Curse of the Shadowmage

by Monte Cook

  His gaze was caught by a jagged silhouette standing against the leaden sky. The Hunter squinted at the crumbling stump of a ruined tower atop a low hill. For leagues all around, it was the only place that might offer some protection from the elements. Instinct urged him toward the tor. Above all else, K’shar trusted his instincts.

  As he climbed easily up the steep slope, he noticed footprints in the damp turf. A smile sliced across his thin face. He recognized the impression of a woman’s boot with a triangular nick in the instep. Al’maren. Outside the mostly collapsed stone wall he found tracks like those he had seen in the ruined city in the Reaching Woods. The gigantic hounds that had attacked Al’maren and her companions in the ancient city had found them again, here on this hilltop. K’shar noticed numerous gouges in the rocky soil along with dozens of scorch marks. Some sort of magical battle had been waged here—one or two days ago by the look of things.

  With animal grace, K’shar leapt over the stone wall. How long had his quarry camped here? And had they survived their battle with the magical hounds? K’shar knelt beside the remains of a cookfire, holding his hand over the ashes. They were still warm. Al’maren and her friends had been here only that morning. They had indeed survived the battle. And they were no more than two hours ahead of him.

  Swiftly, K’shar stood. “You have been a worthy opponent, Al’maren,” he whispered to the chill air. “But I have almost caught up with you now. And once you are gone, nothing will stand between me and Caldorien.”

  Like a stag taking flight, he sprang over the wall and stretched his long legs to run lightly down the hill. His nostrils flared in anticipation. Instinct told him the chase was almost over.

  And above all else, K’shar trusted his instincts.

  Eighteen

  It was midday when they brought their horses to a halt before the onyx bridge.

  “ ‘Beyond lies the Domain of Ebenfar,’ ” Morhion read, translating the dim runes carved into a timeworn standing stone.

  Mari nudged Farenth toward the edge of the yawning defile. She peered down, blinking dizzily. The vast depths tugged at her, as if trying to suck her down to the jagged rocks far below. Hastily, she backed Farenth away from the precipice. The slender bridge that arched over the chasm was made of black stone. Mari did not need Morhion to tell her that it had been forged with magic. On the far side of the bridge stood two colossi—gigantic statues hewn of basalt—forming a sinister gateway with outstretched arms. The towering statues were cracked and pitted, but Mari recognized their eyeless faces and spiny crests. They were shadevari. She shivered, gathering her forest green cloak tightly around her shoulders. There could be no doubt now that the ancient beings were inextricably linked with the Shadowking.

  “Do you think Caledan has been here?” she asked, her voice breaking the brooding silence.

  “There are no traces of his passing,” Morhion answered, “but that means nothing. He has left no sign for a long time—not since the last one in Soubar.”

  “My father has been here,” Kellen said, his voice filled with quiet certainty. “Not long ago.”

  Mari opened her mouth to question Kellen’s statement, then bit her tongue. After their battle with the shadowdragon at the ruined tower, she knew there was much about Kellen she could not possibly understand. “Then we had better get moving.”

  “I’ll go scout out the bridge and make certain that it’s safe,” Ferret said. He dismounted, heading for the stone arch. A few minutes later he returned, looking vaguely queasy.

  “What’s wrong?” Mari asked. “Will the bridge hold us?”

  “It shouldn’t even be able to hold itself!” Ferret said with a shudder. “By all rights, that spindly excuse for an engineering project should have collapsed into the gorge centuries ago. Some sort of magic is holding it up.”

  “It will bear us, then,” Morhion said in satisfaction.

  “I suppose so,” Ferret replied grudgingly. “Unless the enchantment that glues it together conveniently decides to come unstuck just as we’re crossing.” He shot the mage an uneasy look. “Magic doesn’t spoil after a few centuries, does it?”

  “It can,” Morhion said nonchalantly.

  “Thanks for the reassurance,” Ferret grumbled.

  Astride Tenebrous, Morhion volunteered to be the first to cross the ancient bridge. Mari came next, followed by Kellen, while Ferret brought up the rear—muttering something about “demented, suicidal wizards.” As she guided Farenth onto the narrow span, Mari noticed a single transparent crystal set among the bridge’s black stones. She asked Morhion what it was.

  “I think it is a keystone.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is the magic of such keystones that keeps the arch from collapsing.”

  Cautiously, they continued across the bridge. The horses snorted nervously, their hooves skidding on the smooth onyx stone. One slip would send horse and rider plummeting into the chasm. As they passed the center of the span, Mari noticed a second crystal embedded in the bridge—another one of the magical keystones.

  Suddenly, a blast of cold air snatched at Mari’s cloak, and Morhion looked up, his long golden hair flying wildly back from his brow. The horses clattered to a halt. In front of the mage, a dark form coalesced out of thin air. Serafi. Mari’s heart froze as she thought of the most recent pact Morhion had forged with the spectral knight.

  The mage’s voice was a mixture of loathing and revulsion. “What do you want, Serafi?”

  The dusky knight bowed mockingly in midair. “Why, as always, I wish to help, Morhion. You are being followed. Your pursuer is a half-elf, a skilled tracker. I know not who he is, but he comes to kill you—which, of course, I cannot allow.”

  “K’shar.” Mari whispered the name of the Harper Hunter. “How far behind us is he?”

  “A few minutes at most,” the ghostly knight said coolly. “You must prepare yourselves to encounter him.”

  Morhion clenched a fist in anger. “If you’re feeling so benevolent, Serafi, why don’t you dispatch him for us?”

  The spirit’s burning eyes flashed. “Would that I could exert my will so directly upon the world of the living,” he hissed. “But my incorporeal form allows it not. You must deal with the Hunter yourselves.” With that, the spectral knight blurred into a swirl of dark mist, vanishing on the keening wind.

  “Well, he’s a big help,” Ferret noted acidly.

  “Let’s get moving,” Mari said with urgency. “We have only a few minutes to find a place to confront K’shar.”

  “At least we have the advantage of surprise,” Ferret said hopefully.

  “It may be our only advantage,” Mari replied grimly. “K’shar has been known to single-handedly lay waste to legions of Zhentarim and Red Wizards.”

  As quickly as they dared, they guided their mounts across the remaining span of the bridge. As they stepped off onto solid ground, Mari noticed a third crystal embedded in the surface of the bridge. An idea struck her.

  “All right, I have a plan,” she told the others. “It may not be a good one, but I don’t think we have a lot of options.”

  Scant minutes later, the four were hiding behind the gigantic foot of one of the stone colossi. Mari peered cautiously over the statue’s clawed toe. Very soon, on the opposite side of the bridge, a tall figure appeared out of the mist. The Hunter was a striking man, his form-fitting black leathers a suitable match for his deep-bronze skin and golden eyes, and a vivid contrast to his close-cropped white hair. Swiftly K’shar started across the span, moving with little thought for his own safety. When he reached the center of the onyx bridge, Mari leapt from behind the statue. She stood at the end of the bridge and raised her short sword high. The blade glowed with brilliant purple magic.

  “Greetings, Hunter!” she shouted, her voice ringing out clearly in the cold air.

  K’shar halted at the center of the bridge, instantly crouching into a wary stance, a cat ready to pounce. A faint smile touched his lips.

  “Gre
etings, Al’maren,” he said in a formal tone, transforming his crouch into a fluid bow. He straightened with a curious expression. “I must thank you, Renegade.”

  Mari was taken aback by this. “Thank me, Hunter? For what?”

  “For providing me with a most excellent chase,” the half-elf replied smoothly. “Never before have I had such a worthy opponent. You have given my life new meaning, Al’maren, and for that I will always be in your debt.”

  Mari laughed harshly. “I don’t suppose that means you’ve decided not to kill me.”

  “I think you know the answer to that, Renegade.” K’shar’s smile became a feral grin. “What is the chase without the kill?”

  “A pleasant walk in the countryside?” Mari offered with mock ingenuousness.

  K’shar shook his head. “It is nothing. I know you understand this, Al’maren. You have your duty, even as I have mine.” The half-elf tensed, ready to spring across the bridge.

  “I wouldn’t make a move if I were you,” Mari said. “You see this crystal?” Mari gestured with the blade to the nearest of the three clear stones embedded in the bridge. “It’s a magical keystone. Without it, the bridge will collapse. My friend is a mage, and he has cast an interesting enchantment on my sword—an enchantment of magical dispelling. Mages can be so terribly handy, can’t they? If I strike the keystone with this blade, the crystal will shatter. And I think you’re intelligent enough to guess what would happen next, Hunter.”

  Slow, deliberate applause rang out over the chasm. K’shar was clapping. “I salute you, Renegade,” the half-elf said in admiration. “You are more worthy than I had even guessed. Truly, you have given me the chase of a lifetime. And you have given me a new experience as well.”

  “And what experience is that?” Mari asked, curious despite herself.

  “Losing,” K’shar replied with a rueful smile. “For it is clear that you have won, Al’maren. I congratulate you.”

  K’shar’s reaction unnerved Mari. Strangely, she felt almost sorry to have to kill the half-elf. In a way she rather liked him. She was surprised to find herself saying so. “You know, I think in a different time and place, we might have been friends, Hunter.”

  “You may be right, Renegade. However, at present our duties contrive to make enemies of us. We will have to save friendship for another lifetime.”

  All of a sudden, K’shar lunged into motion. As he did, Mari brought the glowing sword down against the keystone with all her might. Purple magic flashed brilliantly, followed by a sound like breaking glass. The crystal shattered into a thousand glittering shards.

  Mari stumbled backward. With a sound like thunder, the graceful arch of the bridge lurched violently. K’shar fell sprawling, sliding across the onyx surface and halfway over the edge. His hands scrabbled against slick stone, searching vainly for purchase. When the other two keystones exploded in sprays of shining splinters, the bridge shuddered. K’shar slid farther over the edge, feet dangling above the chasm. For a moment he looked up, his eyes meeting Mari’s. He opened his mouth, but whether to bid her farewell or to curse her to the Abyss, she would never know. The bridge gave one final twitch. Then with a deafening crack! the span disintegrated. The stone arch collapsed into a rain of dark rubble, plummeting into the gorge and carrying the half-elf with it.

  Mari dashed to the edge, but by the time she looked down, the remains of the bridge were already out of sight in the vast depths below. Footsteps sounded behind her.

  “Your plan worked, Mari,” Morhion said softly.

  She nodded slowly but did not answer. Instead she bowed her head, whispering a brief prayer for the dead. After a moment she turned and faced the others. “Let’s get going,” she said hoarsely.

  The four mounted their horses and rode between the stone colossi into the kingdom of Ebenfar.

  While the High Moor had been desolate, it had still displayed small signs of life as well as a kind of raw-edged beauty. In contrast, the realm they passed through now was utterly barren. The broken landscape was a tortuous labyrinth littered with piles of dark slag and pits half-filled with foul water. Except for the steady hoofbeats of the four horses, all was preternaturally silent. There were no birds, nor any other living creature. Even the wind had stopped. The air hung perfectly still under the dour sky, cold and breathless as a winter tomb. If ever there was a land that was truly dead, Ebenfar was one.

  “Cheery place,” Ferret noted dryly. “I’ll be sure to come here for my next vacation.” The thief’s words seemed uncomfortably loud against the brittle silence. He shivered in his cloak and refrained from making any further comments.

  The cold was a hungry, maleficent thing. Mari moved to warm her hands under her jacket, but she could hardly unclench her fingers from the reins. It felt as if the chill had turned her flesh to pale ice. She turned to make certain Kellen was warm enough and saw that the boy rode with Morhion now. He sat in the saddle before the mage, wrapped in a blanket in addition to his cloak. Morhion had tied Flash’s reins to Tenebrous’s saddle, and the pony followed behind.

  Such was the tomblike nature of this land that Mari was only somewhat surprised when they rounded a large slag heap and found themselves facing a ghost.

  At first she thought it must be Serafi, but a moment later she knew it was not so. The spectral knight was a dark being with eyes like flames. This ghost was as gray as the leaden sky, so pale his outlines blurred into the surrounding landscape. He was clad in misty, flowing robes, like those of a wizard … or perhaps a king. His visage was proud and noble, and with a start Mari realized that she recognized the man’s face. She had seen it once before, carved into the lid of an onyx sarcophagus far below the city of Iriaebor. In the crypt of the Shadowking. She opened her mouth, but Morhion beat her to the words.

  “Verraketh Talembar …”

  Floating several feet above the ground, the ghostly man bowed his regal head. “Yea, wizard, thou doth know me well.” His colorless eyes flickered down to Kellen. “Greetings, scion of Talembar, child of my blood.”

  Kellen regarded the ghost with calm, curious eyes. “Hello, Grandfather,” he said simply.

  Mari drew in a sharp breath. “Grandfather” was hardly the proper term to describe Kellen’s relationship to Verraketh. With thirty “greats” in front of the word, perhaps. Despite her fear and wonder, a thought occurred to her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, shivering. “How is it that you appear to us as a man, Verraketh, and not as the Shadowking you were when we … when you … perished beneath Iriaebor?” She swallowed hard, realizing this might seem a rude question to someone she’d had a hand in killing. “If you don’t mind my asking,” she added hastily.

  The ghost shrugged. “Forsooth, why should I care, Mari Al’maren? The concerns of the dead are not those of the living. Yet I will tell thee, this form doth mean nothing. Once, I was a child as Kellen stands now. I couldst as easily have chosen that form over this. It matters not. In death, I shall forever be all that I was in life—babe and child, minstrel and mage, and yea, Shadowking as well. Still, I choose to appear to thee in this manner. Is it well with thee, Mari Al’maren?”

  Mari nodded dumbly. Who was she to argue with a ghost about what form he should take?

  Ferret cleared his throat nervously. “Excuse me, Verraketh, your … er, ghostliness. My friends seem to be a little more accustomed to dealing with spirits than I am. You see, most of the dead people I’m familiar with aren’t nearly so active as yourself. Anyway, I was just wondering …” The thief screwed up his weasely face. “Let’s see. How can I put this tactfully? Are you going to be killing us anytime soon?”

  The ghost’s mirthful laughter echoed from all directions, an eerie but not altogether unpleasant sound. “Fear not, gentle thief. I bear thee no grudge for thy actions in my tomb beneath Iriaebor. Thou and thy companions did free me from the dark thrall of the Shadowstar, and let me at last find peace in death. For that, I thank thee.”

  Ferret bowe
d in his saddle. “Don’t mention it.”

  “Then why have you come to us?” Mari asked, emboldened by the spirit’s words.

  “To help thee,” the ghost replied. “So that the metamorphosis that made me into the Shadowking shall not be worked once again upon my scion, Caledan Caldorien. For only thou doth have the power to save him.”

  “How would you help us?” Morhion asked, his blue eyes gleaming.

  “Listen,” Verraketh intoned. “On the other side of yon dark ridge doth lie the vale in which I discovered the Shadowstar after it fell from the sky. There also lieth the heart of Ebenfar—the throne from which I once did rule as Shadowking. There is a secret to the vale, a secret unbeknownst even to the shadevari. A secret that, were it known, doth have the power to defeat the Shadowstar.”

  “A secret?” Mari repeated. “What do you mean?”

  Verraketh explained. “Long ago, there did echo in the vale a strange and wondrous music. Some claimed that it was an echo of the song the gods sang at the time of the forging of the world. If this is so, it is beyond my ken. Yet one thing I do know. When the Shadowstar fell into the vale, it was hot and molten, and before it could cool and grow solid, the music that echoed in the vale did infuse the Shadowstar, becoming a part of its being. Ever after, the music of the vale has had the power to quell the medallion. Thus the song is the key to defeating the Shadowstar. It was a fragment of that music that my son, Talek Talembar, wove into the shadow song with which he did defeat me once.”

  “Then when Caledan enters the vale, the echo of the song will nullify the Shadowstar. We’ll be able to get it away from him!”

  Verraketh shook his head. “It shall not be so easy as that, Mari Al’maren. Thou seest, when I was Shadowking, I feared the music of the vale. I sought to mar it, and alas I succeeded. By mine own hand, the ancient song of the vale is flawed, and as long as it is flawed, it is powerless against the Shadowstar. Therefore, thou must seeketh to restore the song.”