by Monte Cook
“Thank you, Father,” he said softly. He tucked the pipes into the pouch at his belt, where he kept his bone flute.
“Anyone else curious to find out what’s up there?” Ferret said, beady eyes shining. He pointed to the staircase with a thumb.
Cautiously, the four ascended the rough-hewn staircase. The steps were narrow and uneven, and one slip could send them plummeting to the rocky ground far below. Finally they climbed the last steps to the summit and found themselves on a half-moon-shaped stone platform. Before them, hewn from the dark bones of the pinnacle itself, was a gigantic chair.
No, not a chair, Morhion realized. A throne.
“In Milil’s name, what is that?” Mari gasped.
The thing on the throne was about the size and shape of a barrel, but it was jet black and glossy, and tapered smoothly at one end. The object was attached to the throne by a sticky mass of dark strands. Only after a moment did Morhion realize that the thing’s hard surface was slightly translucent. He could just glimpse something within, something dark and pulsating. Whatever it was, it was alive.
“It’s almost like some sort of cocoon,” Ferret said with awe and revulsion.
“No, not a cocoon,” Morhion countered in sudden realization. “Not a cocoon, but a chrysalis, like that which encases a caterpillar while it completes its metamorphosis into a butterfly.”
“While it completes its metamorphosis?” Mari repeated. Her voice became an anguished moan. “Oh, by all the gods of light. It’s Caledan!”
Instantly Morhion knew she was right. He took a step toward the chrysalis, reaching out a hand. “Caledan, my friend—”
His words were cut short by a shriek of pure and ancient malevolence. A form uncoiled itself from a jagged outcrop behind the throne. The thing’s gray, scaly hide had blended seamlessly with the dull stone, concealing it even as it had lain before their eyes. Now the creature sprang down to stand protectively before the chrysalis on the throne. It extended spiny arms ending in obsidian talons; its spiked tail flicked menacingly. The thing’s eyeless face was utterly inhuman.
A shadevar.
The creature opened its lipless mouth, revealing dark needle teeth. “The king sleeps,” it hissed in a voice like a serpent’s. “You shall not harm him.”
“Get back!” Morhion shouted at the others. They retreated toward the staircase, but they knew they could not outrun the shadevar. The mage stretched out his left hand. Isela’s ring glittered on his finger.
Rapidly, Morhion spoke the words of an incantation. It was the same spell of protection he had cast against the shadowhounds on the High Moor. Once again, a ring of shimmering blue magic spread outward from the mage. The ring’s violet gem flared, and the expanding circle of magic changed from ice blue to brilliant purple. The glowing circle struck the shadevar and expanded beyond. Blazing tendrils of magic crackled around the creature’s form, engulfing it in purple fire.
The shadevar only grinned.
As though removing a burning cloak, it shrugged its spiny shoulders. The glowing tendrils of magic fell to the ground. There they sizzled for a moment, then went dark. Morhion stared in horror. The spell had not worked! He had been certain that the key to the ring’s power lay in using a spell that contained elements of both light and dark. Yet he had been terribly wrong.
“Run!” Morhion screamed. “I’ll try to hold it off as long as I can!”
The others only stood behind him, frozen in terror. In his mind, Morhion prepared a spell of lightning, though it would likely be useless against the powerful creature. Spiked tail twitching, the shadevar advanced.
“You would defile the king,” it hissed poisonously, raising a clawed hand to tear Morhion’s throat out. “Now you will die.”
Morhion shouted his incantation, knowing he did not have time to finish it properly. The shadevar brought its curved talons down in a slashing arc.
The blow never landed.
So swift it was nearly a blur, a lithe form heaved itself up over the edge of the pinnacle’s summit and launched itself at the shadevar. The blur collided with the spiny creature, knocking it off balance so that the shadevar’s strike went wide. One sharp talon just grazed Morhion’s face, tracing a stinging line along his cheekbone. The mage stumbled backward into the others.
The shadevar’s assailant backed away. It was the Harper Hunter, K’shar. The half-elf’s clothes were all but shredded. His dusky bronze skin was bruised and torn. Blood matted his pale hair. Yet his golden eyes blazed with light. He had survived the destruction of the onyx bridge.
The shadevar recovered its balance, digging clawed feet into the stone on the very edge of the pinnacle’s summit. It turned its eyeless face toward K’shar, slit-shaped nostrils flaring. “Fool!” it shrieked. “Defiler! You cannot harm me. I will rend your flesh to liquid with that of these other mortals.”
“Truly?” K’shar mocked. There was no fear in his expression, only a feral eagerness. “Very well, creature. I will make it easier for you. I will not try to escape. On the contrary, I will come directly to you.”
Before the shadevar could react, K’shar dove, curling his lean form into a tight ball and rolling toward the creature. The half-elf struck the thing’s legs forcefully, knocking the shadevar off balance. The creature’s obsidian talons made a hideous screeching noise as they scrabbled against the edge of the precipice. The thing nearly caught itself. Then the rock crumbled under the terrible force of its clawed grip. With a piercing shriek, the creature toppled backward.
They watched as the shadevar fell through the air and plunged into the center of the glowing lava pit far below. The ancient creature’s cries were cut short as it sank into the pool of magma. A roiling cloud of crimson fire burst out of the pit, then dissipated. After that, there was no sign of the creature. Even shadevari were not proof against the hellish fire of molten rock.
K’shar rose to his feet.
“How did you survive the fall into the chasm?” the mage demanded.
The half-elf shrugged. “I did not fall. I managed to grab a ledge a few yards down, then pulled myself up the cliff face to follow you.”
“You saved us from the shadevar,” Mari said in amazement, approaching with Ferret and Kellen.
The Hunter regarded her with his startling eyes. “You are wrong, Al’maren. I killed the creature because it was in my way, that is all.” A wistful smile touched his lips. “Would that I could be as free as you, Renegade. Perhaps one day I will be. But at this moment, duty to the Harpers binds me still.”
In a single fluid motion, K’shar reached out and pulled Mari’s sword from the sheath at her hip, then lunged toward the basalt throne. The Hunter moved so swiftly that the others had no time to react. They could only watch in horror as K’shar pulled the sword back, then plunged the sharp blade deep into the heart of the jet-black chrysalis.
Twenty
Mari screamed.
She tried to move, tried to dive for K’shar and wrest the gleaming sword from his hands. The half-elf might as well have stood a dozen leagues away instead of a dozen steps. A single agonizing thought pierced Mari’s brain, as if it were she whom the Hunter had stabbed.
I have failed you, Caledan!
Smoothly, K’shar pulled the sword from the black chrysalis. A thin stream of dark vitriol spilled out of the slit, pooling before the throne. The chrysalis gave one final twitch, then lay still. The stream of dark fluid slowed to a trickle before ceasing. Whatever had pulsated inside the glossy shell moved no longer. Slowly, his golden eyes unreadable, K’shar turned away from the throne.
“You’ve killed my father,” Kellen said quietly.
The sword slipped from K’shar’s hands, clattering to the stone. “I know,” he replied solemnly. “Yet whatever you think of me, do not think that I feel no sorrow. I watched my mother die at the hands of men who feared her for the blood that ran in her veins. Your father has died for no better reason. And for no worse.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “Now we are like kin, you
and I.”
“Damn you to the Abyss!” Morhion snarled. “You are nothing to him, save his father’s murderer!”
Ferret sprang forward, pressing a dagger against K’shar’s throat. The half-elf did not resist. “I’m sure you want to kill this bastard yourself, Morhion,” the thief rasped, “but I’m afraid I’m going to do it first. Sorry—you know how selfish we thieving types can be.”
“Stop!”
The others looked up in shock as Mari stepped forward, raising a hand in protest. She would not allow further conflict. There had been enough death in this blasted place.
Morhion’s eyes blazed. “What is wrong with you, Mari? Let the thief do his work.”
Ferret pressed the knife harder against the bronzed flesh of K’shar’s throat. A bead of dark blood ran down the half-elf’s neck. K’shar did not even blink.
“Yes,” the Hunter whispered. “Let him.”
“No, I will not.” Mari was surprised at the icy authority in her voice. “It was not K’shar who killed Caledan. It was the Harpers. The half-elf was simply their tool, something with which I am well familiar. Murdering K’shar will not change anything. It will merely spill more blood.” She glared at Ferret. “Do you want that blood to be on your hands, Ferret Talondim?” She turned to face Morhion. “How about on yours, Morhion Gen’dahar?”
The two men stared at her in silence while K’shar watched with curious eyes. At last Morhion opened his mouth to say something. His words were cut off by Kellen’s frightened cry.
“Look at the throne!”
Ferret lowered his dagger as all turned to gaze at the throne. Something moved inside the black chrysalis. It pressed against the glossy sheath, distorting it. Then the husk rocked violently, once, and a dark shape began to push through the slit cut by the sword. Something was hatching out of the chrysalis.
They watched in a mixture of fascination and revulsion as, slick with black mucous, a tightly coiled form struggled weakly through the rip in the glossy shell. With one final, spasmodic jerk, the thing heaved itself free, falling with a wet smack! to the stone platform. It lay curled before the throne, flexing feebly, rhythmically, like a newborn creature still damp with fetal liquid.
That was exactly what it was, Mari realized with a nauseating feeling. They were witnessing the birth of a shadowking.
The thing was curled tightly, so sticky with black ichor they could make out little of its form, save that it had long, supple limbs and two pulsating protrusions on its back that could only be stubby wings. A dull, spiky lump of metal rested against its chest. The Shadowstar. The creature was shuddering.
“There’s something wrong with it,” Ferret choked.
“It was born too soon,” Morhion said grimly. “K’shar’s blow released it from the chrysalis before its metamorphosis was complete.”
Mari shivered. “Will it …” She forced herself to rephrase her words. “Will he die?”
Morhion shook his head. “No. It’s growing stronger every moment. I think it will live. But it is vulnerable now, while it is still taking shape.”
“Then Milil save me,” Mari whispered. She picked up her short sword, then took a step toward the still-forming shadowking. They had been too late to prevent Caledan’s metamorphosis. Now there was only one thing she could do. Forgive me, Caledan! she cried silently. She lifted the sword, ready to end his misery.
A shriek of ancient hatred shattered the air as a dark shape swooped down from the leaden sky. Mari stumbled backward barely in time to avoid scythelike talons. With a rush of jet-black wings, the shadowy blur sped once more toward the clouds. Mari craned her neck, gazing up to see a shadowsteed whirling high above the throne. Another malevolent cry echoed off hard stone. Another shadowsteed rapidly approached the pinnacle.
Morhion pulled Mari to her feet. “The remaining two shadevari will protect the shadowking while it is taking form,” he warned.
Mari gripped her sword. “Then we have to try to kill him.” She gazed at the alien creature that struggled before the throne. Its wings were continuing to grow. They pulsated more strongly now. Each throb squeezed dark fluid into the appendages, stretching them like the expanding wings of a newly hatched butterfly. Was there anything at all of Caledan left inside that hideous form?
Morhion snatched the sword from her hand. “This will not avail you.” He heaved the weapon off the pinnacle. “The only thing that can destroy the shadowking now is the Valesong. We must restore the song, while the shadowking is still taking shape.”
“Somehow we have to try to unblock the fissure,” Mari responded.
Morhion nodded in agreement. “You must do it, Mari. I will try to distract the shadevari, to give you time to reach the fissure.”
Mari paled, biting her lip fiercely. The mage intended to buy her time with his own life. Yet, could it be a worse bargain than the one he had already forged with Serafi?
Ferret cleared his throat nervously. “If we’re going to do something, we might want to do it soon.” He pointed toward the sky. The second shadowsteed had reached the first, and the creatures were circling menacingly.
Morhion moved toward the thief. “Ferret, find a place to hide with Kellen. You must protect the boy at all costs. Do you understand?”
Ferret nodded. “I understand, Morhion. I won’t say good-bye, but I will say good luck.” He laid a hand on Kellen’s shoulder. “Come on, kid. Let’s get out of here.”
“No,” Kellen said crossly. “I want to help Morhion. I’m a mage, too.”
“Not now, you’re not,” Ferret countered. “Right now you’re a thief, and a good thief always knows when to get his head under cover. Got it?”
Kellen gave Morhion a hurt look, then hung his head. “Very well, Uncle Ferret.”
K’shar approached Mari. “You will need help in the caves beneath the vale. I will go with you, Al’maren.”
She looked at the half-elf in surprise. “Why?”
He shrugged. “You said once that in a different time and place we might have been friends.” A grin crossed his striking visage. “Perhaps this is that time and place.”
After a moment she nodded. “Perhaps it is at that.”
Morhion gave K’shar an appraising look. “And those eyes of yours are made for seeing in the dark of underground tunnels, aren’t they half-elf? Or should I say, half-drow?”
Only the faintest ripple of emotion crossed the Hunter’s calm visage. “I am only one quarter drow, mage. My mother’s mother was a dark elf. Though it meant her death, she dared to love a green elf of the forest, and bore him a daughter. As a half-breed, my mother was cast from the underground city of the drow and was forced to live above ground. In the end, she was slain by humans who feared her dark elven blood.”
Mari stared at K’shar. Legend told that dark elves were creatures of cunning and evil, and that this was why they had been driven underground. Yet she had also heard rumors of a great drow hero in the Northlands. She found herself wondering if the dark elves were long ago forced underground, not because they were wicked, but simply because they were different.
There was no time to consider such matters. Two hideous shrieks rang out over the vale. The shadowsteeds were diving.
“Go!” Morhion shouted, blue eyes blazing, his voice cold and commanding.
Ferret caught Kellen in his arms and dashed down the pinnacle’s spiraling steps. Mari and K’shar followed close behind. At the base of the pinnacle they spotted a narrow crevice that led to a small cave.
“This is where we get off,” Ferret announced. He helped Kellen slip into the cave, then turned to give Mari one last wink. “If I don’t see you again in this life, I’ll see you in the next.”
Despite herself, Mari grinned. “I’m beginning to think you have nine lives, Ferret.” Impulsively, she kissed the thief. He gave her a bemused look, then disappeared into the cave after Kellen.
Mari turned to K’shar. “Let’s go.”
The two started off across the va
le at a run. Mari could not keep up with the fleet half-elf, but the blocked fissures were not far. She reached the outcrop a few seconds after him. The shadevari had ignored them. Whatever Morhion was doing, it seemed to be working.
“What do you think we’ll find down there?” Mari wondered, peering into one of the lightless crevices.
“There is but one way to find out,” K’shar replied. Pulling a coil of rope from his belt, he looped an end around a rocky protrusion, then tossed the rope through the largest of the three holes. “I’ll go first.” Without waiting for an answer, he slid into the fissure and vanished from sight.
Mari took a deep breath, then followed the half-elf through the gap. Hand over hand, she lowered herself through pitch blackness until she wondered if she would run out of rope before she ran out of shaft. Without warning, a pair of hands gripped her waist, steadying her as her feet struck hard rock. She turned to see K’shar’s golden eyes glowing in the darkness. They had reached the bottom of the shaft.
After a moment, Mari realized she could see more than just the half-elf’s uncanny eyes. Here and there, spurs of rock defined the mouth of a horizontal passageway. A faint, crimson illumination hung on air that was uncomfortably warm and acrid with the stench of sulfur.
“This way,” K’shar said, moving into the tunnel.
Mari followed on his heels. The passage was large enough for her to stand upright, but K’shar was forced to stoop. The walls of the tunnel were formed of irregular yet strangely smooth black stone. After they had walked for a few minutes, the passage forked.
K’shar squinted his sensitive eyes. “The glow is stronger in the left-hand tunnel.”
Mari peered that way. “It seems to lead down a bit, too. That could be a good sign.”
K’shar gave her a curious look. “How do you know that, Renegade?”
She wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow with the back of a hand. “We all have our talents. You have sensitive eyes, and I happen to have an excellent sense of direction. By the way, K’shar—you’re helping me, so that makes you a renegade Harper yourself. Don’t you think you should quit calling me Renegade and start calling me Mari?”
