Paul Kemp - Shadowrealm

Behind him he heard gasps from the men and women of the company, murmured astonishment. He turned to face them, to reassure them, and found that their surprise was not directed at Kesson Rel.

A clot of shadows had formed in their midst, a darkness the light of the priests did not illuminate, and Erevis Cale, Riven, and a Shadovar had stepped from it.

To Regg, Cale and Riven seemed weightier, somehow more defined than everyone else around them, save perhaps Kesson Rel himself. The men and women of the company seemed to sense the difference as well, for they parted around them.

All three looked past and through Regg, across the field to the shadow army and the dark god who commanded it. They strode forward and as they passed Erevis Cale put a hand on Regg's shoulder.

"Kesson Rel is beyond you, Regg. This is our battle now."

The growl of thunder broke the silence, low and dangerous.

Shadows poured from Erevis Cale, from his dark blade.

Regg could find no words. He turned to watch them walk without hesitation across the space that separated three men from thousands of shadows, hundreds of giants, and the god who ruled them.

Regg realized he was not breathing.

Trewe appeared beside him, eyeing the trio as they strode into battle.

"This does not seem a field for ordinary men," said Trewe.

Regg nodded, thought of Abelar, and clasped Trewe by the shoulder. "It is well, then, that there are no ordinary men on it." He turned to his company and shouted, "Form up! Await my orders. The Morninglord's work is not yet done on this field."

7 Nightal, the Year of Lightning Storms

Cale, Riven, and Rivalen spaced themselves a few strides apart. Ahead, the army of shadow giants assembled before and around Kesson Rel. Darkness bled from their pale flesh. The column of shadows-tens of thousands of the creatures-swirled in the sky over their master, their eyes like coals.

Looking upon Kesson, upon the power he held, the power he had stolen, Cale felt the void in him like an ache in his bones. The emptiness compelled him to fill it. He knew Riven must be feeling the same thing.

Mags, I am keeping my promise to you. Right now. Do you hear me, Mags?

No response.

Shadows swirled around Kesson. He held up a hand and silence fell. Cale, Riven, and Rivalen stopped, the world stopped.

"I see the memory of a dead world in your faces," Kesson Rel said, his voice carrying across the field, filling the quiet. "The death of this world, too, is inevitable. Yet here you stand, a supposed servant of the Lady of Loss, and two servants of the God of Shadows."

He looked to the sky, to Furlinastis, who was turning an arc to return to the battlefield. "And you bring the dragon who served me in my youth. Let us see who is the stronger, shadelings."

"Let us see who serves the Lady in truth," Rivalen said softly, and shadows poured from him.

Shadows bled from Cale, too. He held his mask in one hand, Weaveshear in the other. Beside him, Riven channeled Mask's power and let it fill his blades. Thick, languid shadows dripped from the steel.

"We must waste nothing on his minions," Rivalen said.

"Agreed," Cale said.

"They will swarm to protect him," Riven said.

"Not if they are protecting him from someone else," Cale answered.

"Who?" Rivalen asked. "The dragon is not enough."

"My minions," Cale said, and quickly mouthed the words to a sending. The magic buzzed around him and he directed it to Nayan, back on the Wayrock.

I need you and yours here. Battle is joined. He paused, thought of Magadon. Ensure Magadon is all right first. Then come. Be quick.

The magic winged its way through the Weave for Nayan.

"Hold here," he said to Rivalen and Riven.

"Hold?" Riven asked. The assassin bounced on the balls of his feet, his eye on Kesson.

Cale nodded, and started to intone the words to a spell that would even the odds.

I awaken, gasping, from another dream of my father.

Opening my eyes, I find myself slouched against the stone wall of a meditation chamber. Drool wets my cheek. The memory of my father and the Source and falling forever is fresh in my mind. Sweat drenches my body. I stink enough to offend my own nose. I have not bathed or changed my attire in days. The stubble of a tenday old beard causes my cheeks to itch. I feel eyes on me.

Nayan stands in the shadow of the doorway. His form is one with the darkness, the lines between shadow and man blurred. I sit up, put my forearms on my knees. I am appalled by how thin they have become.

"We must go," Nayan says. He speaks in an even tone, but I see the urgency suggested by his stance, the clench of his fist.

"To Cale?"

He does not answer with words, but I read his face.

"Take me with you."

"No."

I expected the answer but still want to hollow out his head. I remember my father's words-They will leave you here. I squeeze a smile through my evil thoughts.

"Journey safely."

His eyebrows follow his thoughts downward. My words must have surprised him. I hold my smile and in the end he says nothing, nods, and melts back into the shadows.

The moment he disappears, I stand, find my mental focus. The exercise reminds me of the damage my father did, renews my desire to have vengeance. I avoid the broken mental connections, the sharp emotional shards, the gaps in cognition.

I reach out for one of the shadowwalkers I know by name. I put power into my words.

Vyrhas, when the others leave, you are to remain.

My suggestion worms its way into the regimented construct of Vyrhas's will. I feel him resist, feel the reinforcement of his training bolstering the mental walls. He is strong. I fear my plan may die stillborn.

All at once my power pierces his resistance and he is mine.

Act as though you will leave for Cale's side with the others, but instead meet me in the dining hall.

On the way to the dining hall, I retrieve my bow, my blade, my leather armor. When I reach the large dining chamber, I see no one.

"Vyrhas?" I say to the darkness.

The shadowwalker steps from the darkness along the far wall. He is taller than Nayan, leaner. His long black hair is tied into a rope that falls halfway down his back. Shadows curl around his hands, his head.

"Mindmage. The Right and Left have called. I remained only out of respect for our friendship."

My power has so scrambled Vyrhas's mind that he regards us as longtime friends, though we have rarely spoken before this moment. Still, his will is slippery. I must trod softly over his mindscape so as not to dislodge the compulsion.

"Cale and Riven called me, too," I lie. "They need you to take me somewhere."

Vyrhas looks relieved at the revelation. "Where?"

"I will show you. Open your mind."

Vyrhas opens his mind to me without hesitation. I picture in my mind the vaulted, hemispherical chamber deep within the floating mountaintop on which Sakkors stands. I picture the faceted stone walls, designed to reflect and amplify the Source's power. And floating in the center of the vault, slowly turning about its lengthwise axis, I picture the giant, crystalline form of the Source.

I push the image into Vyrhas's mind.

"There," I say. "I am to go there."

Behind him, Cale heard the Lathanderians assembling. Armor chinked, shields rung, and orders carried through the still air. Cale held his mask and continued his spell.

The shadows swarming the air behind and around Kesson began to keen, the discordant whine of doomed souls. The shadow giants, darkness bleeding from their forms, beat their swords on their shields, the sound like the heartbeat of the world.

Cale continued the spell, felt the power gathering, the borders between worlds weakening.