Paul Kemp - Shadowrealm

"My company battles them there," Abelar said.

"Bear him into the storm," Cale said, indicating Abelar. "Fight Kesson Rel's creatures as you wish."

"My promise was to serve you," he said to Cale then swung his head toward Abelar, "not to bear your lackeys."

Abelar took a step forward. Furlinastis's breath, as foul and damp as a swamp, moistened his face. "I am no lackey, wyrm."

The dragon's lips peeled back from his teeth in snarl, showing fangs as black as tarnished silver and longer than a dagger. The shadows around the creature swirled, engulfed Abelar.

"You serve me by bearing him to battle," Cale said. "You owe your life to me, dragon. I ask little in return."

Furlinastis hissed, exhaling twin streams of darkness from his nostrils. "I am-"

"My time is short, dragon!" Cale snapped. "Keep your promise to me."

The slits of Furlinastis's pupils narrowed. He swung his head from Abelar to Cale, sniffing the air as if sampling the shadows around Cale.

"You have changed since last we met, First of Five."

"Yes. Will you do this, dragon?"

They stared at one another for a long moment.

"How will you ride?" Furlinastis said to Abelar.

Abelar eyed the creature's body. The ridges along his neck would provide stability.

"Upon your neck, just above the wings. I need only a rope."

"Do it," the dragon said.

Riven produced a rope from his pack and he, Cale, and Abelar fitted the wyrm as they best they could. Riven's use of rope would have bested even a lifelong sailor. Abelar tested the knots.

"A good harness," Abelar said.

"I will not save you if you fall," Furlinastis said, and lowered his head to allow Abelar to mount.

Abelar climbed into position, secured his thighs with the sling knots they had improvised, and took the makeshift reins in one hand and wrapped them around his wrist.

"I have ridden since I could walk, wyrm." He shifted, testing his range of motion, his comfort with his perch. It was no saddle, but it would do. "I haven't lost my place in a saddle since I was a boy. Not even so mighty a creature as you can throw me."

Furlinastis snaked his neck around to look at him and Abelar thought he saw mirth in the creature's eyes. "We will see."

"You need to be warded against the storm," Cale said. He held his velvet mask in one hand, intoned the wards to a ward, and placed a charged hand on Abelar then Furlinastis.

"Thank you, Erevis," Abelar said. He held a hand out. "I am glad that we met, both of you.

"As am I," Cale said, clasping hands.

"And I," Riven said, doing the same.

He leaned down in the saddle and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "Do not trust the Shadovar."

"We don't," Cale said. "But we need him. And he needs us. That is enough for now."

Abelar accepted that. War made for strange allies. And this war more than most. He looked Cale in the face.

"There is a haunted look in your eyes," Abelar said to Cale.

"I have seen what happens if we fail, Abelar."

Abelar studied his face. "Then do not fail."

Cale smiled softly and nodded. "Farewell, my friend."

"Fight well," Riven said.

"That I will. Fly, dragon!"

Furlinastis tensed, extended his wings, and leaped into the dark air.

The dragon's graceful form receded rapidly and soon melded with the darkness. Cale lost sight of him. The emptiness in him yawned. He needed to fill it or it would consume him.

I know now what you endured, he projected to Magadon. Magadan, do you hear me?

The mind mage did not respond.

"I should check on Mags," he said to Riven.

"No, you shouldn't. If he's out of your head, leave it that way. He's a distraction now. You holding up?"

"I'm losing myself, sinking."

Riven nodded and put a supportive hand on his shoulder, his expression thoughtful.

Rivalen's golden eyes burned dimly in the void of his face, twin echoes of Ephyras's dying sun. "We should prepare before we seek Kesson Rel."

"His counterspells steal for himself any wards or enhancements we might place on us," Cale said. "We've seen it."

The shadows around Rivalen roiled as he considered Cale's words. "You're suggesting we face him unprotected?"

"I'm telling you your protections benefit him, not you."

"You afraid, Prince?" Riven said with a sneer.

Rivalen stared at Riven. "Are you?"

"Yes," Riven said. "But not of death."

"He casts spells faster than anyone I've ever seen," Cale said. "And he's resistant to magic."

"Yours, perhaps," Rivalen said. "He will find mine much harder to deflect. And even if he can steal spells, magical devices should still work. Use them if you bear any."

Cale had only one. He drew Weaveshear. Riven withdrew the spell-absorbing stone he'd taken from the Sojourner and tossed it into the air in front of his face, where it took up orbit around his head. He drew his sabres.

"We should scry him first," Rivalen said.

"He cannot be scried," Cale said. "We've tried."

"Not by you, nor even me," Rivalen said, "but he can be scried by my brother."

Abelar looked ahead at the roiling black wall of the Shadowstorm and felt an echo of the feeling he'd experienced when he'd first answered Lathander's call in adolescence. His blood rose; he felt light.

He leaned over the dragon's neck, looked back and down, and saw Cale, Riven, and Rivalen standing together on the receding plains. They weren't looking at him. They had already turned their minds to Kesson Rel. He looked back farther, tried to spot the Saerbians under Sakkors, and thought he caught a blurry glimpse of motion atop the distant Stonebridge. Perhaps they were crossing even then. Love for his son and father warmed him, but love for Regg and Jiiris and his company drew him onward into darkness.

He drew his blade and faced the darkness of Shar's Shadowstorm. Lightning shot out of the sky to trace green lines in the clouds around them. The air stank of char, as if the sky were afire. Thunder vibrated in his ears. The wind pulled at him.

"Faster, dragon!"

Furlinastis beat his wings, extended his neck, and shot like a fired quarrel through the air.

The magical ring on Brennus's finger warmed. The mental connection with his brother opened.

Brennus, I need you to scry Kesson Rel. Tell me where he is, and what you see. We are nearly at an end.

Brennus sat at a table in an otherwise unfurnished room on Sakkors. The darkness embraced him. His homunculi wrestled on the floor, tumbling and squeaking. He sometimes thought of them as his family, but they were not. They were devices, nothing more. His family was his brothers and his father.

Brennus.

"I have killed you," Brennus said to the ring, his tone uncertain.

Brennus.

It will take some time, Brennus projected to Rivalen.

We have little time, Brother. You must hurry.

Very well.

Brennus cut off the connection. He lifted his mother's necklace, watching his homunculi frolic.

"Family," he said, and wondered if he had done the right thing.

He intoned the words to the first in a series of divinations.

"We must wait a short time," Rivalen said to Cale and Riven.

"A short time is all we have," Cale said to him.

Rivalen leaned forward, his darkness mingling with Cale's. "What does it feel like?"

Cale saw no reason to lie. "Like I am hollow. Like I will crumble soon."

Rivalen nodded and leaned back, his expression preoccupied.

"Give me the chalice," Riven said to the Shadovar.

The shadows around Rivalen swirled in agitation. "Why?"

"Give it to me or we will not help you."

"A lie."

"I will not help."

"What are you doing, Riven?" Cale asked.