Paul Kemp - Shadowrealm

Riven looked at him, one hand on his holy symbol. "You could fail. I am your second. His Second."

Cale understood immediately what Riven intended. "Do not. If we succeed, only one of us can be saved."

Riven stared at him, nodded. "It's sense, Cale, and you know it. It's why I'm here."

Cale shook his head. "You don't know how it feels. You're making a mistake."

But he wasn't sure Riven was making a mistake.

"This is mine to do, Cale." Riven held out his hand to Rivalen. "Give me the chalice, Shadovar. I saw you take it."

Cale eyed Riven and thought of Ephyras. He didn't know if he would hold on; he was sinking, fast. "Give it to him, Rivalen."

The shadows around Rivalen slowed, spun lazy streams about his form. "You must return it to me. We may yet need it."

"For what?" Riven asked.

"Give it to him," Cale said.

Rivalen spoke a word and the tarnished chalice, still leaking shadows over its rim, appeared in his hand. He handed it to Riven.

"Heavy," the assassin said.

"Yes," Cale said, and knew they weren't talking about the chalice.

Riven looked at Cale, at the contents of the chalice, and drank.

Then he began to scream.

Furlinastis devoured the distance. The border of the Shadowstorm drew closer, larger, the wind and rain more intense. In moments they had reached the edge of the storm. A wall of churning black clouds and green lightning stretched from the plains to the heavens.

Abelar leaned forward, clutching his blade, as the dragon breached the dark wall.

The wind and rain did not abate. Lightning and thunder still shook the sky. But the darkness deepened, deadened sound, and dulled senses. Abelar felt the storm's life draining power testing Cale's ward. A vibration shook Abelar's body. It took him a moment to realize that the dragon's growl had caused it.

"The air stinks of Kesson Rel," Furlinastis said.

"I feel Shar in it," Abelar answered.

"The one is the other," the dragon said, and beat his wings.

Abelar leaned over the dragon's neck, searching for his company.

"Wide arcs," he said to the dragon. "As fast as you can. We are looking for a company of men and women, over two hundred strong."

The dragon lowered his altitude and angled left and right as he flew ever deeper into the storm.

"There," the dragon said above the wind.

"Where? Where?"

"Ahead," Furlinastis said.

Abelar heard the battle before he saw it-the high pitched keen of shadows, the shouts of men and women.

And then he saw them, a light in the darkness.

His company stood shield to sword in a circular formation. Thousands of shadows swirled in the air over them, before them, around them. Light flared here and there within the circle-no doubt Roen and the priests-but swarms of shadows pounced on it, tried to extinguish it. But for every light the shadows extinguished, the priests lit another. Abelar heard the clarion of Trewe's trumpet over the thunder and his heart soared.

"Let them know we are here Furlinastis," he said.

The dragon drew in a breath and expelled it in a roar that overwhelmed the thunder. Heads turned to look up. The red eyes of shadows glared out of the black.

Wanting the company to know it was him atop the dragon rather than another enemy, he struck a sunrod on the dragon's scales and the tip of the small device flared to life. The glow caused Furlinastis to growl as they streaked over the battlefield.

"I am with you!" he shouted but didn't know if they heard him.

Trewe's trumpet sounded another clarion. He looked back and saw blades raised, heard cheers. They'd heard him.

And so, too, had the shadows.

Ahead, behind, above, and below, he saw scores and scores of black, red-eyed forms arrowing toward them. Furlinastis roared and angled upward. The darkness extinguished the sunrod.

"Abelar is with us!" Regg shouted, and drove his illuminated blade into the chest of a shadow, one of Forrin's former soldiers.

The blow extinguished the creature's eyes and it boiled away, shrieking, into a cloud of foul vapor.

"The light is in you all!" Roen shouted from behind as another globe of white luminescence burst into being above their formation.

Shadows thronged the air all around the formation, darting past, streaking down from above. The presence of so many undead turned the already chill air frigid, and Regg's breath formed clouds in the air as he slashed, stabbed, butted with his shield.

The keening of the shadows filled his ears, but so did the comforting calls and shouts of the men and women of his company. Beside him, Trewe exclaimed in pain and fell to his knees. Three shadows reached into his chest. Trewe's mouth opened but no sound emerged.

"Down to whatever hell will take you!" Regg shouted. He brandished his shield, showed them the rose of Lathander, and let some of his soul move through him and into the rose.

A wedge of rose-colored light flared from the shield, vaporizing the three shadows attacking Trewe. A backhand crosscut slew another shadow and he grabbed Trewe with his shield arm, pulled him to his feet, and let healing energy flow into the young warrior.

"Well enough?" Regg asked.

"Well enough," Trewe answered.

Both men turned and eyed the horde of shadows that filled the air so thickly it was nearly impossible to separate one of the creatures from another. Black bodies clotted the sky, made the air impenetrable. Hundreds of them veered high to engage Abelar and his dragon. Regg didn't stop to consider how Abelar might have bent a shadow dragon to his service. He didn't care. He cared only that his friend fought with them. They couldn't hope to hold for long, but they would hold as long as they could and hope their sacrifice meant something for the Saerbians.

"Keep us in light, Roen!" he shouted, and slashed another shadow. "Hold this ground, men and women of Lathander!"

Riven fell to his knees, his head thrown back in a scream. The sky seemed to echo his agony with booms of thunder and flares of lightning.

Cale knew what Riven was feeling, the emptiness that accompanied revelation. He knelt beside the assassin, let his shadows cloak him, comfort him.

Rivalen watched them both intently, golden eyes alight, the Black Chalice already recovered from where Riven had dropped it and returned to the extra-dimensional space in which the Shadovar stored it.

"It will pass," Cale said to Riven. "It will pass."

Riven gritted his teeth, hugged himself, writhed, and screamed again.

After a time the screams ended. He drew a shuddering breath and let Cale pull him to his feet. His good eye regained focus. He doubled over, vomited. When he was done, he looked up at Cale.

"It's that simple? It's been there all along?"

Cale nodded. "That simple."

They stared at one another for a long moment.

Both knew that one of them, at least, must die. Both if they failed to kill Kesson Rel.

"We need to know where he is," Cale said over his shoulder to Rivalen. "Now."

The shadows around Rivalen swirled. He cocked his head, consulting his brother through some unseen magical means.

"Kesson Rel is not in Ordulin," Rivalen said, his tone mildly surprised.

"Then where in the Nine Hells is he?" Cale said.

Brennus communicated Kesson Rel's location to his brother then cut off the connection. He closed his hand around his mother's necklace and placed it in his pocket, where he would keep it forever.

He couldn't murder his brother. Murder itself didn't trouble him, but murdering his brother did. The consequences were too great.

If he betrayed Rivalen, his father would kill him. His other brothers would wonder what had happened, would eventually learn of it. Sides would be chosen and his family would splinter. The revived Empire of Netheril would die stillborn.