Shadowrealm (18 page)

Riven was already shaking his head. "Not with that spell on you. We could end up anywhere—back in Ordulin."

Riven looked at his right hand, as if pondering the absence of the ring Kesson had slagged with his spell.

"We walk, then," Cale said, and threw up his hood.

"So we do," Riven said with a nod. "Bad things in this storm, though."

Cale remembered the looming, dark creature whose presence they had fled on their way in.

"Nothing for it," he said, his mind on Magadon. "We have to find another way. I am not putting Magadon down. Get your head around that. The horse got out, yes?"

"Cale, if we have to—"

Cale stopped, turned, and stared at Riven. "We are not giving up on him."

"I can offer another way," said a voice to their right, a voice that put Weaveshear in Cale's hand and Riven's sabers in his.

Rivalen Tanthul's golden eyes appeared to float freely in space until the Shadovar disengaged from the darkness. He bore no visible weapon. The shadows hugged his form, blurred his borders.

Cale and Riven fell in side by side, weapons ready. Cale scanned the darkness around them, but saw no one else. "I am alone," Rivalen said. He held his hands at his side. "All the worse for you," said Riven.

Cale put his free hand on Riven's shoulder to prevent him from charging. "He could have attacked already," he said. What Cale did not say was that Rivalen had mentioned another way and Cale was prepared to grasp at anything to save Magadon, even the words of a Shadovar.

Rivalen eyed Cale, inclined his head.

The tension went out of Riven. Somewhat.

"You wonder why I am here," Rivalen said. He advanced a few steps and stopped, perhaps eight paces from Cale and Riven.

"You are a Sharran dog and Kesson has your leash," Riven said.

Genuine anger flashed in Rivalen's eyes before he hid it behind a mask of calm.

"Your words are those of a fool," the Shadovar said.

Cale held onto Riven as his mind hurried through possibilities. He did not think Rivalen was delaying them for his fellow Sharran. The Shadovar prince could have simply watched them from afar, and brought Kesson whenever he wished. They had not known Rivalen was near. And had the Shadovar wanted to attack, he could have. They would not have seen it coming.

"This makes no sense," Cale said. Shadows leaked from his body, from his blade.

"That is because you think Kesson Rel and I are allies because we both serve Shar. Not all who serve the same god are allies."

Cale understood that well. He and Riven had started in service to Mask as rivals.

"Kesson Rel is a heretic," Rivalen said. "I want him dead, the Shadowstorm stopped."

In answer to his words, the wind gusted and thunder rumbled.

Riven scoffed. "That's a dungpile."

Rivalen's eyes flared, and the shadows around him whirled. "Why?" Cale asked.

Rivalen smiled. "He is destroying Sembia, and Sembia is an ally of the Shadovar."

"Another dungpile," Riven said, and Cale agreed. If Rivalen was offering even a little truth, there was much more to the matter than he was sharing.

"Stop him, then," Cale said. "You will find him in Ordulin." "I know where he is but I have learned that I cannot stop him alone. It will take a Chosen of Mask."

The shadows around Cale spun. "Learned? How?" "I am willing to lay our past differences aside..." "I'm not," Riven said.

Rivalen continued, "... to rid Sembia of this threat. Our interests coincide. We both want the same man dead." "He's not a man," Cale said.

The shadows around Rivalen churned. "No. He's not. But we can end this, and him, together."

Cale considered. He wondered if Rivalen, too, sought what Kesson had stolen from Mask. He reminded himself that Rivalen had kidnapped Magadon, bonded him to the Source. That had been the beginning of Magadon's descent. Rivalen Tanthul was a bastard, not to be trusted.

"To the Hells with him, Cale," Riven said. "We do it our way.

"Agreed," Cale said reluctantly. "No.". Riven sneered. "You fly away now, little shade. And the next time we see you, our discussion will be a little different."

Rivalen never lost his mask. He showed no anger, did not even raise his voice.

"I believe I can make you reconsider."

Drizzle sank through Abelar's armor and caused the leather and padding under the steel to chafe. After spending several hours riding with his father and son in the wagon, he rode on Swiftdawn at the head of the column of Saerbians. His father and Elden rode in the body of the caravan.

Behind them, the Shadowstorm expanded, devouring the sky and casting Sembia in darkness. The roiling black

thunderhead, streaked through with flashes of lightning, was gaining on them.

"We need to move faster," he said to Regg. He kept his eyes from the rose enameled on Regg's breastplate.

His friend looked back at the storm and nodded. "We may have to abandon the wagons. There are not enough horses for all, but we would move faster afoot."

"Not with the children and elderly," Abelar said. "And they would all be exhausted in a few days."

Regg surrendered to Abelar's point and grunted agreement.

Abelar looked on the long column of men, women, children, and wagons that snaked out behind him. Oxen and horses, heads lowered against the rain, stubbornly pulled their burdens through the muck. Mothers cradled children, and tried to shield themselves from the rain with blankets and cloaks. Men walked beside wagons and helped push when they bogged down in the soft earth. They were moving at a crawl. If the storm continued its present course and speed, they would be caught in mere days.

A sharp roll of thunder from behind elicited gasps and turned heads. Dozens of lightning bolts lit the ink of the Shadowstorm.

The Lathanderians of the company rode up and down the caravan, offering encouragement, spell-summoned food, or a prayer of blessing. Smiles and grateful nods greeted their passage and the Lathanderians kept flagging spirits from sinking into despair. But Abelar knew that blessings and food would mean little if they could not outrun the storm.

"We continue west to the Mudslide," he said. "Then south to the Stonebridge and on toward Daerlun."

"The race is on," Regg said softly, and patted Firstlight.

Hours later, the caravan reached the Mudslide, a murky flow that ran south out of the Thunderpeaks, then hooked east, back toward the River Arkhen and the Shadowstorm. It made

a triangle out of Sembia's plains, with the river on two sides and the Shadowstorm on the other. Ordinarily not a very wide river, the recent rains had swollen its width.

The men, women, and children dismounted wagons and horses, plodded through the muddy shallows, and re-filled waterskins. The pack animals were unyoked and watered. Abelar released Swiftdawn to drink and forage.

To Regg, he said, "Roen and his fellow priests should summon as much food as they can. Let's put a hot meal in everyone's bellies. We eat quickly and press on."

"What are you going to do?"

"Check on my son."

Regg nodded and rode off, calling Roen to his side.

Abelar walked through the caravan on his way to the small, roofed wagon in which his father and son rode. He kept his eyes off the sky, off the storm. The refugees smiled at him, nodded, but he saw the questions in theit eyes, the confusion. He did not bear his shield. He did not display a holy symbol. Returning greetings and smiles, he offered no explanation for their absence and went to his son.

He found Elden and Endren standing in the rain outside the wagon. Elden was smiling and petting the muscular side of the ox yoked to the wagon, perhaps in preparation for unyoking it. Endren stood with one hand on the boy's shoulder.

Elden saw Abelar approaching. Rain pressed his hair to his scalp. "Papa!"

His exclamation startled the big animal and it lurched. Abelar's heart jumped in his chest but Endren pulled Elden backward and the ox, too tired for much exertion, calmed immediately.

Abelar hurried forward and glared at his father. "Mind his safety."

Endren lost his smile, looked surprised, then hurt, then angry. "He was in no danger."

"My all wight," Elden said.

Abelar scooped him up, put his body between Elden and Endien. To his father, he said, "The caravan is taking a meal then continuing onward. Get some food in you."

Thunder rumbled.

"How do matters stand?" Endren asked.

"Morale is holding. We make for the Stonebridge. But the terrain and weather work against us. We are moving too slowly."

Endren nodded. He understood the implication, though he would not say it in Elden's presence.

"If the storm does not change course, I want you to take Elden on Swiftdawn and ride for Daerlun. We'll mount as many as we can. The others will... remain behind with me and some others to guard them."

Elden clapped at the prospect of a horseback ride. He loved riding Swiftdawn.

"You come, too, Papa?"

Endren and Abelar stared at one another.

"You should go, too," Endren said.

Abelar started to shake his head but stopped. Duty to the refugees did battle with his paternal instincts. He did not want to leave his son but was not sure he could abandon the refugees. He remembered the words Riven had said to him—You have to live with yourself first. He was not sure he would be able to live with himself whatever his choice.

"We will discuss it again if it comes to that," he said to Endren.

Thunder rumbled.

Elden put two fingers on Abelar's throat, where he would ordinarily have worn his holy symbol. "Where flower?"

Where indeed, Abelar thought, but said only, "Gone, Elden." "Bad men take it?"

Abelar smiled. "No, son. It's just... gone. I... I gave it away."

"You get back, Papa."

To that, Abelar could think of nothing to say. "Let us eat," Endren said, and took Elden from Abelar. Abelar took his father by the arm. "I am sorry I snapped at you."

"It is nothing," Endren said. "Come, Elden." They headed off to where the priests were summoning meals.

Abelar stood alone in the rain, thinking of flowers and choices. He resolved to speak to Regg about contingencies.

The caravan took the meal quickly, in a drizzle, and started moving south along the rapidly flowing Mudslide. Abelar and Regg took their position at the front.

As they started off, Abelar said to Regg, "If matters become dire, I want you and the company to double up with as many of the women and children as possible and go ahead. Without the wagons to slow them, the horses will outrun the storm."

"You speak as if you would not come."

"I won't. But I would want you to take Elden."

"You ask me to do something you would not?" Regg smiled, and thumped Abelar on the shoulder. "You know I cannot do that. None of us can. None of us will. We will find another way or we will give our horses to the refugees. They can ride in twos. That gets more than four hundred to safety."

"They cannot be left unguarded."

"Then a small force will accompany them. But I think we will have to draw lots to determine who leaves. None of the company will want a spot in a saddle better filled by a refugee. You know this. You made us, Abelar."

Abelar nodded.

"The light is in you, Abelar. Rose or no rose. I see it." Abelar looked off into the rain. He did not feel the presence

of his god in his soul but he did feel something. The sensation puzzled him.

"What is that?" Regg said, squinting into the rain.

Abelar followed his friend's gaze into the southern sky. The rain and twilight reduced visibility, but he saw what had caught Regg's eye. At first he thought it a cloud, but that could not be.

"It moves against the wind."

"Aye," said Regg, pulling Firstlight to a stop.

Abelar did the same with Swiftdawn and studied the sky.

Behind them, the caravan slowed, then stopped. Above the patter of rain, above the constant low roll of thunder, Abelar heard the murmur of questions turn to cries of dismay.

The object continued to close, looming larger, darker.

"It is immense," said Regg.

"Get Tiewe to sound the muster and form up."

Regg spun Firstlight and rode back into the caravan. The clarion of Trewe's trumpet sounded. The company began to assemble around Abelar and all eyes watched the sky.

A floating, inverted mountaintop closed the distance. A pall of shadows enshrouded it, leaked from it like fog. Hints of buildings—towers and spires—poked here and there from the swirling darkness. Winged forms wheeled awkwardly about its craggy, conical bottom. Abelar marveled at the power that must have been needed to keep an entire city afloat.

"Shadovar," he said, as much puzzled as alarmed.

The caravan huddled in the plains, exposed, caught between a Shadovar city before and the Shadowstorm behind.

The city stopped a few bowshots distant, on the other side of the Mudslide.

"They are near the Stonebridge," Regg said.

Abelar nodded. The Stonebridge provided the only means of crossing the Mudslide for leagues.

The rain continued. Eyes moved back and forth from the Shadowstorm to the Shadovar city. The tension thickened.

The city hovered ominously in the air, hovered ominously in their future, a lesion on the sky.

"What do they want?" someone shouted from the caravan.

"We cannot just remain here," shouted another.

"If they meant us well, we would have heard already," Regg said. "Let us go knock on their door."

"I won't leave Elden," Abelar said, and felt Regg's gaze on him.

"Then we wait a while longer," Regg said softly. "After that, I will take a party forward."

The sun sank low on the horizon and night crept over the plains.

Regg turned to the company. "I want twenty swords to ride forward to the city. Volunteets?"

Most everyone in the company indicated a willingness and Regg started ticking off names.

As he did, the darkness ten paces before them started to swirl and deepen. Abelar grabbed his friend by the bicep and turned him around.