Crypt of the Shadowking

by Mark Anthony

  A brilliant flash of lightning sliced across the dark sky, and the shadevar screamed again, clawing at its eyeless face even more furiously. Hot, dark droplets of blood fell against the stone, sizzling before they were washed away by the rain.

  Suddenly Caledan understood. The creature could see. The shadevar had seen the lightning, and the brilliant illumination had caused the thing pain! Somehow the mage had given the sightless creature the power to see, and it was driving the shadevar mad.

  The shadevar stumbled, on the verge of losing its balance. Caledan did not waste more time. He snaked out a hand and grabbed his sword. He thrust it upward into the shadevar’s gut. The creature’s scaly armor was nearly impenetrable, and the blade did not bite very deeply. But it was enough.

  The shadevar slumped forward over the sword point. Caledan kicked out, grunting with effort as he used his foot and the sword to lift the creature above him.

  The shadevar’s claws flailed wildly, one talon tracing a hot, crimson line across Caledan’s cheek. With one last blood-chilling scream it sailed into the ravine.

  There it struck a jagged, razor-edged column of granite. Even the shadevar’s scales could not withstand the impact of the fall. The creature’s hideous cry was cut short as the shard of rock was driven through its body. Dark blood sprayed out in a hissing, steaming fountain.

  Caledan nearly slid over the edge after the shadevar, but he caught himself at the last moment, wedging his fingers in a crack and dragging himself back up. He lay on his side, panting, gazing down at the shadevar impaled below. The wind tugged at the shreds of its black robe, but this time the creature did not stir. The torrent of blood gushing from its body gradually slowed to a trickle, then stopped, and soon the rain washed the dark stain away. Caledan groaned, his head sinking to the stone in weariness just as the companions reached him.

  The shadevar was dead.

  * * * * *

  The storm was over.

  It was late afternoon, and all that remained of the storm were a few ragged shreds of clouds scudding along against the azure sky. Morhion had ridden back down the game trail and into the ravine to examine the shadevar’s body. Now the mage was returning astride his black gelding.

  “The shadevar will not rise again,” Morhion said when he reached the others. “The stone driven through its body pierced its heart, shattering the magic that gave it power. Already its body is decaying. By nightfall nothing will be left of it but cinders.” The mage drew something from a pocket of his gray robe. “However, I did find this.”

  In his hand Morhion held an egg-shaped crystal, its myriad facets dim and opaque.

  “What is it?” Caledan asked.

  “I cannot say,” Morhion replied. He muttered several words in the tongue of magic. Suddenly the gem began to glow with a crimson light.

  “Magic …” Tyveris whispered.

  Morhion nodded solemnly. “I will be able to study it further when I return to my tower.” The mage spirited the crystal away into a hidden pocket of his robe.

  “Your magic was greater than the shadevar’s, Morhion.” Mari said. “We saw the creature ready to strike Caledan, and the next moment it was writhing in pain.”

  The mage nodded, his long, pale hair blowing in the wind. “The shadevari were sightless from the moment of their creation. Their spirits were never meant to be touched by light. I think the lightning burned it from within. I doubt it had ever known such pain.”

  Caledan regarded Morhion carefully. He could never let himself forget how dangerous the mage could be.

  “Do you think there will be more of them?” Tyveris asked. “More shadevari, I mean. We still don’t know who sent the thing after Caledan in the first place.”

  The mage gestured noncommittally. “That even one of these ancient creatures yet remained in the world surprises me. For all we know, we have killed the last of their kind.”

  “Then good riddance,” Caledan growled.

  Ferret called to the others then. He had gone off wandering as usual and now was standing by the low heap of rock where they had first seen the shadevar. The little thief was gesturing wildly.

  “What is it?” Caledan asked when they reached him.

  “Take a look,” Ferret said, pointing to the bare rock at the base of the small hill. “It looks like a fissure that’s been filled in with stones.”

  Caledan knelt down and picked up one of the loose rocks. “I think you’re right, Ferret.” The fissure, filled with a jumble of rocks and dirt, was perhaps a half-dozen feet long and several feet wide. “This has to be it—Talembar’s tomb.” He started clearing the rubble away from the fissure. Tyveris joined in, flinging huge stones aside as easily as if they were pebbles.

  Caledan grinned as Tyveris helped him heave another heavy chunk of granite from the fissure. All of them felt their spirits lifting.

  They had been working only scant minutes, however, when Caledan felt a sudden chill. The golden sunlight dimmed as if a cloud were passing overhead, and the wind carried the scent of dry, stale dust to his nose. That was strange after all the rain that had fallen.

  “Caledan. Look above you.” Something in Mari’s voice made the hair on the back of Caledan’s neck stand up. He and Tyveris looked up, and both of them froze.

  A man stood on the side of the small hillock no more than ten paces away, gazing down at the companions. He was a noble-looking man with a strong, aquiline nose and eyes of pale gray. His attire—a brocaded longcoat over a ruffled shirt, tightly fitting breeches, and high leather boots—was fine, even opulent, but it looked strangely archaic, bespeaking the fashions of another age. Oddest of all were his silvery cloak and his long, onyx-black hair, for neither of these stirred in the brisk wind that whipped across this high, open place.

  “By Oghma above, I can see right through him,” Tyveris whispered, and Caledan realized he could do the same. The outlines of a gnarled cedar tree were hazy but clearly visible through the man. The loremaster gripped the holy symbol that hung about his neck and muttered a prayer to appease the dead.

  Morhion stepped forward, bending slowly in a regal bow.

  “Hail, Talek Talembar,” the mage intoned in his burnished voice. Caledan stared at Morhion in shock.

  With ethereal elegance the spectral man mirrored the mage’s bow. The motion was accompanied by a faintly audible sound, like the tinkling of tiny, distant bells. Tatters of mist drifted about the phantom, glowing in the bronze light of the westering sun.

  “Indeed, mage,” the spectral man spoke in a voice that was so deep as to be thunderous, yet musical at the same time. “It is I, Talek Talembar. Or at least the shadow of one who once was so named.”

  A look of wonder crossed each of the companions’ faces. Caledan felt a shiver ripple up his spine. It was not every day he found himself facing a man who had been dead for over a thousand years.

  The phantom nodded his head solemnly toward Caledan. “Greetings, Caledan Caldorien.”

  A tendril of mist reached out to softly encircle Caledan. He could feel its chill, gentle touch. “How … how do you know me?” He somehow managed to give voice to the words. His breath fogged on the strangely cold air. He realized he was trembling but could not help himself. He had been prepared for uncovering the dusty remains of Talembar’s long-dead bones. This … this was something altogether different.

  The phantom made a shrugging gesture. “How do I know that it is daylight? That a storm has just vented its anger here? That a thousand years have fled since the day I fell in this valley? I do not know how I know, only that I do know. I know who each of thou art, and even why thou seeketh me, though in truth I could not tell thee how I came to be here, standing before thee. Perchance thy need was great enough to summon me. I must confess to thee, Caldorien, death has proved most mysterious.” A faint smile touched the phantom’s lips.

  Ferret took a timid step forward, though he kept close to Caledan. “You aren’t angry that we’ve … ah, disturbed your eternal rest,
are you?” the thief asked in a tremulous voice.

  The phantom laughed, a haunting yet lovely sound, like the call of a far-off horn. “Fear not, my good, cunning rogue. The only danger that awaited thee at my tomb lies now at the bottom of the precipice, quite dead, as I might well know. No more harm will come to thee, at least not in this place.”

  Caledan managed to regain a semblance of composure. He nodded in solemn respect, then dared to speak again. “Then you know why it is we have come seeking your tomb, Talembar.”

  Slowly Talembar nodded. “Yes, I do know. But I cannot tell thee the secret of the shadow song, Caldorien. For the simple reason that I have forgotten it.”

  “Forgotten it?” Caledan said incredulously. “But how could you forget something as important as that?”

  “The spirit world is far removed from ours, Caldorien,” Morhion interposed. “The veil that separates this world from that is heavy and obscuring. Eventually the dead must forget the world of the living, else they would never be able to leave it behind.”

  “Alas, what the mage doth speak is true,” Talembar said sadly. “And I think had thou arrived a century later than thou hast, I may not have come to greet thee at all. Most of my memories of the daylit world are as if viewed through a hazy mist, muted and dimmed by the centuries that have passed. A few memories stand out clearly like glimmering jewels, but even these are growing fewer. I remember creating the shadow song, Caldorien. I remember playing the song upon my pipes to wrest the Nightstone from that being of darkness, the Shadowking. But alas, what the precise notes of the song were eludes me now. I am sorry.”

  Caledan sighed, swallowing his frustration. There was little use in shouting at a ghost.

  “Is there anything at all you can tell us?” Mari asked the phantom. “Anything that might help us to understand the secret of the song?”

  The shadow of Talek Talembar paused for a long moment, his gray eyes lost in thought. He seemed to be growing dimmer as the sun sank toward the western horizon. Finally he made a gesture of regret. “Of that, I can tell thee nothing except …” Talembar frowned in concentration, then he shook his head. “… except that thou might look for its echo in the place where last it was played. That is all.”

  The phantom had grown more transparent and was beginning to fade.

  “Do not despair yet, Caldorien,” Talembar said. His voice sounded hollow and distant, as if echoing down a long corridor of stone. “It is true that a great darkness awaits thee beneath this city you call ‘Iriaebor.’ I know, for I have faced it. But I defeated it. It is in thy power to do the same, Caldorien, for thou doth possess the shadow magic.”

  Caledan frowned in puzzlement. “The ‘shadow magic’? You mean that trick of making shadows move on the walls?”

  Talek Talembar glowered angrily, and for a moment Caledan shivered. “It is far more than a trick to amuse children, Caldorien. The shadow magic is the key. None dare play the shadow song unless he be a friend of the shadows. It is a gift most rare and precious, Caldorien. It is for thy shadow magic that the shadevar was sent to slay thee. How is it thou didst not come to know this? Why, even the maiden who stands beside thee knows that what I say is true.”

  Caledan felt a coldness slice through his chest. He turned to stare at Mari in disbelief. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. Mari knew about the importance of the shadow magic?

  “ ’Ware the darkness within the hollow Tor, lest it be freed to wreak grievous ruin upon the land,” Talembar warned. Little remained of the phantom now but a faint, blurring outline. “Remember, Caldorien, only thou mayest stand before it. Yet do not forget how the strength of each of thy companions may steady thee.”

  The ruddy orb of the sun dipped beneath the western horizon. The tendrils of mist scattered in the wake of a sudden breeze. The phantom was gone.

  Like a mantle on the land, purple twilight descended. The companions were silent. All faces were turned toward Caledan. Mari’s dark eyes were wide. “Caledan, let me explain,” she said, reaching out and gripping his arm.

  He shook her hand off. “What’s to explain?” he said acidly. He felt sickened; his head ached fiercely. “You and the Harpers have been using me all along, I see that now. You knew that Ravendas was searching for the Nightstone, didn’t you? Just as you knew that only someone with the shadow magic could reclaim it from the Shadowking’s crypt.” Mari shook her head but did not deny his words. The others stared, dumbfounded. “That’s why you sought me out,” Caledan growled. “Not because I was familiar with Iriaebor or Ravendas, but because the Harpers knew about my shadow magic.”

  Mari bowed her head. The wind caught her dark auburn hair, lifting it from her troubled brow. Then she looked up. Her dark eyes shone with sorrow. Caledan glared at her, his lip pulled back almost in a snarl.

  “Is it true, Mari?” Tyveris asked softly, his voice heavy.

  “I did know,” she said. “The Harpers knew. We didn’t know any of the details, of course—certainly not about Talek Talembar or the shadow song. All that our spies had learned was that the Zhentarim Lord Ravendas was searching beneath Iriaebor for an object of power called the Nightstone, and that she had—at least at one time—expressed interest in finding someone who possessed something called shadow magic. A few older Harpers remembered your ability, Caledan. That was when the Harpers decided to send me to seek you out.”

  Estah watched worriedly. Ferret nervously fidgeted with a dagger, flipping it from hand to hand. Tyveris started to say something to try to break the tension in the air, but then Mari went on, the words tumbling from her lips. “Thantarth, the Harper who gave me this mission, feared that you would never have agreed to help us, Caledan, not if we had simply come straight to you and told you that we needed you and your magic.”

  Caledan grunted. “Thantarth was probably right on that account. He knew I would have laughed in his face if the Harpers had come begging to me. But tell me this, Harper. Did Thantarth order you to pretend to love me as well? Or was that a little bit of improvisation you came up with on your own to get me to do what you wanted?”

  “No!” Mari shouted.

  “Don’t worry, Harper,” Caledan said sharply. His eyes were hard and cold. “You’ve accomplished your mission perfectly. I’m going back to Iriaebor, and I’m going to keep Ravendas from getting her hands on the Nightstone. But it’s not for you, or the Harpers.”

  He shot a dark glance at Morhion. As always the mage’s handsome visage was impassive. “This time,” Caledan said, “I’m going to get my revenge against Ravendas. So send a missive to Thantarth, Harper, and inform him that everything has worked out just as you hoped. You’ve done your job. And when this is all over, you can go back to Twilight Hall in Berdusk and be with your precious Harpers, and I won’t ever have to look at you again.” Caledan spun around, his boot heel grinding against the cold stone. Tyveris laid a hand on his shoulder, but Caledan jerked free and stomped away.

  “Caledan!” he heard the Harper cry behind him. He did not let himself hear the anguish in her voice. “Caledan, come back!”

  He kept his back to her as he walked away.

  Seventeen

  “You have failed me, Snake.”

  Ravendas prowled about her chamber, clad in a gown of midnight black. She held a polished, gold-hilted stiletto, twirling it absently in her hands. She paused before an intricate tapestry depicting two lovers embracing in a greenwood. “You know what I do with servants who fail me.”

  Snake watched her with his hard, flat eyes. “It is true Caldorien escaped your Zhentarim sorcerer in the Fields of the Dead, my lord,” Snake said in his dry voice. “Yet he must find his way back to Iriaebor. We shall have all the gates into the city guarded. He will not escape us.”

  “That is not good enough!” Ravendas snarled. She plunged the stiletto into the priceless tapestry and slashed downward, tearing open a gash that passed directly through the serenely smiling lovers. She threw the knife down disgustedly, her face twisted into
an expression of fury and madness. “I want Caldorien now. Do you understand me, Snake? Now! If you fail me again, I personally will cut out your heart.” She slumped into a chair. The rage bled from her face, leaving it pale, but the madness still swirled in her blue eyes.

  “My lord, I will—”

  “Silence,” she said broodingly. “Leave me, Snake.” She stared sullenly at the ruined tapestry, scratching at the arms of the chair.

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Snake bowed, drifting from the room. He made his way through the tower to his private chamber. These black moods were overwhelming Ravendas more and more often of late. She was beginning to speak of Caldorien as much as she did of the Nightstone and her ambition to rule all of the Caravan Cities. She was growing erratic in her judgment, and foolish as well. That could put everything in jeopardy. Soon Ravendas would outlive her usefulness.

  Snake shut the door to his chamber. He was alone. He took the dim crystal from its wooden chest. It was time to contact the shadevar. Caldorien had escaped the Zhentarim Snake had sent into the Fields of the Dead, but that was hardly a surprise. Their only purpose had been to harry Caldorien. Then the shadevar could do its deadly work. But he needed to contact the shadevar to confirm that it had been successful.

  Snake spoke the word that unlocked the magic of the crystal. It glimmered briefly in his hand, then went dark. A frown crossed his thin face, and he repeated the key word. Again there was a faint glimmer, then the crystal went dull.

  Something must be interfering with the crystal’s magic. Snake tried other spells, all to no avail. It was possible that the crystal’s enchantment had faded. It was an ancient device, and such was not an impossibility. Regardless, Snake would have to wait until the shadevar returned to the vicinity of Iriaebor to make direct contact. It annoyed him, but he could not believe the shadevar had failed in its task.