by Paul S. Kemp
Shade Enclave had survived only because the dark goddess Shar had helped Rivalen’s father shunt the city into the Plane of Shadow. Shade Enclave had abided there for centuries, had absorbed the darkness of the plain, and had only recently returned to Faerûn.
Rivalen squinted against the rain and watched the coin, waiting. He nodded with satisfaction when his eyes, attuned to see dweomers by merely looking for them, saw a soft red glow emanate from the center of the platinum piece. The spell on the thurhn was of negligible power, little more than a magical mintmark designed to prevent counterfeiting, but its appearance indicated that they were nearing Sakkor’s mythallar.
The quasi-magic in the coin had been common in ancient Netheril, but was nearly unknown in Faerûn’s present era. The coin derived its power from a mythallar, and the mythallars of the empire had done far more than fly cities through the sky. They allowed spell-casters to create magical items in the mythallar’s presence without physically or psychically taxing the caster. The physical and mental drains of spellcasting, ordinarily natural boundaries that limited a spellcaster’s ability to forge magical items, were thus overcome by the presence of a mythallar.
The quasi-magic went quiescent if items were taken out of proximity of the mythallar, but that had not stopped a profusion of quasi-magical items from rapidly transforming society in the empire. Rivalen remembered those days well—magic had permeated almost every facet of society and culture. The ancient Netherese had used magic and magical items for even the most mundane tasks, from street cleaning and waste disposal to flavoring food or carving a joint of beef.
The presence of such vast quantities of magic had served only to make the empire’s fall all the more spectacular when the Weave unraveled and magic failed.
But before the Fall Xolund of Sakkors had improved on the mythallar’s design. He had infused his enclave’s mythallar with a rudimentary sentience. The self-aware artifact called itself the Source, and unlike all other mythallars, its sentience allowed it to direct or withhold its magical power as instructed. Instead of powering all items in its proximity, it could focus all its power on a single item, on none, or on many.
The development of a sentient mythallar had caused a stir among the arcanists of the empire, but the Fall had ended any attempts to duplicate Xolund’s feat. Sakkors’s mythallar was unique. And Rivalen wanted it.
He peered through the storm and across the churning sea for Secret’s twin, New Moon. The darkness did not hamper his vision—Rivalen was a creature of darkness, bonded to it, and saw through it as if it were day—but the rain obscured his surroundings. He spotted the caravel two long bowshots to starboard, bobbing on the swells like a toy. Both Moon and Secret would have been lost to the storm but for the water elementals Rivalen had bound to his service. The living waves surged through the turbulent ocean alongside both ships, righting them when they listed, shielding them from swells that would have swamped them.
Rivalen’s younger brother, Brennus, stood beside him, clutching one of the many hemp lifelines that webbed the deck. Shadows crawled over Brennus’s exposed skin, betraying his nervousness. Like Rivalen, like all the Twelve Princes of Shade Enclave, Brennus was a shade. He usually traveled in the company of two homunculi, but the storm terrified the little constructs. They cowered belowdecks.
“The storm is sent by the kraken,” Brennus said, and he lurched as the ship slid down another swell. His shining eyes, the color of polished steel, glittered in the darkness. “It’s not natural. We must be close.”
Rivalen held up the Sakkoran coin for Brennus to see. “Not close. We’re here.”
Abruptly, the storm abated. The rain, thunder, and lightning ceased. Secret and Moon floated on a quietly rolling sea. The clouds parted to reveal a starry night sky.
The soaked crew of Secret was too exhausted to do much more than give a hoarse cheer. Captain Perin issued orders to assess the damage to the masts, sails, and rigging, and to get a headcount. The men snapped to.
Rivalen and Brennus used minor magics to dry their clothing and gear.
“How fare you?” a sailor on Secret shouted across the water to New Moon. His voice carried easily over the calming sea.
“Wet but no worse!” came the shouted answer. “All hands accounted for.”
Rivalen’s augury was nearly at its end, but before expiring, it revealed to him an approaching danger. He secured the thurhn in his pocket.
“It’s coming,” he said to Brennus.
“Now?”
Rivalen nodded.
“Ready yourself and the crew, Captain Perin!” Rivalen shouted to the captain. “Something comes.”
The brothers shadowstepped from mid deck to the rail, covering the distance in a single stride. There, they scanned the sea while the crew heeded Rivalen’s warning and took up crossbows and belaying pins.
“My princes?” the captain called from the sterncastle.
Rivalen did not reply, but gripped the medallion of Shar he wore on a chain around his throat and stared at the water. Brennus held a duskwood wand in his hand. Shadows leaked from their flesh and cloaked them both.
“I see nothing,” Brennus said.
“Wait,” Rivalen cautioned.
They waited, waited … then saw it.
About midway between the two caravels, a soft red glow rose up from the depths and stained the sea crimson. It grew brighter like a rising sun, spreading through the water like pooling blood.
The crew saw it, too. They shouted, pointed, rushed to the rail, not knowing what they would soon see. Rivalen had said nothing about the creature, fearing he would not have been able to secure a crew.
“The glow …” Brennus said.
“Must be from the mythallar,” Rivalen finished.
Brennus nodded. “It bears the mythallar with it?”
Rivalen nodded and frowned. Caution would be necessary in defeating the kraken. They could not risk damaging the mythallar with poorly chosen spells.
Brennus turned to Rivalen, a question in his eyes. “Strange that the Source has not contacted us, is it not? We know it to be sentient. We are close enough. It should have contacted us. It called to us before.”
Rivalen nodded and said nothing. He’d had the same thought but did not want to give his concerns a voice. Brennus tapped his wand on the rail, demonstrating enough anxiety for both of them.
“Perhaps an attack has weakened it, or destroyed its mind? Perhaps it is now too weak to suit our purposes? Perhaps …”
Rivalen pointed a finger at his brother. Shadows poured from his flesh, betraying his agitation. “Enough, brother. We will know soon. Speculation is pointless.”
Brennus looked chastened. “Of course.”
The red glow grew brighter.
“What is it, my princes?” the captain asked. “What comes?”
The crew’s curiosity was giving way to alarm. They eyed the brothers and the sea nervously. All were Sharrans, and all would die for Rivalen, but that did nothing to quell their fear. They would have been more frightened had they known the truth.
“We capture it, if possible,” Rivalen said.
Brennus looked at him sidelong. “That will be quite a capture, brother.”
Rivalen allowed himself a tight smile before he drew on the Shadow Weave and incanted a series of arcane stanzas. Brennus watched for a moment, noting the spell Rivalen was casting, then put aside his wand and mirrored Rivalen’s efforts. Their voices merged, arcane power gathered, and both moved their hands through an intricate set of gestures.
The magic of their spell gave substance to the darkness and a net of shadows formed on the surface of the water, backlit by the red glow of the mythallar. The lines of the net’s mesh were as thick as a man’s arm. The brothers poured power into the spell until the net of shadows reached across the water, nearly touching both Night’s Secret and New Moon. The water between the ships looked not unlike an enormous chessboard.
“That must be quite a fish,” one
of the crewman jested. No one laughed.
Rivalen and Brennus held the magic of the shadow net taut, waiting.
The glow grew brighter.
“Now!” Rivalen said.
He and Brennus released the pent-up magic of the spell and the giant net shot downward at the kraken, closing as it went. The net was powerful enough to scoop up everything in the sea between the ships to a depth of a hundred fathoms, killing most everything it touched, and trapping and weakening the kraken.
A rush of bubbles rose to the surface as if the sea were boiling. Hundreds of dead fish bobbed upward, their lives extinguished by the enervating touch of the net. A shriek, like nothing Rivalen had ever heard, carried up from the depths and out of the sea.
As one, the crew of Night’s Secret backed away from the rail. Sailors exchanged alarmed glances.
“Steady, seajacks,” shouted the captain. “We’ve a sound ship under our feet and two princes of Shade aboard. Steady.”
“We have him,” Brennus said, and leaned over the railing.
Rivalen was uncertain.
The red glow flared as the kraken broke free of the net, shot upward, and breached the sea. A glistening, dun-colored mountain of flesh exploded out of the water. Spray flew as high as a bowshot into the sky. Tentacles as tall as towers squirmed into the air and blotted out the stars. The tatters of the net of shadows clung to the massive limbs and dissipated into nothingness.
The crew of Night’s Secret shouted in terror. Crossbows twanged but the bolts were too small to affect the kraken. The roiling sea set the ship to rocking, nearly tossing Brennus overboard. Rivalen grabbed his cloak and jerked him backward. Brennus steadied himself on the gunnel and cursed.
“At your stations, seajacks!” Captain Perin shouted. “At your stations! Harpooners to starboard!”
The tentacles retreated under the sea and the head of the kraken—sleek despite its enormousness—broke the surface. Rivalen saw what he had never expected to see outside of Shade Enclave: a Netherese mythallar.
Another shriek from the kraken split the night.
The glowing, crystalline shard of the mythallar, as big as a mature oak, stuck out of the kraken’s head like an enormous unicorn’s horn. The creature’s flesh had grown over to enclose the huge crystal.
One of the kraken’s huge eyes—partially visible above the waterline—fixed on New Moon, and the great creature dived under the surface. The mythallar’s glow highlighted the kraken’s form in silhouette. Its massive size surprised even Rivalen.
With a single undulation of its body, the kraken darted like an arrowshot toward New Moon. The panicked shouts of the crew carried over the water.
Brennus began a series of complex gestures and incanted the words to a spell to blast the kraken with dark energy. Rivalen took hold of his brother’s hands and interrupted the spell.
“No. You could damage the mythallar.”
Brennus’s eyes flared. “Those are worshipers of Shar, brother. Men serving us.”
“I know.” But Rivalen also knew that he could not risk the mythallar. He needed it; Shar needed it.
The kraken plowed into New Moon without slowing. The ship, a three-masted caravel from the Pirate Isles, disintegrated in a cacophony of cracking wood, roiling water, screaming men, and the shriek of the kraken. The creature dived under again, circling below the floating debris.
Flailing men and hunks of broken ship dotted the sea’s surface, lit from below by the light of the mythallar. The kraken’s silhouette glided under the men. They screamed in terror.
The crew of Night’s Secret watched it all in fearful, silent awe.
“My princes,” shouted Captain Piren, the fear evident in his tone. “No ship on the sea can outrun that beast.”
“We are not running, Captain,” answered Rivalen over his shoulder.
Two harpooners hurried to the rail. Rivalen eyed the powerfully built men bearing iron pikes tipped with sharpened hooks. Rivalen waved them back. Harpoons would not harm the kraken. Nor would most of his spells, at least not before the creature could destroy the ship. He would have to try something else.
The kraken swam under New Moon’s surviving crew and jerked several of the men under the waves. They left behind only ripples; they did not even have time to scream. The kraken abandoned its sport with New Moon’s survivors and turned toward Night’s Secret.
The wide eyes of Night’s Secret’s crew darted back and forth between the onrushing kraken and the two princes of Shade. Rivalen felt Brennus’s gaze on him, too.
“See to the rescue of Moon’s survivors,” Rivalen said. “At least a dozen men are still in the water. Use the elementals.”
Brennus cocked his head in puzzlement. “What do you intend?”
“To end this,” Rivalen answered, taking his holy symbol in hand.
Brennus grabbed him by the wrist. Shadows coiled around them both.
“This is not a time to test your faith, Rivalen. A stronger shadow net might hold it still.”
Rivalen removed his brother’s hand from his arm. He had made a lifelong habit of testing of his faith, and Shar had rewarded him for it. He saw no reason to change his practice.
“No net will stop it, Brennus. But faith will. Watch.”
With that, Rivalen spoke an arcane word and empowered himself to fly. He stepped off the deck and streaked toward the kraken. The dorsal hump of the creature’s body rose above the surface, so large it could have been an island. The glowing mythallar spike rose from the sea like a standard and led its charge.
Rivalen felt the weight of the enormous creature’s gaze, but answered with his own. The kraken’s body pulsed, churning the sea behind it, and accelerated toward him. It shrieked from an unseen beak.
Rivalen pulled up, hovering just above the surface of the sea. He recited a prayer to the Lady of Loss and felt her presence near him, frigid and calm. He took comfort. He was her instrument and would not fail.
Drawing on the Shadow Weave—Shar’s Shadow Weave—he spoke the arcane stanza for one of his most powerful charms. He completed the spell as water and tentacles exploded out of the sea and reached for him.
Rivalen’s magic reached into the mind of the kraken, established a link between man and beast. The spell pitted Rivalen’s will against that of the kraken.
“Stop,” Rivalen said, and the spell sent his voice careening through the corridors of the kraken’s brain.
The creature’s mind and comprehension were as immense as its body. The kraken had lived centuries, spent decades in contact with the sentient mythallar, learning, growing, knowing. Its mind was keen, incredibly powerful.
But it was no match for Rivalen Tanthul.
Rivalen had lived for millennia, had learned spellcraft at the sides of the most powerful arcanists Toril had ever known, had survived the horrors of the Plane of Shadow for centuries, had battled the primordial malaugrym on their home plane, had melded his physical body with the stuff of shadow, had served and continued to serve as high priest to one of the most powerful goddesses in the multiverse.
The kraken’s mind quailed before Rivalen. The huge creature submitted and stopped.
Rivalen hung in the air, surrounded on all sides by tentacles as thick as wine vats. He could have reached out and touched them. They smelled of fish and the sea. Suckers dotted the limbs, each of them as large as a war shield.
“Lower your limbs and be still,” Rivalen ordered.
The tentacles sank into the sea and the kraken held its position below him. Rivalen reached into the kraken’s mind and learned its name: Ssessimyth.
Behind him, the crew of Night’s Secret cheered and praised Shar. A cloud passed before Selûne, obscuring its light. Rivalen knew it to be a sign of his goddess’s approval.
He looked over the sea to the survivors of New Moon and saw the water elementals scooping them up in turn, bearing them toward Night’s Secret. More than half the crew of New Moon had been lost to the kraken. Rivalen felt pangs of
regret. They had been loyal servants.
He flew along the kraken’s body until he reached its head. There, he studied the mythallar. The flesh of the kraken’s head grew along much of its length, and the open wound and folds of rubbery skin out of which the crystal protruded looked swollen and inflamed. Removing it from the creature would be difficult and painful for the kraken, but probably not fatal. That was well. Rivalen was certain he could find a use for the enspelled creature.
Rivalen found the swirling whorls of color within the artifact’s crystalline depths seductive, hypnotic. He lowered himself and placed a hand on it. The shadows around his body swirled about him defensively. The kraken spasmed as though startled.
“Be still,” Rivalen commanded the creature, and it was.
You are the Source, he projected to the mythallar. Do you understand me?
No response.
He frowned. He had neither the time nor the resources to spend repairing another mythallar. The arcanists of Shade Enclave had only recently repaired the damage Mystra’s Chosen had done to his own city’s mythallar.
Brennus, powered by his own spell of flying, flew out to him. The two brothers hung in the night air over the subdued kraken, in the light of the mythallar, while the crew of Night’s Secret took aboard New Moon’s survivors. Brennus eyed the kraken and shook his head.
“Shar favors you indeed, brother. Forgive me for doubting.”
Rivalen waved away the apology and ran his fingertips over the mythallar. His touch left fading streaks of shadow on the glowing crystal.
