak and donned it.

Outside, thunder rolled.

Cale spoke the words to a spell that would allow no lie to be spoken within the room.

"If you attempt to lie," he said. "I will know."

The easterner strained against his bonds. Riven, behind him, took his head between his hands and squeezed. The easterner froze. Riven looked to Cale expectantly.

Cale cast a second spell, one that would magnify the fear the easterner already felt. The instant Cale voiced the final syllable, the easterner's eyes went wide and began to dart around. Cale advanced on him. The man grunted, nearly fell over in his terror. Caught between Cale and Riven, he put his chin in his chest, moaned, and began to rock.

Cale hoped that he was coherent enough to answer. He felt uncomfortable putting the man into a state of terror but figured it was better than turning him over to Riven.

"You will have only one chance to answer my questions. Do you understand?"

The easterner grunted acquiescence around his gag.

"Remove his gag," Cale said.

Riven did, but said, "Say a word that even suggests a spell, and I take your tongue."

Cale knew that Riven meant what he said. His spell would not allow a lie to be spoken.

Cale stood over the easterner and asked, "What is the sphere?"

"I don't know," the easterner blathered. "I don't know."

Riven cuffed him in the head and asked, "Why does the mage want it?"

"To transform himself."

"Into what?" asked Cale. "How?"

"A shade," the man said. "By binding with the shadowstuff at the Fane of Shadows … Shar's temple."

Cale and Riven shared a look. Cale had never heard of the Fane of Shadows.

"Where is this Fane?" Cale asked.

Terror kept the easterner's tongue loose. "At the Lightless Lake, in the Gulthmere, not far from Starmantle."

Cale did not know the Lightless Lake, but he knew of the Gulthmere-a brooding, ancient forest on the Dragon Coast.

"Why does he wish to become a shade?"

The easterner looked at him as though he was stupid, even through the fear.

"To make himself ageless," the man explained, "immune to disease, able to regenerate wounds. Why else?"

Cale understood. Vraggen was prepared to trade his humanity for power. It didn't surprise Cale. He had seen men behave as less than humans for much less than immortality. For the moment, he put it out of his mind, kneeled down, and stared the easterner in the eyes.

Cale asked, "What are you?"

The question hung in the air. The easterner's mouth twisted, he bit down on his tongue so hard it bled. He shook his head, sweating, breathing heavily.

Abruptly, Cale's spell ended. He knew it because the easterner's eyes cleared; his expression turned from fearful to defiant.

Cale grabbed him by his cloak and shook him.

"What are you?" he pressed.

"The abyss take you," the easterner said.

Riven slammed a dagger into the man's hand, pinning it to the barrel and eliciting a scream of agony.

"Wrong answer," the assassin hissed. He replaced the gag and reached around to pick up a hammer and several nails from his black bag. "I'll begin with your kneecaps."

Cale halted him with a hand on his wrist and a shake of his head.

Riven glared at him, his eye hard, and said, "He knows more, Cale."

Cale knew, but he couldn't get it, not that way. He shook his head again.

Riven gave way. With an angry snarl, he turned to the easterner and thumped him in the temple with his hammer. Not a killing blow. The man groaned and sagged, unconscious.

"You'll regret this," Riven said, and began to gather up his implements.

Maybe, Cale thought. But he knew he would have regretted the alternative more.

When he and Riven emerged from the barn, he saw that the rain had stopped at last. Behind them, the bound easterner lay unconscious on the wood-planked floor. Cale was pleased that they had not resorted to … other methods. The spell-enhanced interrogation had revealed enough.

The halfling saw them coming. He hopped off the trough upon which he sat. Even in the dark, Cale could see that the color had drained from Jak's face.

"Is he …?"

"No," Cale said. "Just unconscious."

Jak started to walk past them for the barn. Cale stopped him.

"It didn't come to that, Jak."

Jak looked him in the face, judging the truth of Cale's words. He nodded.

"What would you do anyway, Fleet?" Riven spat, contempt heavy in his tone. "Comfort him?"

"Ignore him," Cale said. He guided Jak back to the trough, sat him down, and sat down beside him.

To get the halfling's mind on other things, he went right into what they had learned.

Jak's eyes went wide.

"Shade!" the halfling exclaimed. "Like the Netherese? Burn me, Cale! Those dark hearted bastards aren't even human. I've heard …" He stopped and shook his head. "Why?"

Cale shrugged. "Immortality. Power. Something else. We don't know. In the end, it doesn't matter. This isn't over just because we got Ren back. We're going to stop the mage, and we're going to kill him."

Jak nodded, pulled his pipe from a belt pouch, and twirled it between his fingers. His eyes went to Cale's pack.

"How does the sphere fit into this?" the halfling asked.

Cale shook his head and answered, "Not sure of that either. Maybe it tells him when to enter the temple, or when to perform the ritual. Maybe something else altogether. But at least now we learned the where and the what. We know where to start looking. And in the morning, we take the sphere to Sephris and find out the when."

"The morning. ." Jak said, nodding, and his gaze went distant. He sat silent for a time. "What about him?" he asked at last, indicating the barn.

"It, you mean," Riven said. "That's not a man, Fleet. His wounds start to close the moment they're made."

Jak looked at Cale sharply.

"Only a couple," Cale explained. "Just to knock him out."

Jak accepted that.

Riven said, "Only one thing to do with a creature like that. We cut him into pieces and burn the remains. Not even a troll comes back from that."

Riven said it so matter-of-factly that even Cale blanched. Jak went pale.

"That a problem for you, Fleet? The Harpers didn't teach you how to get your hands dirty?"

"Piss off," Jak barked. "I know what you wanted to do in there. I know what you are."

Those words reminded Cale of Tazi's rebuke. I know what you are. He felt covered in filth and was not sure that he could ever get it off.

Riven stepped toward Jak and eyed him coldly.

"You don't know a thing, little man. You never leave enemies alive behind you. Never. You'd see that if you stopped thinking like a woman."

Jak bristled. His hand went to his short sword.

"Enough," said Cale, and he grabbed Jak's wrist.

In his heart, Cale knew that Riven was right. They couldn't leave the easterner alive. Jak couldn't yet see that, but he would. He just needed some time. Cale was going to have to cover Jak's soul in filth too.

"Let me think about it," Cale said, and he put a subtle emphasis on the word "me" while he eyed Riven. To Jak, he said, "You do the same."

"Cale …" Riven said.

"Leave it alone," Cale snapped, and Riven did. Cale took a deep breath. "We can't take him back into the city, so we'll have to sleep here tonight.

"In the barn?" Jak asked, obviously appalled.

Riven sneered.

"No," said Cale. "The rain has stopped. Outside. Here. Find a dry spot and we'll light a fire. We've all done it before. We keep a watch on the easterner throughout the night. We'll decide tomorrow what to do with him. Agreed?"

He looked each of Jak and Riven in the eye, saw no overt disagreement, and decided to be satisfied with that.

The dying embers of the fire provided Serrin's current form little warmth. He lay on his side on the damp ground, his arms and legs tightly bound with cord, his mouth gagged with a strip of cloth. Through slitted eyes, he watched the halfling. The little creature watched Serrin wearily through bloodshot eyes. The other two humans slept nearby-the one-eyed assassin and the bald priest. They had threatened Serrin with pain; soon he would teach them all the true meaning of the term. Already he could imagine the sticky sweetness of their heartsblood on his tongue. He savored the thought of the taste. He had fed on humans before. Like most of his broodmates, he preferred the creamy consistency of brains.

For a time he feigned sleep and listened to their breathing-deep and regular. He knew that the time to stop that breathing was approaching. After that, he would return to Azriim and his brood.

The fact that Azriim had abandoned him bothered him little. Serrin would have done the same. He and Azriim were broodmates, nothing more. Their kind did not waste time on idle sentimentality. Existence offered only two alternatives, Serrin knew: pleasure and pain. Power was the sole means of gaining the former and administering the latter. There was nothing else to life. The emotions supposedly "felt" by humans only obscured that basic truism.

Besides, saving Serrin would have taken time, created risk, and possibly compromised the Sojourner's cause. And Serrin and Azriim's ultimate loyalty-indeed, the ultimate loyalty of the whole brood-was to the Sojourner. It was the Sojourner who had bred them from chaos. It was the Sojourner alone who could give them what they craved: freedom from service and the transformation to gray. In short, the Sojourner offered them power.

But first, Serrin thought, he would administer some pain.

He opened his eyes wide and stared at the halfling. The small creature returned his gaze without blinking but Serrin could smell the unease in his sweat. He grinned around the gag and the halfling went pale. His hand went to his paltry blade. He started to stand.

With only a thought, Serrin effected a spell that would hold the halfling immobile. The small creature gave a muted squeak and went rigid. He would have used the spell in the barn but it could affect only one person. He listened carefully. The others slept on without stirring. The stink of the halfling's fear increased. Serrin inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma.

Another thought, and he brought into being a magical force, a physical manifestation of the power of his mind. With that invisible mental "hand," he reached out and slowly unsheathed the dagger at the halfling's belt. The halfling's increasing terror was palpable.

Serrin lifted the blade to the halfling's throat, let its edge linger there for a time, then hover before his eyes. The little creature's heart was racing, Serrin knew.

But not for long.

Sweat beaded on the halfling's brow. He was desperate to slip the immobilizing effect of Serrin's spell, but to no avail. Serrin's magic was too strong, the halfling's mind too weak.

Serrin removed the blade from before the halfling's face, floated it through the air, and brought it near his own bound body. Ever mindful of the other sleeping humans, he used the blade to silently slice through the cord and rope that bound him. He kept his unblinking gaze on the halfling throughout, promising with his eyes what he would do in only moments.

When he was free, he lay silent and still for a moment, letting the fear build in the halfling, letting the blood flow return to his pathetic human limbs. He kept his eyes on the little creature throughout. The sweat on the halfling's face glistened in the dying embers of the fire.

Serrin took the halfling's dagger in his hand and slowly sat up. The air was pungent with the stink of the halfling's terror. He could fairly feel the mind of the little rat struggling to slip free of the spell.

Vain. Vain. All vain.

Serrin unfolded himself and stood up, his movements as silent as a whisper. He stared down at the horrified halfling. Three strides away, the would-be torturers slept. Serrin cocked his head, studying the one-eyed human, so vulnerable….

But no. The halfling would make for amusing sport first. His terror had whetted Serrin's appetite.

He turned back to eye the little creature. He stepped forward, the dagger bare at his side. Sweat poured down the halfling's face. Veins pulsed in his forehead. Serrin kneeled down and took the halfling's face in his hand.

He pushed himself into the halfling's mind and found it a jumble of terror and frustration. Not a coherent thought to be found.

You're frightened, he projected into the halfling's mind, and savored the creature's shock at the telepathic contact. I smell it.

He leaned forward and ran his tongue along the halfling's jawline, just above the jugular, drinking in the sweat.

I taste it.

The pathetic little being actually tried to control its fear by praying. Serrin smiled. No god would help this one.

All at once, he decided to let the halfling see him, the real him, in his true form.

He mentally recited the words that allowed him to take other forms, and with that, he began to change, to grow. When his feeble human fingers had once more become his claws, when his mouth had once more become his maw, he gave the halfling a grin wide enough to swallow the little creature's head.

When the halfling's prayers turned to mental screams, Serrin smiled. He enjoyed the fear for a moment, then began to administer pain.

Cale knew that he was dreaming but could not wake himself. He sat in his favorite chair back in his quarters in Stormweather Towers. Strangely, flames consumed his bed, but he warmed his hands before the blaze as though it was a campfire. A chill breeze blew through his only window, sealed not with his usual shutters but with draperies-red curtains with green ovals. Odd, he thought. He had never had draperies in his room.

The breeze gusted, grew harsher, colder, and the curtains began to tear. Strips peeled off and blew around the room. He thought he could hear the whisper of a scream as they shredded. He pulled his cloak tighter around him and held his hands before the dancing flames.

"Chill wind blowing," said Riven from beside him.

Cale turned with a start. He had not noticed Riven before. The assassin sat in Thamalon's favorite rocking chair, the one made from Archendale walnut. Strangely, Riven's right eye was the scarred hole. Cale would have sworn it was Riven's left eye that should be gone. This could not be Riven, could it? Tiny stars seemed to twinkle in the blackness of the empty socket. Cale leaned in closer to better see-

— and without warning, Riven leaped from the chair, grabbed him by the shoulders and screamed into his face, "Wake up!"

Cale snapped open his eyes, heart racing. Beside him, the campfire had burned down to embers. He lay still and stared up at the cloudy night sky. What had the dream meant?

He heard a sound, like wet fabric being slowly torn, like curtains shredding in the wind. His skin went gooseflesh. He propped himself up on an elbow and looked across the campsite to Jak….

A horror stood over the halfling, flaying him alive.

"Jak!" Cale leaped to his feet, blade bear, holy symbol somehow already in his hand.

The creature uttered a surprised hiss and dropped into a hunched crouch as it whirled to face him.

To Cale's right, Riven awakened with a gasp, his hand going immediately to his unsheathed sabers, which lay beside him. He took in the scene in a breath.

"Dark!" he cursed, and scrambled to his feet.

Even hunched the creature stood taller than Cale, with warty green skin as creased and rough as old leather. Beside it Jak-held immobile by some spell, Cale assumed-looked as small as an infant. Arms as thick as Cale's legs ended in long, black nails; legs as wide as a man's waist ended in splayed, clawed feet. Veins, muscles and sinew pulsed and flexed with each movement of its powerful frame. A flat head, dominated by a wide mouth and row upon row of teeth, sat on a short, thick neck. Its face struck Cale as vaguely amphibian. Somehow, it reminded him of a toad. Its eyes were merciless gray slits-the easterner's eyes.

This was the easterner's true form, Cale intuitively knew. And he also knew, as he had known when he had faced the shadow demon Yrsillar, that this creature was not of Toril.

Jak's blood, black in the firelight, glistened on its clawed fingers.

"Everything feels pain," the creature croaked, and winked at Riven.

It stuck its blood-soaked fingers in its huge mouth and slobbered them clean.

Cale roared and charged. Riven bounded over the campfire to join Cale's attack. As he did, the assassin shouted a word that recalled to Cale the syllables the assassin sometimes spoke in his sleep: "Vredlaul!"

The utterance of the word staggered the powerful creature. It stumbled backward a step as though it had been punched in the chest. Cale closed, raised his blade high-

— and the easterner croaked a word of power and darkness fell. Utter pitch. Cale could see nothing. He swung his blade anyway but struck nothing. He froze, dropped into a crouch, and listened.

"Here," he hissed, so he and Riven could get an idea of where each stood.

"Here," answered Riven, from his left.

Cale advanced a step, blade held ready for a quick stab in any direction, ears peeled. He had an idea of where Jak was and stayed in that vicinity.

"Here," he said again.

"Here," answered Riven, a few steps ahead of Cale but still to his right.

Cale heard nothing. Where was the blasted thing?

As abruptly as it fell, the darkness suddenly lifted. Cale and Riven stood a few paces apart. The creature was gone.

Cale kept his gaze from Jak, at least for the moment. He could not allow himself to be distracted.

He signaled Riven in handcant, Invisible. Move on my signal.

Riven nodded understanding.

Cale waited only a heartbeat before giving the signal.

Both men exploded into action around the campsite. Leaping, lunging, blades cutting the air. Neither struck anything.

"Gone," Riven said afterward, sweating and breathing heavily.

"Stay alert," Cale said, and he went to Jak.

The spell still held the halfling immobile. The easterner had broken all of his fingers. They twisted and jutted at angles that made Cale's stomach turn. Too, the creature had bared Jak's chest and flayed the skin and muscle above his heart. Cale could see the white of bone peeking through that shredded mass of red. The easterner had done to Jak what Riven had threatened to do to the easterner.

Cale held his breath as he held his ear to the halfling's mouth. There! Breath. Jak still lived, despite the torture he had endured. Cale could hardly imagine the pain Jak had felt, was still feeling. Tears threatened but he held them back.

"I'm sorry, little man. I'm sorry."

They should have killed the easterner! They should have cut him up and burned him to ash, just as Riven had said. Cale would never make that mistake again. Not with any of them. Two and two were four, bastards.

He had prayed for spells from Mask earlier in the night-at midnight, during his watch-and had requested spells of healing. Mask had granted his request, and had also granted Cale knowledge of another prayer that Cale had never before cast. Fortunately, that spell was not necessary.

Eyes blurry with tears, Cale recited prayers of healing, pouring into them all of his concern for Jak. One spell. Another. Another.

The wounds in Jak's flesh slowly closed, shrank to only white scars. Bone reknit. His breathing grew more regular. His body was healed. His soul…?

"Hang on," Cale said.

He clutched his holy symbol, and whispered a spell that would free Jak from his paralysis.

The moment the spell took effect, Jak gasped and fell forward. Cale caught him and pulled him close. He could feel the halfling shaking, crying. Cale said nothing, only held his friend and waited for him to gather himself.

Jak could say nothing, only cried and quietly vented into Cale's cloak the pain and rage that his immobility had prevented him from expressing previously.

"I'm sorry, Jak," Cale said finally.

"What in the gods' names are you sorry about?" Riven said, his tone as cold as Deepwinter. "If Fleet wasn't so averse to doing what needs done, this never would have happened."

Cale shot the assassin a look so heated that even Riven wilted. Had he been within arm's reach, Cale would have killed him.

"You keep your godsdamned hole shut or I'll put my blade through it and out the back of your head. Then I'll cut you to pieces and burn you to ash. You understand? Do you understand?"

Riven took a step back.

Jak shook his head and leaned back. He pulled away from Cale, wiped away his tears, and examined his fingers. He didn't make eye contact with either Cale or Riven.

"No, Cale," Jak said. "He's right."

Cale started to protest but Jak cut him off. "No!" Jak looked Cale in the eyes and Cale saw something in his friend's gaze that he had never before seen there: hate. "He's right. I put down the pin. I'm not a Harper anymore. It's time I got my hands dirty."

Cale could think of nothing to say. He didn't know whether to take Jak's change of heart as a good or a bad thing. He remembered that Sephris had called Jak a "seventeen." He feared that the equation had just changed.