Curse of the Shadowmage (8 page)

The stairs ended, and the trio made their way down a dank, torchlit corridor. “Why do you want to talk to this thief, Mari?” Tyveris asked quietly. “I thought you and Caledan solved the mystery of the murders. It was the Zhentarim, right? You yourself told me the one we caught in the act was probably just a madman killing in imitation.”

“I thought so, too,” Mari said grimly, then filled Tyveris in on what she had learned concerning the strange happenings in Corm Orp and Caledan’s disappearance.

When she finished, Tyveris swore a rather colorful oath.

Morhion raised a single eyebrow. “That didn’t sound like any prayer to Oghma I’m familiar with,” he noted dryly.

Tyveris shot the mage a black look. “It’s a new one. I just made it up.” His expression became somber. “So Caledan’s in trouble again. The sages aren’t kidding when they say old habits die hard. Come on, then.”

Moments later they came to an iron-barred cell at the end of the corridor. “Wake up, Kadian!” Tyveris called out in a booming voice.

A haggard voice spoke out of the darkness. “I am awake.”

Tyveris took a torch from a bracket and held it aloft. Flickering light spilled through the bars to illuminate

the cell. A man sitting on a bed of clean straw rose stiffly to his feet. The thief Kadian was a large man—taller than Tyveris, though not so broad—but his pale hair and round face gave him a boyish look.

“Is it time for the hanging?” Kadian asked. There was no fear in his colorless eyes, only grim resignation.

“No,” Tyveris said huskily. “The next hanging will be in three days’ time, on the Feast of the Moon.”

Mari stepped forward. “We’ve come to ask you some questions, Kadian.”

At this, the thief let out a mirthless snort. “Questions? Now that’s a novelty. No one’s bothered to ask me any questions before.”

She cast a scathing look at Tyveris, who shrugged sheepishly. Well, better too late than not at all, Mari thought. “Tell me, Kadian, did you kill that nobleman?”

Kadian laughed ruefully. “That foppish sot? He wouldn’t have been worth the trouble it would take to stick a knife in and pull it back out.”

“Just answer the question,” Mari instructed caustically.

Kadian locked eyes with her. “No,” he said flatly. “I did not kill the petty lord. I wanted to steal his gold, and that was all. I was probably doing him a favor. No doubt he would have lost it all gambling at dice the next night, and those who can’t pay their gambling debts have a habit of taking long midnight swims at the bottom of the Chionthar. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to die.”

Mari kept her voice cool and emotionless. “If you didn’t kill the petty lord, then who did?”

While there had been no fear in the thief’s eyes at the talk of his own hanging, suddenly they were filled with a stark terror so strong Mari was taken aback. Kadian gripped the rusting iron bars; he was shaking visibly.

“What did you see, Kadian?” she asked intently. “Who killed the nobleman that night?”

He opened his mouth, but it took a long moment for the words to finally come out. “The shadows,” he choked. “It was the shadows …”

Mari exchanged a startled glance with Morhion, then leaned closer to the thief. “Tell me, Kadian…”

In halting words, the thief told what had happened that night. When he finished, the three friends gazed silently at each other. None of them doubted the truth of the thief’s story. The finest Cormyrean actor could not have feigned so genuine a terror.

“I don’t understand, Mari,” an obviously shaken Tyveris said softly. “Does this have something to do with the weird shadows in Corm Orp?”

Mari ran a hand nervously through her thick auburn hair. “I’m not sure, Tyveris. I’m afraid it does.” She added grimly, “I trust that you will let Kadian go—”

“Wait!”

It was Kadian. Mari regarded the thief in surprise. The fear had not left his gaze. “I haven’t told about the man,” he said hoarsely.

“The man?” Mari asked.

Kadian nodded. “I saw him as the guards were dragging me away. He was standing in a dark corner, but the torchlight fell on him for a moment.”

Morhion moved forward. “Describe this man,” he demanded.

“He was tall, I think, with dark hair. His face reminded me of a wolf’s, and he was wearing a cloak”—Kadian’s brow furrowed in concentration—”a dark blue cloak, the color of a midnight sky.”

Mari gazed at Morhion in shock. As ever, the mage’s expression was emotionless, but a strange light glittered in his cold eyes. He turned to her and asked, “Mari, have you anything with you that belonged to Caledan?”

The mage’s question caught her off guard. “Yes,” she

answered after a moment. “I have this.” She showed him the braided copper bracelet she wore on her left wrist. Years ago, Kera had given it to Caledan, and later he had given it to Mari as a symbol of their love. “May I borrow it?”

Mari nodded, hastily slipping off the bracelet and handing it to the mage. He set the bracelet on the stone floor, and within the circle of metal he placed a small bit of white fleece drawn from one of the myriad pouches at his, belt. Standing, he held out his arms and chanted in a guttural tongue. The bracelet flared brightly, and the fleece vanished in a puff of smoke.

Mari gasped. Before her stood Caledan. Had the mage summoned him with his magic? After a moment, she realized it was not Caledan at all. The figure did not move in the slightest, and if she concentrated she found she could see right through his body. An illusion.

“It is he!” Kadian hissed, reaching through the bars to point at the phantasmal Caledan.

Mari stared at the thief in shock. “This is the man you saw in the darkened corner? Are you certain?”

Kadian nodded frantically. “I will never forget his face as long as I live. It’s him, all right. Except the eyes aren’t right. They were deeper, and ancient … so terribly ancient, I thought they would drive me mad.”

Morhion said nothing, but banished the illusion with a wave of his hand. He retrieved the bracelet and handed it to Mari. The metal felt nauseatingly warm as she slipped it on her wrist once more. “I think we have what we came here for,” she said huskily. “Tyveris, call the gaoler. Tell him to release Kadian.”

“No!” the thief cried desperately. “Ask him to wait until the dawn. I beg you. Let me stay here tonight, where it’s safe.” He shuddered, gripping the iron bars with white-knuckled hands. “Don’t you see? The shadows come out at night…”

Mari nodded in sad understanding. Kadian would never be a thief again. She led the way out of the dungeon, finding that she herself was not so eager to face the night.

Midnight found Mari and Morhion sitting by the fire in the Dreaming Dragon’s deserted common room, piecing together what they knew. Though the Zhentarim beneath the Barbed Hook had indeed been plotting to take over the city, they had not masterminded the brutal murders. The Zhents had simply been victims like all the others. And Mari was beginning to suspect that she knew who their killer was, though it was a conclusion so terrible she could not bring herself to consciously consider it.

Morhion regarded her with piercing eyes. “You are thinking the same thing that I am, aren’t you, Mari? There is only one answer to our mystery.”

She shook her head fiercely. “It can’t be,” she said hoarsely.

“Can’t it?” Morhion’s quiet words pierced her like knives. He reached beneath his shirt and drew out something hanging on the end of a silver chain. It was a small ruby. A faint light flickered erratically in the center of the gem.

“What is it?” Mari asked in fascination.

“I fashioned this pendant with a drop of the dark substance I discovered in the Zhentarim hideout,” he explained. “Its enchantment is such that it will glow if it comes near to the source of magic that conjured the shadow creatures.”

“But it’s glowing now!” Mari protested.

“It has been glowing ever since I entered the inn,” Morhion replied, “though only weakly. However, the meaning is clear. The source of the magic that conjured the shadow creatures was here in this inn, but now it has gone.” His eyes bored into her. “There are only two who have ever dwelt in this place who have power over shadows, Mari. One is still here, but the other is not. There is only one conclusion. The person responsible for the murders is…”

At last, Mari whispered the word she had feared.

“Caledan.”

Morhion nodded gravely. “He had ample opportunity. And consider the victims. Each was despicable in some way. Perhaps, unaware that he was even doing it, Caledan was passing judgment and sentencing them to death with his shadow magic.”

Mari gripped the arms of her chair. She felt ill. “But what does it mean, Morhion? What is happening to Caledan?”

“I think that the ghosts know,” a voice said quietly.

Both Mari and Morhion turned in surprise to see a slight form standing on the edge of the firelight. “Kellen,” Mari said after a moment. “You should be in bed.”

“I know,” he replied. “But this is more important.”

Mari studied his serious face. Kellen had a way of listening to conversations without being noticed. She wondered how much he had heard.

As if he had somehow intercepted her unspoken question, he said, “I heard enough, Mari. I know that my father’s shadow magic is … changing.”

Morhion peered intently at the boy. “What did you mean about the ghosts, Kellen?”

“I think Talek Talembar and Kera knew what was happening to my father and were trying to warn us.”

Mari tried to swallow the cold lump of dread in her throat. “Warn us? Warn us of what?”

Kellen gazed at her with his calm, intelligent eyes.

“My father is becoming a shadowking.”

Five

It was the dead of the night. High in his tower, Morhion pored over the time-darkened book lying open on the table before him. He took a pinch of silvery dust from a clay jar and sprinkled it over the yellowed parchment. The faded ink began to glimmer with an unearthly blue light. Quickly, before the spell dissipated, Morhion read the spidery runes written in a long-dead tongue. As the glowing runes dimmed, Morhion sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“Worthless,” he murmured in disgust.

In the hours since he had left the Dreaming Dragon, Morhion had researched all he could concerning the history of the Shadowking, hoping to find something that might refute Kellen’s terrible conclusion. So far he had found nothing.

In a silver dish, Morhion burned an incense of mint, hyacinth, and sage. He breathed in the fragrant smoke—

it would help keep him alert—and turned back to the book. It was a copy of an ancient tome, called Mal’eb’dala in the lost language Talfir; this translated into common-speak as The Book of the Shadows. The original book had been destroyed in a battle between two powerful mages an eon ago. This volume was an old replica. It contained passages that had been miscopied in or entirely omitted from the more recent copy in which Morhion had first read about the myth of the Shadowking. The book Morhion now held had been stolen by the Zhentarim warrior Ravendas from the library in Elversult when she began her search for the Shadow king’s crypt. Morhion had discovered it in the High Tower after Ravendas was defeated by the Fellowship.

Summoning the discipline for which mages were renowned, he bent again over the timeworn text. After a moment of painful effort, he swore softly. His weary eyes would no longer focus on the intricate runes. He knew he should shut the book for the night. It was all too easy to miss a crucial passage when exhausted, and he had hundreds and hundreds of pages yet to peruse.

“But I must learn what is happening to you, Caledan,” he whispered fiercely. ‘-

He stood and paced around the table, pondering the problem. Unfortunately, there was no magic he knew that could compel a book to read itself. If only there were someone else who could read the words to him …

Suddenly he knew the answer. With the ashes left from the incense, he traced an intricate pattern on the mahogany table. In the center of the pattern he placed a beeswax candle, lighting this with a minor cantrip. Lastly, he picked up a bronze hand-bell and rang it three times with a small mallet.

“Maharanzu kai Umaruk!” he intoned in the language of magic. “Come to me, Small One!”

The candle flared brightly, as if touched by some otherworldly wind, and purple magic sparked around the magical symbol drawn on the table. There was a great cracking sound, like a clap of thunder, and a dark rift opened in the air above the candle—a tear in the very fabric of the universe. A small, gray shape tumbled out. As quickly as it had opened, the rift mended itself.

“Youch! That’s hot!” the little creature shouted, barely avoiding the candle flame as it fell to the table with a plqp!

Morhion watched with guarded amusement as the small being picked itself up and dusted itself off. It was shaped vaguely like a man but stood no higher than the length of Morhion’s hand; its skin was as rough and gray as stone. It was an imp, a denizen of one of those nebulous worlds that could be glimpsed through the facets of the crystal. They were small and devious beings, of minor importance at best, but they did have their uses.

The imp glared at Morhion with hot-ruby eyes, flapping its leathery wings in agitation. “Was it really necessary to put the gateway right above the candle, mage?” the creature complained in a raspy voice. “I singed my tail. I have a half a mind to turn around and go back to my own plane of existence right this second …”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” Morhion said ominously. “Attempt to leave, and you will find your tail more than merely singed. Do not forget—the symbol binds you to do my bidding.”

The imp glowered at him. “Details, details,” it grumbled. “You wizards certainly are a persnickety lot, aren’t you?”

“Don’t forget ‘short-tempered,’ ” Morhion added.

“Believe me, I haven’t,” the imp replied acidly. The scaly creature let out a resigned sigh, then sat on the edge of the table, crossing its legs and twirling its barbed

tail impatiently in one hand. “All right, wizard. Excuse my lack of enthusiasm, but this makes ten thousand and two summonings so far this millennium, and the eon’s not even half over yet. Let’s just get this over with as quickly as possible. My name’s Qip. So what disgusting, nauseating, and onerous task will I be performing for you today, completely against my will?”