Paul Kemp - Shadowrealm

Kesson and Rivalen, clasping one another, twisted and tumbled earthward. Rivalen, with only one arm and surrounded by a field of anti-magic, could do nothing but hold on. Kesson shouted the lengthy incantation to a spell that could disjoin the anti-magic field, the only spell that could affect it, while with his free hand he tore at Rivalen's face with nails like claws.

Rivalen endured the pain, felt blood flow warm and sticky over his cheeks and jaw, and tried to maneuver Kesson underneath him. But there was no way to control their fall.

Through gritted teeth, he answered Kesson's disjunction by reciting one of the Thirteen Truths, spraying Kesson with the blood leaking into his mouth.

"Only hate endures."

They slammed into the ground before Kesson completed his spell.

Agony exploded in Rivalen as bones shattered, as ribs spiked organs, but he smiled through the pain-until he realized that Kesson, despite the fall, despite the damage he must have suffered, had not lost the thread of his spell.

Black veins form on the surface of the Source, ooze forth from its orange flesh. Eventually their ends detach from the Source and hang loose below it. I reach up, take them in my hand. They are warm, pulsing. I scream as they burrow into the flesh of my hands and forearms, but the pain vanishes quickly.

The Source's energy flows into me unadulterated and I scream with pleasure.

Cale and Riven watched the dragon bury men and giants under the mountain of its form. Furlinastis roared with pain. Cale presumed that the force of his impact had caused many of the weapons borne by the men and giants crushed beneath him to penetrate his scales. Shadows swirled around the dragon. Dirt and soil formed a hillock in front of him by the time his body came to stop.

Cale saw Regg shouting orders, ordering his men and women to realign. Shadows churned around the surviving giants as they too tried to regroup. The shadowwalkers appeared amongst the Lathanderians, clots of darkness amidst their light.

Furlinastis lurched to his feet. Corpses and weapons impressed into his body dangled from the scales of his chest and abdomen. Blood leaked from a score of wounds, poured around a giant's sword that had been buried to its hilt in his chest. He extended his neck and roared his rage into the sky. He turned to face the giants. The Lathanderians rallied to either side of him.

"Where is Kesson Rel?" Riven said.

Before Cale could answer, a surge of unadulterated pleasure ran through him. He gasped, stopped, sought its source, found it in his mental connection with Magadon.

Mags? What happened? Where are you?

It is wonderful, Erevis, Magadon said, and his mental voice sounded as if it were floating. Power leaked into Cale's brain, images, memories, knowledge.

Cale shook his head to clear it, cursed.

"What is it?" Riven asked.

"Mags is at the Source. He's in Sakkors."

"What? How?"

Cale shook his head, blinking as his eyes started to water, as the tone of Magadon's mental impressions grew harsher. He grabbed his head in his hands, tried to hold it together.

Mags, get away from the Source. Don't do it. Don't.

When Magadon spoke again, his mental voice sounded deeper, harsh as a rasp. Don't? You fear the power I hold. You are a liar and a betrayer.

Cale endured the mental storm in his brain and said to Riven, "We have to get to him. He'll be lost."

"He's been lost a long time already," Riven said.

Cale glared at the assassin. "He's half a man. I'm not leaving him. If he were whole…"

He winced as more and more mental energy poured into his mind. Magadon was awash in power and enough of it was leaking through their mental connection that it made the veins in Cale's temple throb.

"He cannot be whole unless we kill Kesson," Riven said. "That first, then we help Mags. Otherwise you, me, and everyone else here dies. Then Sembia. Then the rest. You know it, Cale. You saw Ephyras."

Cale knew Riven was right, but he feared that Magadon, in his mentally wounded state, would be irretrievable if they didn't get to him soon. Meanwhile, the emptiness within him beckoned, expanded, opened wider, ate at him. Riven must have been feeling the same thing. They had to kill Kesson Rel or die.

"There," Riven said, and pointed across the plain, where they saw Rivalen and Kesson rise on shaky legs and face off.

Hang on, Mags.

The Source awakens fully, then awakens me fully. The hole in me is filled, the emptiness bridged. My mind is magnified. My power is amplified. Knowledge fills me. I swim in the warmth of the Source's mind, my mind one with it, my will one with it.

But I am not content.

Rage burns like wildfire through my consciousness. It is born in the mind of the fiend and dwarfs everything else in my mindscape. Its fire consumes the weak barricades of conscience that try to stem its spread. What little of the man that remains in me flees before it. Bits of regret, guilt, love, leak out of the conflagration of my rage and flee my mind.

I am hate.

And I am power.

My mind reaches out into the world, senses the minds of other creatures, some of whom are responsible for what happened to me. My hate is indiscriminate.

With a slight effort of will, I cause Sakkors to move toward the Shadowstorm.

Kesson pronounced the last word of the disjunction and it shredded Rivalen's sphere of anti-magic. Rivalen rolled over, felt in the grass for his holy symbol, found it, and closed his hand over the cold metal. He climbed to his feet, hissing with pain.

Agony blurred his vision. His withered arm hung limp from his shoulder. The shadows enshrouding him had cushioned his fall, but the impact had still ruined his body. Shattered ribs stabbed into his lungs, filling them with blood, and his wet breathing bubbled. One ankle was shattered, causing him to hobble. A ringing sounded in his ears. Shadows spun around him as his regenerative flesh tried to undo the worst of the damage.

Across from him, Kesson, too, climbed to his feet, his dark eyes fixed on Rivalen. One of the bones of his forearm jutted from his dark skin. One of his white horns had broken at the halfway point. Blood leaked from his nose and mouth. His breathing was rapid, labored, his eyes glazed. No doubt he, too, had shattered ribs and a cracked skull.

Rivalen heard the sizzle of a triggered contingency and in an instant, all of Kesson's wounds healed. Rivalen cursed as Kesson spread his wings, glared at Rivalen, and mouthed words of power. Energy gathered in both his hands.

Rivalen stumbled backward, clutching the holy symbol of Shar, and incanted a counterspell. His words rose in opposition to Kesson's as he pitted his power against the burgeoning energies gathering in Kesson's hands.

The magical ring on his finger warmed, and the connection opened. Rivalen felt anger pouring through the mental link. It filled Rivalen's mind, caused pressure behind his eyes, and broke his concentration on the counterspell.

I know what you did to our mother, Brennus said. You murdered her in a meadow of flowers.

The shadows spun around Rivalen. His thoughts spun similarly. He backed away from Kesson, backed away from Brennus's accusation, all while triggering a defensive ring, amulet, and necklace.

Brennus-

Say nothing! Brennus said. I will not hear your denials, your rationalizations! You murdered my mother!

The anger pouring through the connection turned to grief. Rivalen knew that Brennus was sobbing. He had no time for it.

Kesson advanced on him, wings drawn in, power in his hand.

Rivalen tried to gather his thoughts, cast his own spell, but his brother's words had scrambled his concentration better than anything Kesson could have said or done. He found it difficult to take hold of his thoughts. They raced around from possibility to possibility. He could pin none of them down.