Paul Kemp - Shadow witness

He would die with dignity.

I'm your Champion and I won't die like a groveling dog, he thought to Mask.

Another blast of energy sent stabs of pain along his spine. He clamped his mouth shut and walled off the scream of pain that tried to burst from behind his teeth.

Though the effort nearly made him pass out, he flipped over onto his back. Yrsillar stood over him, frail with the Righteous Man's form, but awful for the power he contained.

"Damn you," Gale croaked.

Yrsillar stopped laughing, bent down to regard him with narrowed orbits. "It is you who are damned, Champion," he said. "Your soul is mine. I'll devour most of it, but leave you with just enough to remain sentient, enough so that you can appreciate your fate."

Gale tried to spit in his face, but only managed to dribble saliva down his chin. "The gods damn you," he croaked again.

Yrsillar stood upright and regarded him with amused contempt. "The gods do not damn, fool, nor do they bless. They manipulate. This is where those manipulations have brought you," his mouth twisted into a snarl, "Champion."

Yrsillar reached for him.

Though it took a supreme effort of will, Gale did not try to squirm away. He would not give Yrsillar the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. He would die defiant.

Reflexively, he threw the only thing he had left. The felt mask.

"To the Hells with you," he said.

A bird of cloth, the mask fluttered through the air and softly struck Yrsillar on the chestWithout warning, the air around the demon lord exploded in a blast of silvery-gray light. A roaring sound filled Gale's ears. A sphere of energy encapsulated the demon lord, sizzling and burning him. He roared in pain, reached for Gale in a rage, but the energy held him shackled.

Shielding his eyes, Gale scooted away.

Yrsillar's roars grew more and more pained, his promises more and more dire. The sizzling intensified. "You will suffer an eternity of pain, Erevis Gale! I shall peel your soul like an onion and devour you over the course of millennia. I shall-"

The cascade of silver energy grew brighter and brighter until it reached a sparkling, sizzling crescendo.

"No!" roared Yrsillar, and swung his arms wildly against his confinement. It was a futile effort.

With the suddenness of a lightning strike, the demon's translucent form was torn from the suddenly slack body of the Righteous Man. The mortal separated from the demonic with the sound of ripping cloth. The guildmaster's body fell to the ground unmoving. Yrsillar's writhing demonic form, still contained in the silver energy, was blown across the shrine and into the gate. His screams of rage and pain diminished as his body grew smaller and smaller.

The gate snapped shut with a sudden pop, the sound as final as a funeral dirge. Another such pop sounded from the hallway outside the shrine as that gate closed. Within seconds, the ubiquitous pulsing had ceased. All the gates in the guildhouse must have closed.

Gale looked around stupefied, dazed. The shrine was empty and silent.

It took a few moments to register. Yrsillar was gone. They had won. The realization affected him strangely. He fell back and tried to laugh, but managed only a pained grimace. He wasn't yet ready for laughter. Emotion flooded him though-not happiness, but something he couldn't quite put a name to. His eyes welled. He blinked away the tears.

How? he wondered, but already knew the answer.

Mask had banished Yrsillar, or Gale had banished Yrsillar with the power of Mask. It no longer mattered which. He was now a man of faith.

I accept, you bastard, he thought with a half-smile. I accept.

He lay still and let his emotions run their course. After a few moments, he recovered himself enough to climb unsteadily to his feet. Jak needed him.

He staggered along the aisle, past the body of the Righteous Man. The guildmaster's abdomen gaped from where Gale had slashed it open. The rest of the body looked shrunken and dried out, sucked empty. The felt mask lay on the floor beside it. Gale stooped to retrieve it.

"Caaale," the Righteous Man croaked.

Startled, Cale jerked back.

"Gale…" A thin arm tried to move, failed, and instead a bony finger beckoned.

After a moment's hesitation, Cale moved forward and knelt beside his former guildmaster. "I'm here."

The Righteous Man's eyes fluttered open. Cale gave a start-the sockets sat empty, mere pink holes in his sunken, wrinkled face.

Cale resisted the impulse to touch him, to give him comfort. He felt no affection for the guildmaster, only a distant anger. "What happened? How-"

"You're the Champion," the Righteous Man whispered.

"I am," Cale acknowledged. With his good hand, he picked up the felt mask and placed it in his pocket. "I am." There was nothing more to be said. Jak needed him. He started to rise, but the Righteous Man gripped him by the forearm with surprising strength.

"Wait, Erevis," he wheezed.

The Righteous Man's touch was dry and cold.

"I'm not afraid to die. I'm at peace with the Shadow-lord now. I see his plan." He coughed a bloody foam onto his chin. "But I want to be at peace with you, Erevis, Champion." Another round of coughing. He pulled Cale closer. "I didn't mean for Yrsillar to go free…"

Cale waited another moment but the guildmaster said nothing more. Cale gave him what absolution he could; no one should die with guilt on their soul. "I know," he said, disengaged his hand, and started to rise.

The Righteous Man jerked to consciousness, coughed, beckoned Cale closer. "No, that's not what I meant. I didn't free him…"

Cale stiffened at that. If the Righteous Man hadn't freed Yrsillar, then who?

The guildmaster struggled to say something. A word hung on his blood-flecked lips. Cale leaned forward, clutched the guildmaster's tattered robe with his good hand"Riven," the Righteous Man softly hissed. "Riven and the Zhentarim set Yrsillar free."

Cale knelt over Jak, probed his jaw with gentle fingers. Not broken, though the little man had lost several teeth. His cheeks had swollen enough to distort his face. His head would be fuzzy for hours.

"Jak," he called, and gently nudged his friend. "Jak."

After a few moments, the little man's eyes fluttered open, focused blearily on Cale.

"Cale?"

Cale smiled. "Yrsillar's gone. We won, my friend."

Despite his words, he didn't feel like he had won. He felt little more than tired and angry at Riven and the Zhentarim.

"Gone." Jak's" small hand found Gale's arm and squeezed. The little man sighed and closed his eyes. "How?"

Cale quickly related the story of the combat, of the mask and Yrsillar's banishment. Afterwards, he looked at the mask he held in his hand. "I'm his Champion, it seems."

Jak regarded the mask for a moment, looked into Gale's eyes, and nodded knowingly. "You're his Champion. But you're still your own man, Erevis." He chuckled and said, "That's probably why he chose you in the first place."

"I am still my own man," Cale affirmed. He knew now that he could have his faith and his individuality. Smiling, he used his good hand to help the little man to sit upright. Careful not to jolt his broken wrist, he took his waterskin from his pack and offered it to his friend.

Jak took a sip, swished it around in his mouth, and spat blood. Afterward, he eyed Cale shrewdly. "Can you cast spells?"

Surprisingly, Cale did not find the question alarming. "I don't know. How would I know?"

Jak took another gulp from the waterskin. He swallowed this one down. "You just know."

Cale considered the mask. My holy symbol,he reminded himself. He didn't feel any different- certainly didn't feel like a priest, or a Champion. "Then I don't think so. No, I can't."

"Try it," Jak said.

"How in the name of the gods do I try it? I've never cast a spell before."