Midnight's Mask

by Paul S. Kemp

  Gorse added, “The men think his father was a water elemental with a bent for studying the stars. He knows sea and sky as well as any.”

  Cale smiled. He liked the new crew of Demon Binder.

  In short order, Ashin pulled the device from his eye and shouted, “We’re far west of that, Captain. Nearest port is Procampur. More than eighty leagues from Traitor’s Isle.”

  Gorse whistled and shook his head.

  The captain turned back to Cale, brow furrowed. “You’re sure you marked this ship near Traitor’s Isle?”

  Cale nodded.

  “More sorcery,” Gorse muttered.

  Evrel said, “There’s no catching it, Erevis. We are two days from that island sailing day and night and assuming favorable winds. So unless you can lift this ship out of the water and fly it there, your hunt is over.”

  The moment Cale heard Evrel’s words, he understood why Mask had arranged for the slaadi to escape, or at least understood one reason. The Shadowlord wanted to test Cale, to see how far he could push his abilities, and he wanted Cale to sink deeper into the shadows.

  Jak must have seen something in his expression.

  “What is it, Cale?”

  “An idea, little man.” Cale put a hand on Jak’s shoulder and said to Evrel, “Captain, I am going to do exactly that, if you and your crew are willing.”

  At first Evrel smiled, as though Cale were making a joke, but a frown quickly swallowed the smile. An even deeper frown formed on Gorse’s lips.

  “You are not jesting?” the captain asked.

  “I am not.”

  “You’re not?” Jak asked.

  The captain studied Cale’s face, looked to Jak, to Magadon.

  In Chondathan, Gorse said, “Captain, we hardly know these men. They could be pirates, Zhents, evil men who just need a crew. We should be careful.”

  Before Evrel could respond, Cale said, “Gorse, I speak and read nine languages. You will need to use something more obscure than Chondathan to communicate secretly in my presence. And you’re right. You do not know us. So know this: I once killed for coin. Now I serve Mask the Shadowlord as a priest. And I am as much shadow as man.”

  He held up his hand and let shadowstuff leak from his fingertips. Both captain and mate went wide-eyed.

  “Umberlee’s teats,” Gorse cursed.

  “I am a mindmage and woodsman born of an archdevil,” Magadon said, doffing his cap and showing the stubs of his horns.

  His words did nothing to set the seamen at ease.

  Jak grinned and said, “I am the ordinary one, it seems. A one-time Harper and priest of Brandobaris the Trickster.”

  Cale looked the two sailors in the eyes and said, “That is all you are going to get. But now you know us as well as most. Well enough?”

  Gorse cursed, but to his credit, also smiled.

  “I’m just a fisherman’s son out of Arabel,” the mate said.

  The captain, too, grinned through his beard.

  “Talos take me, Erevis Cale, but if you can make this ship fly, I swear that you will always have a welcome berth on any vessel I command.”

  Cale wondered if the captain would feel the same after he learned what Cale intended. Cale would not make the ship fly. He would surround it in darkness and move it and the whole crew from where they were to the shadow of the cliffs of Traitor’s Isle.

  CHAPTER 9

  SAILING THE NIGHT

  Get your men ready,” Cale said to Evrel.

  In no time, word went from the mate and captain to the crew. So, too, did the description of who and what Cale, Magadon, and Jak were, or once were. Few of the crew made eye contact after that. All muttered, but all obeyed the captain’s orders. They seemed both fascinated and fearful.

  Cale took a position in the bow, standing just over the leering wooden demon’s face that decorated Demon Binder’s prow. Jak and Magadon stood beside him. Behind them on the deck and above them in the rigging, the crew waited in pensive silence. The calm sea, as black as jet under the starlight, seemed also to be waiting.

  Cale imagined in his mind’s eye the towering cliffsides of Traitor’s Isle, the long shadow cast over the water by its tower, even by starlight. He started to draw the night around him, around Magadon, around Jak. He spread it out to the rest of the ship like a dire fog. A rustle went through the crew but they held their ground.

  Cale waited until pitch cloaked the entire vessel. He alone could see within the darkness. He reached out with his mind, found the correspondence between the darkness that shrouded him and the darkness near Traitor’s Isle. He tried to take the entire ship in his mental grasp. It defied an easy grip. He struggled, sweating, praying, asking Mask for aid. Finally he mastered the darkness and took it.

  Somewhere, he knew, Mask was pleased.

  Cale felt the flutter in his gut that bespoke instantaneous transport. He let the darkness subside. It flowed off the ship’s decks like mist to reveal … water the color of pitch, a sky as dark as a demon’s heart. A sourceless ochre light backlit clouds shaped like the faces of screaming men. Green lightning ripped the sky to pieces.

  The Plane of Shadow.

  “Trickster’s toes,” Jak muttered.

  The crew echoed Jak’s sentiment. A chorus of oaths ran from bow to stern, a fearful chorus. “Erevis….” Magadon began.

  The feat had left Cale drained, wrung out. His body felt worn; his breath came hard. He sagged, leaned on Magadon for support.

  Magadon took his weight. The guide stared at him, studied him.

  “You look different, Erevis,” Magadon said. “The shadows around you … they’re darker.”

  Cale nodded. He had taxed himself, sunk deeper into the shadows, and even still he had not quite accomplished what he wished. He saw Mask’s hand in it.

  Evrel climbed the forecastle, eyes hard, brow furrowed. When he saw Cale, he stopped in his tracks.

  “Talos, man! Your eyes.”

  Cale looked away. He knew his eyes glowed yellow on the Plane of Shadow.

  “What do you want, Evrel?” Magadon asked, his voice stern.

  “What do I—? Look around. Where are we? This is no sea that I know.”

  The crew nearby murmured agreement.

  Magadon started to speak but Cale held up a hand to cut him off.

  “We are on the Plane of Shadow, Evrel,” Cale said, his voice heavy with fatigue. “Do not be concerned. I’ll be taking us back to Faerûn soon. This is just a waystop.”

  “Soon?” Evrel asked, and rubbed his chin.

  “Soon,” Cale answered. The shadows nourished him and his strength already was returning. He patted Magadon on the shoulder and stood on his own feet.

  A cry from up the mast drew their eyes.

  “There, look there!” called a crewman, and pointed to the sky.

  High above them, a swirling mass of black forms like a flock of giant bats detached from a cloud and wheeled downward.

  Thunder boomed in the distance.

  The forms circled and wheeled, finally headed for the ship. They became distinguishable as they got closer. Pinpoints of red light dotted the mass.

  “Shadows,” Jak said, and pulled out his jeweled pendant holy symbol. “Trickster’s hairy toes.”

  Hundreds of undead shadows were streaking for the ship.

  “Arms, men,” Evrel ordered, and the crew started snapping up weapons. Those in the rigging and nests rapidly descended toward the deck to stand with their fellows.

  Cale saw Mask’s purpose then, understood why the Shadowlord had brought him back to the Plane of Shadow. He put his hand on Evrel’s shoulder and shook his head.

  “Unnecessary, captain. They will not harm you. They’re coming for me.”

  “What in the twelve seas does that mean?” Evrel asked.

  “Cale?” Jak asked.

  Cale stared into the sky, watching the horde approach. The Shadowlord had put a weapon in his hand. He had only to use it.

  “Put away your
symbol, little man,” Cale said, and donned his mask.

  “Stay your hands!” Evrel ordered his crew.

  The sailors looked at each other nervously but let their weapons hang loosely at their sides.

  The shadows circled downward until they swarmed the air near the masts. Several creatures broke off and wheeled over the deck. They were humanoid in shape, but amorphous, trailing streamers of shadow as they flew.

  Cale waited. Several descended to the deck, floated in front of him, and stared into his face. He let shadows leak from his flesh. Red eyes flared in response and the creatures flew back up to join the black mass over the mast. From there, hundreds of pairs of red eyes fixed on Cale, watched him, measured him. The sky was blanketed with a cloud of the unliving. The creatures radiated cold and the entire crew shivered under their gaze. Not Cale.

  The shadows hovered there, waiting. Cale knew they were his to command. He held up his hands and let Mask’s power run through him and reach into the sky. The cloud of shadows swirled in answer, excited, eager. Cale gave them only a single command, and his voice carried clearly into the sky. “Come when I call.”

  The shadows churned around the masts, around the sails, and their red eyes flared. Cale took it as an acknowledgement. With that, the cloud dispersed and the shadows vanished into the darkness of the plane.

  The crew stood silent. Cale felt Jak and Magadon’s eyes on him. He thought of Sephris’s words to him: The darkness has soaked you. But there is more to come.

  Cale knew it to be true. Mask had only some of what he wanted. The Shadowlord always wanted more.

  But so did Cale. And while serving Mask had its price, it also brought power. The darkness answered to Cale more than it did to anyone. And now it had given him the means to catch and kill the slaadi.

  Lightning lined the sky. Thunder boomed its approval.

  “What in the Trickster’s name just happened?” Jak asked.

  “Nothing,” Cale said. “It’s time to return to Faerûn.”

  Magadon said, “Are you … able?”

  Cale nodded. The energies of the Plane of Shadow had restored his energy quickly.

  “Not nearly soon enough,” Evrel said, and did not make eye contact with Cale.

  “Ready your crew,” Cale said to him.

  In moments, Cale drew the darkness around the ship once more. When the pitch engulfed Demon Binder, Cale again pictured Traitor’s Isle, seized the ship in his grasp, and moved it through the planes. The effort did not tire him this time; his power had grown.

  He let the darkness fade away to reveal the sheer, rocky sides of Traitor’s Isle. Demon Binder floated in the waters a bowshot away from the island’s cliffs.

  A satisfied murmur sounded from the crew. Even Jak and Magadon sighed with relief.

  “Look there,” one of the sailors said, and pointed toward the sky.

  Above the midmast whirled a black maelstrom, a portal that Cale had left open between the Prime Plane and the Plane of Shadow. It hung in the air above the mast, an empty hole in the sky. Red dots began to appear within it.

  The shadows were gathering.

  Cale could feel their anticipation. He had but to call them forth.

  “What are you doing, Cale?” Jak asked, and Cale heard the alarm in his voice.

  “I am using the weapons at hand,” Cale said. “I’m sending the entire swarm of shadows after the slaadi.”

  He knew the creatures would catch the slaadi’s ship. They flew as quickly as arrows.

  “What? What are you saying? The crew, Cale,” Jak said.

  Cale whirled on Jak. “What about them, Jak? They’re in league with the slaadi, aren’t they?” Jak did not quail before Cale’s anger. “Maybe, but maybe not. They might just be a hired ship. And no one deserves to die like that, Cale.” Jak pointed up at the gathering shadows.

  “Dead is dead, little man,” Cale said, and held up his arms to call forth the shadows.

  Jak’s hand closed on his cloak. “No, Cale. It’s not. Listen to me. You don’t see it, but I do. This is how he’s trying to bring you in all the way. He sets you up to seek revenge and gives you a method, his method, to achieve it. But that doesn’t have to be your method. I’ve said it to you before.” He shook Cale’s cloak. “Cale, I’ve said it to you before—keep yourself. Keep yourself.”

  Jak’s words tweaked Cale’s conscience. He stared up at the shadows, looked at his hands, at the eyes of the crew, the eyes of his friends. The horror on their faces brought him back to himself.

  What was he thinking?

  “Take off the mask, Cale,” Jak said. “Take it off.”

  Cale nodded and removed his mask. He saw it then, saw it the way Jak saw it. Mask kept feeding him power a little at a time, just when he needed it so much that he would use it. That was how Mask hoped to win his soul, control him.

  Cale would not allow it. He shook his head.

  “No,” he murmured to the shadows.

  He knelt down, turned, and looked Jak in the eye. “I hear your words, Jak. We do it our way. With our methods.”

  Jak smiled, thumped him on the shoulder.

  Cale stood and with an effort of will caused the portal to the shadow plane to close. The shadows wailed as the portal squeezed shut. The moment it did, a wave of fatigue nearly brought Cale to his knees. He leaned on Jak, who grunted under his weight but kept him upright.

  “Are you all right, Erevis?” Magadon asked, helping Jak bear him.

  Cale nodded. He took a deep breath and stood on his own feet.

  “Mags, look through Riven’s eyes, try to determine which way they’re heading.” He hurried to the back of the forecastle and shouted down to Evrel, “Captain, get this ship ready to move as fast as it can.”

  The captain overcame whatever wonder he felt at Cale’s feat, nodded, and started barking orders. Within moments, Demon Binder raised anchor and lowered her sails. Evrel’s crew even raised the topsails.

  “Mags?” Cale asked.

  The rosy halo around Magadon’s head faded and he opened his eyes.

  “Due west,” he said to Cale.

  “Due west,” Cale shouted down to Evrel, who relayed it to Ashin.

  Demon Binder was soon underway.

  An hour later, Jak and Cale stood at the prow, staring ahead at empty sea. There was no sign of the slaadi’s ship. Cale turned and looked behind them. Traitor’s Isle was lost to the darkness.

  “Not fast enough,” he muttered.

  “Let’s remedy that,” Jak said. The little man removed his holy symbol from his belt pouch and spoke the words to a spell. Cale recognized it as the spell with which the little man previously had summoned the water elemental.

  When he spoke the final word, Jak leaned out over the prow and waited. In moments, two watery pillars as tall as Cale rose from the sea, keeping perfect pace with the speed of the ship.

  Jak ordered them, “Help speed the ship and your service will be short.”

  The elementals swayed in response, offered susurrous replies, and vanished below the waves.

  Moments later, the ship noticeably gained speed.

  “Well done,” Cale said.

  Jak nodded, cast the spell again, and again. By the time he was done, half a dozen water elementals had hold of Demon Binder’s hull and were driving her through the sea.

  Evrel and the crew could not stop grinning.

  “We could catch a gull on the wing at this pace,” the captain shouted to Cale and Jak.

  Cale did not smile. He wanted only to catch two slaadi and an assassin, and he wanted to catch them his way.

  Vhostym listened with satisfaction as shouts of alarm sounded from atop the tower. Clouds of toxic green fumes capped the crenellations. Men screamed and died. Two of the roof guards jumped to their deaths rather than endure the painful death spasms brought on by the gas.

  Before the doors, the ball of potential energy that Vhostym had left spinning at the feet of the guards exploded. A spider web of
lightning shot out in all directions. Bolts knifed into the guards, blew them from their feet, burned their flesh, stopped their hearts. All of them died quickly, with arcs of lightning dancing over their still-jerking corpses.

  Alarm bells rang from within the tower.

  Still invisible—for Vhostym’s invisibility did not end when he attacked, as most such illusions did—he spoke the command word to bypass his own wards and flew through the drawbridge and double door into the entry foyer.

  Ten bewildered soldiers stood crowded within, weapons bare. Two tried to lower the drawbridge and open the double doors to the outside but Vhostym’s spell held the portals closed.

  “Sealed,” one of them shouted back to a bearded sergeant.

  The sergeant cursed.

  “Get the priests,” he said to another.

  Before the soldier could leave the foyer, Vhostym seized the far doors with his mind and slammed them shut. He waved his staff and placed a seal on the door that would keep it closed.

  The soldiers, their fearful faces highlighted in the green glow of the dimensional lock, whirled around.

  “Something is in here,” one of them said.

  “Here? What do you mean here?” asked another, a young soldier with a thin beard.

  Panic was setting in.

  “Hold your ground in the Dark Sun’s name,” the sergeant said, but Vhostym could hear the fear in his voice too. “Lis, try the door again.”

  Vhostym floated into a corner of the room and softly incanted a spell. A wave of invisible energy went forth from his outstretched hands. The magic hit the soldiers, one, then another, another, until all of them went rigid, immobilized by the power of the magic.

  They were nothing more than statues of flesh waiting to die.

  Shouts sounded from the other side of the closed double doors. Something slammed fruitlessly against the sealed door. Vhostym heard an invocation—one of the priests attempting to counter his locking spell. The attempt failed, of course.

  A sudden wave of pain wracked Vhostym’s body, sent a charge through his bones. Not an enemy’s spell, but his disease. He hissed with pain.